And ’twas I, who believing in Teuton chivalry, had imagined my love-letters, protected by my country’s emblem, would be respected!  My poor little rosewood desk had been mercilessly jabbed with bayonets, and its contents strewn from one end of the village to the other.  As to the Stars and Stripes, when we finally disgorged the pipes of certain sanitary apparatus that one does not usually mention in polite society, they were found there in a lamentable condition and carried to the wash-house with a tongs.

What a destitute little village we were.  Mine was but the common lot, for each one had lost in proportion to his fortune.  Yet there was no lamenting.  There was work to be done, for the vintage season was coming on and the vines in most places had been respected.  The German officers had even announced the fact that our country was already annexed, and that this was to be the champagne to commemorate the triumph of the Fatherland!

My little servants took hold of their filthy job and worked unceasingly though it was a thankless task—­for soap and soda did not exist, and food, save the vegetables and a little pork, was hard to get.

A week sped by, and then one afternoon a military auto drove up to the door.  As I saw it enter the yard, I trembled lest it bring bad tidings of H., but a kindly officer reassured me, by stating that though he brought only word of mouth, my husband was still in the land of the living.  He also announced that it was his duty to requisition my property as a French emergency hospital and that he would be obliged if I would put all the beds I owned at his disposal.  A doctor and some infirmiers would be sent immediately to put the place in working order.  Would I help?  And did I know of anyone I would care to have with me?

“You will be voluntary prisoners, you know, for this is the zone de operations, and you will not be allowed to leave.”

I bethought me of Madame Guix.  Was she still alive?

My friend said he would be glad to accompany me to Rebais, as that was as near as any place for recruiting a nurse.

And so again I whisked across the Marne.  This time en grande vitesse, and in little over an hour was greeted by the gentle superior who ’mid the ruins of all the neighboring houses was quietly continuing her work in the convent.

Yes.  Madame Guix was there—­a heroine, so I learned, loved and respected by every soul who had been obliged to remain in that unfortunate town.  I found her ministering to twenty-six severely wounded men—­French, English and Germans—­quite alone to do all the work, an eighty-year-old doctor coming in but once every two days.

“I cannot leave them,” said she, pointing to the soldiers, when I asked her to ally forces in the reconstitution of my hospital.  “But just as soon as they are able to be removed, I will come, I promise.”

In the parlour below, the Sister Superior told me of the invasion, while I waited the return of the military motor which was to bear me home.