"No, I'm not joking. I'm as serious as I have ever been in my life. The
proof: on leaving the Foreign Office I went and had a neglected tooth
filled, and on my way down, stopped at my shoemaker's and ordered a pair
of good strong boots for Saturday morning. I'll be fit then to join my
regiment."

Our faces fell.

"But why Saturday?"

"Because Saturday's the first of August, and the idea of keeping the
news back is to prevent a panic on the Bourse, and to let the July
payments have time to be realized."

"You don't really believe it's serious, do you?"

"Yes, really. I'm not fooling, and if I've any advice to give you it's
this: draw out all the money you can from your bank, and take all the
gold they'll give you. You may need it. I've telephoned to the _Gil
Blas_ for them to do as much for us. The worst of all though is, that
every man on my paper is of an age bound to military service. War means
that when I leave, staff, printers and all will have to go the same day
and the _Gil Blas_ shuts its doors. We cease to exist--that's all."

Somewhat disconcerted by this astonishing news, we had some little
difficulty getting down to facts, but when we did business was speedily
dispatched and Mr. Mortier took his leave. Mr. Gautron carried me off
to luncheon.

"You must come," he protested when I pleaded an engagement. "You must