cold kiss that revealed her
lingering bitterness.

But, as she was opening the door, she stopped, reflected and said:

"You are going back to Paris, are you not? To your own place?"

"Why do you ask, mother?"

"An idea that came to me, that's all. My head is in such a state,
because of your father, that I did not think of it before...."

"What idea? Can you tell me?"

"About this war.... But, no, as a professor, you're exempt, aren't you?"

He understood her fears and, as he was unable to reassure her by
confessing his secret intentions, he did not enlighten her further:

"Yes," he said, "I'm exempt."

"Still, you spent some time in the reserve?"

"Only at the government offices. And that's where we serve in time of
war."

"Oh," she said, "that's all right, that's all right!... Else I should
have been very anxious.... You see, the mere thought that you might be
fighting ... that you might be wounded ... oh, it would be horrible!"

She drew him to her with a sort of violence that delighted Philippe and
kissed him as he had longed to be kissed. He was nearly saying:

"Do you understand, mother darling?... Do you understand what I was
trying to do, the other day? Thousands and thousands of mothers will be
made to shed tears.... Great as our private troubles are, they will
pass. Those which begin to-morrow will never pass. Death is
irreparable."

But why waste words? Did not his mother's emotion prove him absolutely
right?

They remained for a few moments locked in each other's embrace and the
old lady's tears fell upon Philippe's cheeks.

At last, she said:

"You are not going at once, are you?"

"As soon as I have packed my bag."

"What a hurry you are in! Besides, there's no train yet. No, I want to
kiss you once more and to make sure that you have all you want. And
then it's impossible for you and Marthe to part like this. I will speak
to her presently. But I must go to your father first: he may want
me...."

He went with her as far as the sick man's room and, as she had taken
from a cupboard a pile of towels that filled her arms, she said:

"Open the door for me, will you?"

Then he saw his father at the other end of the room, lying lifeless,
very pale in the face, and Suzanne sitting at the foot of the bed. He
clearly distinguished the red scratches on her cheeks and chin.

"Shut the door, Suzanne," said Mme. Morestal, when she was inside.

Suzanne did so. As she approached, she saw Phil