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"Do you want me to do that, sir?" Westerling held his irritation in control and looked around at Marta. He saw only wonder in her eyes as she intently regarded Hugo, which was his own feeling, he suddenly realized. "I have hardly time to listen to long speeches," he remarked. "I thought not, sir," replied Hugo, unmoved. "That is why I said I had nothing to say.
Its tone was Lanny's, in the old days of their comradeship. It gave her strength. All true! "Yes, an end a speedy end!" said Westerling with a fine, inflexible emphasis. "That is your prayer and mine and the prayer of all lovers of humanity." "He is not thinking of humanity, but of individual victory!" whispered another voice, which had the mellow tone of Hugo Mallin's deliberate wisdom.
Galland and Minna saw her ghostlike as she passed through the living-room, their startled questions unheeded. Could it be true that she had betrayed every decent attribute of a woman in vain? Why had the counter-attack failed? Because Westerling had been too strong, too clever, for old Partow? Because God was still with the heaviest battalions?
But Marta rushed on: "So many would be engaged that it would be more horrible than ever." "You cannot make omelets without breaking eggs," Westerling answered with suave finality. "I wonder if the baron ever said that!" Marta recollected that it was a favorite expression of the fat, pompous little man. "It sounds like the baron, at all events." Westerling did not mind being likened to the baron.
There was a perceptible shudder on Marta's part, an abrupt, tossing elevation of her head. She stared at the spot where Dellarme had lain in the garden. Dellarme's smile was back on her lips; it seemed graven there. Her eyes, which Westerling could not see, were leaping flames.
Westerling and his aide and valet, inquiring their way as strangers, found the new staff headquarters of the Grays established in an army building, where Bouchard had been assigned to trivial duties, back of the Gray range.
Finally, some one touched him on the shoulder. He looked up to see his aide at his elbow saluting and François, his valet, standing by with an overcoat. "We must go, Your Excellency," said the aide. "Go?" asked Westerling dazedly. "Yes, the staff has already gone to a new headquarters." The announcement was the needle prick that once more aroused him to a sense of his situation.
"Lack of interest!" mused the premier. But Westerling, preoccupied with the literal exposition of his subject, did not catch the flash of passing satire before the premier, his features growing hard and challenging, spoke in another strain: "Then it all goes back to the public to that enormous body of humanity out there!"
After this, the capital became quieter. As we get in touch with the divisions, we find the army in better shape than we had feared it would be. There is a recovery of spirit, owing to our being on our own soil." "Yes," replied Westerling, drowning in their stares and grasping at a straw. "Only a panic, as I said. If " his voice rising hoarsely and catching in rage.
We have developed their weak points. The resolute offensive always wins. I know where I am going to attack; they do not. I shall not give them time to reinforce the defence at our chosen point. I have still plenty of live soldiers left. I shall go in with men enough this time to win and to hold." "The army is yours, Westerling," concluded the premier. "I admire your stolidity of purpose.
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