"
"They do not need it now," said Edme, "the farther off one is, the
better one sees; but when I was close to everything I saw very
little."
"Tell me what you see now."
"It is getting late," said Edme, "and I am rather tired. Will you come
another time?"
"Tomorrow, if you will let me."
As Clerambault went out Chastenay joined him. He felt the need of
confiding to a heart that could feel the pain and grandeur of the
tragedy of which his friend had been at once the hero and the victim.
Edme Froment had been struck on the spinal column by an exploding
shell. Young as he was, he was one of the intellectual leaders of his
generation, handsome, ardent, eloquent, overflowing with life and
visions, loving and beloved, nobly ambitious, and all at once, at a
blow,--a living death! His mother who had centred all her pride and
love on him now saw him condemned for the rest of his days to this
terrible fate. They had both suffered terribly, but each hid it from
the other, and this effort kept them up. They took great pride in each
other. She had all the care of him, washed and fed him like a little
child, and he kept calm for her sake, and sustained her on the wings
of his spirit.
"Ah," said Chastenay, "it makes one feel ashamed--when I think that I
am alive and well, that I can reach out my arms to life, that I can
run and leap, and draw this blessed air into my lungs.
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