me
she was thankful she had been at Waterloo, for it would do her good to
see a little of what other people endured. She never before knew half
the value of her peaceful, comfortable home in London, where the
absence of miserable objects might alone be considered as a benefit. I
can hardly express what I felt on returning to England, to see people
surrounded with every luxury unhappy at the want of the smallest
comfort. I can fancy no better cure for all imaginary evils than a
week's residence at Waterloo.

Noise did not disturb Sir William, fortunately, for the cottage was
surrounded with roads.(28) One in front led to Nivelles, and every
waggon going to and from the army, and all the wounded and prisoners,
passed along that road. It was paved, and there was an unceasing
noise for four days and nights. We were obliged to keep the windows
open, and people used to pass close to that in his room, talking loud,
and sometimes looking in and speaking; but he never took any notice. I
never saw anybody so patient. The people to whom the cottage belonged
were, luckily, favourable to our cause, or they would have tormented
us a good deal; instead of which, I never met with such good nature;
and though they never rested one moment helping the soldiers to water,
and were constantly worn out with giving them assistance, we had only
to tell them what to do, and they ran about to work for us. Their
_menage_, I must allow, was in a sad state.(29) There was a want of
everything. I could not help thinking with envy of the troublesome
abundance I had often seen in sick-rooms, when there was far less need
for it. However, in a short time we got everything he required; and I
have the greatest comfort in recollecting that there was not one thing
which he expressed a wish for that we did not procure. I sent a
servant instantly to Brussels with a list of things we wanted; and
once I recollect something was brought which he had been very anxious
for. Naturally enough, he was disappointed when he found it not so
good as he expected; but I was quite struck with his endeavour to
praise it, for fear I should be sorry. There was a languid melancholy
about him at the same time that he was calm and resigned, which would
have made the most uninterested person grieved to see him suffering,
and with such sweetness. Emma once gave him some drink, and she told
me that the tone of voice and his smile when he thanked her, was like
to break her heart, for