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One day； after a successful operation； she was tending a young sergeant。 He was a well…built； handsome man； with skin as white as a woman's。 He watched her with curious indifference in his eyes as she busied herself； trying to make him comfortable； and did nothing to help her。
〃Has Mam'selle ever seen a bull fight？〃 he asked her。
〃No；〃 she answered。 〃I've seen all the horror and cruelty I want to for the rest of my life。〃
〃Ah；〃 he said； 〃you would understand if you had。 When one of the horses goes down gored； his entrails lying out upon the sand； you know what they do； don't you？ They put a rope round him； and drag him； groaning； into the shambles behind。 And once there； kind people like you and Monsieur le Medecin tend him and wash him； and put his entrails back； and sew him up again。 He thinks it so kind of themthe first time。 But the second！ He understands。 He will be sent back into the arena to be ripped up again； and again after that。 This is the third time I have been wounded； and as soon as you've all patched me up and I've got my breath again； they'll send me back into it。 Mam'selle will forgive my not feeling grateful to her。〃 He gave a short laugh that brought the blood into his mouth。
The village consisted of one long straggling street； following the course of a small stream between two lines of hills。 It was on one of the great lines of communication： and troops and war material passed through it； going and coming； in almost endless procession。 It served also as a camp of rest。 Companies from the trenches would arrive there； generally towards the evening； weary； listless； dull…eyed； many of them staggering like over…driven cattle beneath their mass of burdens。 They would fling their accoutrements from them and stand in silent groups till the sergeants and corporals returned to lead them to the barns and out…houses that had been assigned to them； the houses still habitable being mostly reserved for the officers。 Like those of most French villages； they were drab； plaster…covered buildings without gardens； but some of them were covered with vines； hiding their ugliness； and the village as a whole； with its groups； here and there； of fine sycamore trees and its great stone fountain in the centre； was picturesque enough。 It had twice changed hands； and a part of it was in ruins。 From one or two of the more solidly built houses merely the front had fallen； leaving the rooms just as they had always been： the furniture in its accustomed place； the pictures on the walls。 They suggested doll's houses standing open。 One wondered when the giant child would come along and close them up。 The iron spire of the little church had been hit twice。 It stood above the village； twisted into the form of a note of interrogation。 In the churchyard many of the graves had been ripped open。 Bones and skulls lay scattered about among the shattered tombstones。 But； save for a couple of holes in the roof； the body was still intact； and every afternoon a faint； timid…sounding bell called a few villagers and a sprinkling of soldiers to Mass。 Most of the inhabitants had fled； but the farmers and shopkeepers had remained。 At intervals； the German batteries； searching round with apparent aimlessness； would drop a score or so of shells about the neighbourhood； but the peasant； with an indifference that was almost animal； would still follow his ox…drawn plough； the old； bent crone； muttering curses； still ply the hoe。 The proprietors of the tiny epiceries must have been rapidly making their fortunes； considering the prices that they charged the unfortunate poilu； dreaming of some small luxury out of his five sous a day。 But as one of them； a stout； smiling lady； explained to Joan； with a gesture： 〃It is not often that one has a war。〃
Joan had gone out in September； and for a while the weather was pleasant。 The men； wrapped up in their great…coats； would sleep for preference under the great sycamore trees。 Through open doorways she would catch glimpses of picturesque groups of eager card…players； crowded round a flickering candle。 From the darkness there would steal the sound of flute or zither； of voices singing。 Occasionally it would be some strident ditty of the Paris music… halls； but more often it was sad and plaintive。 But early in October the rains commenced and the stream became a roaring torrent； and a clammy mist lay like a white river between the wooded hills。
Mud！ that seemed to be the one word with which to describe modern war。 Mud everywhere！ Mud ankle…deep upon the roads； mud into which you sank up to your knees the moment you stepped off it； tents and huts to which you waded through the mud； avoiding the slimy gangways on which you slipped and fell； mud…bespattered men； mud…bespattered horses； little donkeys； looking as if they had been sculptured out of mud； struggling up and down the light railways that every now and then would disappear and be lost beneath the mud； guns and wagons groaning through the mud； lorries and ambulances； that in the darkness had swerved from the straight course； overturned and lying abandoned in the mud； motor…cyclists ploughing swift furrows through the mud； rolling it back in liquid streams each side of them； staff cars rushing screaming through the mud； followed by a rushing fountain of mud； serried ranks of muddy men stamping through the mud with steady rhythm； moving through a rain of mud； rising upward from the ground； long lines of motor… buses filled with a mass of muddy humanity packed shoulder to shoulder； rumbling ever through the endless mud。
Men sitting by the roadside in the mud； gnawing at unsavoury food； men squatting by the ditches； examining their sores； washing their bleeding feet in the muddy water； replacing the muddy rags about their wounds。
A world without colour。 No other colour to be seen beneath the sky but mud。 The very buttons on the men's coats painted to make them look like mud。
Mud and dirt！ Dirty faces； dirty hands； dirty clothes； dirty food； dirty beds； dirty interiors； from which there was never time to wash the mud； dirty linen hanging up to dry； beneath which dirty children played； while dirty women scolded。 Filth and desolation all around。 Shattered farmsteads half buried in the mud； shattered gardens trampled into mud。 A weary land of foulness； breeding foulness； tangled wire the only harvest of the fields； mile after mile of gaping holes； filled with muddy water； stinking carcases of dead horses； birds of prey clinging to broken fences； flapping their great wings。
A land where man died； and vermin increased and multiplied。 Vermin on your body； vermin in your head； vermin in your food； vermin waiting for you in your bed； vermin the only thing that throve； the only thing that looked at you with bright eyes； vermin the only thing to which the joy of life had still been left。
Joan had found a liking gradually growing up in her for the quick… moving； curt…tongued doctor。 She had dismissed him at first as a mere butcher： his brutal haste； his indifference apparently to the suffering he was causing； his great； strong； hairy hands； with their squat fingers； his cold grey eyes。 But she learnt as time went by； that his callousness was a thing that he put on at the same time that he tied his white apron round his waist； and rolled up his sleeves。
She was resting； after a morning of grim work； on a bench outside the hospital； struggling with clenched； quivering hands against a craving to fling herself upon the ground and sob。 And he had found her there； and had sat down beside her。
〃So you wanted to see it with your own eyes；〃 he said。 He laid his hand upon her shoulder； and she had some difficulty in not catching hold of him and clinging to him。 She was feeling absurdly womanish just at that moment。
〃Yes；〃 she answered。 〃And I'm glad that I did it；〃 she added； defiantly。
〃So am I；〃 he said。 〃Tell your children what you have seen。 Tell other women。〃
〃It's you women that make war；〃 he continued。 〃Oh； I don't mean that you do it on purpose； but it's in your blood。 It comes from the days when to live it was needful to kill。 When a man who was swift and strong to kill was the only thing that could save a woman and her brood。 Every other man that crept towards them through the grass was an enemy； and her only hope was that her man might kill him； while she watched and waited。 And later came the tribe； and instead of the one man creeping through the grass； the everlasting warfare was against all other tribes。 So you loved only the men ever ready and willing to fight； lest you and your children should be carried into slavery： then it was the only way。 You brought up your boys to be fighters。 You told them stories of their gallant sires。 You sang to them the songs of battle： the glory of killing and of conquering。 You have never unlearnt the lesson。 Man has learnt comradeshipwould have travelled further but for you。 But woman is still primitive。 She would still have her man the hater and the killer。 To the woman the world has never changed。〃
〃Tell the other women；〃 he said。 〃Open their eyes。 Tell them of their sons that you have seen dead and dying in the foolish quarrel for whic