he said:

"It is just because I love you, Suzanne, that I am repulsing you ...
because I love you too well...."

The phrase implied a breach which she felt to be irreparable. She did
not attempt to protest. It was finished. And she knew this so thoroughly
that, a moment later, when Philippe opened the door and prepared to go
away, she did not even raise her head.

He did not go, however, for fear of offending her. He sat down. There
was only a little table between them. But how far he was from her! And
how it must surprise her that all her feminine wiles, her coquetry, the
allurement of her lips were powerless to subjugate the will of that man
who loved her!

The belfry-clock struck ten. When Morestal and Jorance arrived, Suzanne
and Philippe had not exchanged a single word.

*
* *

"Ready to start, Philippe?" cried Morestal. "Have you said good-bye to
Suzanne?"

She replied:

"Yes, we have said good-bye."

"Well, then it's my turn," he said, kissing her. "Jorance, it's settled
that you're coming with us."

"As far as the Butte-aux-Loups."

"If you go as far as the Butte," said Suzanne to her father, "you may
just as well go on to the Old Mill and come back by the high-road."

"That's true. But are you staying behind, Suzanne?"

She decided to see them out of Saint-Elophe. She quickly wrapped a silk
scarf round her head:

"Here I am," she said.

The four of them walked off, along the sleeping streets of the little
town, and Morestal at once began to comment on his interview with
Captain Daspry. A very intelligent man, the captain, who had not failed
to see the importance of the Old Mill as a block-house, to use his
expression. But, from another point of view, he had given something of a
shock to Morestal's opinions on the attitude which a French officer
should maintain towards his inferiors.

"Just imagine, Philippe: he refuses to punish the soldiers I told him
about ... you know, the pillagers whom Saboureux complained of.... Well,
he refuses to punish them ... even the leader of the band, one
Duvauchel, a lover of every country but his own, who glories in his
ideas, they say. Can you understand it? The rascal escapes with a fine
of ten francs, an apology, a promise not to do it again and a lecture
from his captain! And Mossieu Daspry pretends that, with kindness and
patience, he succeeds in turning Duvauchel and fellows of his