"
They left the Arch, following the avenue Victor Hugo. Tchernoff
walking along in dogged silence as though the vision of this imaginary
procession had overwhelmed him. Suddenly he continued aloud the course
of his reflections.
"And if they should enter, what does it matter? . . . On that account,
the cause of Right will not die. It suffers eclipses, but is born again;
it may be ignored and trampled under foot, but it does not, therefore,
cease to exist, and all good souls recognize it as the only rule of
life. A nation of madmen wishes to place might upon the pedestal that
others have raised to Right. Useless endeavor! The eternal hope
of mankind will ever be the increasing power of more liberty, more
brotherliness, more justice."
The Russian appeared to calm himself with this statement. He and
his friends spoke of the spectacle which Paris was presenting in its
preparation for war. Tchernoff bemoaned the great suffering produced by
the catastrophe, the thousands and thousands of domestic tragedies that
were unrolling at that moment. Apparently nothing had changed. In the
centre of the city and around the stations, there was unusual agitation,
but the rest of the immense city did not appear affected by the great
overthrow of its existence. The solitary street was presenting its usual
aspect, the breeze was gently moving the leaves.
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