to kill as many of
the swine as possible?" He sank back literally purple in the face with
rage, and a murmur of sympathy went round the Ward. His wound was not a
serious one, for which I was thankful, or he might have done some harm.
One evening I was wandering through the "Place d'Armes" when some
violins in a music shop caught my eye. I went in and thus became
acquainted with the family Tetar, consisting of an old father and his
two daughters. They were exceedingly friendly and allowed me to try all
the violins they had. At last I chose a little "Mirecourt" with a very
nice tone, which I hired and subsequently bought.

In time Monsieur Tetar became very talkative, and even offered to play
accompaniments for me. He had an organ in a large room above the shop
cram full of old instruments, but in the end he seemed to think it might
show a want of respect to Madame his late wife (now dead two years), so
the accompanying never came off. For the same reason his daughter, who
he said "in the times" had played the violin well, had never touched her
instrument since the funeral.

* * * * *

There was one special song we heard very often rising up from the Cafe
Chantant, in the room at the dug-out. When I went round there to have
supper with them we listened to it entranced. It was a priceless tune,
very catching and with lots of go; I can hear it now. I was determined
to try and get a copy, and went to see Monsieur Tetar about it one day.
I told him we did not know the name, but this was the tune and hummed it
accordingly. A French Officer looking over some music in a corner
became convulsed and hurriedly ducked his head into the pages, and I
began to wonder if it was quite the thing to ask for.

Monsieur Tetar appeared to be somewhat scandalized, and exclaimed, "I
know it, Mademoiselle, that song calls itself _Marie-Margot la
Cantiniere_, but it is, let me assure you, of a certainty not for the
young girls!" No persuasion on my part could produce it, so our
acquaintance with the fair _Marie-Margot_ went no further than the tune.

The extreme gratitude of the patients was very touching. When they left
for Convalescent homes, other Hospitals, or to return to the trenches,
we received shoals of post cards and letters of thanks. When they came
on leave they never failed to come back and look up the particular
_Miske_ who had tended them, and as often as not brought a souvenir of
some sort from