"If that were only literally true," said the other, and the two friends exchanged an affectionate glance. Chastenay continued:
"I should in that case only be giving back a part of what I owe you." Then turning to Clerambault, he added: "He is the one who keeps us all up, is it not so, Madame Fanny?"
"Indeed yes, I could not do without my strong son," said the mother tenderly.
"They take advantage of the fact that I cannot defend myself," said Edmé to Clerambault. "You see I cannot stir an inch."
"Was it a wound?"
"Paralysis."--Clerambault did not dare to ask for details, but after a pause: "Do you suffer much?" he inquired.
"I ought to wish that it were so perhaps; for pain is a tie between us and the shore. However, I confess that I prefer the silence of this body in which I am encased ... let us say no more about it.... My mind at least is free. And if it is not true that it '_agitat molem_,' does often escape."
"I know," said Clerambault, "it came to see me the other day."
"Not for the first time; it has been there before."
"And I who thought myself deserted!"
"Do you recall," said Edmé, "the words of Randolph to Cecil?--'_The voice of a man alone can in one hour put more life into us than the clang of five hundred trumpets sounded continuously_.'"
"That always reminds me of you," said Chastenay, but Edmé went on as if he had not heard him: ... "You have waked us all up."
Clerambault looked at the brave calm eyes of the paralytic, and said:
