"I should in that case only be giving back a part of what I owe you." Then turning to Clerambault, he added: "He is the one who keeps us all up, is it not so, Madame Fanny?" "Indeed yes, I could not do without my strong son," said the mother tenderly. "They take advantage of the fact that I cannot defend myself," said Edmé to Clerambault. "You see I cannot stir an inch." "Was it a wound?" "Paralysis."--Clerambault did not dare to ask for details, but after a pause: "Do you suffer much?" he inquired. "I ought to wish that it were so perhaps; for pain is a tie between us and the shore. However, I confess that I prefer the silence of this body in which I am encased ... let us say no more about it.... My mind at least is free. And if it is not true that it '_agitat molem_,' does often escape." "I know," said Clerambault, "it came to see me the other day." "Not for the first time; it has been there before." "And I who thought myself deserted!" "Do you recall," said Edmé, "the words of Randolph to Cecil?--'_The voice of a man alone can in one hour put more life into us than the clang of five hundred trumpets sounded continuously_.'" "That always reminds me of you," said Chastenay, but Edmé went on as if he had not heard him: ... "You have waked us all up." Clerambault looked at the brave calm eyes of the paralytic, and said: "Your eyes do not look as if they needed to be waked." "They do not need it now," said Edmé, "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 Edmé, "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. Edmé 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...." As he spoke he stretched out his arms, raised his head, and breathed deeply.