I am perfectly sure that the chauffeur never drove so fast in all his life before; he just whizzed out of Paris with us panting at his rear! Once out of the city, I balked and slowed down to a comfortable gait, which gave me a chance to listen to Mrs. W----'s flow of words in my ear, and enjoy the country. I could hardly believe at this stage of the game that I was really on my way to the front. We had two punctures, but, as I was carrying two extra rims, they did not bother much. Of course, the ladies thought I was "so clever" to be able to change a tire! I wonder what they expected--that I would stay by the side of the road all night with a puncture? We arrived at Compiègne at about 6.30, and found an excellent hotel. The arrangement of rooms amused me a little, for I found that they had reserved two chauffeurs' rooms! Although the other one is a most superior being, having driven Edward VII during his stay in Paris, still I thought I preferred the hotel to the garage to sleep in, and so made my own arrangements! King Edward, as we called him, was very nice, and mended my two punctures for me, after taking me to the military field to get my gas for my trip. For once in my life, I had all the gas I wanted offered me, and did not have to pay for it! I can tell you, I took all that she would hold, and then filled five empty bidons which I had, fortunately, brought with me. We had a delightful dinner, and I for one turned in early, for I imagined that the next day would be a tiring one. The next morning was cloudy, but not rainy, and we started off at nine o'clock for Noyon, which is the headquarters for such trips as ours. We went via Bailly, where we saw our first trenches. Also No Man's Land, of Mary Roberts Rinehart fame: the first really famous battlefield. We stopped and walked through long communication trenches, now partially filled up, all muddy and full of cobwebs and dead rats. It seemed strange to think that only last March there was fighting in those trenches, and now they are cobwebbed and falling to pieces. The officers' dug-outs along the side of the roads, all of which have been first in French hands, then German, and now French, were particularly interesting. Each one was different; some had regular windows with pathetic attempts at curtains, some were quite palatial, others were filled with water, and all wore a deserted and much-fought-over air. The miles and miles of barbed-wire entanglements, with corresponding miles of twisty-turny trenches, screens of boughs, wire with grass tied on it, and burlap curtains, showed us quite distinctly where the original French lines were and the Boche. The land in between is now quite dry, and does not look like a lake, but like an ordinary field, criss-crossed with low barbed-wire entanglements. Here and there a grave, mostly French. We walked along the roadway, and stopped to look at a ruined farm; the buildings of cement were all