out for an hour."

"And who tells you," shouted Morestal, "who tells you that that hour is
not exactly the one hour which we shall want to gain?... An hour! You
never spoke a truer word: an hour of resistance to the first attack! An
hour of delay!... That's what I wanted, that's what I offer to my
country. Let every one be doing as I am, to the best of his power, let
every one be haunted to fever-point by the obsession of the personal
service which it is his duty to render to the country; and, if war
breaks out, you shall see how a great nation can take its revenge!"

"And suppose we are beaten, in spite of all?" Philippe asked again.

"What's that?"

Old Morestal turned to his son as though he had received a blow; and a
rush of blood inflamed his features. He looked Philippe in the face:

"What do you say?"

Philippe had an inkling of the conflict that would hurl them one against
the other if he dared to state his objections more minutely. And he
uttered words at random:

"Of course, the supposition is not one of those which we can
entertain.... But, all the same ... don't you think we ought to face the
possibility?..."

"Face the possibility of defeat?" echoed the old man, who seemed
thunderstruck. "Are you suggesting that the fear of that ought to
influence France in her conduct?"

A diversion relieved Philippe of his difficulty. Some one had appeared
from the staircase at the end of the terrace and in so noisy a fashion
that Morestal did not wait for his son to reply:

"Is that you, Saboureux? What a row you're making!"

It was Farmer Saboureux, whose house could be seen on the Col du Diable.
He was accompanied by an old, ragged tramp.

Saboureux had come to complain. Some soldiers taking part in the
manoeuvres had helped themselves to two of his chickens and a duck. He
seemed beside himself, furious at the catastrophe:

"Only, I've a witness in old Poussiere here. And I want an indemnity,
not to speak of damages and punishment. I call it a calamity, I do:
soldiers of our own country!... I'm a good Frenchman, but, all the same
..."

Morestal was too much absorbed in the discussion of his favourite ideas
to take the least interest in the man's troubles; and the farmer's
presence, on the contrary, seemed to him an excellent reason for
returning to the subject in hand. They had other things to talk about
than chickens and ducks! What about the chances of war? And the alarming
rumours that were current