The Frontier

"Yes," he said, "everything depends on them."

She continued:

"I don't think that they will ask you any questions. Your evidence is of such little importance. You see, the papers hardly mention it… Except, of course, in so far as Dourlowski is concerned… As for him, they haven't found him yet…"

Philippe did not reply. Had he as much as heard? With short movements of his stick, he was striking the heads off the flowers that lined the road: harebells, wild thyme, gentians, angelica. Marthe remembered that this was a trick which he used to condemn in his sons.

Before coming to the pass, the road narrowed into a path that wound through the woods, clinging to the roots of the fir-trees. They climbed it one behind the other. Marthe was in front of Philippe and Suzanne. Half-way up, the path made a sudden bend. When Marthe was out of sight, Philippe felt Suzanne's hand squeeze his and hold him back.

He stopped. She nimbly pulled herself up to him:

"Philippe, you are sad… It's not about me, is it?"

"No," he confessed, frankly.

"I knew it," she said, without bitterness. "So much has happened these last three days!.. I no longer count with you."

He made no attempt at protest, for it was true. He thought of her sometimes, but in a casual way, as of a woman whom one loves, whom one covets, but whom one has no time to think about. He did not even analyze his feelings. They were mixed up with all the other troubles that overwhelmed him.

"I shall never forget you, Suzanne," he said.

"I know, Philippe. And I neither, I shall never forget you… Only, I wanted to tell you this, which will give you a little happiness: Philippe, I give you my promise that I will face the life before me … that I will make a fresh start… What I told you is happening within me… I have more courage now that I … now that I have that memory to support me… You have given me happiness enough to last me all my life… I shall be what I should not have been … an honest woman… I swear it, Philippe … and a good wife…"

He understood that she meant to be married and he suffered at the thought. But he said to her, gently, after looking at her lips, her bare neck, her whole charming, fragrant and tantalizing person:

"Thank you, Suzanne… It is the best proof of your love… I thank you."

She went on to say to him:

"And then, Philippe, you see, I don't want to give my father pain… Any one can feel that he has been very unhappy… And the reason why I was afraid, the other morning, that Marthe might discover the truth … was because of him."

"You need not fear, Suzanne."

"I need not, need I?" she said. "There is no danger of it… And yet, this enquiry… If you were compelled to confess?.."

"Oh, Suzanne, how can you think it?"

Their eyes mingled fondly, their hands had not parted. Philippe would have liked to speak affectionate words and especially to say how much he hoped that she would be happy. But no words rose to his lips save words of love; and he would not…

She gave a smile. A tear shone at the tip of her lashes. She stammered:

"I love you… I shall always love you."

Then she released her hand.

Marthe, who had turned back, saw them standing together, motionless.

***

When they emerged at the corner of the Albern Path, they saw a group of journalists and sightseers gathered behind half-a-dozen gendarmes. The whole road was thus guarded, as far as the Saint-Élophe rise. And, on the right, German gendarmes stood posted at intervals.

They reached the Butte. The Butte is a large round clearing, on almost level ground, surrounded by a circle of ancestral trees arranged like the colonnade of a temple. The road, a neutral zone, seven feet wide, runs through the middle.

On the west, the French frontier-post, in plain black cast-iron and bearing a slab with directions, like a sign-post.

On the east, the German post, in wood painted with a black and white spiral and surmounted by an escutcheon with the words, "Deutsches Reich."

Two military tents had been pitched for the double enquiry and were separated by a space of fifty or sixty yards. Above each waved the flag of its respective country. A soldier was on guard outside either tent: a Prussian infantryman, helmet on head, shin-strap buckled; an Alpine rifleman, bonneted and gaitered. Each stood with his rifle at the order.

Not far from them, on either side of the clearing, were two little camps pitched among the trees: French soldiers, German soldiers. And the officers formed two groups.

French and German horizons showed in the mist between the branches.

"You see, Marthe, you see," whispered Philippe, whose heart was gripped with emotion. "Isn't it terrible?"

"Yes, yes," she said.

But a young man came towards them, carrying under his arm a portfolio bulging with papers:

"M. Philippe Morestal, I believe? I am M. de Trébons, attached to the department of the under-secretary of state. M. Le Corbier is talking to M. Morestal your father and begs that you will be good enough to wait."

He took him, with Marthe and Suzanne, to the French camp, where they found, seated on a bench, Farmer Saboureux and Old Poussière, who had likewise been summoned as witnesses. From there, they commanded the whole circus of the Butte.

"How pale you look, Philippe!" said Marthe. "Are you ill?"

"No," he said. "Please don't worry me."

Half an hour passed. Then the canvas fly that closed the German tent was lifted and a number of persons came out.

Suzanne gave a stifled cry:

"Papa!.. Look … Oh, my poor father!.. I must go and kiss him…"

Philippe held her back and she obeyed, feebly. Jorancé, besides, had disappeared, had been led by two gendarmes to the other camp; and Weisslicht the detective and his men were now being shown into the tent.

But the French tent opened, an instant after, to let old Morestal out. M. de Trébons was with him and went back with Saboureux and Old Poussière. All this coming and going seemed to take place by rule and was effected in great silence, interrupted only by the sound of the footsteps.

Morestal also was very pale. As Philippe put no question to him, Marthe asked:

"Are you satisfied, father?"

"Yes, we began all over again from the start. I gave all my explanations on the spot. My proofs and arguments have made an impression on him. He is a serious man and he acts with great prudence."

In a few minutes, M. de Trébons returned with Saboureux and Old Poussière. Farmer Saboureux continued disputing, in a state of great excitement:

"Hope they've finished this time! That makes three of them enquiring into me!.. What do they want with me, after all? When I keep on telling everybody that I was fast asleep… And Poussière too… Isn't it so, Poussière, you and I saw none of it?"

And, suddenly seizing M. de Trébons by the arm, he said, in a choking voice: