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THE FRONTIER

BY

MAURICE LEBLANC

AUTHOR OF "ARSENE LUPIN," "813," ETC.

TRANSLATED BY

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS

[Illustration: Publisher's logo]

HODDER & STOUGHTON
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


Copyright, 1912,
By Maurice Leblanc

Copyright, 1912,
By George H. Doran Company




CONTENTS


PART I

CHAPTER                             PAGE

   I A HEAD BETWEEN THE BUSHES         3

  II THE GIRL WITH THE BARE ARMS      17

 III THE VIOLET PAMPHLET              30

  IV PHILIPPE AND HIS WIFE            46

   V THE SHEET OF NOTE-PAPER          58

  VI THE PLASTER STATUE               66

 VII EVE TRIUMPHANT                   76

VIII THE TRAP                         94


PART II

   I THE TWO WOMEN                   107

  II PHILIPPE TELLS A LIE            118

 III FATHER AND SON                  133

  IV THE ENQUIRIES                   150

   V THE THUNDERCLAP                 164

  VI THE BUTTE-AUX-LOUPS             177

 VII MARTHE ASKS A QUESTION          195

VIII THE STAGES TO CALVARY           208


PART III

   I THE ARMED VIGIL                 233

  II THEY WHO GO TO THEIR DEATH      249

 III IDEAS AND FACTS                 268

  IV THE SACRED SOIL                 281




THE FRONTIER




PART I




CHAPTER I

A HEAD BETWEEN THE BUSHES


"They've done it!"

"What?"

"The German frontier-post... at the circus of the Butte-aux-Loups."

"What about it?"

"Knocked down."

"Nonsense!"

"See for yourself."

Old Morestal stepped aside. His wife came out of the drawing-room and
went and stood by the telescope, on its tripod, at the end of the
terrace.

"I can see nothing," she said, presently.

"Don't you see a tree standing out above the others, with lighter
foliage?"

"Yes."

"And, to the right of that tree, a little lower down, an empty space
surrounded by fir-trees?"

"Yes."

"That's the circus of the Butte-aux-Loups and it marks the frontier at
that spot."

"Ah, I've got it!... There it is!... You mean on the ground, don't you?
Lying flat on the grass, exactly as if it had been rooted up by last
night's storm...."

"What are you talking about? It has been fairly felled with an axe: you
can see the gash from here."

"So I can... so I can...."

She stood up and shook her head:

"That makes the third time this year.... It will mean more
unpleasantness."

"Fiddle-de-dee!" he exclaimed. "All they've got to do is to put up a
solid post, instead of their old bit of wood." And he added, in a tone
of pride, "The French post, two yards off, doesn't budge, you know!"

"Well, of course not! It's made of cast-iron and cemented into the
stone."

"Let them do as much then! It's not money they're wanting... when you
think of the five thousand millions they robbed us of!... No, but, I say
... three of them in eight months!... How will the people take it, on
the other side of the Vosges?"

He could not hide the sort of gay and sarcastic feeling of content that
filled his whole being and he walked up and down the terrace, stamping
his feet as hard as he could on the ground.

But, suddenly going to his wife, he seized her by the arm and said, in
a hollow voice:

"Would you like to know what I really think?"

"Yes."

"Well, all this will lead to trouble."

"No," said the old lady, quietly.

"How do you mean, no?"

"We've been married five-and-thirty years; and, for five-and-thirty
years, you've told me, week after week, that we shall have trouble. So,
you see...."

She turned away from him and went back to the drawing-room again, where
she began to dust the furniture with a feather-broom.

He shrugged his shoulders, as he followed her indoors:

"Oh, yes, you're the placid mother, of course! Nothing excites you. As
long as your cupboards are tidy, your linen all complete and your jams
potted, you don't care!... Still, you ought not to forget that they
killed your poor father."

"I don't forget it... only, what's the good? It's more than forty years
ago...."

"It was yesterday," he said,