February 19, 1915.
Back again in Divonne-Les-Bains. It seems as if I had never been away—I have fallen into the old work so easily. I left Paris Sunday night about eight o’clock and arrived here at two the next day, and had a warm welcome from everybody. One poor man died of tetanus before I got back. I have nine on my floor. I have thirteen patients, nine in bed all the time, and the others up part of the day. One of the women of the village helps me in the morning, two others help with the cleaning up and serving meals; everything has to be carried up three flights of stairs, so you can imagine the work.
I have a very comfortable room at the hotel, go to the Ambulance at seven in the morning and generally get back at nine or half past. I do not know how long I shall be here—until this lot get well or more come.
One of the patients is a chef, and was acting as cook for the regiment when a shell landed in his soup pot; he was not wounded, but his heart was knocked out of place by the shock and his back was twisted when he fell.
February 28, 1915.
The poor man who was so very ill died on the morning of the twenty-third after three weeks of intense suffering—I stayed that night with him. The others are all out of danger with the exception of two who cannot get well—one is paralyzed and the other has tuberculosis.
I went to the village for the first time yesterday and was quite touched by the welcome I received at every little shop and house. The people seemed genuinely glad to have me back. They cannot seem to get over the fact that I have crossed the ocean twice and come back to them. To them the ocean is a thing of terror, especially since the war broke out. Doctor R—— has a great many sick people in the country about here to take care of in addition to the soldiers. In one house they had nothing to eat but potatoes, but he is a good deal like our dear old doctor, and feeds and clothes and takes care of them himself.
March 5, 1915.
I can scarcely believe that it is nearly three weeks since I left Paris. I have been so busy, that the days fly by. Some of the men are leaving to-morrow, and most of the others are getting along very well.
Mr. E—— is indeed kind. He has just sent an order to the village people, who make beautiful lace and embroidery, for $500.00 worth of work. They are so happy about it, for it means food for many of them. One poor woman, who has lost her husband in the war and has a child to take care of, can earn only eighteen francs a month, that is $3.60, and that is all she has to live on.