I have a little "cabinet" with a wash-bowl and running water, and I have squeezed my trunk in, too. I don't mind being cramped, but it is fierce to invite any one in to take tea. Of course, if I had a divan or folding sofa instead of the Royal Couch, things would be simple. I have thought it over, and have hesitated less on account of the expense of buying one than the forfeiture of my one real source of comfort. I had Mrs. Bigelow and Mrs. Shurtleff and Miss Curtis and Miss Sturgis in one day for tea, and I had to sit on the bed and practically entertain through the bars. Mrs. Shurtleff is very anxious for me to get a sofa,--it's just impossible, of course, to let any of the Ambulance men come to call here,--but I don't know. I may get a little hanging bookcase. Just try, yourself, living without a bureau, a desk, a bookcase, or a rug, and see how screaming it is. This last week, I spent most of the time I was in the house sitting on a little hassock with my back to the radiator. It has been bitter cold, and we had three centimeters of snow, and there is hardly any coal. Mme. H---- doesn't turn on the electricity in the morning, and turns it off at 10.45 at night, and the heat goes off about 8.30, and we can't have fires in our rooms, and it is freezing. When I even mention these little inconveniences, I remind myself of the picture that came out in "Punch" about two years ago: a silly ass reading the newspaper and saying, "They've stopped the cinemas at Brighton, by Jove! That does bring the war home to one!" You should hear what my boys write to me about the cold in the trenches. Now for the wonder in my ménage--I have a piano. One day I left the house determined to get a mouth-organ if nothing else,--I had whistled and sung quite enough,--and I was such a pest in other people's houses, when I discovered their pianos, that I decided to do something desperate. I found a little piano-store on rue Denfert-Rochereau, with a little upright, and a darling blind piano-maker and his worried little wife--everything little. When I found that the upright (with brass candle-brackets) would be mine to command for twelve francs a month, I said, "Have it charged and sent," in my best Lord & Taylor style.