"To your father?" she asked, anxiously.
"Yes, I don't want to put it off any longer. As it is, I have almost done wrong in coming here and embracing him without first letting him know the exact truth about me."
They were silent for a while. Philippe seemed undecided and worried.
He said to her:
"Don't you agree with me? Or do you think I ought to wait till to-morrow?..."
She opened the door for him to pass:
"No," she said, "you are right."
She often had those unexpected movements which cut short hesitation and put you face to face with events. Another would have launched out into words. But Marthe never shirked responsibility, even where it concerned but the smallest facts of ordinary life. Philippe used to laugh and call it her daily heroism.
He kissed her and felt strengthened by her confidence.
Downstairs, he was told that his father was not yet back and he resolved to wait for him in the drawing-room. He lit a cigarette, let it go out again and, at first in a spirit of distraction and then with a growing interest, looked around him, as though he were trying to gather from inanimate objects particulars relating to the man who lived in their midst.