They look and feel at home. When I see a coloured man or a Chinaman in the Strand I generally feel sorry for the poor beggar; he would be all right in Pernambuco or in Canton, but in London he looks like a violation of the natural order of things. That's why I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the Senegalais of Mentone. Most of them are very fine fellows, well over six feet, and quite a number show wound scars and medals, which prove that they will not be new to fire when they take the field. In addition to the coloured troops, not many soldiers are seen now in Mentone, as the wounded sent down here are still in the hospitals, and only very few risk the air. But a few may be seen in the sunshine, surrounded by a small crowd of admiring children and of sympathetic grown-ups of both sexes. The temporary hospitals have been arranged in a number of the larger hotels which were formerly owned by Germans, and prove now most useful and comfortable for the French wounded. Mentone had during the last few years acquired the fame of being one of the most Germanised towns of France. This sort of pacific invasion was encouraged by the German Government in the hope that Italy would stick to Germany in the long-expected struggle, and she could then have a sort of _avant-garde_ of friends in French territory at the beginning of hostilities. Instead, when the war broke out, after a week's hesitation France withdrew practically the whole of her frontier troops and guns, while Italy was doing the same at the other side. When the Germans were forced to leave, one of the expelled hotel-keepers, after passing the Italian frontier, which is at a few yards' distance from the last houses of Mentone, showing his fist to the crowd still on French territory, shouted: "_Au revoir!_ In two weeks in Paris!" His hotel has been the only German house in Mentone wrecked by the population. * * * MONTE CARLO. In every small town along the Riviera I came across I never failed to ask: "Are there any British wounded here?" The answer was always the same "No, not yet, but we are expecting some, sir"; or, "Mrs. or Miss So-and-So has offered her villa, with doctors and nurses and everything, so they are bound to come soon." And this is perfectly true. Everywhere, even in small villages like La Turbie, English ladies have offered to equip their villas as hospitals for British wounded. But no one has been sent yet, and the beautiful houses in that wondrous climate, which would certainly mean a delightful and quick convalescence, still remain empty. If no use is made of such generous offers the fault will more easily be found in England than in France. During a long motor trip all along the Upper Corniche Road I saw hundreds of French wounded who have become quite well and will go back to the front in a few days' time.