"Have you ever yet had occasion to nurse a soldier?"
"Yes, of course. Four days after the declaration when the Forty-ninth Territorials came through Choisy on their forced march to the front, we were suddenly filled up with cases of congestion. You see, that regiment is Composed of men mostly over forty, and what with the heat, their guns and their sacs, and unaccustomed to such a life, many of them couldn't stand the strain. My first patient was a sad little man named Bouteron.
"Bouteron? What Bouteron?"
"Marcel Bouteron."
"No!"
"Why?"
"Is he dead?"
"No."
I breathed again. Thank God! Bouteron, Bouteron, our Jolly little Bouteron, gaiety itself, who three weeks ago was the very life and soul of our last house party! Was it possible? Already "down and out!" And to think that this strange woman should bring me the news. I drew my chair nearer to Madame Guix and for two long hours we talked, as only women can.
From Choisy she had sought to exercise her métier to better advantage by approaching the front, so had addressed herself to Madame Macherez in Soissons. From there she had been sent to me. Did she think there was any possibility of nursing wounded in our hospital? We were so far south.