They were suffering just as he was; they had lost their sons.
Human grief is the same everywhere.
But then he revolted against his commiseration. Karl had been an
advocate of this war. He was among those who had looked upon war as the
perfect state for mankind, who had prepared it with their provocations.
It was just that War should devour his sons; he ought not to bewail
their loss. . . . But he who had always loved Peace! He who had only one
son, only one! . . . and now he was losing him forever! . . .
He was going to die; he was sure that he was going to die. . . . Only a
few months of life were left in him. And his pitiful, devoted companion
kneeling at his feet, she, too, would soon pass away. She could not long
survive the blow which they had just received. There was nothing further
for them to do; nobody needed them any longer.
Their daughter was thinking only of herself, of founding a separate
home interest--with the hard instinct of independence which separates
children from their parents in order that humanity may continue its work
of renovation.
Julio was the only one who would have prolonged the family, passing
on the name. The Desnoyers had died; his daughter's children would be
Lacour. . . . All was ended.
Don Marcelo even felt a certain satisfaction in thinking of his
approaching death. More than anything else, he wished to pass out of the
world.
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