Belinda had no desire to make a record in healing the wounded who came to her ward. Of course, it was very fine if Madame la Directrice could report to headquarters that so many blessés passed through her hospital and that of them all only a small number were lost. But to Belinda mere figures entered very slightly into the work.
Her humane instincts revolted from looking at the work as "the job." To "make a record" was farthest from her thoughts.
She was only desirous each day of making those under her care as comfortable as possible; to ease pain where it was being suffered so bravely; to cheer the hours of these men who had done their duty at the front and were now doing their duty here on the hospital cots.
They were all brave fellows—even those who were the very hardest to handle. During the interval before this last battle commenced the general had come through the ward and pinned the Médaille Militaire over the hearts of some of her worst patients for acts of bravery performed on the field. Even upon the egg-stained nightshirt of Marius the medal had been pinned.
The girl from America saw and appreciated the human side of this tragedy too much to be finally successful as a nurse in a war hospital. She realized this fact quite keenly, but she had no idea of asking to be relieved.
She knew she had made her charges happier—more cheerful—more comfortable. Whatever the work might take out of her, she had helped them all. Those who were removed loved her. The spoken blessings of some of them rang in her ears. The kisses of the courteous Gaston on her hands were still warm. Even the eyes of Marius as he was taken out assured her that he never would forget her.
"It is worth while. It is worth the sacrifice of self," Belinda thought as, with the ward finally cleared up again, she waited for the fresh accession of wounded.
Suddenly there was a call for her outside. The great guns had been silent all day, and since the visit of the médecin major more wounded had been taken away than had been brought in. But now the ambulances were rolling in again from the front. During the lull the wounded were being picked up from the fields between the lines—some of them having lain there in the rain and cold for thirty-six hours.
Madame la Directrice, coming to Belinda's ward, said to the girl:
"You are familiar with German, are you not, Mademoiselle Melnotte?"