us leave before ten o'clock, but the good-byes took some time.
Presents were showered upon us, German dragees (shell heads
and pieces of shrapnel), and the real French dragees, the famous
sweet of Verdun.

We crept out of the city, but unfortunately at one of the dangerous
crossroads our chauffeur mistook the route. A heavy bombardment
was taking place and the French were replying. We were lucky enough
to get on to the route and into safety before any shell fell near us.
It appears that the Germans systematically bombard the roads
at night, hoping to destroy the camions bringing up the food for
the city, fresh munitions and men.

We slept that night at Bar-le-Duc, and next morning saw the
various ambulances and hospitals which the Service de Sante had
particularly requested me to visit. I was impressed by the splendid
organisation of the Red Cross even quite close to the firing line.




The Brown And Black Sons Of France



Passing through one tent hospital an Algerian called out to me:
"Ohe, la blonde, viens ici! J'ai quelque chose de beau a te
montrer." (Come here, fair girl, I have something pretty to show
you.) He was sitting up in bed, and, as I approached, unbuttoned
his bed-jacket and insisted on my examining the tag of his vest on