"His last shot! Yes, if my report gave him an opportunity of retreating! But ..." He watched old Morestal, as though he were still expecting a sudden retractation. What was the good? Supposing he took it upon himself to extenuate the old man's statements, Morestal was the sort of uncompromising man who would give him the lie in public. And then the government would find itself in an unenviable plight indeed! "Well," he said, "let fate take its course! We have done our very utmost. My dear Trebons, is the motor at the cross-roads?" "Yes, monsieur le ministre." "Please collect the papers; we will go. We have an hour to reach the station. It's more than we want." He picked up his hat, his coat, took a few steps to and fro and stopped in front of Philippe. Philippe, he half thought, had perhaps not done his utmost. Philippe perhaps had still one stage to travel. But how was Le Corbier to find out? How was he to fathom that mysterious soul and read its insoluble riddle? Le Corbier knew those men endowed with the missionary spirit and capable, in furtherance of their cause, of admirable devotion, of almost superhuman sacrifice, but also of hypocrisy, of craft, sometimes of crime. What was this Philippe Morestal's evidence worth? What part exactly was he playing? Had he deliberately and falsely given rise to the suspicion of some amorous meeting? Or was he really carrying his heroism to the point of telling the truth? Slowly, thoughtfully, as though in obedience to a new hope, Le Corbier went back to his seat, flung his motor-coat on the table, sat down and, addressing M. de Trebons: "One second more.... Leave the papers. And pray bring Mlle. Suzanne Jorance here." M. de Trebons left the tent. "Is Suzanne there?" asked Jorance, in an anxious voice. "Was she there just now?..." He received no reply; and he vainly scrutinized the faces, one after the other, of those whom he was questioning. During the three or four minutes that elapsed, none of the actors in the drama made the least movement. Morestal remained seated, with his head hanging on his chest. Marthe kept her eyes fixed on the opening of the tent. As for Philippe, he awaited this additional blow with anguish in his heart. The massacre was not ended. Destiny ordained that, following upon his father, upon his wife, upon Jorance, he himself should sacrifice this fourth victim.