SOME decision must be made. Mr. Roquevillard had been stunned since last evening by his son’s loss, of which he had heard in a laconic official note, saying that Hubert had died in his country’s service, far from any help, in an advanced post. His father had not even the supreme consolation of giving way to his sorrow. Hubert had gone away to the colonies to seek out danger and win some glory that should brighten the family’s tarnished name, and so he was the last victim of Maurice’s heedless wrongs against them all. Maurice, himself, to-morrow, was to appear in court, and there was still the struggling with the wilful difficulties of his defence. No doubt the sacrifice of the family estate would have its effect. No doubt the reparation made to the plaintiff would render acquittal certain, or at any rate probable, and turn the tables in favour of the accused. But even acquittal must not be wrung from the jury through pity or through favour. To come back again to his own fireside, to deserve honour again in the city or at the bar, to continue a tradition and hand it down in his turn, the young man must leave the court-house stripped of every injurious suspicion, discharged from every fault against the law and honour. And how was this to be accomplished without mentioning the name of Mrs. Frasne? It was true that Mr. Battard, after the sale of La Vigie, had gone back on his refusal to plead. “It has cost you more than it’s worth,” he had said, with professional cynicism. “But your generosity will soften the jury’s minds. They’re the sort who will split hairs about an egg and hang an orchard thief, but weep like calves when they learn you’ve sold your land to indemnify the plaintiff. They may even be capable, if they stop to think, of convicting your son just the same, on account of the bad example that you give them, if Mr. Frasne’s clever transaction, when it is made known in court in the final argument, doesn’t probably precipitate a furious envy in them that will be in your favour.” For Mr. Battard thought very ill of justice and humanity, but knew the case, and offered his services. His reputation made him a coadjutor that could not be refused. At five o’clock he was to come and have a last talk in Mr. Roquevillard’s office, with Mr. Hamel, on the main lines of his argument. Nevertheless, Maurice’s father had no confidence in the power of Mr. Battard’s showy and sceptical art to sustain the cause of a whole race. After luncheon, at which he and Margaret hardly touched their food, he rose and went out for a walk. His too heavy sorrow smothered him within doors. Outside he should be able to think more clearly. The air would revive his thoughts, restore his spent forces and beaten energy. As he reached the door Margaret called him. “Father.”