Yes, he did revolt, but would not admit it to himself.  He tried again to influence Clerambault:  “Your ideas perhaps are right and true, but this is not the time ... not now.  In twenty, or even fifty years.  We must first conquer, finish our task, found the freedom of the world, the brotherhood of men, on the enduring victory of France.”

Poor Daniel!  Can he not see that, even at the best, the victory is doomed to be tarnished by excesses, and that then it will be the turn of the vanquished to set their minds on a frantic revenge and a just victory?  Each nation desires the end of wars through its own triumph, and from one such victory to another humanity will go down to its defeat.

As Daniel stood up to go he pressed Clerambault’s hands and reminded him with much feeling of his poem where, in the heroic words of Beethoven, he exalted the suffering out of which joy is born....” Durch Leiden Freude.”  He sighed.

“Ah! how well they understand....  We sing of suffering and our deliverance, but they are enamoured of it.  And now our hymn of deliverance will become a song of oppression for other men....”

Clerambault could not answer, he had a real love for this young man, one of those who sacrificed themselves for the war, knowing well that they had nothing to gain; and the greater their sacrifices, the stronger their faith.  Blessings on them!  But if only they would consent not to immolate all mankind on the same altar....

Rosine came in just as Clerambault and Daniel reached the door of the apartment; she started with pleasure at the sight of the visitor, and Daniel’s face lighted up also.  Clerambault could not help noticing the sudden gaiety of the two young people.  Rosine urged Daniel to come in again for a few moments and talk to her a little; Daniel hesitated, did come back, but refused to sit down, and in a constrained way made a vague excuse for going away.  Clerambault, who guessed what was passing in his daughter’s heart, begged him to promise that he would come at least once more before the end of his leave.  Daniel, much embarrassed, said no, at first, then yes, without fixing a time, and at last, on being urged by Clerambault, he did say when they might expect him, and took leave, but his manner was still rather cool.  Rosine stood there, absorbed.  She looked troubled, but when her father smiled at her, she came quickly and kissed him.

The day he had fixed came and went, but no Daniel appeared; they waited for him the next day and the one after that.  He had gone back to the Front.  A few days later, Clerambault persuaded his wife to go with Rosine to see Daniel’s parents.  The icy coldness with which they were received just stopped short of offence.  Madame Clerambault came home, vowing that as long as she lived she would never set foot again in that house; it was all Rosine could do to restrain her tears.