I tell him that the arrangement has been made with the Commandant's consent, and I repeat firmly that he is to get into his car this minute and drive to the Couvent de Saint Pierre. He says he does not know where the Convent is. It may be anywhere. I tell him where it is, and he says again he hasn't got orders. I stand over him and with savage and violent determination I say: "You've got them _now_!" And, actually, Tom obeys. He says, "_All_ right, all right, all right," very fast, and humps his shoulders and slouches off to his car. He cranks it up with less vehemence than I have yet known him bring to the starting of any car. We get in. Then, and not till then, I am placable. I say: "You see, Tom, it wouldn't do to leave that lady and three British wounded behind, would it?" What he says about orders then is purely by way of apology. Regardless of my instructions, he does what I did and dashes up the wrong boulevard as if the Germans were even now marching into the _Place_ behind him. But he works round somehow and we arrive. They are all there, ready and waiting. And the Mother Superior and two of her nuns are in the corridor. They bring out glasses of hot milk for everybody. They are so gentle and so kind that I recall with agony my impatience when I rang at their gate. Even familiar French words desert me in this crisis, and I implore Miss Ashley-Smith to convey my regrets for my rudeness. Their only answer is to smile and press hot milk on me. I am glad of it, for I have been so absorbed in the drama of preparation that I have entirely forgotten to eat anything since lunch. The wounded are brought along the passage. We help them into the ambulance. Two, Williams and ----, are only slightly wounded; they can sit up all the way. But the third, Fisher, is wounded in the head. Sometimes he is delirious and must be looked after. A fourth man is dying and must be left behind. Then we say good-bye to the nuns. The other ambulance cars are drawn up in the _Place_ before the "Flandria," waiting. For the first time I hate the sight of them. This feeling is inexplicable but profound. We arrange for the final disposal of the wounded in one of the new Daimlers, where they can all lie down. Mrs. Torrence comes out and helps us. The Commandant is not there yet. Dr. Haynes and Dr. Bird pack Dr. ---- away well inside the car. They are very quiet and very firm and refuse to travel otherwise than together. Mrs. Torrence goes with the wounded. I go into the Hospital and upstairs to our quarters to see if anything has been left behind. If I can find Marie we must take her. There is room, after all. But Marie is nowhere to be seen. Nobody is to be seen but the Belgian night nurses on duty, watching, one on each landing at the entrance to her corridor. They smile at me gravely and sadly as they say good-bye.