n near the
frontier, facing the German garrisons, whose increasing activity was
becoming a subject of uneasiness and had led to Jorance's appointment as
special commissary.

Jorance, the first holder of this newly-created office, lived at the
other end of the village and a little way outside it, in a low-storeyed
house which had been greatly improved by Suzanne's good taste and fancy.
It was surrounded by a garden with arbours and quaintly-clipped old
trees and a clear, winding stream that flowed under the very doorstep.

It was nearly dark when Morestal entered, accompanied by Philippe.
Everything was ready for their reception: the table was laid in a room
hung with bright stuffs; flowers were scattered over the cloth; two
lamps shed a calm and even light; and Suzanne sat smiling, happy and
charming.

All this was very simple. And yet Philippe received the impression that
special pains had been taken on his account. It was he who was expected;
he was the master who was to be conquered and chained with invisible
bonds. He felt sure of this; and Suzanne told him as much throughout
dinner, with her fond glances, her attentive movements, her whole person
bending towards him.

"I ought not to have come," he thought. "No, I ought not to have."

And, each time that he met Suzanne's eyes, he called to mind his wife's
discreet manner and her thoughtful air.

"How absorbed you are, Philippe!" cried Morestal, who had never ceased
talking while eating. "And you, Suzanne, what are you thinking about?
Your future husband?"

"Not I!" she replied, without the least embarrassment. "I was thinking
of those months I spent in Paris last winter. How good you were to me,
Philippe! I remember the walks we used to take!..."

They spoke of those walks; and, little by little, Philippe was surprised
to realize the extent to which their lives had been mingled during that
stay. Marthe, retained by her household duties, used to remain at home,
while they two escaped, like a couple of free and careless play-fellows.
They visited the museums and churches of Paris, the little towns and
castles of the Ile-de-France. An intimacy sprang up between them. And
now it confused him to find Suzanne at once so near to him and so far,
so near as a friend, so far as a woman.

When dinner was over, he moved round to his father. Morestal, eager to
go and keep his appointment with Captain Daspry, stood up:

"Are you coming with us, Philippe?"

"Certain