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 glass. Marthe surprised her glance and cried, with an admiration free from all envy: "You are splendid, Suzanne! You look like a triumphant goddess. What triumph have you achieved?" Suzanne flushed and, in her confusion, said, at random: "But you, Marthe, you look worried...." "Well, yes ... perhaps I am." And Marthe told how, on the previous evening, finding herself alone with her mother-in-law, she had spoken to her of Philippe's new ideas, the spirit of his work, his plan of resigning his position and his firm intention to have an explanation with M. Morestal. "Well?" "Well," said Marthe, "my mother-in-law flew out. She absolutely objects to any explanation whatever." "Why?" "M. Morestal is suffering from heart-trouble. Dr. Borel, who has attended him for the last twenty years, says that he must be spared any annoyance, any excessive excitement. And an interview with Philippe might have fatal results.... What can one reply to that?" "You will have to tell Philippe." "Certainly. And he, he must either keep silent and continue to lead an intolerable existence, or else, at the cost of the most terrible anguish, face M. Morestal's anger." She was silent for a moment and then, striking the table with her clenched fists: "Oh," she exclaimed, "if I could only take all those worries upon myself and save Philippe's peace of mind!" Suzanne felt all the force of her vehemence and energy. No pain would have frightened Marthe, no sacrifice would have been beyond her strength. "Do you love Philippe very much?" she asked. Marthe smiled: "With all my heart.... He deserves it." The younger woman felt a certain bitterness and could not help saying: "Does he love you as much as you love him?" "Why, yes, I think so.... I deserve it too." "And do you trust him?" "Oh, fully! Philippe is the most loyal creature I know." "Still ..." "What?" "Nothing." "Yes, say what you were going to.... Oh, you need not be afraid of asking me questions!" "Well, I was thinking ... suppose Philippe loved another woman...." Marthe burst out laughing: "If you knew how little importance Philippe attaches to all that business of love!" "However, supposing ..." "Very well, supposing," she said, pretending to be serious. "Philippe loves another woman. He is madly in love with her. What then?" "In that case, what would you do?" "Upon my word ... I've never thought about it." "Wouldn't you go for a divorce?" "And my children?" "But, if he wanted to be divorced?" "Then it would be, 'Good-bye, M. Philippe!'"