"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."