"Still no news of Paul. I have given up trying to write to him either. I don't want him to hear from me until I have all the proofs. But what am I to do? How can I get proofs of something that happened seventeen years ago? Hunt about, think and reflect as I may, I can find nothing.
"Monday, 10 August.
"The guns never ceased booming in the distance. Nevertheless, the captain tells me that there is nothing to make one expect an attack by the enemy on this side.
"Tuesday, 11 August.
"A sentry posted in the woods, near the little door leading out of the estate, has just been killed—stabbed with a knife. They think that he must have been trying to stop a man who wanted to get out of the park. But how did the man get in?
"Wednesday, 12 August.
"What can be happening? Here is something that has made a great impression on me and seems impossible to understand. There are other things besides which are just as perplexing, though I can't say why. I am much astonished that the captain and all his soldiers whom I meet appear so indifferent and should even be able to make jokes among themselves. I feel the sort of depression that comes over one when a storm is at hand. There must be something wrong with my nerves.
"Well, this morning. . . ."
Paul stopped reading. The lower portion of the page containing the last few lines and the whole of the next page were torn out. It looked as if the major, after stealing Élisabeth's diary, had, for reasons best known to himself, removed the pages in which she set forth a certain incident.
The diary continued: