eld in Paris over three weeks. Invitations to a
house party in Belgium and things of that kind that seemed so strangely
out of place now. The two most important documents, however, came, one
from my cousin, Marie Huard (Superior at the Convent of the Infant Jesus
at Madrid) and the other from Elizabeth Gauthier.

My cousin had taken upon herself to locate and communicate with every
member of the Huard family called to arms (and they are numerous, when
one considers that H. has no less than twelve married uncles!) and she
enclosed me a sort of map, or family tree, indicating the names, ages,
regiments, etc., of some fifty cousins, begging me to write and
encourage them from time to time.

Elizabeth Gauthier's letter bore a black border--and I trembled as I
opened it. She was in Paris alone, and mourning the loss of her eldest
brother, killed at the battle of Mulhouse, the ninth of August. Her
solitude preyed upon her, and she announced her departure for her
sister's chateau in Burgundy.

That was the first real sadness that the war had brought me so far. It
quite upset me, for Jean Bernard was not only a delightful friend, but
one of the most promising engineers of the younger generation in France.
Both family, friends and country might well deplore such a loss.

Even the making and hoisting of a huge Red Cross flag over the chateau
failed to arouse my enthusiasm all that day. The blow was too cruel and
had stimulated fears which heretofore had lain dormant within me.

The next day, however, I was not permitted to brood over my grief, for
Yvonne (she of the poultry farm) fell ill with a severe attack of
sciatica, which kept her in her bed, every movement producing a scream
of agony.

Of course Madame Guix was there to lend a hand, but that hardly altered
the situation, so I was obliged to ask the boys to give another "pull"
and try to be equal to the work. Lleon accepted with such alacrity
that for the first time it dawned on me that perhaps he had a soft spot
in his heart for my pretty little goose girl, and this unsuspected
romance, interwoven with the joys and anxieties of the moment, seemed
all the more charming.

To cap the climax of misfortune, old Cesar had run a nail into his hoof
and Madame Guix spent most of her time between injections of oxygen on
the first floor, and iodine and flaxseed poultices in the stables. This
of course meant that all errands outside the village must be made on
bicycle,