That evening this Lieutenant-Colonel said to me in a rough voice: "Some bread, my sister." "You haven't any bread?" I said. "You have burned our bakery and killed our baker in it. You have burned our butcher shop with our butcher in it. And now you have no bread and no meat. Eat potatoes as we have to." He was hit in the calf of the leg, but the leg bone was not touched, nor the femur; it was not a severe wound. He unrolled his bandage and showed me his treatment, assuming an air of pain. "Aie! Aie!" he cried. Ah! "They" are more soft (douillets) than our poor little French. I began to dress his leg. "It is terrible, my sister, this war. Terrible for you and for us also. If the French were the least bit intelligent, they would ask for peace at once. Belgium is ours. In three days we shall be at Paris." The bandage tightened on his wound. "Ah," he said. I replied to him: "It is your Kaiser who is the cause of all this." "Oh, no. Not the Kaiser. The Kaiser. Oh, the Kaiser." As he pronounced the word "Kaiser," he seemed to be letting something very good come out of his mouth, as if he were savoring it. The bandage went round once more. "Ah," he said. "It is then his son, the Crown Prince, who is responsible?" I continued. "Not at all. Not at all; it is France." "France is peace-loving," I replied. "It is Serbia, because the Austrian Archduke was killed by a Serbian." The 29th or 30th of the month shells fell occasionally over our roof. My famous wounded German was frightened. "My sister, I must be carried to the cellar at once." "There's no danger. The French never fire on the Red Cross," I said to him. "I am a poor wounded man. So carry me to the cellar." I gave in. I carried him to the cellar, and he stayed there some days. XII SISTER JULIE--CONTINUED During the days of fire and blood Sister Julie was acting mayor of Gerbéviller. It was no light job, for she had to steer an invading army away from her hospital of wounded men, and she was the source of courage for the village of peasants, who were being hunted and tortured. Many months have passed, and nothing is left of those days but crumbled stone and village graves and an everlasting memory. But she is still the soul of Gerbéviller. Pilgrims come to her from the provinces of France, and give her money for her poor and sick. The village still has need of her. I saw her with the woman whose aged mother was shot before her eyes, and with the mother whose little boy was murdered. She went on with her story: SISTER JULIE'S STORY As soon as the Germans came they began their work by taking hostages, the same number as that of the municipal councilors. They led them all away to the end of town by the bridge, on the road which leads to Rambervillers. A German passed, and when he saw them he shouted out: "See the flock of sheep. They are taking you away to be shot." And he pointed out to them with his fingers the place of their torment.