Our poor wounded French soldiers were not forgotten. By this time things were arranged better; nearly all had beds now, some even sheets. And this was due to the unflagging devotion of three priests attached to the ambulance as infirmarians. They certainly preached to us a silent sermon of self-forgetfulness and heroic charity; and our greatest pleasure was to hear them relate all they had gone through since the War broke out. In the French army alone, 40,000 priests mixed with the common soldiers, the greater number being combatants. The brave wounded also gave us many a lesson, never finding fault with anything, never complaining of their dreadful wounds. And yet how horribly some of them were mutilated! A great number were obliged to have an arm or leg amputated--one had his lower jaw carried away--another, his whole face from below the eyes. Most of them were wounded in the head, which made them suffer dreadfully, some even being delirious. There were some who belonged to the highest aristocracy--Counts and Barons were there, lying on straw or hard stretchers; others again were quite young, only twenty or twenty-one. Yet all were patient, all courageous, all _sure_ that in the end the Allies would win, and the Germans be defeated. The unfortunate victims who died of their wounds were carried out to a little hut or tent erected in the garden. As we passed by, we would lift up the curtain which hid them from view, and say a ‘De profundis’ for the repose of their souls. Sometimes as many as eleven or twelve lay there, awaiting the coffins which could not be made quickly enough. One poor Zouave, who had probably been dead some time before it was found out, lay there with his arms uplifted, as though he still held the gun, with which he would, even in death, lay low his enemy. But we cannot do better than take from the notes of Dame Teresa, who was so devoted in visiting the ambulance:--