The house was at sixes and sevens during the evening and all through that Sunday night. Catherine and Victor ran to and fro. Mme. Morestal, generally so level-headed, but accustomed to bewail her fate on great occasions, nursed the sick man and issued a multiplicity of orders. Twice she sent the gardener to the chemist at Saint-Elophe. At midnight, the old man was suffering so much that Dr. Borel was called in again. He seemed anxious and administered an injection of morphia. There followed a few hours of comparative calm; and Mme. Morestal, although tortured at Philippe's absence and fearing that he might do something rash, was able to lie down on the sofa. It was then that Catherine rushed into the room, at the risk of disturbing the patient's rest. Mme. Morestal ended by bundling her off: "Hold your tongue, can't you? Don't you see that your master's asleep?" "They're mobilizing the troops, ma'am.... It's certain that we shall have war...." "Oh, don't bother us with your war!" growled the good woman, pushing her out of the room. "Boil some water for your master and don't waste your time talking nonsense." She herself went to work at once. But all around her was a confused noise of murmurs and exclamations, coming from the terrace, the garden and the house. Morestal woke up at nine o'clock. "Suzanne! Where's Suzanne?" he asked, almost before he opened his eyes. "What! Suzanne!..." "Why, yes ... why, of course, Suzanne!... I promised her father.... No one has a better right to live in this house.... Philippe's not here, I suppose?" He raised himself in bed, furious at the mere thought. "He has not come in," said his wife. "We don't know where he is...." "That's all right! He'd better not come back!... I've turned him out.... And now I want Suzanne.... She shall nurse me ... she alone, do you understand?..." "Come, Morestal, you surely wouldn't ask ... It's not possible for Suzanne to ..." But her husband's features were contracted with such a look of anger that she dared not protest further: "As you please," she said. "After all, if you think right...." She consulted Dr. Borel by telephone. He replied that the patient must on no account be thwarted. Moreover, he undertook to see the girl, to point out to her the duty that called her to the Old Mill and to overcome any reluctance on her part. Dr. Borel himself brought Suzanne to the house at about twelve o'clock. Red with shame, her eyes swollen with tears, she submitted to Mme. Morestal's humiliating reception and took her seat by the old man's bedside. He gave a sigh of content when he saw her: "Ah, I'm glad!... I feel better already.... You won't leave me, will you, my little Suzanne?" And he fell asleep again almost at once, under the action of a fresh injection of morphia. As on the previous evening, the dining-room at the Old Mill remained empty. The maid took a light meal on a tray to Mme. Morestal and, next, to Marthe. But Marthe did not even answer her knock.