e to the suspicion of some amorous
meeting? Or was he really carrying his heroism to the point of telling
the truth?

Slowly, thoughtfully, as though in obedience to a new hope, Le Corbier
went back to his seat, flung his motor-coat on the table, sat down and,
addressing M. de Trebons:

"One second more.... Leave the papers. And pray bring Mlle. Suzanne
Jorance here."

M. de Trebons left the tent.

"Is Suzanne there?" asked Jorance, in an anxious voice. "Was she there
just now?..."

He received no reply; and he vainly scrutinized the faces, one after the
other, of those whom he was questioning. During the three or four
minutes that elapsed, none of the actors in the drama made the least
movement. Morestal remained seated, with his head hanging on his chest.
Marthe kept her eyes fixed on the opening of the tent. As for Philippe,
he awaited this additional blow with anguish in his heart. The massacre
was not ended. Destiny ordained that, following upon his father, upon
his wife, upon Jorance, he himself should sacrifice this fourth victim.

Le Corbier, who was watching him, was overcome with an involuntary
feeling of compassion, of sympathy almost. At that moment, Philippe's
sincerity seemed to him absolute and he felt inclined to abandon the
test. But distrust carried the day. Absurd though the supposition might
be, he had an impression that this man was capable of falsely accusing
the girl in the presence of his wife, of his father and of Jorance
himself. With Suzanne present, falsehood became impossible. The test was
a cruel one, but, however it was decided, it carried with it the
unimpeachable certainty without which Le Corbier was unwilling to close
his enquiry.

Philippe shook all over. Marthe and Jorance rose from their seats. The
tent-fly was drawn aside. Suzanne entered.

She at once gave a movement of recoil. At the first glance, at the first
sight of those motionless people, she suspected the danger which her
feminine instinct had already foreseen. And, deathly pale, deprived of
all her strength, she dared not come forward.

Le Corbier took her hand and, gently:

"Please be seated, mademoiselle. It is possible that your evidence may
be of value to us to clear up a few points."

There was only one vacant chair, next to Jorance. Suzanne took a few
steps and looked at her father, whom she had not seen since the evening
at Saint-Elophe. He turned away his head. She sat down trembling.

Then Le Corbi