an instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave
themselves.

"I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name," Berthe
said. "But I am going to tell him--before he goes."

"He is safe," said Fallows. "I felt free with him--almost immediately
--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It
is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for
_The States_. You will see great things--best of all with the
Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang
every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I
wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of
brotherhood is faring? God, how he took to that dream! He will be a
Voice--"

They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. "I'll go out
with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night."

Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had
already said too much.

"He seems to be burning up," said Peter.

Berthe did not answer.

"He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly
full of power," Peter added. "And yet he said so little of his own
part."