I have been out with Agathe, the maid at the Vestiaire, almost every afternoon, sending off packages, and then later returning Mrs. S. to Neuilly. She stayed out there all the time with Gertrude, sleeping in a horrid little hotel where there was no heating, but she got comfort from being with Gertrude in the afternoons and evenings. By the time I got the office work done, and did some chores and extra leaving and calling for bundles, I found that it was after seven before I put the car finally to bed, covered up and locked up, with the precious bidons of essence standing in tidy rows behind the car. Then letter-writing in the evenings, and making reports, extra typing for Mrs. Newson, and all the hundred and one things that come up every day, reading and listening to Rootie play,--which she does so very wonderfully,--this was getting to be too long a day, so I have cut it out. Monday was my last day to go for Mrs. S., as she brought Gertrude in yesterday. Just think, only eight days from the operation. I hope that they are not going to let her do too much, but I do not believe that they will. Yesterday I was a little tired, anyway, and had a headache, and I was told to take a Mrs. Jackson, one of the workers, off for all day in the car, calling, as usual. I had no idea where I was going, or what I was going to do, but I was given the address and told that it was an all-day job--lunching with Mrs. J. too. I adore Mrs. J., she is such a sport, and, like all the rest of the people over here, has been so good to me. I got lost on the way to her house. I never saw such an elusive street. I swear it moved on the map, while I was watching out for taxis. You have no idea what sport it is trying to find one's way about Paris with a map in one hand and driving with the other. Fortunately, my sense of direction is fairly good, and after a time I arrived on the street--going in the wrong direction, of course. If any one can tell me the French system of numbering their streets, I would be obliged.