The crowd drew respectfully to either side, Clerambault stopped and
pointedly took off his hat, while with his left hand he pressed
Maxime's arm yet closer to his side. Feeling him tremble, he turned
towards his son, and thought he had a strange look. Supposing that he
was overcome he tried to draw him away, but Maxime did not stir, he
was so much taken aback.

"A dead man," he thought. "All that for one dead man!... and out there
we walk over them. Five hundred a day on the roll, that's the normal
ration."

Hearing a sneering little laugh, Clerambault was frightened and pulled
him by the arm.

"Come away!" he said, and they moved on.

"If they could see," said Maxime to himself, "if they could only
see!... their whole society would go to pieces,... but they will
always be blind, they do not want to see ..."

His eyes, cruelly sharpened now, saw the adversary all around him,--in
the carelessness of the world, its stupidity, its egotism, its luxury,
in the "I don't give a damn!", the indecent profits of the war,
the enjoyment of it, the falseness down to the roots.... All these
sheltered people, shirkers, police, with their insolent autos that
looked like cannon, their women booted to the knee, with scarlet
mouths, and cruel little candy faces ... they are all satisfied ...
all is for the best!... "It will go on forever as it is!" Half the
world devouring the other half....