The Frontier Part 39

Her hatred gained new life with every movement. Blood flowed and mingled with Suzanne's tears. Marthe vilified her with abominable words, words which she had never spoken before. And, drunk with rage, thrice she spat in her face.

She ran out of the room, turned back, hissed a parting insult, slammed the door and went down the pa.s.sage, calling:

"Victor! Catherine!"

Once in her room, she pressed the bell-push until the servants came:

"My trunk! Bring it down! And get the carriage ready, Victor, do you hear? At once!..."

Mme. Morestal appeared, attracted by the noise. Dr. Borel was with her.

"What's the matter, Marthe? What is it?"

"I refuse to stay here another hour!" retorted Marthe, heedless of the presence of the doctor and the servants. "You can choose between Suzanne and me...."

"My husband promised ..."

"Very well. As you choose that woman, I am going."

She opened the drawers of the chest and flung the dresses and linen out promiscuously. With an abrupt movement, she pulled the cloth from the table. All the knicknacks fell to the floor.

Dr. Borel tried to argue with her:

"This is all very well, but where are you going?"

"To Paris. My boys will come to me there."

"But haven't you seen the papers? The position is growing more serious every hour. The frontier-corps are being mobilized. Are you sure of getting through?"

"I am going," she said.

"And suppose you don't reach Paris?"

"I am going," she repeated.

"What about Philippe?"

She shrugged her shoulders. He understood that nothing mattered to her, neither her husband's existence nor the threat of war, and that there was no fighting against her despair. Nevertheless, as he went away with Mme. Morestal, he said, loud enough for Marthe to hear:

"By the way, don't be uneasy about Philippe. He has been to see me and to enquire after his father. He will come back. I promised to let him know how things were going...."

When Victor came, at seven o'clock, to say that the carriage was ready, Marthe had changed her mind. The thought that Philippe was hanging about the neighbourhood, that he might return to the house, that Suzanne and he would stay under the same roof and see each other as and when they pleased was more than she could bear. She remained, therefore, but standing behind her door, with her ears p.r.i.c.ked up to catch the first sound. When everybody had gone to bed, she went downstairs and hid herself, until break of day, in a recess in the entrance-hall. She was prepared to spring out at the least creak on the stair, for she felt convinced that Suzanne would slip out in the dark with the object of joining Philippe. This time, Marthe would have killed her. And her jealousy was so exasperated that she lay in wait, not with fear, but with the fierce hope that Suzanne was really going to appear before her.

Fits such as these, which are abnormal in a woman like Marthe, who, at ordinary times, obeyed her reason more readily than her instinct, fits such as these do not last. Marthe ended by suddenly bursting into sobs.

After crying for a long time, she went up to her room and, worn out with fatigue, got into bed.

That morning, on the Tuesday, Philippe came to the Old Mill. Mme.

Morestal was told and hurried down, in a great state of excitement, eager to vent her wrath upon her unworthy son. But, at the sight of him standing outside on the terrace, she overcame her need of recrimination and uttered no reproach, so frightened was she at seeing him look so pale and sad.

She asked:

"Where have you been?"

"What does it matter?" replied Philippe. "I ought not to have come back ... but I could not keep away, because of father.... I was too much upset.... How is he?"

"Dr. Borel won't say anything definite yet."

"And what is your opinion?"

"My opinion? Well, frankly speaking, I am very hopeful. Your father is so strong! But, all the same, it was a violent shock...."

"Yes," he said, "that is what alarms me. I have not lived, these last two days. How could I possibly go before knowing for certain?..."

She hinted, with a certain feeling of apprehension:

"Then you want to stay here?"

"Yes ... provided he does not know."

"The fact is ... it's like this ... Suzanne is here, in your father's room.... He insisted on her coming...."

"Oh!" he said. "Is Suzanne here?"

"Where would you have her go? She has no one left. Who knows when Jorance will be out of prison? And, besides, will he ever forgive her?"

He stood wrapped in thought and asked:

"Has Marthe met her?"

"There was a terrible scene between them. I found Suzanne with her face streaming with blood, all over scratches."

"Oh, the poor things!" he murmured. "The poor things!..."

His head fell; and, presently, she saw that he was weeping.

As she had no word of consolation to offer him, she turned round and walked to the drawing-room, where she shifted the furniture so as to have the satisfaction of putting it back in its place. She tried to find a pretext to utter her resentment. When Philippe sat down at the table, she showed him the newspapers:

"Have you seen them?"

"Yes, the news is bad."

"That's not the point. The point is that the cabinet has fallen on the publication of the under-secretary's report. The whole Chamber rose up in protest."

"Well?"

"Well, that report is the one based upon the last enquiry ... of two days ago ... at the b.u.t.te-aux-Loups.... So you see ..."