[Sidenote: Dispensing hospitality to worn-out officers.]
I was hardly in my office before I heard a knock at the door, which, as
I was alone in the house, I always locked at night as soon as I entered.
In response to my "Who's there?" a voice, guided by my English, replied,
"I am an English officer." I threw open the door without a second's
hesitation. A young officer, weary, white-faced, stood there, beginning
to apologize as he saw my uniform and white veil. He was simply "done,"
he said--and he looked it. He had found every hotel was full, and,
seeing a few gleams of light behind the shutters, he had knocked in the
hope of finding shelter for the night. I knew that the woman at the
canteen who would go off duty at midnight was scheduled to go
immediately to the hospital to work until seven in the morning and that
I could occupy her bed after I came back from the hospital, and I
offered my apartment to the officer for the night. He was most grateful,
and I rushed over to the canteen to get him a pitcher of hot water and a
cup of chocolate. But there I found a group of French officers, who said
they had neither sleep nor rest for three days and nights, pleading for
some place to lie down. As there was a comfortable leather couch in my
office, besides a wide soft couch over which I had laid my steamer rug,
and, in addition, an exceedingly soft double bed in my room which I
thought the tired Englishman ought to be willing to share with an
equally tired man, I proffered my hospitality, which was gratefully
accepted.
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