e words which his father had spoken against the
author of that work. He repeated the words, a second time, with
increasing bitterness. Then he stopped, reflected and, pressing his
clenched fists to his temples, said, slowly, as though he were
explaining matters to himself:

"It's three years now that this has lasted ... ever since his letter on
my appointment, in which he wrote about my second book on the idea of
country. Perhaps I ought to have written to him then and there and told
him of the evolution of my mind and the tremendous change which the
study of history and of vanished civilizations had wrought in me."

"Perhaps it would have been better," said Marthe.

"I was afraid to. I was afraid of hurting him.... It would have hurt him
so terribly!... And my love for him is so great!... And then, Marthe,
you see, the ideas which he defends and of which, in my eyes, he is the
living and splendid incarnation are so beautiful in themselves that,
after one has ceased to share them, one continues, for a long time, for
always, to retain a sort of involuntary affection for them, deep down in
one's inner self. They constituted the greatness of our country for
centuries. They are vigorous, like everything that is religious and
pure. One feels a renegade at losing them; and any word spoken against
them sounds like blasphemy. How could I say to my father, 'Those ideas,
which you gave me and which were the life of my youth, I have ceased to
hold. Yes, I have ceased to think as you do. My love of humanity does
not stop at the boundaries of the country in which I was born; and I do
not hate those who are on the other side of the frontier. I am one of
those men who will not have war, who will not have it at any price and
who would give their life-blood to save the world the horror of that
scourge.' How could I say such things as that to my father?"

He rose and, pacing the room, continued:

"I did not say them. I concealed the true state of my mind, as though I
were hiding a shameful sore. At the meetings, in the newspapers to which
I contribute by stealth, to my adversaries and to the majority of the
men on my own side I was M. Philippe, denying my name and my
personality, setting a bad example to those who are silent for
prudence' sake and for fear of compromising themselves. I do not sign
the pamphlets which I write; and the book in which I give the conclusion
of my work has been ready for more than a year, without my daring