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 What a contrast to the cathedral at Geneva I visited with a French ex-Ambassadress. We had to send for the caretaker, who unlocked the door for us and locked it up again as we left. Yet this was once a church; holy men had dedicated their genius to make it beautiful, because it was the House of God. It is not God's House now; only a building where men meet and speak. "Have we, indeed, lost faith in anything," said my companion, as the door was closed behind us "which of us would God Himself lock out? Are there none left who would pray to Him? To what vain and untrusting materialism will mankind yet lower drift?"

One morning, unable to hold in the interest awakened by a handsome, young Turkish woman with veiled hair, who was sitting near me in the hotel, I, at last, ventured to ask her if she would "excuse my staring," but "she so much reminds me" of an old friend, Dr. Nihat Réchad.

"He is my brother," she replied in excellent English, obviously delighted. It appears she had lost touch with him for many years; only knowing that he had been in prison and escaped to join Mustapha Kemal. Now she hoped he must be coming into his own again.

I was glad to tell her how greatly we appreciated Dr. Réchad in London.

Our acquaintance brought me many new pleasures in Broussa, in addition to her own delightful society and her most friendly baby. She introduced me to many of the nicest people in the hotel, and arranged for us to visit the admirable hospitals of Dr. Nazoum, head of the Army Medical Service, who was a friend of her husband's.

There were two Turkish gentlemen, however (General Kemallidine Pasha and Nourredine Pasha), whom I had been warned not to see, because they were "such bears and hated England"; naturally, having thus had my combative curiosity excited, I eagerly sought for introductions to them. And I could not admit the justice of their condemnation.