Rheims seems to be suffering particularly just now. Every day a list of the houses ruined by shells or fire is posted downtown, and the poor refugees go and stand and read whether "theirs" is gone yet. It seems to be only a question of time before it will be a completely destroyed city. All the soldiers and officers say that Verdun was bloody, but this last month's defensive is twice as severe. Both sides are evidently losing frightfully. In a great many ways I am glad that I am in Paris, and not London. I believe that we will be able to outlast the English in many ways--food and soldiers. Coal seems to be the greatest lack just now, and yet as a whole there seems to be enough. The new meat regulation amounts to very little. Few poor people ever ate meat at night, and those who want to simply buy enough in the morning. I was at the Ritz the other day seeing Roxy Bowen that was,--now Mrs. W. Stephen Van Rensselaer,--and on her way to Rome with the Honorable Stephen. They came via the Spanish line, and I gathered that the voyage left much to be desired. Among the tales she told (most of which needed a little salt, I imagine), was one of an egg dropped in the corridor and not cleaned up during the whole trip! She was the only American aboard. Personally I think I should prefer the submarines and the French line. I started to say that everything seemed very normal at the Ritz, only we could not have cake with our tea, it being Tuesday. Of course, it was just my usual luck to be asked to tea at the Ritz on a cakeless day! I have been told several times that more chocolates have been sold this last year than any time during the last ten years--think of it! Of course, a tremendous amount is sent to the front. It is a favorite thing to send, but even with that taken into consideration, it seems odd, doesn't it? Speaking of sending to the front, I have taken on a Serbian soldier as a partial filleul, on the condition that I don't have to write him. I send him monthly packages, but anonymously,--as Rootie said, "Regular Daddy-Long-Legs stuff"! I have seen so many foolish--and sometimes worse than that--letters from these filleuls to their marraines that I have been scared off. But I couldn't bear to have him starve to death. His name not only is not Hippolyte, but is utterly unpronounceable--sneeze twice, cough, and end with "sky," and you are as near it as I ever have been! Paris, Thursday.