square, and in the evenings it was very restful to hear the muffled
sounds of the old organ floating up through the darkness.

Sister Wicks asked me one day to go through these wards with her. It
must be remembered that at this early period there were no regular
typhoid hospitals; and in fact ours was the only hospital in the place
that would take them in, the others having refused. Our beds were
therefore always full, and the typhoid staff was looked on as the
hardest worked in the Hospital, and always tried to make us feel that
they were the only ones who did any real work!

It was difficult to imagine these hollow-cheeked men with glittering
eyes and claw-like hands were the men who had stemmed the German rush at
Liége. Some were delirious, others merely plucking at the sheets with
their wasted fingers, and everywhere the sisters and nurses were
hurrying to and fro to alleviate their sufferings as much as possible. I
shall always see the man in bed sixteen to this day. He was extremely
fair, with blue eyes and a light beard. I started when I first saw him,
he looked so like some of the pictures of Christ one sees; and there was
an unearthly light in his eyes. He was delirious and seemed very ill.
The sister told me he had come down with a splendid fighting record, and
was one of the worst cases of pneumonic typhoid in the ward. My heart
ached for him, and instinctively I shivered, for somehow he did not seem
to belong to this world any longer. We passed on to Ward III, where I
was presented to "Le Petit Sergent," a little bit of a man, so cheery
and bright, who had made a marvellous recovery, but was not yet well
enough to be moved. Everywhere was that peculiar smell which seems
inseparable from typhoid wards in spite, or perhaps because of, the many
disinfectants. We left by the door at the end of Salle III and once in
the sunlight again, I heaved a sigh of relief; for frankly I thought the