Johnny Poupard!
"Good heavens!" thought I. "Decidedly that family had no intention of letting the village rust for want of dramatic situations!"
"He's merely fainted; more frightened than hurt," declared Madame Guix, who had literally pounced upon him. "Now then, ladies," she said, turning towards the women who stood gaping at us, "now then, here's a splendid opportunity to distinguish yourselves."
And so little John Poupard was carried into the infirmary. As first patient you may be sure that be received every attention. Some ammonia was held under his nose. This soon brought him around and after carefully sounding all his bones, Madame Guix decided that there were no fractures. And the bandaging began!
It makes me smile when I think of it all now—for the only wounds Johnny possessed were a few scratches on his bands, knees and head, caused by his sudden contact with a patch of stinging nettles which had sprung up on the river banks.
Under ordinary circumstances, the child would probably have picked himself up and walked home, forgetting his woes an hour later. But real live models who are actually in pain, are few and far between, especially at "courses" such as ours, and the amount of professional skill that was expended on that little urchin ought to have cured six of his kind. But it all made the women so happy!
At the end of half an hour, Johnny Poupard looked more like an Egyptian mummy than a human being, so much so that when his grandmother arrived upon the scene of action, she very nearly fainted and all but became patient number two at Auxiliary Hospital No. 7!
We had some little difficulty reassuring her, but when her prodigal grandson sat up and asked for bread and jam, she forgot her anxiety and began scolding him for daring to give her such a fright, and us so much trouble.
* * * *
Towards the end of the third week in August the mobilization was considered finished and the Eastern Railroad opened again to the public; its time tables of course being limited and subject to instant change, the company refusing to be responsible for delays. To us at the chateau this meant very little, save that we would receive our mail and the daily papers more frequently. However, several friends who fancied I was unsafe alone and so far from the capital, kindly ventured to start to Villiers to try to persuade me to come up to town. It took them seven hours to reach Meaux (thirty miles from Paris); they were obliged to sleep there because it was because it was announced that their train went no further—and worse than all, they were eighteen hours getting home.