She thought only of Morestal, confined to his room, and of the inconvenience which he would suffer through this state of things.
A bicycle-bell was heard outside.
"Ah!" cried the gardener, leaning out of the window on the garden side. "There's my boy coming.... How the rascal is growing! And you think, mother, that they'll leave him at home to pluck the geese? A sharp lad like that?..."
A few seconds later, the boy was in the drawing-room. Breathless, staggering, he reeled back against the table and blurted out, in a hollow voice:
"It's ... war!..."
Philippe, who retained some hope in spite of everything, flew at him:
"War?"
"Yes ... it's declared...."
"By whom?"
"They didn't say."