r ready this evening
for Papa Jorance! Ah, this time, mother, we'll drink champagne!"

His gaiety sounded a little forced and found no echo in his hearers.
Philippe remained silent, with his forehead streaked with a wrinkle
which Marthe knew well. From his appearance, from the tired look of his
eyelids, she felt certain that he had sat up all night, examining the
position from every point of view and seeking the best road to follow.
Had he taken a resolution? And, if so, which? He seemed so hard, so
stern, so close and reticent that she dared not ask him.

After a hastily-served meal, Morestal, on the receipt of a second
telephonic communication, hurried off to Saint-Elophe, where M. Le
Corbier, the under-secretary of state, was waiting for him.

Philippe, the time of whose summons had been postponed, went to his
room and locked himself in.

When he came down again, he found Marthe and Suzanne, who had decided to
go with him. Mme. Morestal took him aside and, for the last time, urged
him to look after his father.

The three of them walked away to the Col du Diable. A lowering sky,
heavy with clouds, hung over the mountain-tops; but the weather was mild
and the swards, studded with trees, still wore a look of summer.

Marthe, to break the silence, said:

"There is something soft and peaceful about the air to-day. That's a
good sign. It will influence the people who are conducting the enquiry.
For everything depends upon their humour, their impression, the state of
their nerves, does it not, Philippe?"

"Yes," he said, "everything depends on them."

She continued:

"I don't think that they will ask you any questions. Your evidence is of
such little importance. You see, the papers hardly mention it....
Except, of course, in so far as Dourlowski is concerned.... As for him,
they haven't found him yet...."

Philippe did not reply. Had he as much as heard? With short movements of
his stick, he was striking the heads off the flowers that lined the
road: harebells, wild thyme, gentians, angelica. Marthe remembered that
this was a trick which he used to condemn in his sons.

Before coming to the pass, the road narrowed into a path that wound
through the woods, clinging to the roots of the fir-trees. They climbed
it one behind the other. Marthe was in front of Philippe and Suzanne.
Half-way up, the path made a sudden bend. When Marthe was out of sight,
Philippe felt Suzanne's hand squeeze his and hold him back.

H