She was in no mood for talking.
Her room was stuffy as well as cold; the furniture and curtains had
probably not been changed since the second empire. She opened one of the
long windows and stepped out on the balcony. The Seine was nearly in flood
after the heavy rains, but it reflected the stars to-night and many long
banners of light from the almost festive banks.
It was bitterly cold and she closed her window in a moment and moved about
her room. It was too cold to undress. She was inured to discomforts and
thankful that she had been brought up in San Francisco, which is seldom
warm; but she longed for a few creature comforts nevertheless. During the
war she had sustained herself with the thought of the men in the trenches,
but now that their lot was ameliorated she felt that she had a right to
what comforts she could find. The difficulty was to find them. With Paris
overflowing. Generals sleeping in servants' rooms under the roof, soldiers,
even officers, picking up women on the streets if only to have a bed for
the night, and hotel after hotel being requisitioned for the various Peace
Commissions and their illimitable suites, conditions were likely to grow
worse. Olive de Morsigny had repeatedly offered hospitality, but she
preferred her independence.
To leave was impossible. Her oeuvre must continue for several months.
Sick and wounded men do not recover miraculously with the cessation of
hostilities.
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