he kept to himself, refused to
deliver the manuscript to his publishers.

*
* *

"Are you glad to be here?"

Marthe had come up and folded her two hands over his arm.

"Very," he said. "And I should be still more pleased if I had not that
explanation with my father before me ... the explanation which I came
down here to have."

"It will be all right, my own Philippe. Your father is so fond of you.
And then you are so sincere!..."

"My dear Marthe," he said, kissing her affectionately on the forehead.

He had first met her at Luneville, through M. Jorance, who was her
distant cousin; and he had at once felt that she was the ideal companion
of his life, who would stand by him in hours of trouble, who would bear
him comely children, who would understand how to bring them up and how,
with his assistance and with his principles, to make sturdy men of them,
worthy to bear his name.

Perhaps Marthe would have liked something more; perhaps, as a girl, she
had dreamt that a married woman is not merely the wife and mother, but
also her husband's lover. But she soon saw that love went for little
with Philippe, a studious man, much more interested in mental
speculation and social problems than in any manifestation of sentimental
feeling. She therefore loved him as he wished to be loved, stifling
within herself, like smothered flames, a whole throbbing passion made up
of unsatisfied longings, restrained ardours and needless jealousies and
allowing only just so much of this to escape her as was needed to give
him fresh courage at times of doubt and defeat.

Short, slender and of delicate build, she was plucky, hardened to
trouble, fearless in the face of obstacles, proof against disappointment
after a check. Her bright, dark eyes betokened her energy. In spite of
all the influence which Philippe wielded over her, in spite of the
admiration with which he inspired her, she retained her personality, her
own standpoint towards life, her likes and dislikes. And, to such a man
as Philippe, nothing could be more precious.

"Won't you try and sleep a little?" she asked.

"No. I am going down to him."

"To your father?" she asked, anxiously.

"Yes, I don't want to put it off any longer. As it is, I have almost
done wrong in coming here and embracing him without first letting him
know the exact truth about me."

They were silent for a while. Philippe seemed