perhaps because he did not realise the danger. One day Moreau
found him in a group of people disputing with an excited young man who
had spoken to him in a most insulting manner. While they were talking
the shell from a "Big Bertha" exploded close by. Clerambault took no
notice, and went on quietly explaining his position to the angry young
man. There was something positively comic in this obstinacy, and the
circle of listeners was quick to feel it, like true Frenchmen,
and began to exchange jokes not entirely of a refined nature, but
perfectly good-natured. Moreau caught hold of Clerambault's arm and
tried to drag him away, but he stopped, and looking at the laughing
crowd, the absurdity of the situation struck him in his turn, and he
too burst out laughing.

"What an old fool I am!" said he to Moreau, who was still intent on
getting him away.

"You had better look out, for you are not the only fool in this
town," was the somewhat impertinent answer, but Clerambault would not
understand what he meant.

The case against him had entered on a new phase; he was now accused of
infraction of the law of the 5th of August, 1914--"An act to repress
indiscretions in time of war." He was accused of pacifist propaganda
among the working classes, where it was said that Thouron had
distributed Clerambault's writings with the consent of the author;
but there was no foundation for this, as Thouron was in a position to
testify that Clerambault had no knowledge of such propaganda, and had
certainly not authorised it.

It appeared, however, singularly enough, that Thouron would not swear
to anything of the sort. His attitude was strange, for, instead of
stating the facts, he equivocated as if he had something to hide; it
almost looked as if he wished this to be noticed, which would have
aroused suspicions if he had not been so careful. Unfortunately these
suspicions seemed to glance at Clerambault, though he said nothing
against him or against anyone; in fact he refused to tell anything,
but he let it be understood that if he chose ... but he did not
choose. Clerambault was confronted with him, and his attitude was
perfect, really chivalrous. He laid his hand on his heart and declared
that be had the admiration of a son for the great "Master," and
"Friend," and when Clerambault, getting impatient, begged him to state
simply just what had passed between them, the other would do nothing
but protest his "undying devotion." He would ra