We are at table. Major Peigné presides at breakfast of the officers of the 19th Company, 2nd Battalion. The subjects of conversation which recur each day in a sappers' kitchen have been exhausted: progress of work along the sector, effect of the last bombardment, news of the absent ones, criticism of work accomplished by the soldiers, next _permissions_;[7] then we take up the eternal question, the only one which counts, assuredly, woman. There have been many weeks in which not a one of us has seen a woman's petticoat, not a one, I swear it! To be in this cursed city of Nieuport is not an enviable "visit at the seashore"--the enemy systematically persists in destroying it: the Casino, the villas and the approaches to the pier are completely torn to pieces. Can you imagine a woman in such a place? Stories of woman, adventures of woman, anecdotes of woman, serve as topics of conversations. "When you haven't the object of your desires," said a profound philosopher, "you speak of it." The conversation became general again, when, all at once, Lieutenant Divisia silenced us with a finger before him. No, it was impossible to be deceived, my word upon it, a woman's voice was heard in the next room! Had a 420 fallen in the midst of us, the silence could not have been more impressive--of course realizing that it would have flattened us like pancakes. But, quickly and with remarkable unison, we arose quietly with the same intention---- Yet, with an energetic gesture, Major Peigné, who never lost a bet, stopped us and made for the door. "Remain here," he said, "I will see what it is!" He entered the room at the side, nimbly closing the door after him. It was very malicious! We looked at each other with stupor and regret. Then we cautiously approached the crack in the boards that separated the two spaces. It was, in effect, a woman, a young woman deliciously beautiful, I assure you--an indelible vision in this terrible, stricken little city. Lady Dorothy, with her pretty khaki costume, appeared before us for the first time! She had the air of a warlike Amazon which became her perfectly, and, at first sight, we all had fallen in love with her---- She was engaged in a lengthy conversation with our corporal-secretary to whom she had been sent to do her bit among the soldiers, all unknown to us. We all thought: "Little Lady Dorothy, the gold of your blonde hair which we see through the slit in the partition is as precious a bit as that you are offering to our corporal----" After that we saw several times the fugitive vision of this angel with the blonde locks searching among the ruins for our wounded. She drove her own automobile with a steady hand, with enemy shells breaking around her, vainly seeking to blow her to bits. THE CONSCIENTIOUS POILU, BEFORE ST. GEORGES. _May_, 1915.