The road which Morestal and his friend followed first makes a bend and climbs the wooded side of a ravine. It was formerly used for foresting purposes and is still paved with large stones which are covered with mud after a rainy day and make the ascent slippery and difficult.
Morestal was panting for breath when he reached the top:
"We ought ..." he said, "to see ... Philippe from here."
Faint clouds dimmed the light of the moon, but still, at certain places denuded of trees, they were able to distinguish the other side of the ravine.
He called out:
"Hullo!... Philippe!"
"I tell you what," said Jorancé. "I expect Philippe did not like to let Suzanne go home alone and he is taking her back, at any rate as far as the houses."
"I dare say," said Morestal. "Poor Suzanne,she doesn't look very bright. So you've made up your mind to get her married?"
"Yes ... I'm getting her married ... it's all settled."
They started walking again, and, by an imperceptible slope, came to two large trees, after which the road turned to the right. From that point onwards, running through pine-woods along the line of the ridges, it marked the frontier as far as the Col du Diable.
On their left was the German slope, which was steeper.
"Yes," repeated Jorancé, "it's all settled. Of course, Suzanne might have met a younger man ... a better-looking man ... but no one more respectable or more serious.... To say nothing of his having a very firm character; and, with Suzanne, a certain amount of firmness is necessary. Besides ..."
"Yes?" said Morestal, perceiving his hesitation.
"Well, you see, Morestal, Suzanne has got to be married. She inherits from me an upright nature and strict principles ... but she is not only my daughter ... and sometimes I am afraid of finding ... bad instincts in her."
"Have you discovered anything?"
"Oh, no! And I am sure that there is nothing to discover. But it's the future I'm afraid of.One day or another, she may know temptation ... some one may make love to her ... turn her head with fair words. When that time comes, will she know how to resist? Oh, Morestal, the thought of it drives me mad! I couldn't bear it.... Just think, the daughter, following after the mother.... Oh, I believe ... I believe I should kill her!..."
Morestal jested:
"What a fuss about nothing! A good little girl like Suzanne!..."
"Yes, you are right, it's absurd. But I can't help it, I can't forget.... And I don't want to, either. My duty is to think of everything and to give her a guide, a master who will advise her.... I know Suzanne: she will make a perfect wife...."
"And she will have lots of children; and they will be very happy," Morestal wound up. "Come, you're boring me and boring yourself with your fancies.... Let's talk of something else. By the way ..."
He waited for Jorancé to come up with him. The two walked on abreast. And Morestal, who was interested in no subject outside his personal prejudice, resumed:
"By the way, can you tell me—if it's not aprofessional secret, of course—can you tell me who that man Dourlowski is exactly?"
"Six months ago," replied Jorancé, "I should not have been able to answer your question. But now ..."
"But now?..."
"He is no longer in our service."
"Do you think he has gone over to the other side?"
"I expect so, but I haven't the least proof of it. In any case, there's not much to be said in the fellow's favour. Why do you ask? Have you anything to do with him?"
"No, no," said Morestal, remaining thoughtful.
They went on in silence. The wind, which blew more strongly on the ridge, played among the trees. The pine-needles crackled under the soles of their boots. The moon had disappeared, but the sky was white with light.
"The Pierre-Branlante.... The Cheminée-des-Fées," said Morestal, pointing to the vaguely-seen shapes of two huge boulders known by those names of the Rocking Stone and the Fairies' Chimney.
They walked for another moment:
"Eh? What is it?" said Jorancé, feeling his companion catch him by the arm.
"Did you hear?"
"No."
"Listen!"
"Well, what?"
"Didn't you hear a sort of a hoot?"
"Yes, the hoot of an owl."
"Are you sure? It doesn't sound natural to me."
"What do you say it is, then? A signal?"
"I'm certain of it."
Jorancé reflected:
"After all, it's quite possible ... some smuggler perhaps.... But it's a bad moment to have chosen."
"Why?"
"Well, now that the German post has been cut down, it's likely that all this part of the frontier is being more closely watched than usual."
"Yes, of course," said Morestal. "Still, that owl's hoot ..."
There was a short slope and then they emerged upon a higher upland, surrounded by enormous fir-trees, which formed a sort of rampart. This was the Butte-aux-Loups. The road cut it in two; and the posts of each country stood facing each other.
Jorancé noticed that the German post had been put up again, but in a makeshift fashion, with theaid of a number of large stones which kept it in position.
"A gust of wind and down it comes again," he said, shaking it.
"I say, mind what you're about!" said Morestal, with a chuckle. "Don't you see yourself toppling it over and having the police down upon you?... You'd better make a strategic movement to the rear, my friend!..."
But he had not finished speaking when another cry reached his ears.
"Ah, this time," said Morestal, "you'll admit...."
"Yes ... yes ..." Jorancé agreed. "An owl gives a duller, slower hoot.... It really is like a signal, a hundred yards or so ahead of us.... Smugglers, of course, French or German."
"Suppose we turned back?" said Morestal. "Aren't you afraid of being mixed up in an affair?..."
"Why? It's the custom-house people's business; it doesn't concern you and me. They can settle it among themselves...."
They listened for a moment and then went on, thoughtfully, with watchful ears.
After the Butte-aux-Loups, the ridge becomes flatter, the forest spreads out and the road, nowfreer, winds among the trees, runs from one slope to the other, avoids the big roots, passes round the inequalities of the ground and, at times, disappears from sight under a bed of dead leaves.
But the moon had come out again and Morestal walked straight in front of him, without hesitation. He knew the frontier so well! He could have followed it with his eyes closed, in the dusk of the darkest night! At one place, there was a branch that blocked the way; at another, there was the trunk of an old oak which sounded hollow when he hit it with his stick. And he announced the branch before he came to it; and he struck at the old oak.
His uneasiness, which began to seem unreasonable, was dispelled. Consulting his watch again, he hurried his steps, so as to reach home by the time which he had said.
But suddenly he stopped. He thought he saw a shadow hiding, thirty or forty yards away from him:
"Did you see?" he whispered.
"Yes ... I saw...."
And, all at once, there came a shrill, strident whistle, apparently from the very place where the shadow had vanished.
"Don't move," said Jorancé.
They waited, their hearts tense with the anguish of what was coming.
A minute passed and more minutes; and then there was a sound of footsteps, below them, on the German side, the sound of a man hurrying....
Morestal thought of the precipitous hill which he had described to Dourlowski as the way up to the frontier from the Albern Woods, by the Cold Spring, the Fontaine-Froide. In all certainty, somebody was scaling the upper portion of that precipice, clinging on to the branches and dragging himself along the pebbles.
"A deserter!" whispered Jorancé. "No nonsense now!"
But Morestal pushed him away and began to run to where the two roads crossed. At the very moment when he reached the spot, a man appeared, all frenzied and out of breath, and stammered, in French:
"Save me!... I've been given away!... I'm frightened!..."
Morestal seized hold of him and flung him off the road:
"Run!... Look sharp!... Straight ahead of you!"
There was the report of a rifle. The man staggered, with a moan; but he was evidently onlywounded, for, after a few seconds, he drew himself up and made off through the woods.
A chase ensued forthwith. Four or five Germans crossed the frontier and set off in pursuit of the fugitive, swearing as they went, while their comrades, forming the greater number, turned towards Morestal.
Jorancé took him round the waist and compelled him to recoil:
"This way," he said, "over there.... They won't dare ..."
They returned in the direction of the Butte-aux-Loups, but were at once caught up:
"Halt!" commanded a rough voice. "I arrest you.... You are accomplices.... I arrest you."
"We are in France," retorted Jorancé, facing his aggressors.
A hand fell on his shoulder:
"We'll see about that.... We'll see about that.... You're coming with us."
The men surrounded them; but, vigorous both and exasperated, they succeeded in fighting their way through with their fists:
"To the Butte-aux-Loups," said Jorancé, "and keep to the left of the road."
"We're not on the left," said Morestal, who saw,after a moment, that they had branched off to the right.
They re-entered French territory; but the police who were pursuing the deserter, having lost his tracks, now fell back in their direction.
Thereupon they made a bend to the right, hesitated for a moment, careful not to cross the road, and then set off again; and, still tracked by the men, whom they felt close upon their heels, they reached the acclivity of the Butte-aux-Loups. At that moment, surrounded on all hands and utterly blown, they had to stop to take breath.
"Arrest them!" said the leader of the men, in whom they recognized the German commissary, Weisslicht. "Arrest them! We are in Germany."
"You lie!" roared Morestal, fighting with wild energy. "You have not the right.... It's a dirty trap!"
It was a violent struggle, but did not last long. He received a blow on the chin with the butt of a rifle, reeled, but continued to defend himself, hitting and biting his adversaries. At last, they succeeded in throwing him and, to stifle his shouting, they gagged him.
Jorancé, who had taken a leap to the rear and was standing with his back to a tree, resisted, protesting:
"I am M. Jorancé, special commissary at Saint-Élophe. I am on my own ground here. We are in France. There's the frontier."
The men flung themselves upon him and dragged him away, while he shouted at the top of his voice:
"Help! Help! They're arresting the French commissary on French soil!"
A report was heard, followed by another. Morestal, with a superhuman effort, had knocked down the policeman who held him and once more took to flight, with a cord cutting into one of his wrists and with a gag in his mouth.
But, two hundred yards further, as he was turning towards the Col du Diable, his foot knocked against the root of a tree and he fell.
He was at once overtaken and firmly bound.
***
A few moments later, the two prisoners were carried by the police to the road leading through the Albern Woods and hoisted on the backs of a couple of horses. They were taken to the Col du Diable and, from there, past the Wildermann factory and the hamlet of Torins, sent on to the German town of Börsweilen.
Suzanne Jorancé pushed the swing-gate and entered the grounds of the Old Mill.
She was dressed in white and her face looked fresh and cool under a large hat of Leghorn straw, with its black-velvet strings hanging loose upon her shoulders. Her short skirt showed her dainty ankles. She walked with a brisk step, using a tall, iron-shod stick, while her disengaged hand crumpled some flowers which she had gathered on the way and which she dropped heedlessly as she went.
The Morestals' peaceful house was waking in the morning sun. Several of the windows were open; and Suzanne saw Marthe writing at the table in her bedroom.
She called out:
"Can I come up?"
But Mme. Morestal appeared at one of the windows of the drawing-room and made an imperious sign to her:
"Hush! Don't speak!"
"What's the matter?" asked Suzanne, when she joined the old lady.
"They're asleep."
"Who?"
"Why, the father and son."
"Oh!" said Suzanne. "Philippe too?..."
"Yes, they must have come in late and they are resting. Neither of them has rung his bell yet. But tell me, Suzanne, aren't you going away?"
"To-morrow ... or the next day.... I confess, I'm in no hurry to go."
Mme. Morestal took her to her daughter-in-law's room and asked:
"Philippe's still asleep, isn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Marthe. "I haven't heard him move...."
"Nor I Morestal.... And yet he's an early riser, as a rule.... And Philippe, who wanted to go tramping at daybreak!... However, so much the better, sleep suits both of my men.... By the way, Marthe, didn't the shooting wake you in the night?"
"The shooting!"
"Oh, of course, your room is on the other side. The sound came from the frontier.... Some poacher, I suppose...."
"Were M. Morestal and Philippe in?"
"Surely! It must have been one or two o'clock ... perhaps later ... I don't quite know."
She put the tea-pot and the jar of honey, which Marthe had had for breakfast, on the tray; and, with her mania for tidying, obeying some mysterious principle of symmetry, settled her daughter-in-law's things and any piece of furniture in the room that had been moved from its place. This done, with her hands hanging before her, she looked round for an excuse to discontinue this irksome activity. Then, discovering none, she left the room.
"How early you are," said Marthe to Suzanne.
"I wanted air ... and movement.... Besides, I told Philippe that I would come and fetch him. I want to go and see the ruins of the Petite-Chartreuse with him ... It's a bore that he's not up yet."
She seemed disappointed at this accident which deprived her of a pleasure.
"Do you mind if I finish my letters?" asked Marthe, taking up her pen.
Suzanne strolled round the room, looking out of the window, leant to see if Philippe's was open, then sat down opposite Marthe and examined her long and carefully. She noted the eye-lids, which were a little rumpled; the uneven colouring; the tiny wrinkles on the temples; a few white hairs mingling with the dark tresses; all that proclaimstime's little victories over waning youth. And, raising her eyes, she saw herself in a glass.
Marthe surprised her glance and cried, with an admiration free from all envy:
"You are splendid, Suzanne! You look like a triumphant goddess. What triumph have you achieved?"
Suzanne flushed and, in her confusion, said, at random:
"But you, Marthe, you look worried...."
"Well, yes ... perhaps I am."
And Marthe told how, on the previous evening, finding herself alone with her mother-in-law, she had spoken to her of Philippe's new ideas, the spirit of his work, his plan of resigning his position and his firm intention to have an explanation with M. Morestal.
"Well?"
"Well," said Marthe, "my mother-in-law flew out. She absolutely objects to any explanation whatever."
"Why?"
"M. Morestal is suffering from heart-trouble. Dr. Borel, who has attended him for the last twenty years, says that he must be spared any annoyance, any excessive excitement. And an interview with Philippe might have fatal results.... What can one reply to that?"
"You will have to tell Philippe."
"Certainly. And he, he must either keep silent and continue to lead an intolerable existence, or else, at the cost of the most terrible anguish, face M. Morestal's anger."
She was silent for a moment and then, striking the table with her clenched fists:
"Oh," she exclaimed, "if I could only take all those worries upon myself and save Philippe's peace of mind!"
Suzanne felt all the force of her vehemence and energy. No pain would have frightened Marthe, no sacrifice would have been beyond her strength.
"Do you love Philippe very much?" she asked.
Marthe smiled:
"With all my heart.... He deserves it."
The younger woman felt a certain bitterness and could not help saying:
"Does he love you as much as you love him?"
"Why, yes, I think so.... I deserve it too."
"And do you trust him?"
"Oh, fully! Philippe is the most loyal creature I know."
"Still ..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Yes, say what you were going to.... Oh, you need not be afraid of asking me questions!"
"Well, I was thinking ... suppose Philippe loved another woman...."
Marthe burst out laughing:
"If you knew how little importance Philippe attaches to all that business of love!"
"However, supposing ..."
"Very well, supposing," she said, pretending to be serious. "Philippe loves another woman. He is madly in love with her. What then?"
"In that case, what would you do?"
"Upon my word ... I've never thought about it."
"Wouldn't you go for a divorce?"
"And my children?"
"But, if he wanted to be divorced?"
"Then it would be, 'Good-bye, M. Philippe!'"
Suzanne reflected, without taking her eyes from Marthe, as though she were spying for a sign of uneasiness on her features or seeking to fathom the depths of her most secret thoughts.
She murmured:
"And, if he deceived you?"
This time, the thrust went home. Marthe shivered, stung to the quick. Her face altered. And she said, in a voice which she made an effort to contain:
"Oh, that, no! If Philippe fell in love with another woman, if he wanted to begin his life again,without me, and if he confessed it frankly, I should consent to everything ... yes, to everything, even to a divorce, however great my despair.... But treachery, lying ..."
"You would not forgive him?"
"Never! Philippe is not a man whom one can forgive. He is a conscious man, who knows what he is doing, incapable of a weakness; and no forgiveness would absolve him. Besides, I myself could not ... no ... I could not indeed." And she added, "I have too much pride."
The phrase was gravely and simply uttered and revealed a haughtiness of soul which Suzanne had not suspected. She felt a sort of confusion in the presence of the rival whom she was attacking and who held her at bay with such disdain.
A long silence divided the two women; and Marthe said:
"You're in one of your wicked moods to-day, Suzanne, aren't you?"
"I am too happy to be wicked," chuckled the girl. "Only it's such a strange happiness! I am afraid it won't last."
"Your marriage ..."
"I won't get married!" declared Suzanne, excitedly. "I won't get married at any price! I hate that man.... He's not the only man in the world, is he? There are others ... others who will loveme.... I too am worthy of being loved ... worthy of being lived for!..."
There were tears in her voice; and so great a despondency overwhelmed her features that Marthe felt a longing to console her, as was her habit in such cases. Nevertheless, she said nothing. Suzanne had wounded her, not so much by her questions as by her attitude, by a certain sarcasm in her accent and by an air of defiance that mingled with the expression of her grief.
She preferred to cut short a painful scene the meaning of which escaped her, although the scene itself did not astonish her on Suzanne's part:
"I am going downstairs," she said. "It's time for the post; and I am expecting letters."
"So you're leaving me!" said Suzanne, in a broken voice.
Marthe could not help laughing:
"Well, yes, I am leaving you in this room ... unless you refuse to stay...."
Suzanne ran after her and, holding her back:
"You mustn't! I only ask for a movement, a kind word.... I am passing through a terrible time, I need help and you ... you repel me.... It's you who are repelling me, don't forget that.... It's you...."
"That's understood," said Marthe. "I am a cruel friend.... Only, you see, my dear littleSuzanne, if the thought of your marriage upsets you to that extent, it might be a good plan to tell your father.... Come, come along downstairs and calm yourself."
They found Mme. Morestal below, feather-broom in hand, an apron tied round her waist, waging her daily battle against a dust that existed only in her imagination.
"I suppose you know, mamma, that Philippe is not yet up?"
"The lazy fellow! It's nearly nine o'clock. I hope he's not ill!"
"Oh, no!" said Marthe. "But, all the same, when I go up again, I'll look in and see."
Mme. Morestal went as far as the hall with the two young women. Suzanne was already walking away, without a word, with the face which she wore on her black days, as Marthe said, when Mme. Morestal called her back:
"You're forgetting your stick, child."
The old lady had taken the long, iron-shod walking-stick from the umbrella-stand. But, suddenly, she began to rummage among the canes and sunshades, muttering:
"Well, that's funny...."
"What's the matter?" asked Marthe.
"I can't find Morestal's stick. And yet it's always here."
"He must have put it down somewhere else."
"Impossible! If so, it would be the first time in his life. I know him so well!... What can it mean?... Victor!"
The man ran into the hall:
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Victor, why isn't your master's cane here?"
"I have a notion, ma'am, that the master has gone out."
"Gone out! But you ought to have told me.... I was beginning to be anxious."
"I said so just now to Catherine."
"But what makes you think ...?"
"In the first place, the master did not put his boots outside his door as usual.... M. Philippe neither...."
"What!" said Marthe. "Has M. Philippe gone out too?"
"Very early this morning, ma'am ... before my time for getting up."
In spite of herself, Suzanne Jorancé protested:
"But no, it's not conceivable...."
"Why, when I came down," said Victor, "the front-door was not locked."
"And your master never forgets to turn the key, does he?"
"Never. As the door was not locked, it meanseither that the master has gone out ... or else...."
"Or else what?"
"That he hasn't come in.... Only, I say that as I might say anything that came into my head...."
"Not come in!" exclaimed Mme. Morestal.
She reflected for a second, then turned on her heels, ran up the stairs with surprising agility, crossed a passage and entered her husband's bedroom.
She uttered a cry and called:
"Marthe!... Marthe!..."
But the young woman, who had followed her, was already on her way to the second floor, with Suzanne.
Philippe's room was at the back. She opened the door quickly and stood on the threshold, speechless.
Philippe was not there; and the bed had not even been undone.
The three women met in the drawing-room. Mme. Morestal walked up and down in dismay, hardly knowing what she was saying:
"Not in!... Philippe neither!... Victor, you must run ... but where to?... Where is he to look?... Oh, it's really too terrible!..."
She suddenly stepped in front of Marthe and stammered:
"The ... the shots ... last night...."
Marthe, pale with anxiety, did not reply. She had had the same awful thought from the first moment.
But Suzanne exclaimed:
"In any case, Marthe, you need not be alarmed. Philippe did not take the road by the frontier."
"Are you sure?"
"We separated at the Carrefour du Grand-Chêne. M. Morestal and papa went on by themselves. Philippe came straight back."
"No, he can't have come straight back, or he would be here now," said Marthe. "What can hehave been doing all night? He has not even set foot in his room!"
But Mme. Morestal was terrified by what Suzanne had said. She could now no longer doubt that her husband had taken the frontier-road; and the shots had come from the frontier!
"Yes, that's true," said Suzanne, "but it was only ten o'clock when we started from Saint-Élophe and the shots which you heard were fired at one or two o'clock in the morning.... You said so yourself."
"How can I tell?" cried the old lady, who was beginning to lose her head entirely. "It may have been much earlier."
"But your father must know," said Marthe to Suzanne. "Did he tell you nothing?"
"I have not seen my father this morning," said Suzanne. "He was not awake...."
She had not time to finish her sentence before an idea burst in upon her, an idea so natural that the two other women were struck by it also and none of them dared put it into words.
Suzanne flew to the door, but Marthe held her back. Why not telephone to Saint-Élophe, to the special commissary's house?
A minute later, M. Jorancé's servant replied that she had just noticed that her master was not in. His bed had not been touched either.
"Oh!" said Suzanne, trembling all over. "My poor father!... Can anything have happened to him?... My poor father! I ought to have...."
They stood for a moment as though paralyzed, all three, and incapable of taking a resolution. The man-servant went out saying that he would saddle the horse and gallop to the Col du Diable.
Marthe, who was nearest to the telephone, rang up the mayor's office at Saint-Élophe, on the off-chance, and asked for news. They knew nothing there. But two gendarmes, it seemed, had just crossed the square at a great pace. Thereupon, at the suggestion of Mme. Morestal, who had taken up the second receiver, she asked to be put on to the gendarmery. As soon as she was connected, she explained her reason for telephoning and was informed that the sergeant was on his way to the frontier with a peasant who declared that he had found the body of a man in the woods between the Butte-aux-Loups and the Col du Diable. That was all they were able to tell her....
Mme. Morestal let go the receiver and fell in a dead faint. Marthe and Suzanne tried to attend to her. But their hands trembled and, when Catherine, the maid-servant, appeared upon the scene, they both ran out of the room, roused by a sudden energy and an immense need of doing something, of walking, of laying eyes upon that deadbody whose blood-stained image obsessed their minds.
They went down the stairs of the terrace and scurried in the direction of the Étang-des-Moines. They had not gone fifty yards, when they were passed by Victor, who galloped by on horseback and shouted:
"Go in, go in! What's the use? I shall be back again!"
They went on nevertheless. But two roads offered: Suzanne wanted to take the one leading to the pass, on the left; Marthe, the one on the right, through the woods. They exchanged sharp words, blocking each other's way.
Suddenly, Suzanne, without knowing what she was saying, flung herself into her friend's arms, blurting out:
"I must tell you.... It is my duty.... Besides, it is all my fault...."
Marthe, enraged and not understanding the words, which she was to remember so clearly later, spoke to her roughly:
"You're quite mad to-day," she said. "Leave me alone, do."
She darted into the woods and, in a few minutes, came to an abandoned quarry. The path went no further. She had a fit of fury, was on the verge of throwing herself on the ground and bursting intotears and then retraced her steps, for she thought she heard some one call. It was Suzanne, who had seen a man coming from the frontier on horseback and who had vainly tried to make herself heard. He was no doubt bringing news....
Panting and exhausted, they went back again. But there was no one at the Old Mill, no one but Mme. Morestal and Catherine, who were praying on the terrace. All the servants had gone off, without plan or purpose, in search of information; and the man on the horse, a peasant, had passed without looking up.
Then they dropped on a bench near the balustrade and sat stupefied, worn out by the effort which they had just made; and horrible minutes followed. Each of the three women thought of her own special sorrow and each, besides, suffered the anguish of the unknown disaster that threatened all three of them. They dared not look at one another. They dared not speak, although the silence tortured them. The least sound represented a source of foolish hope or horrid dread; and, with their eyes fixed on the line of dark woods, they waited.
Suddenly, they rose with a start. Catherine, who was keeping a look-out on the steps of the staircase, had sprung to her feet:
"There's Henriot!" she cried.
"Henriot?" echoed Mme. Morestal.
"Yes, the gardener's boy: I can make him out from here."
"Where? We haven't seen him come."
"He must have taken a short cut.... He is coming up the stairs.... Quick, Henriot!... Hurry!... Do you know anything?"
She pulled open the gate and a lad of fifteen or so, his face bathed in perspiration, appeared.
He at once said:
"There's a deserter been killed ... a German deserter."
And the three women were forthwith overcome with a great sense of peace. After the rush of events that had come upon them like a tempest, it seemed to them as though nothing could touch them now. The phantom of death vanished from their minds. A man had been shot, no doubt, but that didn't matter, because the man was not one of theirs. And the gladness that revived them was such that they could almost have laughed.
And, once again, Catherine appeared. She announced that Victor was returning. And the three women saw a man spurring his horse at the mouth of the pass, at the imminent risk of breaking his neck on the steep slope of the road. It was soon apparent, when the man reached theÉtang-des-Moines, that some one was following him with swift strides; and Marthe uttered cries of joy at recognizing the tall figure of her husband.
She waved her handkerchief. Philippe answered the signal.
"It's he!" she said, almost swooning. "It's he, mamma.... I am sure that he'll be able to tell us everything ... and that M. Morestal is not far off...."
"Let us go and meet them," Suzanne suggested.
"Yes, I'll go," said Marthe, quickly. "You stay here, Suzanne ... stay with mamma."
She darted away, eager to be the first to welcome Philippe and recovering enough strength to run to the bottom of the slope:
"Philippe! Philippe!" she cried. "You are back at last...."
He lifted her off the ground and pressed her to him:
"My darling, I hear that you have been uneasy.... You need not have been.... I will tell you all about it...."
"Yes, you will tell us.... But come ... come quick and kiss your mother and reassure her...."
She dragged him along. They climbed the staircase and, on reaching the terrace, he suddenly found himself in the presence of Suzanne, who was waiting, convulsed with jealousy and hatred. Philippe'semotion was so great that he did not even offer her his hand. Besides, at that moment, Mme. Morestal ran up to him:
"Your father?"
"Alive."
And Suzanne, in her turn:
"Papa?"
"Alive also.... They have both been carried off by the German police, near the frontier."
"What? Prisoners?"
"Yes."
"They haven't hurt them?"
The three women all stood round him and pressed him with questions. He replied, laughing:
"A little calmness, first.... I confess I feel rather dazed.... This makes two exciting nights.... Also, I am simply starving."
His shoes and clothes were grey with dust. There was blood on one of his shirt-cuffs.
"You are wounded!" cried Marthe.
"No ... not I.... I'll explain to you...."
Catherine brought him a cup of coffee, which he swallowed greedily, and he began:
"It was about five o'clock in the morning when I got up; and I certainly had no idea, when I left my room ..."
Marthe was stupefied. Why did Philippe say that he had slept there? Did he not know that hisabsence had been discovered? But then why tell that lie?
She instinctively placed herself in front of Suzanne and in front of her mother; and, as Philippe had broken off, himself embarrassed by the obvious commotion which he had caused, she asked him:
"So, last evening, you left your father and M. Jorancé?..."
"At the Carrefour du Grand-Chêne."
"Yes, so Suzanne told us. And you came back straight?"
"Straight."
"But you heard the shots fired?..."
"Shots?"
"Yes, on the frontier."
"No. I must have gone to sleep at once.... I was tired.... Otherwise, if I had heard them ..."
He had an intuition of the danger which he was running, especially as Suzanne was trying to make signs to him. But he had prepared the opening of his story so carefully that, being unaccustomed to lying, he would have been unable to alter a single word of it without losing the little coolness that remained to him. Moreover, himself worn out and incapable of resisting the atmosphere of anxiety and nervousness that surrounded him, how couldhe have perceived the trap which Marthe unconsciously had laid for him? He, therefore, repeated:
"Once more, when I left my room, I had no idea of what had happened. It was an accident that put me in the way of it. I had reached the Col du Diable and was walking along the frontier-road when, half-way from the Butte-aux-Loups, I heard moans and groans on my left. I went to the spot where they came from and discovered, among the bracken, a wounded man, covered in blood...."
"The deserter," said Mme. Morestal.
"Yes, a German private, Johann Baufeld," replied Philippe.
He was now coming to the true portion of his story, for his interview with the deserter had really taken place when he was returning from Saint-Élophe, at break of day; and he continued, with an easier mind:
"Johann Baufeld had only a few minutes to live. He had the death-rattle in his throat. Nevertheless, he had strength enough left to tell me his name and to speak a few words; and he died in my arms, not, however, before I learnt from him that M. Jorancé and my father had tried to protect him on French territory and that the police had turned upon them. I therefore went in search ofthem. The track was easy to follow. It took me through the Col du Diable to the hamlet of Torins. There, the inn-keeper made no difficulty about telling me that a squad of police, several of whom were mounted, had passed his house on their way to Börsweilen, where they were conveying two French prisoners. One of these was wounded. I could not find out if it was your father, Suzanne, or mine. In any case, the wounds must have been slight, for both prisoners were sitting their horses without assistance. I felt reassured and turned back. At the Col du Diable, I met Victor.... You know the rest."
He seemed quite happy at finishing his story and poured himself out a second cup of coffee, with the satisfied air of a man who has got off cheaply.
The three women were silent. Suzanne lowered her head, lest she should betray her emotion. At last, Marthe, who had no suspicions, but who was worrying her head about Philippe's falsehood, resumed:
"At what time did you come in last night?"
"At a quarter to eleven."
"And you went to bed at once?"
"At once."
"Then how is it that your bed has not been touched?"
Philippe gave a start. The question took hisbreath away. Instead of inventing some pretext or other, he stammered, guilelessly:
"Oh, so you went in ... you saw ..."
He had not thought of this detail, nor, for that matter, of any of those which might make his story appear to clash with the facts; and he no longer knew what to say.
Suzanne suggested:
"Perhaps Philippe spent the night in a chair...."
Marthe shrugged her shoulders; and Philippe, utterly at a loss, trying to make up another version, did not even answer. He remained dumb, like a child caught at fault.
"Come, Philippe," asked Marthe, "what's underneath this? Didn't you come straight back?"
"No," he admitted.
"You came back by the frontier?"
"Yes."
"Then why conceal it? I couldn't very well be anxious now, seeing that you are here."
"That's just it!" cried Philippe, plunging at a venture along this path. "That's just it! I did not want to tell you that I had spent the night looking for my father."
"The night! Then you knew before this morning that he had been carried off?"
"Yes, last evening."
"Last evening? But how? Who told you? You can only have known it by witnessing the arrest."
He hesitated for a second. He could have dated his interview with the deserter Baufeld to that particular moment. But he did not think of this; and he declared, in a firm tone:
"Well, yes, I was there ... or, at least, not far off...."
"And you heard the shots?"
"Yes, I heard the shots and also some cries of pain.... When I arrived on the scene of the fighting, there was no one there. Then I hunted about.... You understand, I was afraid that my father or M. Jorancé had been hit by the bullets.... I hunted all night, following their track in the dark: a wrong track, first of all, which led me towards the Albern Woods. And then, this morning, I found Private Baufeld, who told me which way the attacking party had gone, and I pushed on to the factory and to the inn at Torins. But if I had told you all that, oh, by Jove, how you would have fretted about my fatigue! Why, I can picture you doing so, my poor Marthe!"
He pretended to be gay and careless. Marthe watched him in astonishment. She nodded her head with a thoughtful air:
"Yes ... you are right...."
"Don't you think so? It was much simpler to tell you that I had just left my room, feeling fit and well, after a good night's rest.... Don't you agree with me, mother?... Besides, you yourself ..."
But, at that moment, a sound of voices rose under the windows on the garden-side and Catherine burst into the room, yelling:
"The master! The master!"
And Victor also bounded in:
"Here's the master coming! There he is!"
"Who? Who?" asked Mme. Morestal, hastening forward.
"M. Morestal! There he is! We saw him at the end of the garden.... Look, over there, near the water-fall...."
The old lady ran to one of the windows:
"Yes! He has seen us! O God, is it possible?"
Staggering with excitement, she leant heavily on Marthe's arm and dragged her to the staircase that led to the front hall and the steps.
They had hardly disappeared when Suzanne flung herself upon Philippe:
"Oh, please, Philippe ... please!" she implored.
He did not understand at first:
"What is it, Suzanne?"
"Please, please be careful. Don't let Marthe suspect...."
"Do you think ...?"
"I thought so, for a second.... She gave me such a queer look.... Oh, it would be terrible!... Please, please ..."
She left him quickly, but her words and the scared look in her eyes gave Philippe a real fright. Hitherto, he had felt towards Marthe only the embarrassment provoked by the annoyance of having to tell a lie. He now suddenly perceived the full gravity of the situation, the peril which threatened Suzanne and which might shatter the happiness of his own household. One blunder ... and everything was discovered. And this thought, instead of clearing his brain forthwith, merely increased his confusion.
"I must save Suzanne," he repeated. "Above all, I must save Suzanne."
But he felt that he had no more power over the events at hand than a man has over the approaching storm. And a dull fear arose within his breast.
Bare-headed, tangle-haired, his clothes torn, no collar, blood on his shirt, on his hands, on his face, blood everywhere, a wound in his neck, another on his lip, unrecognizable, horrible to look at, but magnificent in energy, heroic and triumphant: such was the appearance presented by old Morestal.
He chortled:
"Here!" he shouted.
An enormous laugh rolled from under his moustache:
"Morestal? Here!... Morestal, for the second time, a prisoner of the Teuton ... and, for the second time, free!"
Philippe stared at him in dismay, as though at an apparition.
"Well, sonny? Is that the way you welcome me home?"
He caught hold of a napkin and wiped his face with a great, wide gesture. Then he drew his wife to him:
"Kiss me, mother!... And you, Philippe!And you, Marthe!... And you too, my pretty Suzanne: once for myself and once for your father!... Don't cry, my child.... Daddy's all right.... They're coddling him like an emperor, over there ... until they let him go. And that's not far off. By Heaven, no! I hope the French government ..."
He was talking like a drunken man, too fast and in an unsteady voice. His wife tried to make him sit down. He protested:
"Rest? Quite unnecessary, mother. A Morestal never rests. My wounds? Scratches! What? The doctor? If he sets foot in this house, I'll chuck him out of the window!"
"Still, you ought to take something...."
"Take something? A glass of wine, if you like ... a glass of good French wine.... That's it, uncork a bottle.... We'll have a glass all round.... Your health, Weisslicht!... Oh, what a joke!... When I think of the face of Weisslicht, the special commissary of the imperial government!... The prisoner's gone! The bird's flown!"
He laughed loudly and, after drinking two glasses of wine, one on top of the other, he kissed the three women once more, kissed Philippe, called in Victor, Catherine, the gardener, shook hands with them, sent them away again and began to walk up and down the room, saying:
"No time to be lost, children! I met the sergeant of gendarmes on the Saint-Élophe road. The authorities have been informed.... They can be here within half an hour. I want to present a report. Take a pen, Philippe."
"What's much more important," protested his wife, "is that you should not excite yourself like this. Here, tell us all about it instead, quite calmly."
Old Morestal was never known to refuse to talk. He therefore began his story, in short, slow sentences, as she wished, describing all the details of attack and all the incidents of the journey to Börsweilen. But, carried away once more, he raised his voice, grew indignant, worked himself into a rage, burst into sarcasm:
"Oh, they showed no lack of civility!... It was, 'Monsieur le commissaire spécial!... Monsieur le conseiller d'arrondissement!'... Weisslicht had his mouth crammed with our titles!... All the same, at one o'clock in the morning, we were safely locked up in two nice little rooms in the town-hall at Börsweilen.... In quod, what!... With a probable indictment for complicity, espionage, high treason and the devil knows what hanging over our heads!... Only, in that case, gentlemen, you should not carry politeness so far as to release your captives from their handcuffs; and thewindows of your cells ought not to be closed with bars too slight to be of any use; and you ought not to let one of your prisoners keep his pocket-knife. If you do, as long as that prisoner has any grit in him—and a file to his knife, by Jove!—he will try what he can do. And I did try, by Jingo! At four o'clock in the morning, after cutting the window-pane and filing or loosening four of the bars, old Morestal let himself down by a waste-pipe and took to his heels. Kind friends, farewell!... It was now only a question of getting home.... The Col du Diable? The Albern Woods? The Butte-aux-Loups? No such fool! The vermin were bound to be swarming on that side.... And, in fact, I heard the drums beating and the trumpets sounding the alarm and the horses galloping. They were hunting for me, of course!... But how could they have thought of hunting for me six miles away, in the Val de Sainte-Marie, right in the middle of the Forest of Arzance? And I trotted ... I trotted until I was simply done.... I crossed the border at eight o'clock, unseen and unknown. Morestal's foot was on his native heath! At ten o'clock, I saw the steeple of Saint-Élophe from the Côte-Blanche and I cut straight across, so as to get home quicker. And here I am! A bit tired, I admit, but quite presentable.... Well, what do you say to old Morestal now, eh?"
He had stood up and, forgetting all about the fatigue of the night, was enlivening his discourse with a savage display of gesture which alarmed his wife.
"And my poor father was not able to escape?" asked Suzanne.
"No, they had taken care to search him," replied Morestal. "Besides, they watched him more closely than they did me ... so he could not do as I did...." And he added. "And a good job too! For I should have been left to languish in their prisons until the end of an interminable trial; whereas he, in forty-eight hours ... But this is all talk. The authorities can't be far away. I want to have my report ready. There are certain things which I suspect ... the business was a plot from start to finish...."
He interrupted himself, as though startled by an unexpected thought, and sat for a long time motionless, with his head in his hands. Then, suddenly, he struck the table with his fist:
"That's it! I understand the whole thing now! Upon my word, it's taken me long enough!"
"What?" asked his wife.
"Dourlowski, of course!"
"Dourlowski?"
"Why, yes! From the first minute, I guessed that it was a trap, a trap contrived by inferiorpolice-agents. But how was it laid? I see it now. Dourlowski came here yesterday, on some pretext or other. He knew that Jorancé and I would take the frontier-road in the evening; and the passing of the deserter was contrived to take place at that moment, in connivance with the German detectives! One of them whistles as soon as we come up; and the soldier, who has been told, of course, that this whistle is a signal from the French accomplices, the soldier, whom Dourlowski or his confederates hold in a leash, like a dog, the soldier is let go. That's the whole mystery! It was not he, the poor wretch, whom they were after, but Jorancé and Morestal. Morestal, right enough, flies to the rescue of the fugitive. They collar him, they lay hold of Jorancé; and there we are, accomplices both. Bravo, gentlemen! Well played!"
Mme. Morestal murmured:
"But, I say, it might be a serious thing ..."
"For Jorancé," he replied, "yes, because he is in custody; only—there is an 'only'—the pursuit of the deserter took place on French soil. We also were arrested on French soil. It was a flagrant violation of the frontier. So there's nothing to be afraid of."
"You think so?" asked Suzanne. "You think that my father ...?"
"Nothing to be afraid of," repeated Morestal.And he declared, positively, "I look upon Jorancé as free."
"Tut, tut!" mumbled the old lady. "Things won't go so fast as that."
"Once more, I look upon Jorancé as free and for this good reason, that the frontier has been violated."
"Who will prove the violation?"
"Who? Why, I, of course!... And Jorancé!... Do you think they'll doubt the word of honest men like us? Besides, there are other proofs. They will find the traces of the pursuit, the traces of the attack, the traces of the stand which we made. And who can tell? There may have been witnesses...."
Marthe turned her eyes on Philippe. He was listening to his father, with a face so pale that she was astounded. She waited for a few seconds and then, seeing that he did not speak, she said:
"There was a witness."
Morestal started:
"What's that, Marthe?"
"Philippe was there."
"Nonsense! We left Philippe at the Carrefour du Grand-Chêne, at the bottom of the hill, didn't we, Suzanne? You remained behind together."
Philippe intervened, quickly:
"Suzanne went off at once! and so did I ...but I had not gone two hundred yards when I turned back."
"So that was why you did not answer when I called to you, half-way up the hill?"
"I expect so. I went back to the Grand-Chêne."
"What for?"
"To join you.... I was sorry I had left you."
"Then you were behind us at the time of the attack?"
"Yes."
"In that case, of course, you heard the shots fired!... Let me see, you must have been on the Butte-aux-Loups...."
"Somewhere near there...."
"And perhaps you saw us.... From above!... With the moonlight!..."
"Oh, no!" protested Philippe. "No, I saw nothing!"
"But, if you heard the firing, you must certainly have heard Jorancé shouting.... They stuffed a gag into my mouth.... But Jorancé kept on roaring, 'We are in France! We are on French territory!' You heard Jorancé shouting, didn't you, now?"
Philippe hesitated before making a reply of which he vaguely felt the tremendous importance. But, opposite him, he saw Marthe watching him withincreasing surprise and, near Marthe, he saw Suzanne's drawn features. He said:
"Yes, I heard him ... I heard him at a distance...."
Old Morestal could not contain himself for joy. And, when he learnt besides that Philippe had received the last words of Baufeld the deserter, he burst out:
"You saw him? He was alive? He told you that they had set a trap for us, didn't he?"
"He mentioned the name of Dourlowski."
"Capital! But our meeting with the soldier, the pursuit ... he must have told you that all this took place in France?"
"Yes, I seemed to understand ..."
"We've got them!" shouted Morestal. "We've got them! Of course, I was quite easy in my mind.... But all the same, Philippe's evidence, the declaration of the dying private.... Ah, the brigands, they'll have to let go their prey!... We were in France, kind friends! There has been a violation of the frontier!"
Philippe saw that he had gone too far; and he objected:
"My evidence is not evidence in the proper sense of the word.... As for the soldier, I could hardly make out ..."
"We've got them, I tell you. The little that you were able to see, the little that you were able to hear all agrees with my own evidence, that is to say, with the truth. We've got them! And here come the gentlemen from the public prosecutor's office, who will be of my opinion, I bet you what you like! And it won't take long either! Jorancé will be free to-morrow."
He dropped the pen, which he had taken up in order to write his report himself, and went quickly to the window, attracted by the sound of a motor-car sweeping round the garden-lawn:
"The sub-prefect," he said. "By Jove, so the government know about it! The examining-magistrate and the prosecutor.... Ha, ha, they are not wasting any time, I see!... Quick, mother, have them shown in here.... I'll be back in a minute: I must just put on a collar and change my jacket...."
"Father!"
Morestal stopped in the doorway:
"What is it, my boy?" he asked.
"I have something to say to you," said Philippe, resolutely.
"All right. But it'll keep until presently, won't it?"
"I have something to say to you now."
"Oh! In that case, come along with me. Yes,you can give me a hand, instead of Victor, who is out."
And, laughing, he went to his room.
Marthe involuntarily took a few steps, as though she proposed to be present at the conversation. Philippe experienced a momentary embarrassment. Then he quickly made up his mind:
"No, Marthe, you had better stay."
"But ..."
"No, once more, no. Excuse me. I will explain later...."
And he followed his father.
***
As soon as they were alone, Morestal, who was thinking much more about his evidence than about Philippe's words, asked, casually:
"Is it private?"
"Yes ... and very serious," Philippe declared.
"Nonsense!"
"Very serious, as you will see in a moment, father.... It's about a position in which I find myself placed, a horrible position which I don't know how to get out of, unless ..."
He went no further. Acting under an instinctive impulse, thrown off his balance by the arrival of the examining-magistrate and by a sudden vision of the events to come, he had appealed to his father.He wanted to speak, to say the words that would deliver him. What words? He did not quite know. But anything, anything rather than give false evidence and affix his signature to a lying deposition!
He stammered at first, while his brain refused to act, seeking in vain for an acceptable solution. How was he to stop on the downward course along which he was being dragged by a combination of hostile forces, accidents, coincidences and implacable, trifling facts? How was he to break through the circle which a cruel fate was doing its utmost to trace around him?
It suddenly burst in upon him that the only possible way out lay in proclaiming the immediate truth, in bluntly revealing his conduct.
He shuddered with disgust. What! Accuse Suzanne! Was that the half-formed idea that inspired him, unknown to himself? Had he really thought of ruining her in order that he might be saved? It was now that he first realized the full nature of his predicament, for he would a thousand times rather have died than dishonour the girl, even in his father's eyes alone.
Morestal, who had finished dressing, chaffed him:
"Is that all you wanted to say?"
"Yes.... I made a mistake," replied Philippe. "I thought ..."
He was leaning on the window-rail and looked out inertly at the large sort of park formed by the clustering trees and the undulating meadows of the Vosges. He was now obsessed by other thoughts, which mingled with his own anxiety. He went back to old Morestal:
"Are you quite sure that the arrest took place on French soil?"
"Upon my word, you must be mad!"
"It's possible that, without noticing it, you crossed the frontier-line...."
"Yes ... exactly ... so we did. But, at the moment of the first attack and again at the moment of the arrest, we were in France. There is no doubt about that."
"Just think, father, if there were the slightest doubt!..."
"Well, what then? What do you mean?"
"I mean that this incident will have further consequences. The affair will create a noise."
"What do I care? The truth comes first, surely? Once we are in the right, we are bound to see that our rights are recognized and that Jorancé is released."
Morestal planted himself firmly in front of his son:
"You're of my way of thinking, I suppose?"
"No."
"How do you mean, no?"
"Listen, father: the circumstances seem to me to be very serious. The examining-magistrate's enquiry is most important. It will serve as a basis for later enquiries. It seems to me that we ought to reflect and give our evidence with a certain reserve, with caution.... We must behave prudently...."
"We must behave like Frenchmen who are in the right," cried Morestal, "and who, when they are in the right, fear nobody and nothing in this world!"
"Not even war?"
"War! What are you talking about? War! But there can't be war over an incident like this! The way things are shaping, Germany will yield."