With woman sympathy, this famous writer has seen the terrible drama and the amusing little human touches of the Great War.
uge man, in the uniform of a colonel of the Belgian Army, with a great military cape, he seemed to fill and dominate the little room.
They conferred together in rapid French.
"Where do you wish to go?" I was asked.
"Hospitals are not always cheerful to visit."
"I am a graduate of a hospital training-school. Also a member of the American Red Cross."
They conferred again.
"Madame will not always be comfortable--over there."
"I don't want to be comfortable," I said bravely.
Another conference. The idea was a new one; it took some mental readjustment. But their cause was just, and mingled with their desire to let America know what they were doing was a justifiable pride. They knew what I was to find out--that one of the finest hospitals in the world, as to organisation, equipment and results, was situated almost under the guns of devastated Nieuport, so close that the roar of artillery is always in one's ears.
I had expected delay