nd nothing could stop their "Brekekekex, coax, coax."

The disastrous results of a new offensive found them, as always,
bravely at their post. Once more the optimist oracles of the pontiffs
of the rear-guard were proved to be wrong, but no one seemed to notice
it. Other prophecies succeeded, and were given out and swallowed with
the same assurance. Neither those who wrote, nor those who read, saw
that they had deceived themselves; in all sincerity they did not know
it; they did not remember what they had written the day before. What
can you expect from such feather-headed creatures who do not know if
they are on their heads or their heels? But it must be allowed that
they know how to fall on their feet after one of their somersaults.
One conviction a day is enough for them; and what does the quality
matter, since they are fresh every hour?

Towards the end of the autumn, in order to keep up the morale which
sank before the sadness of the coming winter, the press started a new
propaganda against German atrocities; it "went across" perfectly, and
the thermometer of public opinion rose to fever heat. Even in the
placid Berry village for several weeks all sorts of cruel things
were said; the cure took part and preached a sermon on vengeance.
Clerambault heard this from his wife at breakfast and said plainly
what he thought of it before the servant who was waiting at table. The
whole village knew that he was a boche before night; and every morning
after that he could read it written up on his front door. Madame
Clerambault's temper was not improved by this, and Rosine, who had
taken to religion in the disappointment of her young love, was too
much occupied with her unhappy soul and its experiences to think of
the troubles of others. The sweetest natures have times when they are
simply and absolutely selfish.

Left to himself alone, deprived of the means of action, Clerambault
turned his heated thoughts back on himself. Nothing now held him from
the path of harsh truth; there was nothing between him and its cold
light. His soul was shrivelled like those _fuorusciti_ who, thrown
from the walls of the cruel city, gaze at it from without with
faithless eyes. It was no longer the sad vision of the first night of
his trials, when his bleeding wounds still linked him with other men;
all ties were now broken, as with open eyes his spirit sank down
whirling into the abyss; the slow descent into hell, from circle to
circle, a