I have been out now, yesterday and to-day and am feeling finely. Here in Paris the "Y" has its own medical staff and all its workers are given the best of care. Out "in the field" we come under the army doctor's care. But I don't expect to need any such care. I have received my assignment which is Sémur, somewhere near Dijon. All I can find out about it is that there is _mud_ and that I "shall be on my own resources and initiative a good deal." They must have some confidence in me. Oh, I am so eager to get to work! It is wonderful to be in Paris just now, even though one must stay indoors. I find the French newspapers intensely interesting and read them from cover to cover. A truly lofty spirit runs through them all. The men who write the editorials are certainly spiritual leaders, public teachers and guides. I keep running across things I want to send to you just to show what an elevating force a newspaper can be. It is because they, with every other industry, have been working for the salvation of their country. And yet--Europe is blind. Never has there been such need for understanding of economics and Christian strength. Thank heaven, some of the leaders of the Peace Conference seem to possess both! Yesterday I passed one of the "mutilés de la guerre." He had no legs. He was propelling himself by his hands and arms in a sort of bicycle, crossing the street valiantly. A steamer rug decently wrapped around him concealed his deformity. He was in his uniform. The machine struck the curb and stopped. He could not force it over. How happy I was to be there for just that moment! I easily lifted him and helped him over. He thanked me with sweet French courtesy, and he went on, and I went on; but his gentle, thin, suffering face! One sees almost none of the terrible results of war in Paris. London was far, far worse. I am told that the French Government has provided other places for "les mutilés." Instead, all over Paris are sturdy bands of little "poilus," marching in their extremely _supple_ order. And many times a day squads of French cavalry go clattering under my window. The reserves are being demobilized and they are everywhere. Pouillenay, France, February 7, 1919. Dearest Family: If I have let more than a week go by since my last letter please forgive me. These have been days full of events, and in the brief intervals between events I have had to rest in order to keep a full supply of energy on tap for the occasion to come. When one is the only woman among some 1500 men, one must not slump. But I'll tell you all about it. On the Monday after I wrote you last, the doctor signed my release and things began to move. I was to go to Sémur, in Burgundy. I knew no more about it than that. Tuesday, at 2.30 I was to pull out of the Gâre de Lyons.