lot of good if everyone tried such a mental drill for three minutes a

day.

A great depression hung over the Convent to-day--the men were quiet,

showing their consideration for the "_camarade_" as they always do.

Constant, who received internal injuries at Fort d'Embourg, is dying and

Augustin is worse. The latter's face has a gray-blue look and his poor

jaws are very stiff. But there is hope! Oh, yes, there is Hope in big

Jean's smile across the ward, as he follows us around with his great,

black eyes. One can find lots of sympathy in a "_Oui, Mademoiselle_," or

a "_Non, Mademoiselle_," (which is all he ever says) even when it has

nothing to do with the question.

Since the commandant has taken the auto we no longer go out. It is much

too complicated anyway, as one has to show a passport at every bridge

and corner. Every acre of land is infested with soldiers. It is

interesting, however, to see what they do and how they turn everything

to some use. Men are sent from Germany to repair railroads, build

bridges, put up telephones, institute food stations and to kill pigs and

wash the meat in porcelain bath tubs as we saw them do yesterday,

outside a free bath establishment near one of the factories. As we were

looking down on the road tonight, from a hill perhaps two hundred yards

away, we saw distinctly a column of soldiers in dark blue uniforms,

marching across country, and just behind them the ground seemed to

writhe and wriggle in a distressing manner. For a moment we could not

imagine what was happening, when soon a company of men in khaki began to

evolve itself from the landscape. Does that not prove the inestimable

value of earth-colored clothes? For as close as they were to us, we

could distinguish nothing.

This gray-green which the Germans wear is by far the best tone of khaki

that I have yet seen.

Soldiers are stripping the factories here of their fine machinery, but

one sort of chuckles in one's boots when he remembers that it was

originally bought in Germany and has not been paid for yet.

All day long, trains without ceasing were bringing back the wounded. We

do not know exactly where the fighting is, but probably near Charleroi.

A Baron de C. and his wife arrived here at ten P. M. from

Posen, one of the German provinces already taken by the Russians. Crazed

with anxiety, they are going in search of their son, who was wounded at

Namur, and have been three days in a military train--an excruciating

journey! At midnight, the soldiers and the _chef de cuisine_, who has

had his kitchen in the court, departed. Before going they sang softly

some of their songs and then the wagons, one by one, filed out of the

moonlight and were swallowed up in the shadows of the trees. I felt as

if the candle had been blown out for them.

_September 4th, Friday._

Monsieur J. came home today with bad news, though every day has its bad

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