of pacifist himself from time to time; it depended
on the direction of the wind, or the attitude of certain of his
brother-writers whom he sometimes followed, and occasionally opposed.
Clerambault could never cure himself of a childlike trust in anyone
who came to him, and he allowed himself to be touched;--besides, the
press of his country had not spoiled him of late, so he poured out the
inmost thoughts of his heart, while Thouron took it all in with the
deepest interest.

An acquaintance thus closely formed could not, of course, stop there;
letters were exchanged, in which one spoke, and the other led him on.
Thouron persuaded Clerambault to put his ideas in the form of little
popular pamphlets, which he undertook to distribute among the working
classes. Clerambault hesitated, and refused at first. The partisans of
the reigning order and injustice pretend hypocritically to disapprove
of the secret propaganda of a new truth; Clerambault saw no harm in
it, when no other way was possible. (All persecuted faiths have their
catacombs.) But he did not feel himself suited to such a course of
action. It was more his part to say what he thought and take the
consequences, and he felt sure that the word would spread of itself,
without his hawking it about. He would have blushed to admit it, but
perhaps a secret instinct held him back from the offers of service
made him by this eager "drummer." But he could not altogether restrain
his zeal. Thouron published in his paper a sort of Apologia for
Clerambault. He told of his visits, and their conversations; and he
explained and paraphrased the thoughts of the poet. Clerambault was
astonished when he read them, he hardly knew his own ideas again, but
nevertheless, he could not altogether deny them, for, buried among
Thouron's commentaries, he found literal and accurate quotations from
his letters. These, however, were even more confusing; the same words
and phrases, grafted on other contexts, took on an accent and a colour
that he had not given them. Add that the censor, in his zeal for the
safety of the country, had tampered with the quotations, cutting out
here and there a word, half a line, or the end of a paragraph--all
perfectly innocent, but this suppression suggested the worst
iniquities to the over-excited mind of the reader. All this was like
oil on the flame, and the effect was soon felt. Clerambault did not
know which way to turn to keep his champion quiet; and yet he coul