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.
The following week a letter arrived from Daniel to Clerambault. Though he seemed a little shamefaced about his attitude and that of his parents, he tried rather to explain, than to apologise for it. He spoke of the ties of admiration, respect and friendship which united him to Clerambault,
