I am sure that no hospital ever had nicer patients than ours were. The
French patients, though all severely wounded and prisoners in the hands
of the Germans, bore their troubles cheerfully, even gaily. We had a
great variety of regiments represented in the hospital: Tirailleurs,
Zouaves, one Turco from Algeria--our big good-natured Adolphe--soldiers
from Paris, from Brittany and from Normandy, especially from Calvados.
The German soldiers, too, behaved quite well, and were very grateful for
everything done for them--mercifully we had no officers. We had not
separate rooms for them--French and German soldiers lay side by side in
the public wards.

One of the most harrowing things during that time was the way all the
Belgians were watching for the English troops to deliver them from the
yoke of their oppressor. Every day, many times a day, when German rules
got more and more stringent and autocratic, and fresh tales of
unnecessary harshness and cruelty were circulated, they would say over
and over again, "Where are the English? If only the English would come!"
Later they got more bitter and we heard, "Why don't the English come and
help us as they promised? If only the English would come, it would be
all right." And so on, till I almost felt as if I could not bear it any
longer. One morning some one came in and said English soldiers had been
seen ten kilometres away. We heard the sound of distant cannon in a new
direction, and watched and waited, hoping to see the English ride in.
But some one must have mistaken the German khaki for ours, for no
English were ever near that place. There was no news of what was really
happening in the country, no newspapers ever got through, and we had
nothing to go upon but the German _affiches_ proclaiming victories
everywhere, the German trains garlanded with laurels and faded roses,
marked "Destination--Paris," and the large batches of French prisoners