Le Corbier, who was watching him, was overcome with an involuntary feeling of compassion, of sympathy almost. At that moment, Philippe's sincerity seemed to him absolute and he felt inclined to abandon the test. But distrust carried the day. Absurd though the supposition might be, he had an impression that this man was capable of falsely accusing the girl in the presence of his wife, of his father and of Jorance himself. With Suzanne present, falsehood became impossible. The test was a cruel one, but, however it was decided, it carried with it the unimpeachable certainty without which Le Corbier was unwilling to close his enquiry. Philippe shook all over. Marthe and Jorance rose from their seats. The tent-fly was drawn aside. Suzanne entered. She at once gave a movement of recoil. At the first glance, at the first sight of those motionless people, she suspected the danger which her feminine instinct had already foreseen. And, deathly pale, deprived of all her strength, she dared not come forward. Le Corbier took her hand and, gently: "Please be seated, mademoiselle. It is possible that your evidence may be of value to us to clear up a few points." There was only one vacant chair, next to Jorance. Suzanne took a few steps and looked at her father, whom she had not seen since the evening at Saint-Elophe. He turned away his head. She sat down trembling. Then Le Corbier, who was in a hurry to finish the business, walked quickly up to Philippe and said: "It is the last time, monsieur, that I shall apply to you. In a few minutes, everything will be irrevocably ended. It depends on your good will...." But he went no further. Never had he beheld a face ravaged as Philippe's was, nor ever so great an expression of strength and energy as showed through the chaos of those distorted features. He understood that Philippe had resolved to travel the last stage. He waited, without a word. And indeed, as though he too were eager to reach the terrible goal, Philippe spoke and said: "Monsieur le ministre, if I tell you for certain how I spent my night, will my words have an unimpeachable value in your mind?" His voice was almost calm. His eyes had selected a spot in the tent from which he no longer dared remove them, for he feared to meet Marthe's eyes, or Jorance's, or Suzanne's. Le Corbier replied: "An unimpeachable value." "Will they tend to lessen the importance of my father's statements?" "Yes, for I shall have to weigh those statements against the words of a man whose perfect sincerity I shall no longer have cause to doubt." Philippe was silent. His forehead oozed sweat at every pore and he staggered like a drunken man on the point of falling. Le Corbier insisted: "Speak without scruple, monsieur. There are circumstances in which a man must look straight before him and in which the aim to be attained must, in a measure, blind him." Philippe continued: