"That's not true," she said, vehemently. "You are not going to Paris. You are going to Langoux, to take the train to Belfort."
"Just so, but I shall be in Paris to-morrow morning."
"That's not true! You do not mean to stop at Belfort. You will go on to Bâle, to Switzerland. And, if you go to Switzerland, it will not be for a day, it will be for months ... for your life!"
"And what then?"
"You intend to desert, Philippe."
He did not speak. And his silence dumbfoundered her. Violent as was the certainty that filled and angered her, Marthe was stupefied when he made no protest.
She stammered:
"Is it possible? You really intend to desert?"
Philippe grew irritable: