At 11.30 we got into the comfortable motor Madame Fould sent to bring us to Jean d’Heurs’ for lunch. It’s a beautiful old château of the eighteenth century, given by Napoleon to the Maréchal Oudinot, and in the Fould family since those days, though not lived in until the war by the present generation. It made us feel quite like “folks” as a side-whiskered, highly respectable, rather aged majordomo received us and led us up a broad stairway and showed us into a big library where Madame Fould, her seven _infirmières_, and a young officer were waiting. After that, a perfect lunch in the way of each thing being of the freshest and most delicate and tasting of itself. The young officer was recovering from a wound received at Verdun last September, followed by a trepanning, evidently highly successful, as, in addition to all his senses, he had a thick mat of hair. The library, to which we returned for coffee, was lined with the most precious books in the most precious bindings, one whole side containing first editions only from Voltaire and J.-J. Rousseau to Châteaubriand and Taine. And I ran my fingers with such a friendly feeling over some soft and lustrous bindings. The vast spaces of the château are now made into wards, and relays of several hundred men are cared for in them. White hospital beds are pushed against elaborately frescoed walls and Empire gildings. Everything in spotless order. Afterward we went out into the beautiful old park, where convalescent men were sitting or lying about under the great trees. The park is now closed to visitors, the fair sex from neighboring villages having been too generous in their offerings on the altar of Priapus. It’s a lovely spot, and Madame Fould has had her hospital going since the beginning of the war. At two o’clock we motored into Revigny, accompanied by the handsome young trepanned officer, who deposited us at the military headquarters for the stamping of our safe-conducts. Mrs. C. P., who can put her head through a stone wall, without injuring it, as neatly as any one I ever saw, proceeded to perform the feat, with the result that the major in command gave us all permission for the next _étape_, Châlons. Then Mrs. C. P.’s young son, serving with the American Ambulance, met us, motoring over from Z——; a friend came with him, originally from Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, rather discouraged at the quiet of the _secteur_ in which he was stationed. But all he has to do is to wait. Everybody at the front eventually gets what’s “coming to him.” Mrs. C. P.’s boy had on his _Croix de Guerre_, got for fearless ambulance work at Verdun during one of the big attacks.