The Frontier by Maurice LeBlanc

Jorance was a heavy and rather unwieldy, pleasant-faced man. Twenty-five years before, when secretary to the commissary at Noirmont, he had married a girl of entrancing beauty, who used to teach the piano in a boarding-school. One evening, after four years of marriage, four years of torture, during which the unhappy man suffered every sort of humiliation, Jorance came home to find the house empty. His wife had gone without a word of explanation, taking their little girl, Suzanne, with her.

The only thing that kept him from suicide was the hope of recovering the child and saving her from the life which her mother's example would have forced upon her in the future.

He did not have to look for her long. A month later, his wife sent back the child, who was no doubt in her way. But the wound had cut deep and lingered; and neither time nor the love which he bore his daughter could wipe out the memory of that cruel story.

He buckled to his work, accepted the most burdensome tasks so as to increase his income and give Suzanne a good education, was transferred to the commissary's office at Luneville and, somewhat late in life, was promoted to be special commissary at the frontier. The position involved the delicate functions of a sentry on outpost duty whose business it is to see as much as possible of what goes on in the neighbour's country; and Jorance filled it so conscientiously, tactfully and skilfully that the neighbour aforesaid, while dreading his shrewdness and insight, respected his character and his professional qualities.

At Saint-Elophe, he renewed his intimacy with old Morestal, who was his grand-uncle by marriage and who was very much attached to him.

The two men saw each other almost every day. Jorance and Suzanne used to dine at the Old Mill on Thursdays and Sundays. Suzanne would also often come alone and accompany the old man on his daily walk. He took a great fancy to her; and it was upon his advice and at the urgent request of Philippe and Marthe Morestal that Jorance had taken Suzanne to Paris the previous winter.

His first words on entering the room were to thank Philippe:

"You can't think, my dear Philippe, how glad I was to leave her with you. Suzanne is young. And I approve of a little distraction."

He looked at Suzanne with the fervent glance of a father who has brought up his daughter himself and whose love for her is mingled with a touch of feminine affection.

And he said to Philippe:

"Have you heard the news? I am marrying her."

"Really? " said Philippe.

"Yes, to one of my cousins at Nancy, a man rather well-on in years, perhaps, but a serious, active and intelligent fellow. Suzanne likes him very much. You do like him very much, don't you, Suzanne?"

The girl seemed not to hear the question and asked:

"Is Marthe in her room, Philippe?"

"Yes, on the second floor."

"I know, the blue room. I was here yesterday, helping Mme. Morestal. I must run up and give her a kiss."

She turned round in the doorway and kissed her hand to the three men, keeping her eyes fixed on Philippe.

"How pretty and charming your daughter is! " said Morestal to Jorance.

But they could see that he was thinking of something else and that he was eager to change the conversation. He shut the door quickly and, returning to the special commissary, said: