The doctors decided that I must go to Eaux-Bonnes. I did not want to leave Paris, for I had caught the general fever of excitement. My weakness increased though, day by day, and on the 27th day of July I was taken away in spite of myself. Mme. Guérard, my manservant, and my maid accompanied me, and I also took my child with me. At the stations there were posters everywhere, announcing that the Emperor Napoleon had gone to Metz to take command of the army. On arriving at Eaux-Bonnes, I was obliged to go to bed. My condition was considered very serious by Dr. Langlet, who told me afterwards that he certainly thought I was going to die. I vomited blood and had to have a piece of ice in my mouth all the time. At the end of about twelve days, however, I began to get up, and after this I soon recovered my strength and my calmness, and went for long rides. The war news led us to hope for victory. There was great joy and a certain emotion felt by everyone on hearing that the young Prince Imperial had received his baptism of fire at Saarbruck, in the engagement commanded by General Frossard. Life seemed to me beautiful again, for I had great confidence in the issue of the war. I pitied the Germans for having embarked on such an adventure. But, alas! the glorious progress which my brain had been so active in imagining was cut short by the atrocious news from St. Privat. The political news was posted up every day in the little garden of the Casino at Eaux-Bonnes. The public went there to get information. Detesting tranquillity, as I did, I used to send my manservant to copy the telegrams. Oh, how grievous it was, that terrible telegram from St. Privat, informing us laconically of the frightful butchery, of Marshal Canrobert’s heroic defense, and of Bazaine’s first treachery in not going to the rescue of his comrades. I knew Canrobert and liked him immensely. Later on he was one of my faithful friends, and I shall always remember the exquisite hours spent in listening to his accounts of the bravery of others—never of his own. And what an abundance of anecdotes, what wit, what charm! This news of the battle of St. Privat caused my feverishness to return. My sleep was full of nightmares and I had a relapse. The news was worse every day. After St. Privat came Gravelotte where 36,000 men, French and German, were cut down in a few hours. Then came the sublime but powerless efforts of MacMahon, who was repulsed as far as Sedan, and finally Sedan! Sedan! Ah, the horrible awakening! The month of August had finished the night before amid a tumult of weapons and dying groans. But the groans of the dying men were mingled still with hopeful cries. The month of September, though, was cursed from its very birth. Its first war cry was stifled back by the brutal and cowardly hand of Destiny. A hundred thousand men! A hundred thousand Frenchmen had to capitulate, and the Emperor of France had to hand his sword over to the King of Prussia!