tragical pictures. They listened in trembling expectation, and when he had finished they were still expectant. Then on their side came a shower of questions, to which Maxime's replies were short--soon he fell silent. Clerambault to wake up the "young rascal" tried several jovial thrusts.
"Come now, tell us about some of your engagements.... It must be fine to see such joy, such sacred fire--Lord, but I would like to see all that, I would like to be in your place."
"You can see all these fine things better from where you are," said Maxime. Since he had been in the trenches he had not seen a fight, hardly set eyes on a German, his view was bounded by mud and water--but they would not believe him, they thought he was talking "contrariwise" as he did when he was a child.
"You old humbug," said his father, laughing gaily, "What does happen then all day long in your trenches?"
"We take care of ourselves; kill time, the worst enemy of all."
Clerambault slapped him amicably on the back.
"Time is not the only one you kill?"--Maxime drew away, saw the kind, curious glances of his father and mother, and answered:
"Please talk of something else," and added after a pause:
"Will you do something for me?--don't ask me any more questions today."
They agreed rather surprised, but they supposed that he needed care, being so tired, and they overwhelmed him with attentions. Clerambault, however, could not refrain from breaking out every minute or two in apostrophes, demanding his son's approbation. His speeches resounded with the word "Liberty." Maxime smiled faintly and looked at Rosine, for the attitude of the young girl was singular. When her brother came in she threw her arms round his neck, but since she had kept in the background, o
