e very
army is smitten with the canker. Whole regiments are on the verge of
mutiny...."

He turned a questioning glance upon Philippe, who, from time to time,
nodded his head without replying, with a movement which his father might
take for one of approval.

"Isn't it so, Philippe? You see the thing close at hand, where you are:
all those poltroons who weaken our energies with their fine dreams of
peace at any price! You hear them, all the wind-bags at the public
meetings, who preach their loathsome crusade against the army and the
country with open doors and are backed up by our rulers.... And that's
only speaking of the capital!... Why, the very provinces haven't escaped
the contagion!... Here, have you read this abomination?"

He took a little volume in a violet wrapper from among the papers heaped
up on his table and held it before his son's eyes. And he continued:

"_Peace before All!_ No author's name. A book that's all the more
dangerous because it's very well written, not by one of those wind-bags
to whom I was referring just now, but by a scholar, a provincial and,
what's more, a Frenchman from the frontier. He seems even to bear our
name ... some distant cousin, no doubt: the Morestals are a large
family."

"Are you sure?" blurted Philippe, who had turned pale at the sight of
the pamphlet. "How do you know?"

"Oh, by accident.... A letter which was addressed to me and which said,
'All good wishes for the success of your pamphlet, my dear Morestal.'"

Philippe remembered. He was to have gone to the Old Mill last year; and
the letter must have been sent to him by one of his friends.

"And haven't you tried to find out?"

"What for? Because I have a scoundrel in my family, that's no reason
why I should be in a hurry to make his acquaintance! Besides, he himself
has had the decency not to put his name to his scurrilous nonsense....
No matter: if ever I lay my hands on him!... But don't let's talk of
it...."

He continued to talk of it, nevertheless, and at great length, as well
as of all the questions of war and peace, history and politics that came
to his mind. It was not until he had "got his budget off his chest," as
he said, that he exclaimed, suddenly:

"Enough of this palavering, my friends! Why, it's four o'clock!
Saboureux, I'm your man.... So they've been making free with your
poultry, have they? Are you coming, Jorance? We'll see some fine
soldier-chaps making their soup. There's nothing jo