"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.

She was confident that we would not be empty long. Bloody battles were
being waged from Alsace throughout the entire north. Belgian territory
had been violated and Liege was putting up a heroic defense.