Valiant Belgian army, worthy of its country, worthy of its King, little Flemish army of which one could no longer doubt the heroism, army of a neutral country, hastily put together, but which paid with thousands upon thousands of soldiers for the honour of having helped to save the world. Defenders of Liege, defenders of Anvers, troopers of the mud of the Yser, of the flooded trenches of Dixmude, of the ruins of Ypres, victors of Langemark and of Houthulst, all have inscribed on their flags a glory that nothing could tarnish. And who would have believed it of those quiet, solid men, well-to-do and nicely set up in life. But for those who knew how to look further, behind the Flemish placidity is hidden a bright flame of zeal. The clear gaze of this Belgian soldier, a slightly mocking gaze, lights up his peaceable face with a flash of irony.