_October 4._—Another midnight scene—a strange spectacle of suffering and of science. As I stood on the crowded benches of the amphitheatre I heard the clock strike one, the holy noon of night. I wondered how long our sins would thus be fearfully visited upon us. The rain beat in torrents on the skylight, the wind shook the building, and I could look with intense interest on that rare and dangerous accident submitted to our investigation—lithotomy, the only way to save life; a tedious operation lasting, I should think, an hour, for in the hurry of midnight dressing I had forgotten my watch.... To-night I have been walking in the wood; the wind blows fresh under the clear starlight. I am happier now that my mind is clearly determined to leave at the end of six months, with the conviction that my work here is thoroughly done.... _October 30._—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon to present me with _my portrait_. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history of _sages-femmes célèbres_. This lady, about 1737, published a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison, where he was confined for debt. I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit, struggling with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is working bravely still. _A Sortie from La Maternité._ October 22.