So far no orders have been received from the Sanitary Service assigning wounded to either branch. We are obliged to wait for these orders. Each annex has its staff appointed. Quincy is not entirely fitted up. Pont-aux-Dames is organized, and the branch at the station is already at work. Trains keep rushing to the Eastern frontier in an endless procession. The roar is incessant, especially at night, and a dismal sound it is. Refugees in even greater numbers throng the roads. The towns on the other side of the Marne are beginning to be evacuated. It is a desolate sight. Old people manage with difficulty to keep their balance on carts piled high with household goods and fodder. Young women walk, carrying little ones whose eyes are wide with fatigue and fright at all this commotion. Carts follow carts, crowded close together in one long line. They come from Liège, from Namur, from our invaded regions of the North! [Illustration: Terrace of the Actors' Home at Couilly, established by Coquelin, who died here] In the midst of all these people in vehicles and on foot, terrified cattle jostle each other. Some that were in leading have broken loose; others, still tied, cannot keep up, and let themselves be dragged along. Sheep and cows run about the fields or simply stop where they are and begin to graze. As a result of the increasing difficulty in taking their cattle with them, peasants dispose of them for almost nothing: a cow, forty francs. The hospital at Quincy, though it cannot be of service to the wounded, will at least, while waiting for them, have cared for the unfortunate refugees. It is distributing soup to three hundred people daily, as well as milk and other food and drink. Tired women stop there to rest a little before resuming their sad journey to the unknown. They all have a tale of horror to tell--barbarous acts committed by the Germans in the homes these people are fleeing from--acts so terrible that it is almost impossible to believe them. One man tells us that a young boy in his family had both hands cut off by these wretches. "This child," he said, "must have been taken along this road. We started out together, but I was so tired and hungry that I stopped to rest, and got separated from the others. The Boches have destroyed everything I possessed." (I have made inquiries. People tell me they saw at the Couilly bridge a little boy of about seven with both arms wrapped in bandages.) Supplies of food at the hospital are beginning to give out. The town-crier is sent out to make an appeal to the generosity of the citizens, and once more the kitchen is filled with food. The town-crier, in conformance with instructions from the Prefect, orders the civil population to carry to the town hall any arms they may have in their possession. Everyone hastens to comply. In their panic, people even carry the ancient arms of their panoplies.