Here, there and everywhere he is needed, is Monsieur F., whose great, dark eyes are acquainted with pain; he is a frail, little person and the substantial man of the village, a living paradox. Just when Monsieur R. announces--dramatically waving his spatula--that that is the last ounce of boric ointment and no more peroxide in the cupboard and we are raving around and denouncing the pharmacist, Monsieur F. steps up and inquires what the trouble is, knowing full well the difficulty and also "his moment," wise man that he is. While we are swamping the situation with words, he quietly dispatches a boy to his house, who quickly reappears with huge bottles of this and that. Oh, blessed Monsieur F., who long since had made a corner in peroxide and everything else we shall need until after the war. But the despair of the moment, the heat and three, long hours of unremitting "dressings" effect a faintness of soul and a "queer" feeling we did not realize was there, until that dear, roly-poly _Soeur Anastasie_ appears with a bottle of red wine, half concealed under her cape, and with a motherly, "_Ça vous fera du bien_," (that will do you good) pours us out a generous glassful. That puts the blue in the sky again and keeps the shafts of golden sunshine from creating zigzag patterns in our brain. Oh, Shades of my New England Ancestors! Would you say, "Better to slip down in a swoon?"--and give everybody a lot of trouble-- _August 27th, Thursday._ Madame de H. and I again went to Liége early this morning about her passports. The hotels and cafés were just seething humanity, beds improvised in every corner, and I saw officers paying their hotel bills with cheques and notes. The poor proprietor blinked and swallowed hard for a moment and said nothing. The city was literally packed with troops going in all directions. _Uhlans_, _chasseurs_, artillery and the infantry, singing and executing that foolish-looking goose-step--it probably has its advantages, but at eight A. M. in the pouring rain it did appear ridiculous. In the afternoon we took a walk into the country, following the railroad. The soldiers were working everywhere, putting up temporary buildings for any emergency. We saw one of those open dining halls--only three walls with a shed roof where a regiment can step out of a train to eat while another jumps quickly in and no time lost. We passed the lovely château of the Marquis de T. who is Minister Plenipotentiary from Costa Rica. Of course, this is neutral property and flies a neutral flag, but the place is filled with officers and, according to the _maitre d'hotel_, the wine cellar is undergoing a thorough inventory. _August 28th, Friday._