lling through space had
missed. So there is no hope of my convincing him that this new
regulation regarding foreigners is not designed expressly to annoy
me.

I often wonder exactly what all this war means to him. He reads his
newspaper religiously. He seems to understand. He talks very well
about it. But he is detached in a way. He hates it. It has aged him
terribly. But just what it means to him I can't know.

XIX

Christmas Day, 1915

Well, here I am, alone, on my second war Christmas! All my efforts to
get a permis de sortir failed.

Ten days after I wrote you last, there was a rumor that all foreigners
were to be expelled from the zone of military operations. My friends in
Paris began to urge me to close up the house and go into town,
where I could at least be comfortable.

I simply cannot. I am accustomed now to living alone. I am not fit to
live among active people. If I leave my house, which needs constant
care, it will get into a terrible condition, and, once out of it, there is
no knowing what difficulty I might have to get back. The future is all
so uncertain. Besides, I really want to see the thing out right here.

I made two efforts to get a permission to go to Voulangis. It is only
five miles away. I wrote to the commander of the 5th Army Corps
twice. I got no answer. Then I was told that I could not hope to reach
him with a personal letter--that I must communicate with him through
the civil authorities. I made a desperate effort. I decided to dare the
regulations and appeal to the commander of the gendarmes at Esbly.

There I had a queer interview--at first very discreet and very
misleading, so far as they were concerned. In the end, however, I
had the pleasure of seeing my two letters to Monsieur le General
attached to a long sheet of paper, full of writing,--my dossier, they
called it. They did not deign to tell me why my letters, sent to the army
headquarters, had been filed at the gendarmerie. I suppose that was
none of my business. Nor did they let me see what was written on the
long sheet to which the letters were attached. Finally, they did stoop
to tell me that a gendarme had been to the mairie regarding my case,
and that if I would present myself at Quincy the next morning, I would
find a petition covering my demand awaiting my signature. It will be
too late to serve the purpose for which it was asked, but I'll take it for
Paris, if I can get it.

For lack of other compa