The Frontier Part 17

Thereupon they made a bend to the right, hesitated for a moment, careful not to cross the road, and then set off again; and, still tracked by the men, whom they felt close upon their heels, they reached the acclivity of the b.u.t.te-aux-Loups. At that moment, surrounded on all hands and utterly blown, they had to stop to take breath.

"Arrest them!" said the leader of the men, in whom they recognized the German commissary, Weisslicht. "Arrest them! We are in Germany."

"You lie!" roared Morestal, fighting with wild energy. "You have not the right.... It's a dirty trap!"

It was a violent struggle, but did not last long. He received a blow on the chin with the b.u.t.t of a rifle, reeled, but continued to defend himself, hitting and biting his adversaries. At last, they succeeded in throwing him and, to stifle his shouting, they gagged him.

Jorance, who had taken a leap to the rear and was standing with his back to a tree, resisted, protesting:

"I am M. Jorance, special commissary at Saint-elophe. I am on my own ground here. We are in France. There's the frontier."

The men flung themselves upon him and dragged him away, while he shouted at the top of his voice:

"Help! Help! They're arresting the French commissary on French soil!"

A report was heard, followed by another. Morestal, with a superhuman effort, had knocked down the policeman who held him and once more took to flight, with a cord cutting into one of his wrists and with a gag in his mouth.

But, two hundred yards further, as he was turning towards the Col du Diable, his foot knocked against the root of a tree and he fell.

He was at once overtaken and firmly bound.

A few moments later, the two prisoners were carried by the police to the road leading through the Albern Woods and hoisted on the backs of a couple of horses. They were taken to the Col du Diable and, from there, past the Wildermann factory and the hamlet of Torins, sent on to the German town of Borsweilen.

PART II

CHAPTER I

THE TWO WOMEN

Suzanne Jorance pushed the swing-gate and entered the grounds of the Old Mill.

She was dressed in white and her face looked fresh and cool under a large hat of Leghorn straw, with its black-velvet strings hanging loose upon her shoulders. Her short skirt showed her dainty ankles. She walked with a brisk step, using a tall, iron-shod stick, while her disengaged hand crumpled some flowers which she had gathered on the way and which she dropped heedlessly as she went.

The Morestals' peaceful house was waking in the morning sun. Several of the windows were open; and Suzanne saw Marthe writing at the table in her bedroom.

She called out:

"Can I come up?"

But Mme. Morestal appeared at one of the windows of the drawing-room and made an imperious sign to her:

"Hush! Don't speak!"

"What's the matter?" asked Suzanne, when she joined the old lady.

"They're asleep."

"Who?"

"Why, the father and son."

"Oh!" said Suzanne. "Philippe too?..."

"Yes, they must have come in late and they are resting. Neither of them has rung his bell yet. But tell me, Suzanne, aren't you going away?"

"To-morrow ... or the next day.... I confess, I'm in no hurry to go."

Mme. Morestal took her to her daughter-in-law's room and asked:

"Philippe's still asleep, isn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Marthe. "I haven't heard him move...."

"Nor I Morestal.... And yet he's an early riser, as a rule.... And Philippe, who wanted to go tramping at daybreak!... However, so much the better, sleep suits both of my men.... By the way, Marthe, didn't the shooting wake you in the night?"

"The shooting!"

"Oh, of course, your room is on the other side. The sound came from the frontier.... Some poacher, I suppose...."

"Were M. Morestal and Philippe in?"

"Surely! It must have been one or two o'clock ... perhaps later ... I don't quite know."

She put the tea-pot and the jar of honey, which Marthe had had for breakfast, on the tray; and, with her mania for tidying, obeying some mysterious principle of symmetry, settled her daughter-in-law's things and any piece of furniture in the room that had been moved from its place. This done, with her hands hanging before her, she looked round for an excuse to discontinue this irksome activity. Then, discovering none, she left the room.

"How early you are," said Marthe to Suzanne.

"I wanted air ... and movement.... Besides, I told Philippe that I would come and fetch him. I want to go and see the ruins of the Pet.i.te-Chartreuse with him ... It's a bore that he's not up yet."

She seemed disappointed at this accident which deprived her of a pleasure.

"Do you mind if I finish my letters?" asked Marthe, taking up her pen.

Suzanne strolled round the room, looking out of the window, leant to see if Philippe's was open, then sat down opposite Marthe and examined her long and carefully. She noted the eye-lids, which were a little rumpled; the uneven colouring; the tiny wrinkles on the temples; a few white hairs mingling with the dark tresses; all that proclaims time's little victories over waning youth. And, raising her eyes, she saw herself in a gla.s.s.

Marthe surprised her glance and cried, with an admiration free from all envy:

"You are splendid, Suzanne! You look like a triumphant G.o.ddess. What triumph have you achieved?"