Another shift of scene. Oh, what a change it is! Back to Paris! back to the world, some might say, but--deserted by my family who are now joyously on the water going home. Gone are those happy, remarkable days in darling Pouillenay, gone my beloved Battalion of khaki-clad boys, and left behind is the peaceful, beautiful countryside of the Côte d'Or with its white cattle on the green hills, its ducks and its chickens, its skylarks, and its dear population in sabots. It has been impossible to send you anything but postal cards the last few weeks because I have been so busy. Also the 78th's post office was disorganized owing to preparations for moving, so I must go back a long way if I am to give you any idea of what has been happening. Let's see. The day before Easter the sun came out. Sergeant R. and I went out to gather flowers for Easter decorations for the tent. The fields were covered, fairly sparkling, with little yellow primroses too pretty for words. And in the wet places were masses of delicate lavender flowers. Brooks gurgling, sprays of wild fruit blossoms in the hedges, everything juicy and green and radiant. After weeks of rain the sun had actually broken forth to glorify it all. We filled baskets with a feathery mixture of gold and lavender, this sweet-natured, devoted boy and myself, and we had a good time. The next morning, Easter Day, I was up very early, and by breakfast time the tent was a perfect bower of flowers. It was really lovely. And the surprise and pleasure of the boys! "Seems as though we was back home!" "I forgot all about its being Easter!" "Say, I never thought we could _have_ Easter in France!" And one boy who kept hanging round all day taking it all in, said, "What'd you go to all that trouble for? It's no use doing that over here." Yet he was back every morning to watch me arrange the flowers, for I kept them always in the tent after that, and the little French children would bring me fresh ones.