About two o'clock this afternoon French soldiers marched past in the direction of the Ourcq. In the ambulance of the 115th regiment lay a poor boy suffering with dysentery. They could not take him farther, so he was left at Quincy, where he died a few days later in terrible agony. He is to be buried in the Quincy cemetery. It was just as I thought. There _were_ wounded men who succeeded in dragging themselves to the banks of the Marne. Sister Jules was summoned to dress the wounds of two Moroccan sharp-shooters who managed to crawl along by the river until they were opposite the village of Condé. There they were seen and picked up. The only horse and carriage left anywhere about was sent to Pont-aux-Dames to fetch Sister Jules. She was going through deserted Couilly when a military automobile, driven by two officers, came by and stopped. "Where are you going?" asked one of the officers in surprise. "There are wounded soldiers in Condé. I am carrying dressings for one of them and cupping-glasses for the other, who has difficulty in breathing." "Leave your carriage, Sister, and get into our automobile. We will have you there in five minutes." Sister Jules accepted readily, thanking Heaven for sending her the means to reach more quickly the bedside of those who needed her care. When she began working over her two wounded men, one of them showed her triumphantly a bullet he had just taken out of his foot himself! The man speaks French a little. Hussars on patrol on the hill at Montpichet have killed Bavarian soldiers, they say. A young Boche is brought to Pont-aux-Dames. He is wounded rather seriously, but he appears to be suffering more from fright than from pain. His fears do not subside until he sees the kind face of Sister Jules bending over him. Our hospital--the annex at Pont-aux-Dames, which is only semi-official--is installed in a wing of the house of the great comedian, Coquelin, alongside the wing where aged actors have their home. Among the retired actors who are there at this moment are Messieurs Monti, Gravier, Didier, Victor Gay, Mesdames Clarence, Antonia Laurent, Marie Georges, and the director, Monsieur Hervouet. They are all presided over by their dean, Angèle Desraux, ninety-five years old, whom they call "grandmother." All these good people were much frightened last Sunday by seeing Bavarians go by. They were in their dining-room when they saw them pass. The pointed helmets, sixteen of them, showed above the sash curtains. [Illustration: Tomb of Coquelin in the park of the Actors' Home at Couilly _Qu'il dorme dans ce beau jardin ses vieux comédiens le gardent._--Rostand]