nch, to
Colonel Brinsley Fitzgerald, aid-de-camp to the "Chief," as he is
called, and to General Huguet, the _liaison_ between the French and
English Armies. His official title is something entirely different,
but the French word is apt. He is the connecting link between the
English and French Armies.

I sent these letters to headquarters, and waited in the small hotel
for developments. The British antipathy to correspondents was well
known. True, there were indications that a certain relaxation was
about to take place. Frederick Palmer in London had been notified that
before long he would be sent across, and I had heard that some of the
London newspapers, the _Times_ and a few others, were to be allowed a
day at the lines.

But at the time my machine drew into that little French town and
deposited me in front of a wretched inn, no correspondent had been to
the British lines. It was _terra incognita_. Even London knew very
little. It was rumoured that such part of the Canadian contingent as
had left England up to that time had been sent to the eastern field,
to Egypt or the Dardanelles. With the exception of Sir John French's
reports and the "Somewhere in France" notes of "Eyewitness," a British
officer at the front, England was taking her army on faith.

And now I was there, and there frankly as a writer. Also I was a
woman. I knew how the chivalrous English mind recoiled at the idea of
a woman near the front. Their nurses were kept many miles in the rear.
They had raised loud protests when three English women were permitted
to stay at the front with the Belgian Army.

My knees were a bit weak as I went up the steps and into the hotel.
They would hardly arrest me. My letters were from very important
persons indeed. But they could send me away with expedition and
dispatch. I had run the Channel blockade to get there, and I did not
wish to be sent away with expedition and dispatch.

The hotel was cold and bare. Curious eyed officers came in, stared at
me and went out. A French gentleman in a military cape walked round
the bare room, spoke to the canaries in a great cage in the corner,
and came back to where I sat with my fur coat, lap-robe fashion, over
my knees.

"_Pardon!_" he said. "Are you the Duchess of Sutherland?"

I regretted that I was not the Duchess of Sutherland.

"You came just now in a large car?"

"I did."

"You intend to stay here for some time?"

"I have not decided."

"Where did you com