"He looked at me as though to say:

"'What do you think of that? There's chivalry for you!

I could take it all, if I liked; but I'm a German and, as such, I know what's becoming.'

"He seemed to expect me to thank him. I said:

"'Is this the pillage beginning? That explains the empty motor vans.'

"'You don't pillage what belongs to you by the law of war,' he answered.

"'I see. And the law of war does not extend to the furniture and pictures in the drawing-rooms?'

"He turned crimson. Then I began to laugh:

"'I follow you,' I said. 'That's your share. Well chosen. Nothing but rare and valuable things. The refuse your servants can divide among them.'

"The officers turned round furiously. He became redder still. He had a face that was quite round, hair, which was too light, plastered down with grease and divided in the middle by a faultless parting. His forehead was low; and I was able to guess the effort going on behind it, to find a repartee. At last he came up to me and, in a voice of triumph, said:

"'The French have been beaten at Charleroi, beaten at Morange, beaten everywhere. They are retreating all along the line. The upshot of the war is settled.'

"Violent though my grief was, I did not wince. I whispered:

"'You low blackguard!'

"He staggered. His companions caught what I said; and I saw one put his hand on his sword-hilt. But what would he himself do? What would he say? I could feel that he was greatly embarra.s.sed and that I had wounded his self-esteem.

"'Madame,' he said, 'I daresay you don't know who I am?'

"'Oh, yes!' I answered. 'You are Prince Conrad, a son of the Kaiser's. And what then?'

"He made a fresh attempt at dignity. He drew himself up. I expected threats and words to express his anger; but no, his reply was a burst of laughter, the affected laughter of a high and mighty lord, too indifferent, too disdainful to take offense, too intelligent to lose his temper.

"'The dear little Frenchwoman! Isn't she charming, gentlemen? Did you hear what she said? The impertinence of her! There's your true Parisian, gentlemen, with all her roguish grace.'

"And, making me a great bow, with not another word, he stalked away, joking as he went:

"'Such a dear little Frenchwoman! Ah, gentlemen, those little Frenchwomen! . . .'

"The vans were at work all day, going off to the frontier laden with booty. It was my poor father's wedding present to us, all his collections so patiently and fondly brought together; it was the dear setting in which Paul and I were to have lived. What a wrench the parting means to me!

"The war news is bad! I cried a great deal during the day.

"Prince Conrad came. I had to receive him, for he sent me word by Rosalie that, if I refused to see him, the inhabitants of Ornequin would suffer the consequences."

Here elisabeth again broke off her diary. Two days later, on the 29th, she went on:

"He came yesterday. To-day also. He tries to appear witty and cultured. He talks literature and music, Goethe, Wagner and so on. . . . I leave him to do his own talking, however; and this throws him in such a state of fury that he ended by exclaiming:

"'Can't you answer? It's no disgrace, even for a Frenchwoman, to talk to Prince Conrad of Prussia!'

"'A woman doesn't talk to her gaoler.'

"He protested briskly:

"'But, dash it all, you're not in prison!'

"'Can I leave the chateau?'

"'You can walk about . . . in the grounds. . . .'

"'Between four walls, therefore, like a prisoner.'

"'Well, what do you want to do?'

"'To go away from here and live . . . wherever you tell me to: at Corvigny, for instance.'

"'That is to say, away from me!'

"As I did not answer, he bent forward a little and continued, in a low voice:

"'You hate me, don't you? Oh, I'm quite aware of it!

I've made a study of women. Only, it's Prince Conrad whom you hate, isn't it? It's the German, the conqueror. For, after all, there's no reason why you should dislike the man himself. . . . And, at this moment, it's the man who is in question, who is trying to please you . . . do you understand? . . . So.

"I had risen to my feet and faced him. I did not speak a single word; but he must have seen in my eyes so great an expression of disgust that he stopped in the middle of his sentence, looking absolutely stupid.

Then, his nature getting the better of him, he shook his fist at me, like a common fellow, and went off slamming the door and muttering threats. . . ."

The next two pages of the diary were missing. Paul was gray in the face.

He had never suffered to such an extent as this. It seemed to him as though his poor dear elisabeth were still alive before his eyes and feeling his eyes upon her. And nothing could have upset him more than the cry of distress and love which marked the page headed:

_1 September._

"Paul, my own Paul, have no fear. Yes, I tore up those two pages because I did not wish you ever to know such revolting things. But that will not estrange you from me, will it? Because a savage dared to insult me, that is no reason, surely, why I should not be worthy of your love? Oh, the things he said to me, Paul, only yesterday: his offensive remarks, his hateful threats, his even more infamous promises . . . and then his rage! . . . No, I will not repeat them to you. In making a confidant of this diary, I meant to confide to you my daily acts and thoughts. I believed that I was only writing down the evidence of my grief. But this is something different; and I have not the courage. . . . Forgive my silence. It will be enough for you to know the offense, so that you may avenge me later. Ask me no more. . . ."

And, pursuing this intention, elisabeth now ceased to describe Prince Conrad's daily visits in detail; but it was easy to perceive from her narrative that the enemy persisted in hovering round her. It consisted of brief notes in which she no longer let herself go as before, notes which she jotted down at random, marking the days herself, without troubling about the printed headings.

Paul trembled as he read on. And fresh revelations aggravated his dread:

"_Thursday._

"Rosalie asks them the news every morning. The French retreat is continuing. They even say that it has developed into a rout and that Paris has been abandoned. The government has fled. We are done for.

"_Seven o'clock in the evening._