"You must be silent," he said, in a tone of command. "Your personal grief must make way...."
"What are you saying?"
"Be silent, Marthe. We shall have the explanation which you demand. We shall have it later. But be silent."
It was a useless piece of blundering. Like all women who love, Marthe only suffered the more from this semi-avowal. She fired up in her grief:
"No, Philippe, I will not be silent.... I want to know what your words mean.... You have no right to escape by a subterfuge.... I demand an immediate explanation, here and now."
She had stood up and, facing her husband, emphasized each of her words with a short movement of the hand. Seeing that Philippe made no reply, Le Corbier now joined in:
"Mme. Philippe Morestal is right, monsieur. You must explain yourself and not so much for her—that is a matter between yourselves—as for me, for the purpose of the clearness of my enquiry. Ever since we began, you have kept to a sort of programme settled in advance and easily seen through. After denying your first depositions, you are trying to demolish your own father's evidence. The doubt which I was seeking behind your replies you are now endeavouring to create in my mind by throwing suspicion upon your father's statements by every means in your power. I have the right to ask myself if one of those means is not falsehood—the word is not mine, monsieur, but your wife's—and if the love of your opinions does not take precedence of the love of truth."
"I am telling the truth, monsieur le ministre."
"Then prove it. Are you giving false evidence now? Or was it on the former occasions? How am I to know? I require a positive certainty. If I can't have that, I shall take no notice of what you say and rely upon the evidence of a witness who, at any rate, has never varied."
"My father is mistaken.... My father is a victim of illusions...."