"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withdrawn thus--never uttering a murmur!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.
"You'd better come to Orleans where we can look after you."
"Sorry, but I've gone far enough south."
"_Alors au revoir et grand merci._"
"_Au revoir._"
And a second later I found myself outside in the chilly darkness.
For the first time in my life I had the sensation of being utterly
alone. No one on earth knew where I was and if I had not had faith in
Dr. Masbrennier's promise of a warm dinner, I should gladly have
indulged in a little fit of despair. And so I wandered on down the
dingy, black streets of Melun, where not a lamp post nor shop window was
lighted, not a human being seemed astir. Where was my little troupe?
How and when would we all meet?
Thus ruminating I came to a bridge. A sentry flashed a pocket lamp in
my face.
"_On ne passe pas!_"