The Frontier

Marthe walked through the dressing-room to her husband's bedroom. Philippe was about to follow her and his foot touched the door-sill when Suzanne darted in front of him and barred the way with her outstretched arms.

It happened so suddenly that he uttered a slight exclamation. Marthe asked, from the further room:

"What is it?"

"Nothing," said Suzanne. "We're coming."

Philippe tried to pass. She pushed him back violently and with such a look of her eyes that he yielded at once.

They watched each other for a few seconds, like two enemies. Philippe fumed:

"Well? What does all this mean? Do you propose to keep me here indefinitely?.."

She came nearer to him and, in a voice that shook with restraint and implacable energy:

"I shall expect you this evening… It's quite easy… You can get out… I shall be outside my door at eleven."

He was petrified:

"You are mad!.."

"No… But I want to see you … to speak to you … I must … I am suffering more than I can bear… It's enough to kill me."

Her eyes were full of tears, her chin seemed convulsed with spasms, her lips trembled.

Philippe's anger was mingled with a little pity; and, above all, he felt the need of putting an end to the scene as quickly as possible:

"Look here, baby, look here!" he said, employing an expression which he often used to her.

"You will come … you must come … that is why I stayed… One hour, one hour of your presence!.. If you don't, I shall come here, I shall indeed… I don't care what happens!"

He had retreated to the window. Instinctively, he looked to see if it was possible to climb over the balcony and jump. It would have been absurd.

But, as he bent forward, he saw his wife, two windows further, lean out and catch sight of him. He had to smile, to conceal his perturbation; and nothing could be more hateful to him than this comedy which a child's whims were compelling him to play.

"You're quite pale," said Marthe.

"Do you think so? I'm a little tired, I suppose. You too, you are looking …"

She broke in:

"I thought I saw your father."

"Is he back?"

"Yes, there he is, at the end of the garden, with M. Jorancé. They are making signs to you."

Morestal and his friend were climbing up beside the waterfall and waving their hands to attract Philippe's attention. When he came under the windows, Morestal cried:

"This is what we have arranged, Philippe. You and I are dining at Jorancé's."

"But …"

"There's no but about it; we'll explain why. I'll have the carriage got ready and Jorancé will go ahead with Suzanne."

"What about Marthe?" asked Philippe.

"Marthe can come if she likes. Come down here. We'll fix it all up."

When Philippe turned round, Suzanne was standing close against him:

"You'll come, won't you?" she said, eagerly.

"Yes, if Marthe does."

"Even if Marthe doesn't … I insist … I insist… Oh, Philippe, I implore you, don't drive me to extremities!"

He was afraid of an outburst:

"As a matter of fact," he said, "why shouldn't I come? It's quite natural that I should dine at your house with my father."

"Do you mean it?" she murmured. "Will you really come?"

She seemed suddenly calmed; and her face assumed a look of childish delight:

"Oh, how happy I am!.. How happy I am! My beautiful dream will be fulfilled… We shall walk together in the dark, without speaking a word… And I shall never forget that hour… Nor you either, Philippe … nor you either…"

CHAPTER V

THE SHEET OF NOTE-PAPER

A hand was passed through the bars of the gate at the top of the staircase leading to the terrace and seized the clapper of the little bell fastened to one of the bars. A push … and the gate was open.

"Not much difficulty about that," said the man, carefully stepping on to the terrace. "Since the mountain won't come to Dourlowski, Dourlowski must …"

The man stopped: he had heard voices. But, on listening, he found that the sound of voices came from behind the house. He quietly entered the drawing-room, therefore, walked straight across it and reached the windows on the other side. A little further, at the foot of the steps, he saw a carriage ready to start, with Suzanne and her father sitting in it. The Morestal family were standing round the carriage.

"That's all right," said Morestal. "Philippe and I will walk … and we'll do the same coming home, won't we, my boy?"

"And you, Marthe?" asked Jorancé.

"No, thank you. I will stay with mamma."

"Well, we'll send your men home to you soon … especially as Morestal likes going to bed early. They will leave the house at ten o'clock precisely; and I will go a bit of the way with them, as far as the Butte."

"That's it," said Morestal. "We shall see the demolished post by moonlight. And we shall be here by half-past ten, mother. That's a promise. Off you go, Victor."

The carriage drove off. Dourlowski, in the drawing-room, took out his watch and set it by the clock, whispering: