th Sister Sofia Antonovna, the
Sister with the small red-rimmed eyes of whom I have spoken on an
earlier page. She was a woman who found in every arrangement in life,
whether made by God, the Germans, or the General of our Division, much
cause for complaint and dismay. She had never been pretty but had
always felt that she ought to be; she was stupid but comforted herself
by the certain assurance that every one else was stupid too. She had
come to the war because a large family of brothers and sisters refused
to have her at home. I disliked her very much, and she hated myself
and Marie Ivanovna more than any one else in the world. I don't know
why she grouped us together--she always did.

Marie Ivanovna was sitting with us now in the carriage, white-faced
and silent. Sofia Antonovna was very patronising.... "When you've
worked a little more at the Front, dear, you'll know that these things
must happen. Bad work somewhere, of course. What can you expect from a
country like Russia? Everything mismanaged ... nothing but thieves and
robbers. Of course we're beaten and always will be."

"How can you, Sofia Antonovna?" Sister Marie interrupted in a low
trembling voice. "It is nobody's fault. It is only for a moment. We
will return--soon--at once. I know it. Ah, we _must_, we _must_! ...
and your courage all goes. Of course it would."

Sister Sofia Antonovna smiled and her eyes watched us both. "I'm
afraid your Mr. will be left behind," she said.

"Dr. Semyonov," Marie Ivanovna began--then stopped. We were all of us
silent during the rest of the journey.

And how is one to give any true picture of the confusion into which we
flung ourselves at O----? O---- had been the town at which, a little
more than a month ago, we had arrived so eagerly, so optimistically.
It had been to us then the quietest retreat in the world--irritating,
provoking by reason of its peace. The little school-house, the green
well, the orchard, the bees, the long light evenings with no sound but
the birds and running water--those things had been a month ago.

We were hurled now into a world of dust and despair. The square market
place, the houses that huddled round it were swallowed up by soldiers,
horses, carts and whirling clouds. A wind blew and through the wind a
hot sun blazed. Everywhere horses were neighing, cows and sheep were
driven in thick herds through columns of soldiers, motor cars
frantically pushed their way from place to place, and a