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Updated: June 12, 2025
So well that His Excellency was calmly taking tea on the veranda! For the indefatigable Turcas the detail; for Westerling the front of Jove. "Well!" The thrill of the word was with him in a flight of sentiment as he stood on that veranda where a certain prophecy had been made to a young colonel.
"We prepare for the movement, Your Excellency," answered Turcas. It was a steel harness of his own will that Westerling wore, without admitting that it galled him, and he laid it off only in Marta's presence. With her, his growing sense of isolation had the relief of companionship. She became a kind of mirror of his egoism and ambitions.
"I was to tell you that the enemy has been attacking along the whole front," the aide explained. "Attacking! The Browns attacking!" Westerling exclaimed as he gathered his wits. "Well, so much the worse for them. I rather expected they would," he added. Then through the door which the aide had left open the division chiefs, led by Turcas, filed in.
Westerling announced. "I am going on my experience as a soldier, as a chief of staff. If I am wrong, I take the responsibility. If I am right, Bordir will be ours before morning. It is settled!" "If you are right, then," exclaimed Turcas "well, then it's genius or " He did not finish the sentence.
"Suppose they amount to half the forces that we send in!" he exclaimed. "Isn't the position, which means the pass and the range, worth it?" "Yes, if we both take and hold it; not if we fail," replied Turcas, quite unaffected by Westerling's manner. "Failure is not in my lexicon!" Westerling shot back. "For great gains there must be great risks."
By every sign he enjoyed his power for its own sake. There must be a chief of the five millions, which were as a moving forest of destruction, and here was the chief, his strength reflected in the strong muscles of his short neck as he turned his head to listen to Turcas.
Tell Westerling to come out!" rose the impatient shouts behind the two figures in the doorway. "You are sure that he has one?" whispered Turcas to Westerling's aide. "Yes," was the choking answer "yes. It is better than that" with a glance toward the mob. "I left my own on the table." "We can't save him! We shall have to let them "
"We have a new government, a new premier!" Turcas repeated, with firm, methodical politeness. Westerling looking from one face to another with filmy eyes, lowered them before Bouchard. "There's a room ready for Your Excellency up-stairs," Turcas continued. "The orderly will show you the way." Now Westerling grasped the fact that he was no longer chief of staff.
Faintly she heard the cheers of the crowds pouring toward the frontier cheers for the Gray premier and cheers for Lanstron and for Turcas as they gathered for a purpose which looked further ahead than the mere ratification of the very simple terms of peace that left the white posts where they were before the war. "I would rather meet you here than on your range," said Lanstron to Turcas.
The staff exchanged glances of amazement, and Turcas, his dry voice crackling like parchment, exclaimed: "Attack again? At the same point?" "Yes the one place to attack!" said Westerling. "The rest of our line has abundant reserves; a needless number for anything but the offensive. We'll leave enough to hold and draw off the rest to Engadir at once." "But their dirigibles!
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