But personally I am sure that that watch is now on its way to Le Mans, en route for the States. Was there ever anything more wretchedly embarrassing? Conflans, March 27. This is a curious world. Six “Relief Trains” pass through here every day bound east, loaded with food for Germany. Meanwhile in the little half-ruined hamlets within a stone’s throw of the tracks the French villagers, for whom no provision has been made, are famine-stricken. Lieutenant A. came in from the little town of Pierrefond which lies between Conflans and Verdun yesterday. “They have nothing to eat there,” he told me, “but the weeds they dig up in the fields for _salade_ and the frogs they catch in the marshes. When the days are cold the frogs bury themselves so deep in the mud that they can’t be caught. There is one old gentleman who told me today that he had existed for weeks entirely on a diet of turnips. They come to me and beg pitifully for a bite of something from the mess-kitchen, but I don’t dare let them have it, as that would be, of course, strictly against regulations.” I thought of those bushels of beans in the store-house. It was taking a chance of course, because after all it was government property and nothing else, but I told the Lieutenant that if he was willing to run the risk, I was; then I put it up to the Chief. This morning the Lieutenant came in with a flivver. We drove over to the store-house and loaded it up with army beans, issue coffee, sugar, rice, onions, potatoes and soap. Then we filled a special sack with canned soup, “gold fish,” corn meal, canned tomatoes and corn syrup for the old gentleman who had lived on turnips. I felt he had a special claim on our sympathy. We reached Pierrefond after a long drive in a stinging rain. It was a quaint pathetic village with a pretty little church whose tower had been sliced off as neatly as by a knife. Was it a German or a French shell which had done it, I wondered. We drew up in front of the Mayor’s house. He came out to greet us, showed me a list of the seventy-three inhabitants of the town; men, women and infants in arms. All the supplies were to be duly weighed and measured and distributed, so much per capita. While they were unloading the flivver we stopped in at Madame C.’s for coffee and compliments, and to dry out by her hospitable fire. Everyone made pretty speeches, of course, and Madame bestowed on me a delectable bouquet of wall-flowers and daffodils. Poor things! It’s little enough one can do for them. This will keep the wolf from the door for a short while perhaps, but after that, what then? Pierrefond, like Conflans, was occupied by the Germans for four years. Now there is a young half-German population growing up, even as many as three to one family. The villagers accept the situation with tolerant humour; “Souvenirs Boches,” they call the children.