he tried to draw him away, but Maxime did not stir, he was so much taken aback.
"A dead man," he thought. "All that for one dead man!... and out there we walk over them. Five hundred a day on the roll, that's the normal ration."
Hearing a sneering little laugh, Clerambault was frightened and pulled him by the arm.
"Come away!" he said, and they moved on.
"If they could see," said Maxime to himself, "if they could only see!... their whole society would go to pieces,... but they will always be blind, they do not want to see ..."
His eyes, cruelly sharpened now, saw the adversary all around him,--in the carelessness of the world, its stupidity, its egotism, its luxury, in the "I don't give a damn!", the indecent profits of the war, the enjoyment of it, the falseness down to the roots.... All these sheltered people, shirkers, police, with their insolent autos that looked like cannon, their women booted to the knee, with scarlet mouths, and cruel little candy faces ... they are all satisfied ... all is for the best!... "It will go on forever as it is!" Half the world devouring the other half....
They went home. In the evening after dinner Clerambault was dying to read his latest poem to Maxime. The idea of it was touching, if a little absurd.--In his love for his son, he sought to be in spirit, at least, the comrade of his glory and his sufferings, and he had described them,--at a distance--in "Dawn in the Trenches." Twice he got up to look for the MS., but with the sheets in his hand a sort of shyness paralysed him, and he went back without them.
As the days went by they felt themselves closely knit together by ties of the flesh, but their souls were out of touch. Neither would admit it though each knew it well.
A sadness was between them, but they r
