Philippe followed him with his eyes as far as the Étang-des-Moines. When the officer had disappeared behind a dip in the ground, he gave way to an angry movement and muttered:
"Play-acting!"
However, he turned the telescope on the Col du Diable and saw soldiers all around Saboureux's Farm, running, scrambling up the rocks on every side with the agility of young goats. He reflected that they had forgotten their weariness and seemed to be diverting themselves with an exercise to which each contributed his own effort, his individual tactics and his qualities of self-reliance and initiative.
He stood pensive for a few minutes. But time was pressing. He called Victor and went up to his room:
"Quick, my bag."
They stuffed the papers and manuscripts into it promiscuously, together with a little linen and the toilet-articles. The bag was strapped up. Philippe seized it:
"Good-bye, Victor. Tell my mother I sent her my love."
He crossed the landing. But some one darted out of an adjacent room. It was Marthe. She barred his way:
"Where are you going?" she asked.