"What for? Because I have a scoundrel in my family, that's no reason why I should be in a hurry to make his acquaintance! Besides, he himself has had the decency not to put his name to his scurrilous nonsense.... No matter: if ever I lay my hands on him!... But don't let's talk of it...." He continued to talk of it, nevertheless, and at great length, as well as of all the questions of war and peace, history and politics that came to his mind. It was not until he had "got his budget off his chest," as he said, that he exclaimed, suddenly: "Enough of this palavering, my friends! Why, it's four o'clock! Saboureux, I'm your man.... So they've been making free with your poultry, have they? Are you coming, Jorance? We'll see some fine soldier-chaps making their soup. There's nothing jollier and livelier than a French camp!" CHAPTER IV PHILIPPE AND HIS WIFE Marthe and Suzanne were very intimate, in spite of the difference in their ages. Marthe was full of indulgent kindness for her friend, whom she had known as quite a child, motherless and left to herself; whereas Suzanne was less even-tempered with Marthe, now gushing and coaxing, now aggressive and satirical, but always full of charm. When Marthe had finished unfastening the trunks, Suzanne herself insisted on emptying the travelling-bag and arranging on the table all the little things with which one tries, when away, to give one's room a look of home: portraits of the children, writing-cases, favourite books.... "You'll be very snug here, Marthe," she said. "It's a nice, light room ... and there's only a dressing-room between you and Philippe.... But how did you come to want two bedrooms?" "It was Philippe. He was afraid of disturbing me in the mornings...." "Oh," repeated the girl. "It was Philippe's suggestion...." Then she took up one of the photographs and examined it: "How like his father your son Jacques is!... Much more so than Paul ... don't you think?" Marthe came to the table and, bending over her friend, looked at the picture with those mother's eyes which seem to see in the inanimate image the life, the smile and the beauty of the absent one. "Which do you like best, Jacques or Paul?" asked Suzanne. "What a question! If you were a mother...." "If I were a mother, I should like that one best who reminded me most of my husband. The other would make me suspect that my husband had ceased to love me...." "You put down everything to love, my poor Suzanne! Do you imagine that there is nothing in the world but love?" "There are heaps of other things. But you yourself, Marthe: wouldn't you like love to fill a greater place in your life?" This was said with a certain sarcasm, of which Marthe felt the sting. But, before she had time to retort, Philippe appeared in the doorway. Suzanne at once cried: "We were talking about you, Philippe."