How she kept up her childish strength and courage without a moment’s change in her routine and on insufficient sleep can only be explained by the twin facts that she came of hardy peasant stock, and, like all French children, no matter how individual, was too thoroughly imbued with the discipline of “The Family” to shirk for a moment the particular task that war had brought her.  This iron discipline of The Family, one of the most salient characteristics of the French, is largely responsible for the matter-of-fact way in which every soldier of France, reservist or regular, and whatever his political convictions, has risen to this ordeal.  And in him as been inculcated from birth patience and perseverance as well as loyalty to his beloved flag.

The wives of hotel and shop keepers as well as the women of the farms have by far the best of it in time of war.  The former are always their husband’s partners, controlling the money, consulted at ever step.  When the tocsin rings and the men disappear they simply go on.  Their task may be doubled and they may be forced to employ girls instead of men, but there is no mental readjusting.

The women of the farms have always worked as hard as the men.  Their doubled tasks involve a greater drain on their physical energies than the petite bourgeoise suffers, especially in those districts devastated by the first German invasion—­the valley of the Marne.  But they are very hardy, and they too hang on, for stoicism is the fundamental characteristic of the French.

This stoicism as well as the unrivaled mental suppleness was illustrated early in the war by the highly typical case of a laundress whose business was in one of the best districts of Paris.

In France no washing is done in the house.  This, no doubt, is one of the reasons why one’s laundry bills, even on a brief visit, are among the major items, for les blanchisseuses are a power in the land.  When I was leaving Paris the directrice of the Ecole Feminine in Passy, which had been my home for three months, suggested delicately that I leave a tip for the laundress, for, said this practical person, herself a sufferer from many forms of imposition, “she has been extremely complaisante in coming every week for Madame’s wash.”  I remarked that the laundress might reasonably feel some gratitude to me for adding weekly to her curtailed income; but my smiling directrice shook her head.  The favor, it appeared, was all on the other side.  So, although I had tipped the many girls of my unique boarding-place with pleasure I parted with the sum designated for my patronizing laundress with no grace whatever.

But to return to the heroine of the story told me by Mrs. Armstrong Whitney, one of the many American women living in Paris who are working for France.

This laundress had a very large business, in partnership with her husband.  Nobody was expected to bring the family washing to her door, nor even to send a servant.  The linen was called for and delivered, for this prosperous firm owned several large trucks and eight or ten strong horses.