essed on
me how careless we, who live much abroad, get about such things.

I know that many years ago, when I was first leaving the States, it
was suggested that such a document might be useful as an
identification, and I made out my demand, and it was sent after me to
Rome. I must have taken the oath at that time, but it was in days of
peace, and it made no impression on me. But this time I got a great
big choke in my throat, and looked up at the Stars and Stripes over
the desk, and felt more American than I ever felt in my life. It cost me
two dollars, and I felt the emotion was well worth the money, even at
a high rate of exchange.

I did practically nothing else in Paris, except to go to one or two of the
hospitals where I had friends at work.

Paris is practically normal. A great many of the American colony who
fled in September to Bordeaux and to London have returned, and the
streets are more lively, and the city has settled down to live through
the war with outward calm if no gaiety. I would not have believed it
would be possible, in less than five months, and with things going
none too well at the front, that the city could have achieved this
attitude.

When I got back, I found that, at least, our ambulance was open.

It is only a small hospital, and very poor. It is set up in the salle de
recreation of the commune, which is beside the church and opposite
the mairie, backed up against the wall of the park of the Chateau de
Quincy. It is really a branch of the military hospital at Meaux, and it is
under the patronage of the occupant of the Chateau de Quincy, who
supplies such absolute necessities as cannot be provided from the
government allowance of two francs a day per bed. There are twenty-
eight beds.

Most of the beds and bedding were contributed by the people in the
commune. The town crier went about, beating his drum, and making
his demand at the crossroads, and everyone who could spare a bed
or a mattress or a blanket carried his contribution to the salle. The
wife of the mayor is the directress, the doctor from Crecy-en-Brie
cares for the soldiers, with the assistance of Soeur Jules and Soeur
Marie, who had charge of the town dispensary, and four girls of the
Red Cross Society living in the commune.

The installation is pathetically simple, but the room is large and
comfortable, with four rows of beds, and extra ones on the stage, and
it is heated by a big stove. Naturally it gets more sick and