Finally the order came to evacuate the hospitals and leave the town, which at that time was in imminent danger of capture.  There was little notice.  The last train leaves at three o’clock.  Be there.  Madame de Roussy de Sales and several other nurses begged to go with those of their wounded impossible to transfer by trains, to the civilian hospitals and make them comfortable before leaving them in the hands of the local nurses; and obtained permission.  The result was that when they reached the station they saw the train retreating in the distance.  But they had received orders to report at a hospital in another town that same afternoon.  No vehicles were to be had.  There was nothing to do but walk.  They walked.  The distance was twenty-three kilometres.  As they had barely sat down since their arrival in Rheims it may be imagined they would have been glad to rest when they reached their destination.  But this hospital too was crowded with wounded.  They went on duty at once.  C’est la guerre!  I never heard any one complain.

XI

THE MARQUISE D’ANDIGNE

The Marquise d’Andigne, who was Madeline Goddard of Providence, R.I., is President of Le Bien-Etre du Blesse, an oeuvre formed by Madame d’Haussonville at the request of the Ministere de la Guerre in May, 1915.  She owes this position as president of one of the most important war relief organizations (perhaps after the Red Cross the most important) to the energy, conscientiousness, and brilliant executive abilities she had demonstrated while at the Front in charge of more than one hospital.  She is an infirmiere major and was decorated twice for cool courage and resource under fire.

The object of Le Bien-Etre du Blesse is to provide delicacies for the dietary kitchens of the hospitals in the War Zone, as many officers and soldiers had died because unable to eat eggs, or drink milk, the only two articles furnished by the rigid military system of the most conservative country in the world.  The articles supplied by Le Bien-Etre du Blesse are very simple:  condensed milk, sugar, cocoa, Franco-American soups, chocolate, sweet biscuits, jams, preserves, prunes, tea.  Thousands of lives have been saved by Bien-Etre during the past year; for men who are past caring, or wish only for the release of death, have been coaxed back to life by a bit of jam on the tip of a biscuit, or a teaspoonful of chicken soup.

Some day I shall write the full and somewhat complicated history of Le Bien-Etre du Blesse, quoting from many of Madame d’Andigne’s delightful letters.  But there is no space here and I will merely mention that my own part as the American President of Le Bien-Etre du Blesse is to provide the major part of the funds with which it is run, lest any of my readers should be tempted to help me out.[E] Donations from ten cents to ten thousand are welcome, and $5 keeps a wounded man for his entire time in one of those dreary hospitals in that devastated region known as “Le Zone des Armees,” where relatives nor friends ever come to visit, and there is practically no sound but the thunder of guns without and groans within.  Not that the French do groan much.  I went through many of these hospitals and never heard a demonstration.  But I am told they do sometimes.