By six A. M. on the Friday I had breakfasted and was ready to leave for Soissons.  The taxi from the Hotel du Balcon made its appearance a few moments later, and after a visit to the town hall, where we secured the necessary passports, we set off on our journey.

At the entrance to every little village we were obliged to halt and exhibit our papers—­after which formality the chain would be let down and we allowed to go our way.

Half an hour later as we crossed Chateau Thierry we could see the rows of horses that had not yet been examined lined up along the square.  The commissaries had worked all night and their task was still far from finished.

Until we reached Oulchy-le-Chateau, the chains were the only outward signs that betokened the belligerent state of the country, and even then as those who mounted guard were not in uniform, it seemed rather as though we were passing a series of toll-gates.  However, as we ran along the splendid roads between the great fertile plains, I observed that the harvesting was being done chiefly by women, and that the roads themselves were empty of any vehicle.  Evidently only those who had an important errand were allowed on the routes nationals, thus kept clear for the transport of troops or ammunition.

At Oulchy, half-way to Soissons, we halted at a railway crossing to let a long, lazy train drag out of the station.  When at length the bars were drawn up, much excitement reigned on the little platform which we had been unable to see from the other side of the rails.  Young girls with pails and dippers in their hands stood chattering with women in wrappers, whose disheveled appearance told plainly that they had been hastily awakened and had hurried thence without thinking of their toilette.

“What is it?” I asked of the garde-barriere.

“Wounded!”

“Wounded?”

“Yes—­the first.  Not badly wounded and they are able to travel, but unable to hold a gun.  And they were all so thirsty!”

Poor fellows, thought I, already out of the ranks and the first week is not yet passed.

More persuaded than ever of the utility of my mission, I did not stop longer but pushed on towards Soissons.  Half a mile further up the road, an elderly man carrying a package, hailed the motor.  We slowed down, and hat in hand he approached.

“I beg pardon for the liberty I’m taking,"’ he said, “but might I ask where you’re bound?”

“Soissons.”

“You would be rendering a great service to the municipality if you would allow me to ride with you in the empty seat.  You see, the youngsters who are left to reap the crops have broken the only machine in the community, and we can’t go on harvesting until it is repaired or replaced.  There are no mechanics left, and moreover, no horses that could take us to Soissons to find one, so I’ve offered to go on foot—­but that means at least two full days lost before we can continue our work.”