"One word! One word more!" she implored. "Listen, Philippe, don't do this thing.... And, if you do not do it, well, I think I could.... Oh, it is horrible to coerce me like this!... Still, I won't have you go.... Listen, Philippe. You know my pride, the bitterness of my feelings and all that I have suffered, all that I am suffering because of Suzanne. Well, I will forget everything. I offer not only to forgive, but to forget. Never a single word shall remind you of the past ... never an allusion ... I swear it! But don't desert, Philippe, I entreat you, don't do that!" She hung on to his clothes and pressed herself against him, stammering: "No, don't do that.... Do not inflict that disgrace upon your children! The sons of a deserter!... Oh, I entreat you, Philippe, stay! We will go away together ... and we will begin life again as it was before...." She dragged herself at his feet, humble and supplicating, and she received the terrible impression that her words were of no avail. She was encountering a rival idea, against which all her strength was shattered. Philippe did not hear her. No feeling of pity even turned him towards her. Calmly, with an irresistible movement, he clasped Marthe's wrists, gathered them in one of his hands, opened the door with the other and, flinging his wife from him, fled. Marthe was seized with a feeling akin to despair. However, the bag was still there and she believed that he would come back to fetch it. Then, realizing her mistake, she suddenly rose and started to run: "Philippe! Philippe!" she cried. Like him, she was thinking of some outside interference, of old Morestal, whom the outcries might attract and whom Philippe would find on his path. "Philippe! Philippe!" She became scared, not knowing where to look for him. There was nobody in the garden. She returned to the drawing-room, for she seemed to hear a sound of voices. And in fact she saw a sergeant and a private soldier hurriedly crossing the terrace, with the gardener's son leading the way. "Follow me!" the brat commanded. "We'll go up to the roof.... You can see the whole valley from there.... Ah, the telescope!..." He caught up the instrument as he passed. Marthe rushed at them: "What's happening?" "Impossible to hold out over there," said the sergeant. "There are too many of them.... We're falling back...." "But, in that case, _they_ will be coming?" "Yes, yes, they're coming, right enough!..." Marthe went out on the terrace. A swarm of soldiers came running up the staircase. She saw Philippe in a corner. He was speaking to the men: "Are they coming?" "Yes." "Have they crossed the frontier?" "No, not yet." He turned to his wife and said to her, as a piece of good news: "They have not crossed the frontier yet." And he went to meet another group of soldiers. Then Marthe believed that fate had sent her the aid for which she was praying. She could now do nothing more but trust to events. CHAPTER IV THE SACRED SOIL