“Can I do anything for you, doctor?”

Not in the least surprised by my audacity he asked, “Are you a nurse?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen an operation.”

“Yes.”

I lied.

“Have you a good temperament?”

“Yes.”

“Then come over here and hold this basin.”  I obeyed, and then Doctor Jean Masbrennier began a series of operations which will remain graven in my memory forever.

As he worked he talked—­and informed me that the Red Cross Society had been hastily evacuated in the morning, doctors and all.  Only those who were unable to be moved had been left behind, and only two civilian doctors were left to attend them.  But one nurse remained to do all the bandaging.  That was why I had been rung into service.  It took but little time to find a mutual acquaintance in the person of Elizabeth Gauthier, and the doctor had long been familiar with H.’s work.

It would be useless to describe the horrors that I witnessed, or try to do justice to the heroic way those first glorious wounded of this lengthy war accepted their fate.  I cannot, however, resist mentioning the endurance of a big black Senegalais, who won the admiration of both doctors and neighbors by refusing morphine or cocaine, and insisting on having the seven bullets that were lodged in his neck and throat withdrawn thus—­never uttering a murmur!

When it was over, and we finally laid him back on his pillow, the tears were rolling down his cheeks and he squeezed my hand in his big black paw and then gently drew it to his lips.

How many wounded were there?  I did not count.  All I remember was that I promised to come the next day and write letters to wives, mothers and sweethearts of at least a dozen men and boys.

It was late when the last basin was emptied and Dr. Masbrennier untied his apron.

As we were washing up, I asked if he would be good enough to guide me out of the hospital and tell me where there was a respectable restaurant to which a woman might go alone.

“I have neither hat, coat, nor gloves.  They’re coming in the carts.”

“That’s so; perhaps you haven’t had anything since lunch and I’ve been making you work on an empty stomach!”

“Worse than that!” I laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing since breakfast at Jouy-le-Chatel.”

“Good God, woman!” And taking me by the arm, he hurried me down the hall.

As we passed out of the entrance door, a superior officer stopped Dr. Masbrennier and though I advanced out of earshot the words, “evacuation” and “to-night” were distinctly audible.  A second later my companion caught up with me.

“So sorry I can’t accompany you, but the whole hospital goes to Orleans immediately.  Must make room for the new-comers!  I’ll ’phone home.  The gouvernante will make you comfortable.”  And he continued to give me explicit directions how to reach his house.