* * * * *

I am waiting for the motor now--and trying to be resigned.--Mass did me
good--I sat in a corner and kept my crutch by me. The Church itself told
me stories, I tried to see it in Louis XV's time--I dare say it looked
much the same, only dirtier--And life was made up with etiquette and
forms and ceremonies, more exasperating than anything now. But they were
ahead of us in manners, and a sense of beauty.

A little child came and sat beside me for about ten minutes, and looked
at me and my crutch sympathetically.

"Blessé de la guerre," I heard her whisper to her mother--"Comme
Jean."

The organ was not bad--and before I came out I felt calmer.

After all it is absurd of Miss Sharp to be disgusted about Suzette--She
must know, at nearly twenty-four, and living in France, that there are
Suzettes--and I am sure she is not narrow-minded in any way--What can
have made her so censorious? If she took a personal interest in me it
would be different, but entirely indifferent as she is, how can it
matter to her?--As I write this, that hot sense of anger and rebellion
arises in me--I'll have to keep saying to myself that I am in the
trenches again and must not complain.

I'll make Burton find out if Coralie is really staying here, and get her
to dine with me to-night--Coralie always pretended to have a béguin
for me--even when most engaged elsewhere.