The sister in charge was a true daughter of the "Lady of the Lamp."
Provided they are really ill, she sympathises with all the grumblers,
but scolds them if they have reached the convalescent stage. She carries
a small book in which she enters imaginary good points to those who have
the tables by their beds tidy, and she pinned an invisible medal on the
chest of a convalescent who was helping to carry trays of food to his
comrades. She is indeed a General, saving men for France.

Not a man escaped her attention, and as we passed through the tents she
gave to each of her "chers enfants"--black or white--a cheering smile or
a kindly word. She did, however, whilst talking to us omit to salute a
Senegalais. Before she passed out of the tent he commenced to call after
her, "Toi pas gentille aujourd'hui--moi battre toi" ("You are not good
to me to-day--me beat you"). This, it appears, is his little joke--he
will never beat anyone again, since he lost both his arms when his
trench was blown up by a land mine.

It was at Triancourt that I first saw in operation the motor-cars that
had been sent out fitted with bath tubs for the troops, and also a very
fine car fitted up by the London Committee of the French Red Cross as a
moving dental hospital.

I regret to add that a _poilu_ near by disrespectfully referred to it as
"another of the horrors of war," adding that in times of peace there
was some kind of personal liberty, where as now "a man could not have
toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that there was no
possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you down by motor."

It was suggested that, as I had had a touch of toothache the night
before, I might take my place in the chair and give an example of