with passionate admiration, but why not play the old game of the gods
for an hour? What better preparation for the morrow than to relax and
forget?

"Poor Franz!" Her voice was the same rich contralto whose promise had
routed the Howland millions years ago. "Our poor gallant men! When will
this terrible war finish?"

"Ask your United States of America!" And he cursed that superfluous
nation roundly. "We had some chance before. Not so much, but still some.
Now we shall be beaten to our knees, stamped into the dust, straight
down to hell." He threw himself into a chair and pressed his hands
against his face.

"But when?" Gisela watched him warily. If these were tactics they were
admirable; but who more full of theatric devices than the Kaiser he
adored?

"Years hence, no doubt--if we continue to hold the Social-Democrats in
hand and drug the people. We'll fight on until our enemies' might proves
that they are right and we were fools. That is all there is to war."

Gisela sat down and let her hands fall into her lap with a little
pathetic motion of weakness. "Sometimes I wish the Socialists were
strong enough to win and end it all," she said plaintively.

"Oh, no, you don't. You are a junker, for all your independent notions,
and trying to put some of your own nerve into the women. I read you with
great amusement before the war. But no one knows better than yourself
that the triumph of democracy in Germany would mean the end of us."