To “Maison de la Presse, Service de l’Information Diplomatique,” I write: “Gentlemen, your favour of the 26th inst. with your regrets just received. And I hasten to write you that I cannot, for the sake of France, accept your decision as final, without presenting to your attention a situation with which you may not be familiar. You see, gentlemen, in the country from which I come, we have a feminism that is neither an ideal nor a theory, but a working reality. In America, there were when I left, four million women citizens, and the State legislatures every little while making more. These are, gentlemen, four million citizens with a vote, whose wishes must be consulted by Congress at Washington in determining the war policy of the United States. Their sympathies help to determine the amount of the war relief contributions that may come across the Atlantic. These are four million women who count, gentlemen, please understand, exactly the same as four million men. “Other American publications may offer Maison de la Presse other facilities for reaching the American public. But none of them can duplicate the facilities presented by the _Pictorial Review_, the leading magazine to champion the feminist cause. It is the magazine that is read by the woman who votes. Is not France interested in what she shall read there? “Believe me, gentlemen, the opportunity for propaganda that I offer you is unparalleled. I beg you therefore to reconsider. I earnestly desire to go to the front this week. Can you, I ask, permit me to leave this land without granting the privilege? For the sake of France, gentlemen! Awaiting your reply, I remain,” etc. That letter was posted at 11 o’clock at night. Before noon the next day Maison de la Presse was on the telephone and speaking English. In France they do not hurry. It is not customary to use the telephone. And it is at this time against the law to speak English on it. But listen: “Will Mme. Daggett find herself able to accept the invitation of the French government to go to the front on Thursday?” inquires the voice on the wire. CHAPTER II CLOSE UP BEHIND THE LINES “It is going to be perhaps a dangerous undertaking,” says the French army officer the next day in the reception room at Maison de la Presse. He is speaking solemnly and impressively. “Do you still wish to go?” he asks, addressing me in particular. I look back steadily into his eyes. “_Oui, Monsieur._” Then his glance sweeps inquiringly the semicircle of faces. There are six journalists and a munitions manufacturer from Bridgeport, Connecticut. And they all nod assent. The room is singularly silent for an instant, the officer just standing quietly, his left hand resting on his sword-hilt. Then he turns and passes to each of us the official Permis de Correspondent de la Presse aux Armees, for our journey to Rheims the next day. And we all sign on the dotted line.