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<h2 class="newchapter">CHAPTER X 75 OR 155?</h2> Paul Delroze anxiously turned the page, as though hoping that the plan of escape might have proved successful; and he received, as it were, a fresh shock of grief on reading the first lines, written the following morning, in an almost illegible hand: <div class="blockquot">"We were denounced, betrayed. . . . Twenty men were spying on our movements. . . . They fell upon us like brutes. . . . I am now locked up in the park lodge. A little lean-to beside it is serving as a prison for Jérôme and Rosalie. They are bound and gagged. I am free, but there are soldiers at the door. I can hear them speaking to one another. "Twelve mid-day. "It is very difficult for me to write to you, Paul. The sentry on duty opens the door and watches my every movement. They did not search me, so I was able to keep the leaves of my diary; and I write to you hurriedly, by scraps at a time, in a dark corner. . . . "My diary! Shall you find it, Paul? Will you[Pg 157] know all that has happened and what has become of me? If only they don't take it from me! . . . "They have brought me bread and water! I am still separated from Rosalie and Jérôme. They have not given them anything to eat. "Two o'clock. "Rosalie has managed to get rid of her gag. She is now speaking to me in an undertone through the wall. She heard what the men who are guarding us said and she tells me that Prince Conrad left last night for Corvigny; that the French are approaching and that the soldiers here are very uneasy. Are they going to defend themselves, or will they fall back towards the frontier? . . . It was Major Hermann who prevented our escape. Rosalie says that we are done for. . . . "Half-past two. "Rosalie and I had to stop speaking. I have just asked her what she meant, why we should be done for. She maintains that Major Hermann is a devil: "'Yes, devil,' she repeated. 'And, as he has special reasons for acting against you. . . .' "'What reasons, Rosalie?' "'I will explain later. But you may be sure that if Prince Conrad does not come back from Corvigny in time to save us, Major Hermann will seize the opportunity to have all three of us shot. . . .'" </div> [Pg 158]Paul positively roared with rage when he saw the dreadful word set down in his poor Élisabeth's hand. It was on one of the last pages. After that there were only a few sentences written at random, across the paper, obviously in the dark, sentences that seemed breathless as the voice of one dying: <div class="blockquot">"The tocsin! . . . The wind carries the sound from Corvigny. . . . What can it mean? . . . The French troops? . . . Paul, Paul, perhaps you are with them! . . . "Two soldiers came in, laughing: "'Lady's kaput! . . . All three kaput! . . . Major Hermann said so: they're kaput!' "I am alone again. . . . We are going to die. . . . But Rosalie wants to talk to me and daren't. . . . "Five o'clock. "The French artillery. . . . Shells bursting round the château. . . . Oh, if one of them could hit me! . . . I hear Rosalie's voice. . . . What has she to tell me? What secret has she discovered? "Oh, horror! Oh, the vile truth! Rosalie has spoken. Dear God, I beseech Thee, give me time to write. . . . Paul, you could never imagine. . . . You must be told before I die. . . . Paul. . . ." </div> The rest of the page was torn out; and the following pages, to the end of the month, were blank. Had[Pg 159] Élisabeth had the time and the strength to write down what Rosalie had revealed to her? This was a question which Paul did not even ask himself. What cared he for those revelations and the darkness that once again and for good shrouded the truth which he could no longer hope to discover? What cared he for vengeance or Prince Conrad or Major Hermann or all those savages who tortured and slew women? Élisabeth was dead. She had, so to speak, died before his eyes. Nothing outside that fact was worth a thought or an effort. Faint and stupefied by a sudden fit of cowardice, his eyes still fixed on the diary in which his poor wife had jotted down the phases of the most cruel martyrdom imaginable, he felt an immense longing for death and oblivion steal slowly over him. Élisabeth was calling to him. Why go on fighting? Why not join her? Then some one tapped him on the shoulder. A hand seized the revolver which he was holding; and Bernard said: "Drop that, Paul. If you think that a soldier has the right to kill himself at the present time, I will leave you free to do so when you have heard what I have to say." Paul made no protest. The temptation to die had come to him, but almost without his knowing it; and, though he would perhaps have yielded to it, in a moment of madness, he was still in the state of mind in which a man soon recovers his consciousness. "Speak," he said. [Pg 160]"It will not take long. Three minutes will give me time to explain. Listen to me. I see, from the writing, that you have found a diary kept by Élisabeth. Does it confirm what you knew?" "Yes." "When Élisabeth wrote it, was she threatened with death as well as Jérôme and Rosalie?" "Yes." "And all three were shot on the day when you and I arrived at Corvigny, that is to say, on Wednesday, the sixteenth?" "Yes." "It was between five and six in the afternoon, on the day before the Thursday when we arrived here, at the Château d'Ornequin?" "Yes, but why these questions?" "Why? Look at this, Paul. I took from you and I hold in my hand the splinter of shell which you removed from the wall of the lodge at the exact spot where Élisabeth was shot. Here it is. There was a lock of hair still sticking to it." "Well?" "Well, I had a talk just now with an adjutant of artillery, who was passing by the château; and the result of our conversation and of his inspection was that the splinter does not belong to a shell fired from a 75-centimeter gun, but to a shell fired from a 155-centimeter gun, a Rimailho." "I don't understand." "You don't understand, because you don't know[Pg 161] or because you have forgotten what my adjutant reminded me of. On the Corvigny day, Wednesday the sixteenth, the batteries which opened fire and dropped a few shells on the château at the moment when the execution was taking place were all batteries of seventy-fives; and our one-five-five Rimailhos did not fire until the next day, Thursday, while we were marching against the château. Therefore, as Élisabeth was shot and buried at about 6 o'clock on the Wednesday evening, it is physically impossible for a splinter of a shell fired from a Rimailho to have taken off a lock of her hair, because the Rimailhos were not fired until the Thursday morning." "Then you mean to say. . . ." murmured Paul, in a husky voice. "I mean to say, how can we doubt that the Rimailho splinter was picked up from the ground on the Thursday morning and deliberately driven into the wall among some locks of hair cut off on the evening before?" "But you're crazy, Bernard! What object can there have been in that?" Bernard gave a smile: "Well, of course, the object of making people think that Élisabeth had been shot when she hadn't." Paul rushed at him and shook him: "You know something, Bernard, or you wouldn't be laughing! Can't you speak? How do you account for the bullets in the wall of the lodge? And the iron chain? And that third ring?" [Pg 162]"Just so. There were too many stage properties. When an execution takes place, does one see marks of bullets like that? And did you ever find Élisabeth's body? How do you know that they did not take pity on her after shooting Jérôme and his wife? Or who can tell? Some one may have interfered. . . ." Paul felt some little hope steal over him. Élisabeth, after being condemned to death by Major Hermann, had perhaps been saved by Prince Conrad, returning from Corvigny before the execution. He stammered: "Perhaps . . . yes . . . perhaps. . . . And then there's this: Major Hermann knew of our presence at Corvigny—remember your meeting with that peasant woman—and wanted Élisabeth at any rate to be dead for us, so that we might give up looking for her. I expect Major Hermann arranged those properties, as you call them. How can I tell? Have I any right to hope?" Bernard came closer to him and said, solemnly: "It's not hope, Paul, that I'm bringing you, but a certainty. I wanted to prepare you for it. And now listen. My reason for asking those questions of the artillery adjutant was that I might check facts which I already knew. Yes, when I was at Ornequin village just now, a convoy of German prisoners arrived from the frontier. I was able to exchange a few words with one of them who had formed part of the garrison of the château. He had seen[Pg 163] things, therefore. He knew. Well, Élisabeth was not shot. Prince Conrad prevented the execution." "What's that? What's that?" cried Paul, overcome with joy. "You're quite sure? She's alive?" "Yes, alive. . . . They've taken her to Germany." "But since then? For, after all, Major Hermann may have caught up with her and succeeded in his designs." "No." "How do you know?" "Through that prisoner. The French lady whom he had seen here he saw this morning." "Where?" "Not far from the frontier, in a village just outside Èbrecourt, under the protection of the man who saved her and who is certainly capable of defending her against Major Hermann." "What's that?" repeated Paul, but in a dull voice this time and with a face distorted with anger. "Prince Conrad, who seems to take his soldiering in a very amateurish spirit—he is looked upon as an idiot, you know, even in his own family—has made Èbrecourt his headquarters and calls on Élisabeth every day. There is no fear, therefore. . . ." But Bernard interrupted himself, and asked in amazement, "Why, what's the matter? You're gray in the face." Paul took his brother-in-law by the shoulders and shouted: "Élisabeth is lost. Prince Conrad has fallen in[Pg 164] love with her—we heard that before, you know; and her diary is one long cry of distress—he has fallen in love with her and he never lets go his prey. Do you understand? He will stop at nothing!" "Oh, Paul, I can't believe. . . ." "At nothing, I tell you. He is not only an idiot, but a scoundrel and a blackguard. When you read the diary you will understand. . . . But enough of words, Bernard. What we have to do is to act and to act at once, without even taking time to reflect." "What do you propose?" "To snatch Élisabeth from that man's clutches, to deliver her." "Impossible." "Impossible? We are not eight miles from the place where my wife is a prisoner, exposed to that rascal's insults, and you think that I am going to stay here with my arms folded? Nonsense! We must show that we have blood in our veins! To work, Bernard! And if you hesitate I shall go alone." "You will go alone? Where?" "To Èbrecourt. I don't want any one with me. I need no assistance. A German uniform will be enough. I shall cross the frontier in the dark. I shall kill the enemies who have to be killed and to-morrow morning Élisabeth shall be here, free." Bernard shook his head and said, gently: "My poor Paul!" "What do you mean?" "I mean that I should have been the first to agree[Pg 165] and that we should have rushed to Élisabeth's rescue together, without counting the risk. Unfortunately. . . ." "What?" "Well, it's this, Paul: there is no intention on our side of taking a more vigorous offensive. They've sent for reserve and territorial regiments; and we are leaving." "Leaving?" stammered Paul, in dismay. "Yes, this evening. Our division is to start from Corvigny this evening and go I don't know where . . . to Rheims, perhaps, or Arras. North and west, in short. So you see, my poor chap, your plan can't be realized. Come, buck up. And don't look so distressed. It breaks my heart to see you. After all, Élisabeth isn't in danger. She will know how to defend herself. . . ." Paul did not answer. He remembered Prince Conrad's abominable words, quoted by Élisabeth in her diary: "It is war. It is the law, the law of war." He felt the tremendous weight of that law bearing upon him, but he felt at the same time that he was obeying it in its noblest and loftiest phase, the sacrifice of the individual to everything demanded by the safety of the nation. The law of war? No, the duty of war; and a duty so imperious that a man does not discuss it and that, implacable though it be, he must not even allow the merest quiver of a complaint to stir in his secret soul.[Pg 166] Whether Élisabeth was faced by death or by dishonor did not concern Sergeant Paul Delroze and could not make him turn for a second from the path which he was ordered to follow. He was a soldier first and a man afterwards. He owed no duty save to France, his sorely-stricken and beloved country. He carefully folded up Élisabeth's diary and went out, followed by his brother-in-law. At nightfall he left the Château d'Ornequin. [Pg 167] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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