Suddenly the really serious mind of this woman revolted.  She told me that she said to her husband:  “This is abominable.  I cannot stand this life.  I shall study medicine, which, after all, is the only thing that really interests me.”

She immediately entered upon the ten years’ course, which included four years as an interne.  France has now so far progressed that she talks of including the degree of baccalaureate in the regular school course of women, lest they should wish to study for a profession later; but at that time Madame Pertat’s course in medicine was long drawn out, owing to the necessity of reading for this degree.

She was also obliged to interrupt her triumphal progress in order to bring her first and only child into the world; but finally graduated with the highest honors, being one of the few women of France who have received the diploma to practice.

To practice, however, was the least of her intentions, now that she had a child to occupy her mind and time.  Then, abruptly, peace ended and war came.  Men disappeared from their usual haunts like mist.  It was as if the towns turned over and emptied their men on to the ancient battlefields, where, generation after generation, war rages on the same historic spots but re-naming its battles for the benefit of chronicler and student.

M. le Docteur Pertat was mobilized with the rest.  Madame’s bank account was very slim.  Then once more she proved that she was a woman of energy and decision.  Without any formalities she stepped into her husband’s practice as a matter of course.  On the second day of the war she ordered out his runabout and called on every patient on his immediate list, except those that would expect attention in his office during the usual hours of consultation.

Her success was immediate.  She lost none of her husband’s patients and gained many more, for every doctor of military age had been called out.  Of course her record in the hospitals was well known, not only to the profession but to many of Dr. Pertat’s patients.  Her income, in spite of the war, is larger than it ever was before.

She told me that when the war was over she should resign in her husband’s favor as far as her general practice was concerned, but should have a private practice of her own, specializing in skin diseases and facial blemishes.  She could never be idle again, and if it had not been for the brooding shadow of war and her constant anxiety for her husband, she should look back upon those two years of hard medical practice and usefulness as the most satisfactory of her life.

She is still a young woman, with vivid yellow hair elaborately dressed, and it was evident that she had none of the classic professional woman’s scorn of raiment.  Her apartment is full of old carved furniture and objets d’art, for she had always been a collector.  Her most conspicuous treasure is a rare and valuable Russian censer of chased silver.  This was on the Germans’ list of valuables when they were sure of entering Paris in September, 1914.  Through their spies they knew the location of every work of art in the most artistic city in the world.