..
_Sancta simplicitas._
Vaucoux had not attempted to get away, but let them take the revolver
out of his hand without resistance. They held his arms fast, and he
stood looking at his victim, whose eyes met his; each thought of his
son.
Moreau, much excited, spoke threateningly to Vaucoux; who, like an
impassive image of hatred, only answered briefly: "I have killed the
Adversary, the Enemy."
A faint smile hovered on Clerambault's lips as he looked at Vaucoux.
"My poor friend," he thought, "It is within you yourself that the
Enemy lies,"--his eyes closed ... centuries seemed to pass.... "There
are no enemies...." and Clerambault entered into the peace of the
worlds to come.
Seeing that he had lost consciousness, his friends carried him into
Froment's house which was close by; but he was dead before they
reached it.
They laid him on a bed, in a room beside that in which the young
paralytic lay with his friends now gathered round him. The door
remained open. The spirit of the dead man seemed near them.
Moreau spoke bitterly of the absurdity of this murder; why not strike
one of the great pirates of the triumphant reaction, or a recognised
head of the revolutionary group? Why choose this inoffensive,
unbiassed man, who was kind to everyone, and almost too comprehending
to all sides?
"Hatred makes no mistakes," said Edme Froment.
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