the top-hat and the evening-dress, he hadn't suffered--how could he
understand? They didn't want to remember; with those flaxen-haired
children against their breasts the one boon they craved was
forgetfulness. And so they cowered and wept softly. It was
intolerable.

And now the formalities commenced. They all had to be medically
examined. Questions of every description were asked them. They were
drifted from bureau to bureau where people sat filling up official
blanks. The Americans see to the children. They come from living in
cellars, from conditions which are insanitary, from cities in the
army zones where they were underfed. The fear is that they may
spread contagion all over France. When infectious cases are found the
remnants of families have to be broken up afresh. The mothers collapse
on benches sobbing their hearts out as their children are led away.
For three and a half years everything they have loved has been led
away--how can they believe that these Americans mean only mercy?

From three to four hours are spent in completing all these necessary
investigations. Before the repatriés are conducted to their billets,
all their clothes have to be disinfected and every one has to be
bathed. The poor people are utterly worn out by the end of it--they
have already done a continuous four days' journey in cramped trains.
Before being sent to France they have been living for from two to
three weeks in Belgium. The Hun always sends the repatriés to Belgium
for a few weeks before returning them. The reason for this is that
they for the most part come from the army zones, and a few weeks will
make any information they possess out of date. Another reason is
that food is more plentiful in Belgium, thanks to the Allies' Relief
Commission. These people have been kept alive on sugar-beets for the