heir hands daily. The throat, nose, teeth,
glands and skin of each child are inspected. If the child is suspected
or attacked by any disease, it is immediately segregated and sent to
the American hospital. If the infection is only local or necessitates
further examination, the child and its family are summoned to present
themselves at the American dispensary next day. Every precaution
is employed to prevent the spread of infection--particularly the
infection of tuberculosis. Evian is the gateway from Germany through
which disease and death may be carried to the furthest limits of
France. Very few of the repatries are really healthy. It would be
a wonder if they were after the privations through which they have
passed. All of them are weakened in vitality and broken down in
stamina. Many of them have no homes to go to and have to be sent to
departments of the interior and the south. If they were sent in an
unhealthy condition, it would mean the spread of epidemics.

The Red Cross has a large children's hospital at Evian in the villas
and buildings of the Hotel Chatelet. This hospital deals with the
contagious cases. It has others, especially one at the Chateau des
Halles, thirty kilometers from Lyons, which take the devitalised,
convalescent and tubercular cases. The Chateau des Halles is a
splendidly built modern building, arranged in an ideal way for
hospital use. It stands at the head of a valley, with an all day sun
exposure and large grounds. Close to the Chateau are a number of small
villages in which it is possible to lodge the repatries in families.
This is an important part of the repatrie's problem, as after their
many partings they fight fiercely against any further separations. One
of the chief reasons for having the Convalescent Hospital out in the
country is that families can be quartered in the villages and so kept
together.

The pathetic hunger of these people for one another after they have
been so long divided, was illustrated for me on my return journey to
Paris. A man of the tradesman class had been to Evian to meet his wife
and his boy of about eleven. They were among the lucky ones, for they
had a home to go to. He was not prepossessing in appearance. He had a
weak face, lined with anxiety, broken teeth and limp hair. His wife,
as so often happens in French marriages, had evidently been the
manageress. She was unbeautiful in rusty black; her clothes were the
ill-assorted make-shifts of the civilia