you were asleep
last evening. Suzanne spent the night here."

He turned aside his head, to hide the flush that spread over his
features, and he said:

"Oh, she slept here, did she?"

"Yes. M. Morestal wishes her to stay with us until M. Jorance's return."

"But ... but where is she now?..."

"She is at Boersweilen ... she has gone to ask for leave to see her
father."

"Alone?"

"No, Victor went with her."

With an air of indifference, Philippe asked:

"How is she? Depressed?"

"Very much depressed.... I don't know why, but she imagines that it was
her fault that her father was kidnapped.... She says she urged him to go
for that walk!... Poor Suzanne, what interest could she have in
remaining alone?..."

He plainly perceived, from his wife's voice and attitude, that, although
certain coincidences had surprised her, her mind had not been touched by
the shadow of a suspicion. On that side, everything was over. The danger
was averted.

Happily released from his fears, Philippe had the further satisfaction
of learning that his father had spent a very good night and that he had
gone to the town-hall at Saint-Elophe. He questioned his mother. Mme.
Morestal, yielding like Philippe to that desire for assuagement and
security which comes over us after any great shock, reassured him on the
subject of the old man's health. Certainly, there was something the
matter with the heart: Dr. Borel insisted upon his leading the most
regular and monotonous life. But Dr. Borel always looked at the dark
side of things; and, all considered, Morestal had borne the fatigue
attendant on his capture and escape, hard though it was, very well
indeed.

"Besides, you have only to look at him," she concluded. "Here he comes,
back from Saint-Elophe."

They saw him alight from the carriage with the brisk and springy step of
a young man. He joined them in the drawing-room and at once cried:

"Oh, what an uproar! I've telephoned to town.... They're talking of
nothing else.... And who do you think swooped down upon me at
Saint-Elophe? Quite half-a-dozen reporters! I sent them away with a flea
in their ears! A set of fellows who make mischief wherever they go and
who arrange everything as it suits them!... They're the scourge of our
time!... I shall give Catherine formal orders that no one is to be
admitted to the Old Mill.... Why, did you see how they report my
escape? I'm supposed to have strangled the sentry and to have made a
couple