When he went indoors at daybreak and passed Élisabeth's room, his heart beat no faster than before. His hatred of the murderess destroyed all else that might stir within him: love, affection, longing, or even the merest human pity. The torpor into which he sank for a few hours relaxed his nerves a little, but did not change his mental attitude. Perhaps, on the contrary, and without even thinking about it, he was still more unwilling than before to meet Élisabeth. And yet he wanted to know, to ascertain, to gather all the essential particulars and to make quite certain before taking the resolve that would decide the great tragedy of his life in one way or another. Above all, he must question Jérôme and his wife, whose evidence was of no small value, owing to the fact that they had known the Comtesse d'Andeville. Certain matters concerning the dates, for instance, might be cleared up forthwith. He found them in their lodge, both of them greatly excited, Jérôme with a newspaper in his hand and Rosalie making gestures of dismay. "It's settled, sir," cried Jérôme. "You can be sure of it: it's coming!" "What?" asked Paul. "Mobilization, sir, the call to arms. You'll see it does. I saw some gendarmes, friends of mine, and they told me. The posters are ready." Paul remarked, absent-mindedly: "The posters are always ready." "Yes, but they're going to stick them up at once, you'll see, sir. Just look at the paper. Those swine--you'll forgive me, sir, but it's the only word for them--those swine want war. Austria would be willing to negotiate, but in the meantime the others have been mobilizing for several days. Proof is, they won't let you cross into their country any more. And worse: yesterday they destroyed a French railway station, not far from here, and pulled up the rails. Read it for yourself, sir!" Paul skimmed through the stop-press telegrams, but, though he saw that they were serious, war seemed to him such an unlikely thing that he did not pay much attention to them. "It'll be settled all right," he said. "That's just their way of talking, with their hand on the sword-hilt; but I can't believe . . ." "You're wrong, sir," Rosalie muttered. He no longer listened, thinking only of the tragedy of his fate and casting about for the best means of obtaining the necessary replies from Jérôme. But he was not able to contain himself any longer and he broached the subject frankly: "I daresay you know, Jérôme, that madame and I have been to the Comtesse d'Andeville's room." The statement produced an extraordinary effect upon the keeper and his wife, as though it had been a sacrilege to enter that room so long kept locked, the mistress' room, as they called it among themselves. "You don't mean that, sir!" Rosalie blurted out. And Jérôme added: "No, of course not, for I sent the only key of the padlock, a safety-key it was, to Monsieur le Comte." "He gave it us yesterday morning," said Paul.