who, fierce and pitiless
and alive to the least attempt at stratagem, would never let him go.

"I have the right to be there!" she cried. "You must explain yourself in
my presence! Your word will have no value unless I am there.... If not,
I shall challenge it as a fresh lie. Monsieur le ministre, I put you on
your guard against a trick...."

Le Corbier gave a sign of approval and, addressing Philippe:

"What is the use of a private interview, monsieur? Whatever credit I may
attach to your confidential statements, if I am to believe them frankly
I must have a check with which only your wife and your father can supply
me. Unfortunately, after all your contradictory versions, I am entitled
to doubt ..."

"Monsieur le ministre," Philippe hinted, "there are sometimes
circumstances ... facts that cannot be revealed ... secrets of such a
nature ..."

"You lie! You lie!" cried Marthe, maddened by the admission. "It is not
true. A woman: is that what you mean? No ... no.... Ah, Philippe, I
beseech you!... Monsieur le ministre, I swear to you that he is lying
... I swear it to you.... He is keeping up his falsehood to the bitter
end. He betray me! He love another woman! You're lying, Philippe, are
you not? Oh, hush, hush!"

Suddenly, Philippe felt a hand wringing his arm. Turning round, he saw
Commissary Jorance, with a white, threatening face, and heard him say,
in a dull voice:

"What did you mean to suggest? Whom are you talking about? Oh, I'll make
you answer, trust me!"

Philippe stared at him in stupefaction. And he also stared at Marthe's
distorted features. And he was surprised, for he did not think that he
had spoken words that could arouse their suspicions.

"But you are all mad!" he said. "Come, M. Jorance.... Come, Marthe....
What's the matter? I don't know what you can have understood.... Perhaps
it's my fault ... I am so tired!"

"Whom have you been talking about?" repeated Jorance, shaking with rage.

"Confess! Confess!" demanded Marthe, pressing him hard with all her
jealous hatred.

And, behind her, Philippe saw old Morestal, huddled in his chair, as
though unable to recover from the blows that had struck him. That was
Philippe's first victim. Was he to offer up two more? He started:

"Enough! Enough!... This is all hateful.... There is a terrible
misunderstanding between us.... And all that I say only makes it
worse.... We will have an explanation later, I promise you, M.
Jorance.... You also,