"You see, Marthe, you see," whispered Philippe, whose heart was gripped with emotion. "Isn't it terrible?"
"Yes, yes," she said.
But a young man came towards them, carrying under his arm a portfolio bulging with papers:
"M. Philippe Morestal, I believe? I am M. de Trébons, attached to the department of the under-secretary of state. M. Le Corbier is talking to M. Morestal your father and begs that you will be good enough to wait."
He took him, with Marthe and Suzanne, to the French camp, where they found, seated on a bench, Farmer Saboureux and Old Poussière, who had likewise been summoned as witnesses. From there, they commanded the whole circus of the Butte.
"How pale you look, Philippe!" said Marthe. "Are you ill?"
"No," he said. "Please don't worry me."
Half an hour passed. Then the canvas fly that closed the German tent was lifted and a number of persons came out.
Suzanne gave a stifled cry:
"Papa!... Look ... Oh, my poor father!... I must go and kiss him...."