The editor and assistant editor of Le Matin were so difficult to convince, that the Médecin-en-Chef offered to let them see the interior of the operating theatre, where work was going on. The assistant editor eagerly accepted the offer, and gazed spellbound through the screen which divided the anæsthetist’s room from the theatre. He became so absorbed that it was difficult to get him to come away before the surgeon discovered and resented his presence. Once outside, he flung his arms round his chief and in an ecstasy of delight cried:
‘Je l’ai vue—je l’ai vue—le couteau à la main!’
The reporters from the English papers wrote charming articles and paragraphs about the hospital, which were fruitful in rousing interest at home, and which brought subscriptions and many parcels to further the work.
CHAPTER VI
THE HOSPITAL AND ITS VISITORS
A large sign was stretched across the portico of the Hôtel:
Hôpital Anglo-Belge,
173 Auxiliaire.
On Sunday afternoon, when all the world walked in the Champs Élysées, it attracted a great deal of notice. And M. Aubry, smoking his cigarette on the doorstep, was gratified by many inquiries about ‘les blessés’ and the hospital.
With characteristic affability he bowed and made every one welcome, and sent a stream of unknown and curious people to see the wards. The visitors made him so many compliments upon his ‘installation si parfaite’ that the following Sunday found him again on the doorstep. Before long he was surrounded by a large and friendly crowd; for all who had seen the hospital the previous week had returned, bringing with them their families and friends to enjoy the ‘épatant’ spectacle! Even M. Aubry perceived that it was impracticable to admit a seething mass of two hundred or more people; and the staff promptly came to his support and closed the grille in the face of a protesting, gesticulating throng. After this incident, M. Aubry was persuaded to smoke elsewhere on Sundays.
The wards were visited regularly by many kind friends, who took infinite trouble to get to know the men personally and entertained them with talk or reading. The Rev. Mr. Blunt, of the British Embassy Church, came often, and his curate, Mr. W. Bennett, was a daily visitor. The latter visited the sick and talked football round the brazzeros whilst he roasted chestnuts and made toast. On Sundays he held a service, with the help of the Baroness Geysa de Braunecker and Mrs. Henley, who made music for the hospital every evening. Their sing-songs in the big central hall were delightful: English songs, Scotch songs, French songs, one after the other. ‘Tipperary’ was the favourite then, but ‘Thora’ had a great vogue, and a heavy bass would thrill the company with:
‘Speak! speak! speak to me, Thora!’