I went out the other day with Madame Marie to Versailles, _en auto_. I
wanted to see the little hospital that Anne Morgan and Bessie Marbury
have given out there. One of their pretty little houses is in the
charge of some gentle-faced sisters of charity, and out in the garden,
with the roses blooming and the sweet-scented hay being raked in great
piles, were sitting a lieutenant, convalescing, and his _commandant_,
who had come to see him, also wounded. Both men wore the Legion of
Honor on their breasts. They were talking about the campaign. The
lieutenant wore his _képi_ well down over his face; he was totally
blind for ever, at thirty! His interest in talking to his superior
officer was so great that you can fancy I only stopped a second to
speak to him. There were great scars on his hands and his face and neck
were scarred too. I heard him say, as I turned to walk away: "_J'aime
aussi causer des jours quand nous étions collégiens à Saint-Cyr. Ces
souvenirs sont plus doux._" It was terribly touching.