ain 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