I denied my old calling without the quiver of an eyelash. I hadn't a scruple. Besides, my old profession many a time failed me, and it might have been dangerous to have been known as even an ex- journalist today within the zone of military operations. Upon that followed a series of the most intimate questions anyone ever dared put to me,--my income, my resources, my expectations, my plans, etc.--and all sorts of questions I too rarely put to myself even, and never answer to myself. Practically the only question they did not ask was if I ever intended to marry. I was tempted to volunteer that information, but, as neither man had the smallest sense of humor, I decided it was wiser to let well enough alone. It was only when they were stumped for another single question that they decided to go. They saluted me politely this time, a tribute I imagine to my having kept my temper under great provocation to lose it, went out of the gate, stood whispering together a few minutes, and gazing back at the house, as if afraid they would forget it, looked up at the plaque on the gate-post, made a note, mounted their wheels, and sprinted down the hill, still in earnest conversation. I wondered what they were saying to one another. Whatever it was, I got an order early the next morning to present myself at the gendarmerie at Esbly before eleven o'clock. Père was angry. He seemed to feel, that, for some reason, I was under suspicion, and that it was a man's business to defend me. So, when Ninette brought my perambulator to the gate, there was Père, in his veston and casquette, determined to go with me and see me through. At Esbly I found a different sort of person--a gentleman--he told me he was not a gendarme by métier, but a volunteer--and, although he put me through practically the same paces, it was different. He was sympathetic, not averse to a joke, and, when it was over, he went out to help me into my baby cart, thanked me for troubling myself, assured me that I was absolutely en règle, and even went so very far as to say that he was pleased to have met me. So I suppose, until the commander at Esbly is changed, I shall be left in peace. This will give you a little idea of what it is like here. I suppose I needed to be shaken up a bit to make me realize that I was near the war. It is easy to forget it sometimes. Amélie came this morning with the tale that it was rumored that all foreigners were to be "expelled from the zone des armées." It might be. Still, I am not worrying. "Sufficient to the day," you know. XVI September 8, 1915 You have the date quite right. It is a year ago today--this very 8th of September--since I saw the French soldiers march away across the hill, over what we call the "Champs Madame"--no one knows why--on their way to the battle behind Meaux.