The bombardment of Paris continued. One night the Brothers from the _Ecole Chrétienne_ came to ask us for conveyances and help, in order to collect the dead on the Châtillon Plateau. I let them have my two conveyances, and I went with them to the battlefield. Ah, what a horrible remembrance! It was like a scene from Dante! It was an icy cold night and we could scarcely get along. Finally, by the light of torches and lanterns we saw that we had arrived. I got out of the vehicle with the infirmary attendant and his assistant. We had to move slowly, as at every step we trod upon the dying or the dead. We passed along murmuring: “_Ambulance! Ambulance!_” When we heard a groan we turned our steps in the direction whence it came. Ah, the first man that I found in this way! He was half lying down, his body supported by a heap of dead. I raised my lantern to look at his face and found that his ear and part of his jaw had been blown off. Great clots of blood, coagulated by the cold, hung from his lower jaw. There was a wild look in his eyes. I took a wisp of straw, dipped it in my flask, drew up a few drops of brandy and blew them into the poor fellow’s mouth between his teeth. I repeated this three or four times. A little life then came back to him and we took him away in one of the vehicles. The same thing was done for the others. Some of them could drink from the flask, which made our work shorter. One of these unfortunate men was frightful to look at. A shell had taken all the clothes from the upper part of his body, with the exception of two ragged sleeves, which hung from the arms at the shoulders. There was no trace of a wound, but his poor body was marked all over with great black patches, and the blood was oozing slowly from the corners of his mouth. I went nearer to him, for it seemed to me that he was breathing. I had a few drops of the vivifying cordial given to him, and he then half opened his eyes and said: “Thank you.” He was lifted into the conveyance, but the poor fellow died from a hemorrhage, covering all the other wounded men with a stream of dark blood. Daylight gradually began to appear, a misty, dull dawn. The lanterns had burned out, but we could now distinguish each other. There were about a hundred persons there: Sisters of Charity, military and civil men-nurses, the Brothers from the _Ecole Chrétienne_, other priests and a few ladies who like myself had given themselves up, heart and soul, to the service of the wounded. The sight was still more dismal by daylight, for all that the night had hidden in its shadows appeared then in the tardy, wan light of that January morning. There were so many wounded that it was impossible to transport them all, and I sobbed at the thought of my helplessness. Other vehicles kept arriving, but there were so many wounded, so very many. Many of those who had only slight wounds had died of cold.