“In a little while every bed will be filled,” said the matrons.

Outside one hut, with the sun on their faces, were four wounded Germans, Würtemburgers and Bavarians, too ill to move just then. Each of them had lost a leg under the surgeon’s knife. They were eating strawberries, and seemed at peace. I spoke to one of them.

“ Wie befinden sie sich? ”

“ Ganz wohl; wir sind zufrieden mit unsere behandlung. ”

I passed through the shell-shock wards and a yard where the “shell-shocks” sat about, dumb, or making queer, foolish noises, or staring with a look of animal fear in their eyes. From a padded room came a sound of singing. Some idiot of war was singing between bursts of laughter. It all seemed so funny to him, that war, so mad!