From Triancourt we went straight to the Headquarters of General Nivelle. They had just brought him the maps rectified to mark the French advance. The advance had been made whilst we were standing on the terrace at Verdun the night before. We had seen the rockets sent up, requesting a "tir de barrage" (curtain of fire). The 75's had replied at once and the French had been able to carry out the operation. Good news had also come in from the Somme, and General Nivelle did not hesitate to express his admiration for the British soldiers. He said that there was no need to praise the first troops sent by Britain to France, every one knew their value, but it should be a great satisfaction to Britain to find that the new army was living up to the traditions of the old army. He added: "We can describe the new Army of Britain in two words: Ca mord--it bites." The Father of his own men, it is not surprising that General Nivelle finds a warm corner in his heart for the British Tommy, since his Mother was an Englishwoman. At lunch General Nivelle and the members of his staff asked many questions as to the work of the Scottish Women's Hospitals. I told them that what appealed to us most in our French patients was the perfect discipline and the gratitude of the men. We are all women in the Hospitals, and the men might take advantage of this fact to show want of discipline, but we never had to complain of lack of obedience. These soldiers of France may some of them before the war have been just rough peasants, eating, drinking, and sleeping; even having thoughts not akin to knighthood, but now, through the ordeal of blood and fire, each one of them has won his spurs and come out a chivalrous knight, and they bring their chivalry right into the hospitals with them. We had also learned to love them for their kindness to one another. When new wounded are brought in and the lights are low in the hospital wards, cautiously watching if the Nurse is looking (luckily Nurses have a way of not seeing everything), one of the convalescents will creep from his bed to the side of the new arrival and ask the inevitable question: "D'ou viens-tu?" (Where do you come from?) "I come from Toulouse," replies the man. "Ah," says the enquirer, "my wife's Grandmother had a cousin who lived near Toulouse." That is quite a sufficient basis for a friendship. The convalescent sits by the bedside of his new comrade, holding the man's hand, whilst his wounds are being dressed, telling him he knows of the pain, that he, too, has suffered, and that soon all will be well.