g that is happening. Let us hope that it
is not too late."

He leapt into the saddle, spurred his horse and set off at a gallop.

Philippe followed him with his eyes as far as the Etang-des-Moines. When
the officer had disappeared behind a dip in the ground, he gave way to
an angry movement and muttered:

"Play-acting!"

However, he turned the telescope on the Col du Diable and saw soldiers
all around Saboureux's Farm, running, scrambling up the rocks on every
side with the agility of young goats. He reflected that they had
forgotten their weariness and seemed to be diverting themselves with an
exercise to which each contributed his own effort, his individual
tactics and his qualities of self-reliance and initiative.

He stood pensive for a few minutes. But time was pressing. He called
Victor and went up to his room:

"Quick, my bag."

They stuffed the papers and manuscripts into it promiscuously, together
with a little linen and the toilet-articles. The bag was strapped up.
Philippe seized it:

"Good-bye, Victor. Tell my mother I sent her my love."

He crossed the landing. But some one darted out of an adjacent room. It
was Marthe. She barred his way:

"Where are you going?" she asked.

CHAPTER III

IDEAS AND FACTS

Marthe, who had kept her room since the day before, but remained
attentive to all that was happening at the Old Mill, had, through her
open door and window, heard and seen the hubbub, the fuss made by the
servants, all the mad fluster of a house that feels itself threatened by
an approaching cyclone.

She had overcome her fit of anger and hatred, was now mistress of
herself and was no longer frightened of a possible meeting between
Philippe and Suzanne. Another torment obsessed her. What did her husband
mean to do? Brought face to face with an eventuality which he had often
contemplated, what line of conduct would he pursue?

And it was he that she was watching. Before she went away, she wished to
know. She overheard his first conversation with Victor. She saw his
meeting with Captain Daspry from a distance. She saw him go to his room.
She saw him come out again. And, in spite of herself, although urged by
a very definite feeling, she stood up before him like an obstacle:

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Philippe did not lose countenance. He replied:

"What interest can that have for you?"

"Come," she said, "we have to speak to each other.... Come in here."

She took h