"No," protested Marthe, returning to the charge with indefatigable vigour. "No, it is not finished, monsieur le ministre; it cannot finish like this. My husband, whether he meant to or not, has uttered words which we have all interpreted in the same sense. If there is a misunderstanding, let it be dispelled now. And there is only one person who can do so. That person is here. I ask to have that person called in." "I don't know what you mean," stammered Philippe. "Yes, you do, Philippe. You know to whom I refer and all the proofs that give me the right to ..." "Silence, Marthe," commanded Philippe, beside himself. "Then confess. If not, I swear that ..." The sight of M. Jorance stayed her threat. Unaware of Suzanne's presence at the Butte-aux-Loups, Jorance had ceased to understand; and his suspicions, aroused by Philippe's imprudence, had become gradually allayed. At the last moment, when on the point of putting her irreparable accusation into words, Marthe hesitated. Her hatred was vanquished by the sight of the father's grief. Moreover, just then, a diversion occurred to bring about an armistice, as it were, in the midst of the implacable conflict. Le Corbier had risen hurriedly from his seat and drawn back the tent-fly. A quick step was heard outside. "Ah, there you are, Trebons!" And he almost ran to fetch the young man in and plied him with questions: "Did you speak to the prime minister? What did he say?" M. de Trebons entered the tent. But, on catching sight of the Morestal family, he turned back: "Monsieur le ministre, I think it would be better ..." "No, no, Trebons. No one here is in the way ... on the contrary.... Come, what is it? Bad news?" "Very bad news, monsieur le ministre. The French embassy in Berlin has been burnt down...." "Oh!" said Le Corbier. "Wasn't it guarded?" "Yes, but the troops were overborne by the crowd." "Next?" "Germany is mobilizing all her frontier army-corps." "But in Paris? What about Paris?" "Nothing but riots.... The boulevards are overrun.... At this moment, the municipal guards are charging the mob to clear the approaches to the Palais-Bourbon." "But what do they want, when all is said?" "War." The word rang out like a death-knell. After a few seconds, Le Corbier asked: "Is that all?" "The prime minister is anxiously awaiting your return. 'Don't let him lose a minute,' he said. 'His report might spell safety. It is my last shot. If it misses fire, I can't answer for what will happen.' And he added, 'And, even then, it may be too late.'" The silence was really excruciating around the table, in the little space inside that tent in which the cruelest of tragedies was hurling against one another a group of noble souls united by the most loyal affection. Each of them forgot his private suffering and thought only of the horror that loomed ahead. The sinister word was echoed in all their hearts. Le Corbier gave a gesture of despair: