and by way of amusement
he was taken out for a walk. In spite of her mourning, Paris again
wore a smiling face; poverty and pain were hidden at home, or at the
bottom of her proud heart; but the perpetual Fair in the streets and
in the press showed its mask of contentment.

The people in the cafes and the tea-rooms were ready to hold out for
twenty years, if necessary. Maxime and his family sat in a tea-shop at
a little table, gay chatter and the perfume of women all about
him. Through it he saw the trench where he had been bombarded for
twenty-six days on end, unable to stir from the sticky ditch full of
corpses which rose around him like a wall.... His mother laid her
hand on his, he woke, saw the affectionate questioning glances of his
people, and self-reproached for making them uneasy, he smiled and
began to look about and talk gaily. His boyish high spirits came back,
and the shadow cleared away from Clerambault's face; he glanced simply
and gratefully at Maxime.

His alarms were not at an end, however. As they left the tea-shop--he
leaning on the arm of his son--they met a military funeral. There were
wreaths and uniforms, a member of the Institute with his sword between
his legs, and brass instruments braying out an heroic lamentation.

The crowd drew respectfully to either side, Clerambault stopped and
pointedly took off his hat, while with his left hand he pressed
Maxime's arm yet closer to his side. Feeling him tremble, he turned
towards his son, and thought he had a strange look. Supposing that he
was overcome 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