then and there. He would not remain a day longer
between the two women. The mere sight of their intimacy was hateful to
him. He would go away without a word. He knew the danger of
leave-takings between people who love, knew how they soften us and
disarm us. He wanted none of those compromises and evasions. Temptation,
even if we resist it, is a fault in itself.

When dinner was over, he stood up and went to his bedroom, where Marthe
joined him. He learnt from her that Suzanne's room was on the same
floor. Later, he heard the young girl come upstairs. But he knew that
nothing would make him fall again.

As soon as he was alone, he opened his window, sat a long time staring
at the vague outlines of the trees, then undressed and went to bed.

*
* *

In the morning, Marthe brought him his letters. He at once recognized
the writing of a friend on one of the envelopes:

"Good!" he said, jumping at the pretext. "A letter from Pierre Belum. I
hope it's not to tell me to come back!"

He opened the letter and, after reading it, said:

"It's as I feared! I shall have to go."

"Not before this evening, my boy."

It was old Morestal, who had entered the room with an open letter in his
hand.

"What's the matter, father?"

"We are specially summoned to appear before the Prefect of the Vosges in
the town-hall at Saint-Elophe."

"I too?"

"You too. They want to verify certain points in your deposition."

"So they are beginning all over again?"

"Yes, it's a fresh enquiry. It appears that things are becoming
complicated."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying what this morning's papers say. According to the latest
telegrams, Germany has no intention of releasing Jorance. Moreover,
there have been manifestations in Paris. Berlin also is stirring. The
yellow press are adopting an arrogant tone. In short ..."

"What?"

"Well, the matter is taking a very nasty turn."

Philippe gave a start. He walked up to his father and, yielding to a
sudden fit of anger:

"There! Which of us was right? You see, you see what's happening now!
If you had listened to me ..."

"If I had listened to you?..." echoed Morestal, emphasizing each word
and at once preparing for a quarrel.

But Philippe restrained himself. Marthe made a remark or two at random.
And then all three were silent.

Besides, of what use was speech? The thunderstorm had passed over their
he