judge
their actions. This sense Philippe experienced in all its fulness.
Placed by a series of abnormal circumstances between the necessity of
betraying Suzanne or the necessity of swearing upon oath to a thing
which he did not know, he felt that he was certainly entitled to lie.
The lie seemed just and natural. He did not deny the fault which he had
committed in succumbing to the young girl's fascinations and wiles: but,
having committed the fault, he owed it to Suzanne to keep it secret,
whatever the consequences of his discretion might be. There was no
excuse that permitted him to break silence.

He found, on the drawing-room table, the three newspapers which were
taken at the Old Mill: the _Eclaireur des Vosges_; a Paris
evening-paper; and the _Boersweilener Zeitung_, a morning-paper printed
in German, but French in tone and inspiration. A glance at these
completely reassured him. Amid the confusion of the first reports
devoted to the Jorance case, his own part passed almost unnoticed. The
_Eclaireur des Vosges_ summoned up his evidence in a couple of lines.
When all was said, he was and would be no more than a supernumerary.

"A walking gentleman, at the outside," he murmured, with satisfaction.

"Yes, at the outside. It's your father and M. Jorance who play the star
parts."

Marthe had entered and caught his last words, which he had spoken aloud,
and was answering him with a laugh.

She put her arm around his neck with the fond gesture usual to her and
said:

"Yes, Philippe, you need not worry yourself. Your evidence is of no
importance and cannot influence events in any way. You can be very sure
of that."

Their faces were quite close together and Philippe read nothing but
gaiety and affection in Marthe's eyes.

He understood that she had ascribed his behaviour of the previous day,
his first, false version, his reticence and his confusion to scruples of
conscience and vague apprehensions. Anxious about the consequences of
the business and dreading lest his testimony might complicate it, he had
tried to avoid the annoyance of giving evidence.

"I believe you're right," he said, with a view to confirming her in her
mistake. "Besides, is the business so very serious?"

They talked together for a few minutes and, gradually, while watching
her, he changed the subject to the Jorances:

"Has Suzanne been this morning?"

Marthe appeared astonished:

"Suzanne?" she said. "Don't you know?... Oh, of course,