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 it was necessary that there should be only the dimmest candle light even for the performing of operations. As rapidly as possible patients were evacuated to base hospitals. The commandant one night was tenderly supervising the lifting into an American ambulance of an officer whose wounds she had just bandaged. She leaned over the wheel to admonish "Drive slowly or he cannot live." And as she touched the driver's arm there was an exclamation of mutual surprise. The driver was A. Piatt Andrews, under secretary of the treasury in President Taft's administration. And the last time he had seen the Viscountess D'Azy he had taken her in to dinner at the White House in Washington when her husband was an attache there of the French Embassy. How long ago was all the gaiety of diplomatic social life at Washington! A siren sounded shrilly now the cry of danger and death in an approaching taube raid. And the greeting ended hastily, the hospital commandant and the ambulance driver hurrying in the darkness to their respective posts of duty.

The Viscountess has been in charge of a number of hospitals, having been transferred from place to place at the front. When I saw her, she was temporarily in command for a few weeks at the hospital which had been opened at Claridge's Hotel in Les Champs Elysées in Paris. She didn't care about her medals or her own magnificent record. It wasn't even the achievements of her husband, the Viscount D'Azy, in command of the naval battleship