French boys in their 'teens had died in her arms at the hospital,--the hospital where thousands of wounded pass through every month,--and she had taken back to the parents in Paris the dying message.

She had been in the German and the French trenches on the line of battle.

She had crossed the lines and been under arrest.

She had seen the horrible picture of freight-loads of German corpses on German railroads,--corpses unhelmeted, with uncovered faces, but in boots and uniform, tied like cordwood in bunches of three and standing upright on their way to the lime-kilns.

She had nursed the wounded German soldier in his delirium, crying in German, which she well understood, over the horrors which still pursued him as he remembered the face of the wife and saw the agony of the children as he stood in line and by direction of his superior officer shot the husband dead.