_August._--The mobilization order came out yesterday, just as I was
leaving Paris to join D. at Les Sablons.
The sight of the excitement in the villages, the women in tears
standing spellbound before the tricolor notices, the mobilized men
trudging off with their knapsacks and any sort of uniform, and young
fellows singing the Marseillaise, upset me terribly.
On this scene of desolation the sun shone gloriously, indifferent to
the troubles of earth, and his rays even penetrated into the car and
reached me as I sat huddled up in the corner, crying bitterly.
* * * * *
_August._--The torture has begun. Yesterday evening D. was waiting for
me when I arrived--knowing how upset I should be after parting with my
son, he was anxious and sympathetic. We were both crying when we kissed
each other.
Already we are without papers and without news. We rush after people
who pass reading odd sheets, bought in neighboring towns and full of
vague rumors which are generally contradicted next day. My chauffeur
has gone, and my staff of servants is reduced to my Hindu and a
charwoman. We often have a good cry together when we think of the
beautiful country we lived in of yore, and are terrified at the thought
of what may be in store for us here.