others still loafing, and M. de
L'Horme seemed to know each by name.

The comfort packages are always given to the men returning to their
regiments on that particular day. They are piled high on a long table
at one side of the barrack yard, and behind it on the day of my visit
stood Madame Balli, Mrs. Allen, Mr. Holman-Black and myself, and we
handed out packages with a "Bonne chance" as the men filed by. Some
were sullen and unresponsive, but many more looked as pleased as
children and no doubt were as excited over their "grabs," which they
were not to open until in the train. They would face death on the
morrow, but for the moment at least they were personal and titillated.

Close by was a small munition factory, and a large loft had been
turned into a rest-room for such of the eclopes as it was thought
advisable to put to bed for a few days under medical supervision. To
each of these we gave several of the black cigarettes dear to the
tobacco-proof heart of the Frenchman, a piece of soap, three picture
post-cards, and chocolate. I think they were as glad of the visits as
of the presents, for most of them were too far from home to receive
any personal attention from family or friends. The beds looked
comfortable and all the windows were open.

From there we went to the Depot des Isoles, an immense enclosure where
men from shattered regiments are sent for a day or two until they can
be returned to the front to fill gaps in other regiments. Nowhere, not
even in the War Zone, did war show to me a grimmer face than here. As
these men are in good health and tarry barely forty-eight hours,
little is done for their comfort. Soldiers in good condition are not
encouraged to expect comforts in war time, and no doubt the discipline
is good for them--although, heaven knows, the French as a race know
little about comfort at any time.

There were cots in some of the barracks, but there were also large
spaces covered with straw, and here men had flung themselves down as
they entered, without unstrapping the heavy loads they carried on
their backs. They were sleeping soundly. Every bed was occupied by a
sprawling figure in his stained, faded, muddy uniform. I saw one
superb and turbaned Algerian sitting upright in an attitude of extreme
dignity, and as oblivious to war and angels of mercy as a dead man in
the trenches.

Two English girls, the Miss Gracies, had opened a cantine at this
depot. Women have these cantines in all th