er, who was in a hurry to finish the business, walked
quickly up to Philippe and said:

"It is the last time, monsieur, that I shall apply to you. In a few
minutes, everything will be irrevocably ended. It depends on your good
will...."

But he went no further. Never had he beheld a face ravaged as Philippe's
was, nor ever so great an expression of strength and energy as showed
through the chaos of those distorted features. He understood that
Philippe had resolved to travel the last stage. He waited, without a
word.

And indeed, as though he too were eager to reach the terrible goal,
Philippe spoke and said:

"Monsieur le ministre, if I tell you for certain how I spent my night,
will my words have an unimpeachable value in your mind?"

His voice was almost calm. His eyes had selected a spot in the tent from
which he no longer dared remove them, for he feared to meet Marthe's
eyes, or Jorance's, or Suzanne's.

Le Corbier replied:

"An unimpeachable value."

"Will they tend to lessen the importance of my father's statements?"

"Yes, for I shall have to weigh those statements against the words of a
man whose perfect sincerity I shall no longer have cause to doubt."

Philippe was silent. His forehead oozed sweat at every pore and he
staggered like a drunken man on the point of falling.

Le Corbier insisted:

"Speak without scruple, monsieur. There are circumstances in which a man
must look straight before him and in which the aim to be attained must,
in a measure, blind him."

Philippe continued:

"And you think, monsieur le ministre, that your report, thus modified,
may have a decisive influence in Paris?"

"I say so, positively. The prime minister has allowed me to look into
his secret thoughts. Moreover, I know what he is capable of doing. If
the conclusions of my report give him a little latitude, he will ring up
the German embassy and mount the tribune in order to bring the chamber,
to bring the country face to face with the facts as they are. The
cabinet will fall amid a general outcry, there will be a few riots, but
we shall have peace ... and peace, as you, monsieur, were saying a
moment ago, peace without dishonour, at the price of an infinitesimal
sacrifice of self-esteem, which will make France greater than ever."

"Yes ... yes ..." said Philippe. "But, if it should be too late? If it
should no longer be possible to prevent anything?"

"That," said Le Corbier, "is a thing which we cannot for