There is nothing that is not
in use.
D---- solved part of its problem by giving up its own wooden beds to
the soldiers. It tore up its small stock of linen, its towels, its
dusters; but the problem of food remained.
There was a tiny stove, on which the three or four teachers of the
school had been accustomed to cook their midday meal. There was no
coal, only wood, and green wood at that. All day, and all day now,
D---- cooks the _pot-a-feu_ for the wounded on that tiny stove.
_Pot-a-feu_ is good diet for convalescents, but the "light diets" must
have eggs, broth, whatever can be found.
So the peasant woman of D---- comes to the hospital, bringing a few
eggs, the midday meal of her family, who will do without.
I have spoken mainly in the past tense, but conditions in D---- are
not greatly changed to-day. An old marquise, impoverished by the war,
darns the pathetic socks of the wounded men and mends their uniforms.
At the last report I received, the corridors and schoolrooms were
still filled--every inch of space--with a motley collection of beds,
on which men lay in their uniforms, for lack of other clothing. They
were covered with old patchwork quilts, with anything that can be
used. There were, of course, no sheets. All the sheets were used long
ago for dressings. A friend of mine there recently saw a soldier with
one leg, in the kitchen, rolling wretched scraps and dusters for
bandages.
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