He said that
he had heard talk at the front of Clerambault's articles, and he felt
very badly. People said--they made out that--well, he had heard severe
things about them; he knew people were often unjust, but he had
come--here he pressed Clerambault's hand in a timid friendly way--he
had come to entreat him not to desert all those who loved him. He
reminded him of the devotion that had inspired the poet who had
celebrated the traditions of French soil and the glories of the
race.... "In this hour of trial," he implored, "stand by us."
"I have never been closer to you than now," answered Clerambault, and
he added:
"You say that people blame what I have written. Dear boy, what do you
think of it yourself?"
"I confess I have not read it," said Daniel. "I did not want to, for
fear that it might disturb my affection for you, or hinder me in my
duty."
"Your faith cannot be very strong, if a few lines of print can shake
it."
"My convictions are firm enough," said Daniel, a little miffed, "but
there are certain things which it is wisest not to discuss."
"That is something that I should not have expected to hear from a
scientific man," said Clerambault. "The truth can lose nothing by
discussion."
"Truth, no, but love--love of country."
"My dear Daniel, you go farther than I.
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