heard from him since
March. He is cook in a battalion." . . . "Here is the
wine-list, monsieur. Yes, both my sons and a nephew, and--I
have no news of them, not a word of news. My God, we all
suffer these days." And so, too, among the shops--the mere
statement of the loss or the grief at the heart, but never a
word of doubt, never a whimper of despair.

"Now why," asked a shopkeeper, "does not our Government, or
your Government, or both our Governments, send some of the
British Army to Paris? I assure you we should make them
welcome."

"Perhaps," I began, "you might make them too welcome."

He laughed. "We should make them as welcome as our own army.
They would enjoy themselves." I had a vision of British
officers, each with ninety days' pay to his credit, and a
damsel or two at home, shopping consumedly.

"And also," said the shopkeeper, "the moral effect on Paris to
see more of your troops would be very good."

But I saw a quite English Provost-Marshal losing himself in
chase of defaulters of the New Army who knew their Paris!
Still, there is something to be said for the idea--to the
extent of a virtuous brigade or so. At present, the English
officer in Paris is a scarce bird, and he explains at once why
he is and what he is doing there. He must have good reasons.
I suggested teeth to an acquaintance. "No good," he grumbled.
"They've thought of that, too. Behind our lines is simply
crawling with dentists now!"

A PEOPLE TRANSFIGURED

If one asked after the people that gave dinners and dances
last year, where every one talked so brilliantly of such vital
things, one got in return the addresses of hospitals. Those
pleasant hostesses and maidens seemed to be in charge of
departments or on duty in wards, or kitchens, or sculleries.
Some of the hospitals were in Paris. (Their staffs might have
one hour a day in which to see visitors.) Others were up the
line, and liable to be shelled or bombed.

I recalled one Frenchwoman in particular, because she had once
explained to me the necessities of civilized life. These
included a masseuse, a manicurist, and a maid to look after
the lapdogs. She is employed now, and has been for months
past, on the disinfection and repair of soldiers' clothes.
There was no need to ask after the men one had known. Still,
there was no sense of desolation. They had gone on; the
others were getting ready.

All France works outward to the Front--precisely as an en