The first official news of the losses began to come in; several
families among Clerambault's friends already knew which of their men
were dead and which wounded. Those who had lost all, envied those who
could have their loved ones back, though bleeding, perhaps mutilated.
Many sank into the night of their grief; for them the war and life
were equally over. But with others the exaltation of the early days
persisted strangely; Clerambault saw one mother wrought up by her
patriotism and her grief to the point that she almost rejoiced at the
death of her son. "I have given my all, my all!" she would say, with
a violent, concentrated joy such as is felt in the last second before
extinction by a woman who drowns herself with the man she loves.
Clerambault however was weaker, and waking from his dizziness he
thought:
"I too have given all, even what was not my own."
He inquired of the military authorities, but they knew nothing as yet.
Ten days later came the news that Sergeant Clerambault was reported
as missing from the night of the 27-28th of the preceding month.
Clerambault could get no further details at the Paris bureaus;
therefore he set out for Geneva, went to the Red Cross, the Agency for
Prisoners,--could find nothing; followed up every clue, got permission
to question comrades of his son in hospitals or depots behind the
lines.
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