This horrible spectacle of misery, combined with the story of her relative's death, raised such hatred in her heart that, as she said, she must have shown too plainly what she felt, for, while passing in front of a cafe where some German officers were singing and feasting, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and she and her friend were arrested and taken to the guardhouse. When she demanded why they had been arrested the sergeant said: "because she had cast such a look of hatred at the officers in the cafe!" ("Un regard de hain.") For five hours they were left sitting in the guard-room, while soldiers came in and tried to laugh and talk to them. Finally the officer who had them arrested came in and tried to "jolly" them. When all his efforts were met with a frigid silence, he went to the phone. Fortunately for Yolande, as she understood his German orders, she immediately claimed her release as a Red Cross nurse. He would not listen at first, but an insistent appeal to the Military Governor on her part secured their freedom, and the two girls were turned out at two o'clock in the morning in the soldier-infested streets of Dinant; and, remember, this was at the height of the German invasion of Belgium, when the whole country lay at their mercy. Had she not understood German, it is doubtful if the girls would ever have been seen again! How she ever got back to Namur she never quite remembered, but this experience determined her to leave. After much wire-pulling and family influence, she obtained her passports, and, in company of a young wife and three small children, they made their way across Germany to Switzerland. Her perfect German accent and blond appearance helped them along, but when at last they crossed the frontier their hearts were too heavy for talk. They were safe, but at what a sacrifice. Safely arrived in Dinard, she immediately signed on "for the war," and became one of the most valuable and beloved nurses. She was so gentle and gracious, but still so firm and competent, she soon was given charge of a whole floor (65 men of all kinds and descriptions). I looked at her often in amazement. How that slender young woman could make those rough men obey her! She never raised her voice or lost her temper in all the eighteen months she was in Dinard. I never saw her peeved, or snappy, or cross. At that time I used to go every morning, from 9 to 12, to make a little "extra food" or canteen for the more dangerously wounded, I had invited a friend, the Marquise de T——— (also a Belgian), to help me. We had a little rolling table piled high with jam, bread and butter, soup, and a rum punch I made from Mellin's food, milk and eggs and rum, which we took to the different wounded. The men were very fond of this punch, but only those who were "bed cases" could have it, and then only a glass apiece.