"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, one might have said aloof. She had taken no part in her
parents' questions, and far from inviting confidence from Maxime she
seemed to shrink from it. He felt the same awkwardness, and avoided
being alone with her. But still they had never felt closer to each
other in spirit, they could not have borne to say why.
Maxime had to be shown to all the neighbours, 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.
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