had the old French chroniclers in his veins.  The sculptor wrinkled his brow in the effort to find metaphysics in Rodin and Beethoven; and Dr. Verrier had a streak of the marvellous in his disposition.  This he satisfied by the hypotheses of biology, and the wonders of modern chemistry, though he would glance at the paradise of religion with the disenchanted smile of the man of science.  He bore his part in the sad trials of the time, but the era of war with all its gory glory faded for him before the heroic discoveries of thought made by a new Newton, the German Einstein, in the midst of the general distraction.

These men all differed in the form of their minds and in their temperament; but they all agreed in this, they belonged to no party, each thought for himself, and each respected and loved liberty in himself or in others.  What else mattered?  In our day, all the old framework is broken down; religious, political, or social.  It is but small progress if we call ourselves socialists, or republicans, rather than monarchists, if these castes accept nationalism of State, faith, or class.  There are now only two sorts of minds:  those shut up behind bars, and those open to all that is alive, to the entire race of man, even our enemies.  These men, few though they may be, compose the true “International” which rests on the worship of truth and universal life.  They know well that they are each too weak to embrace alone their great ideal, but it is infinite and can embrace them all.  United in one object, they push on by their separate ways towards the unknown God.

These independent spirits were all drawn towards Edme Froment at this time, because they obscurely saw in him the point where they could meet, the clearing from which every path in the forest is visible.  Froment had not always tried to bring others together; as long as he was well and strong, he too had taken his own way, but since his course had been cut short, after a time of bitter despondency of which he said nothing, he had placed himself at the cross-roads.  As he could not possibly act himself, he was better able to view the whole field and take part in spirit.  He saw the different currents:  country, revolution, contests between states and classes, science and faith—­like a stream’s conflicting forces, with its rapids, whirlpools, and reefs; it may sometimes slacken, or turn its course, but it always flows on irresistibly (even reaction is carried forward).  And he, the poor youth staked at his cross-roads, took all these currents unto him, the entire stream.

Edme reminded Clerambault sometimes of Perrotin, but he and Froment were worlds apart.  The latter also denied nothing of what is, and wished to understand everything; but his was a fiery spirit, his whole soul was filled with ordered movement and feeling; with him all life and death went forward and upward.  And his body lay there motionless.