A Surgeon in Arms

by R. J. Manion

"Oh, yes, that is the Legion of Honor," he returned smilingly to my remark as to his decoration. "A very ordinary bit of work at the front brought it to me," he continued modestly, apparently not caring to give details. Though I was in Paris some time, I did not come across him again, nor have I ever met since this Australian lover of freedom.

At that time the women of France were already doing much of the work usually performed by men. This was long before London had reached the stage that she has attained today, with women filling such a wide variety of occupations, so that it was very noticeable in France at that time. At the border my goods had been looked over by women customs inspectors; women guards in the train had examined my ticket; and in Paris women were everywhere, handling the motor buses, conducting on the tramways, collecting fares on the Metropolitan, or Underground, and filling the hundred and one other positions that, since the war, woman has proved herself so capable of filling.

All the women of the world have proved themselves heroines in this war, but none more than the women of France. At the early stage of the war of which I am writing, they showed those characteristics of patience, loyalty, and nobility of mind which have distinguished them in the straining times that have come and gone since then. They seemed to have become resigned to all things. If one spoke to them petulantly of the raw, cold weather:

"Ah, well," they returned, smiling, "it is the season, and one must expect bad weather." Or you may, perchance, have known some woman whose son or brother was serving in the lines. At that time the French Government gave out but little information as to any of the happenings at the front, and unless the government knew positively that a man was killed, no word of news was sent to the anxious friends. Often many weary months of waiting passed without knowledge on the part of the soldier's nearest of kin as to his fate. And if during this time of waiting you asked this woman whom you knew for tidings of her loved one, her reply invariably was:

"No, no. I have had no news of mon cher Jacques for a long time now. But I do not fear," she would continue with a patient smile, "for the good God will protect him, I am sure. And if it is necessary, we must give all for our beloved France." And it may have been many more long, long months, and it may have been never, that she learned the real fate of her "cher Jacques."

One morning during this visit, as I entered a car on the subway, a living picture of sorrow passed in ahead of me. The picture was made up of a beautiful young widow, leading tenderly by the hands her two lovely children, now fatherless. Her deep brown eyes looking sadly out from her pale face saw no one. Those eyes were looking into the far-off distance of the blank and lonely years to come, those years without hope "for the touch of a vanished hand, or the sound of a voice that is still." All that saved her from black despair was the knowledge that she had to bear up because of the helpless children at her side. But, God! The pity of the thousands of these lonely widows! What a contribution France and her allies are making to the cause of liberty!

CHAPTER XXI
PARIS IN WARTIME

At this period of the war the restaurants of Paris—and no other city is so famous for its restaurants—were not appreciably curtailed in their food supplies. They still served the well-seasoned, dainty dishes of the French chefs, though their clientèle was considerably smaller in numbers.

You could still get a delicious cut off the joint at Boeuf à la Mode near the Palais Royal; or you could have a choice of many luscious dishes at Voison's well-known dining place. If you preferred French society, you could still go to Larue's aristocratic restaurant, opposite the Madeleine, patronized by the society of Paris. Prunier's oyster house was apparently as busy as it had been in the piping times of peace and tourists; and the most deliciously cooked fish in Europe—according to my taste—was still being served at Marguery's under the title of Sole à la Marguery.