" he said. "Time will show.... Enough of these jeremiads: what say
you, Suzanne?... Suppose you saw to putting away my things?... Is
everything done?"

Marthe was surprised at the abrupt change in his manner. However, she
replied:

"There are only your papers; and I always prefer you to arrange them
yourself."

"Come on, then," he said, gaily.

Marthe walked through the dressing-room to her husband's bedroom.
Philippe was about to follow her and his foot touched the door-sill when
Suzanne darted in front of him and barred the way with her outstretched
arms.

It happened so suddenly that he uttered a slight exclamation. Marthe
asked, from the further room:

"What is it?"

"Nothing," said Suzanne. "We're coming."

Philippe tried to pass. She pushed him back violently and with such a
look of her eyes that he yielded at once.

They watched each other for a few seconds, like two enemies. Philippe
fumed:

"Well? What does all this mean? Do you propose to keep me here
indefinitely?..."

She came nearer to him and, in a voice that shook with restraint and
implacable energy:

"I shall expect you this evening.... It's quite easy.... You can get
out.... I shall be outside my door at eleven."

He was petrified:

"You are mad!..."

"No.... But I want to see you ... to speak to you ... I must ... I am
suffering more than I can bear.... It's enough to kill me."

Her eyes were full of tears, her chin seemed convulsed with spasms, her
lips trembled.

Philippe's anger was mingled with a little pity; and, above all, he felt
the need of putting an end to the scene as quickly as possible:

"Look here, baby, look here!" he said, employing an expression which he
often used to her.

"You will come ... you must come ... that is why I stayed.... One hour,
one hour of your presence!... If you don't, I shall come here, I shall
indeed.... I don't care what happens!"

He had retreated to the window. Instinctively, he looked to see if it
was possible to climb over the balcony and jump. It would have been
absurd.

But, as he bent forward, he saw his wife, two windows further, lean out
and catch sight of him. He had to smile, to conceal his perturbation;
and nothing could be more hateful to him than this comedy which a
child's whims were compelling him to play.

"You're quite pale," said Marthe.

"Do you think so? I'm a little tired, I suppose. You too, you are
looking ..."

She broke in:

"I thought I saw your fat