The hotel is discreet and clean, _avec un petit air_. It has been a good house of the good epoch, and over each window are diverse and charming eighteenth-century _motifs_ in gray stone. _6.30 p.m._ Just home from Vitrimont in a blinding blaze of sun, in a motor driven by E. M., and bearing in large letters the words “Commission Californienne pour la Reconstruction des Villages Dévastés,” a sort of “open sesame,” and everywhere bayonets were lowered to let us pass. Nerves a-quiver with another day’s impressions. Tried lying down, but it didn’t go, so I am in an arm-chair looking out of my Lorraine window in full eighteenth century as regards setting, but with a very definite tide of twentieth-century warfare sweeping through it all. Meant to go to church, where there are special prayers to be offered up, at Benediction, for the needs of Lorraine, but, though the spirit was willing, the rest of me was like lead after the hot, full day and two hours in one spot too tempting. This morning, before I was dressed, E. M. and Mrs. C. P., also staying in the hotel, appeared, so I hastily harnessed up for the day and sallied forth with them. We went first to the charming old house of Mlle. Guérin, and, going in through a wide hallway, stepped out into a large garden, where, under some trees, several ladies were sitting, one of them Madame Saint-R. T. We embraced cordially, in the very evident fulfilment of destiny. Madame Saint-R. T. was reading Pierre Boyé’s _Cour de Lunéville_, which I matched with Gaston Maugras’s, and then I looked about me. The house, gray and long and low, was, until a hundred years ago, a Capuchin monastery, when it came into the hands of Mlle. Guérin’s family. There are old linden-trees in the garden, and some tall cedars and roses not doing very well; and masses of canterbury-bells and geraniums. At one end of the garden, against the wall, is an ancient statue of the Virgin, dark, moss-grown, against still darker walls; we placed the flowers we had gathered on her breast and in the hands of the Child. _Avions_ were humming above in the perfect sky, and against the faultless blue was a very white crescent moon just discernible.