Paul clutched with convulsive fingers the heart-breaking diary to which Élisabeth had confided her anguish: "The poor angel!" he thought. "What she must have gone through! And this is only the beginning of the road that led to her death. . . ." He dreaded reading on. The hours of torture were near at hand, menacing and implacable, and he would have liked to call out to Élisabeth: "Go away, go away! Don't defy Fate! I have forgotten the past. I love you." It was too late. He himself, through his cruelty, had condemned her to suffer; and he must go on to the bitter end and witness every station of the Calvary of which he knew the last, terrifying stage. He hastily turned the pages. There were first three blank leaves, those dated 20, 21 and 22 August: days of confusion during which she had been unable to write. The pages of the 23rd and 24th were missing. These no doubt recounted what had happened and contained revelations concerning the inexplicable invasion. The diary began again at the middle of a torn page, the page belonging to Tuesday the 25th: "'Yes, Rosalie, I feel quite well and I thank you for looking after me so attentively.' "'Then there's no more fever?' "'No, Rosalie, it's gone.' "'You said the same thing yesterday, ma'am, and the fever came back . . . perhaps because of that visit. . . . But the visit won't be to-day . . . it's not till to-morrow. . . . I was told to let you know, ma'am. . . . At 5 o'clock to-morrow. . . .' "I made no answer. What is the use of rebelling? None of the humiliating words that I shall have to hear will hurt me more than what lies before my eyes: the lawn invaded, horses picketed all over it, baggage wagons and caissons in the walks, half the trees felled, officers sprawling on the grass, drinking and singing, and a German flag flapping from the balcony of my window, just in front of me. Oh, the wretches! "I close my eyes so as not to see. And that makes it more horrible still. . . . Oh, the memory of that night . . . and, in the morning, when the sun rose, the sight of all those dead bodies! Some of the poor fellows were still alive, with those monsters dancing round them; and I could hear the cries of the dying men asking to be put out of their misery. "And then. . . . But I won't think of it or think of anything that can destroy my courage and my hope. . . .