cer, at once the motor and millstone of that
machine. And he smiled. "Well," he repeated, "there's the end of
that!"

The door closed behind him; his retreating footsteps echoed in the
corridor. The Baron spoke at last. He stared up at Von Wetten, his
strong old face seamed with new lines.

"You thank God for that, do you?" he said.

Von Wetten returned his gaze. "Yes, Excellency," he replied.

He had screwed his monocle into his eye; it gave to his unconscious
arrogance the barb of impertinence.

"You!" The Baron cried out at him. "You thank God, do you? and
neither your thanks nor your God is worth the bones of a single
Pomeranian grenadier! Do you know what has happened, fool?"

Captain von Wetten bent towards him, smiling slightly.

"You are speaking to Haase, of course, Excellency?"

The Baron caught himself. His face went a trifle pinker, but his
mouth was hard under the clipped white moustache and the heavy brows
were level.

"I will tell you what has happened," he said deliberately. "I will
try to make it intelligible to you."

He held up the ivory paper-knife, its slender yellow blade strained
in his two hands.

"That is Germany to-day," he said, "bending." His strong hands
tightened; the paper-knife broke with a snap. "And that is Germany
to-morrow broken. We have failed."

He threw the two pieces from him to the floor and stared under the
pent of his brows at Von Wetten.

Their eyes engaged. But one of the pieces slid across the floor to
Herr Haase's feet. Orderly and serviceable always, Herr Haase bent
and picked up the broken pieces and put them back upon the table.

VIII

ALMS AND THE MAN

While she was yet dressing, she had heard the soft pad of slippers on
the narrow landing outside her room and the shuffle of papers; then,
heralded by a single knock, the scrape and crackle of a paper being
pushed under her door. It was in this fashion that the Maison Mardel
presented its weekly bills to its guests.

"Merci!" she called aloud, leaving her dressing to go and pick up the
paper. A pant from without answered her and the slippers thudded
away.

Standing by the door, with arms and shoulders bare, she unfolded the
document, a long sheet with a printed column of items and large inky
figures in francs and centimes written against them, and down in the
right hand corner the dramatic climax of the total. It was the total
that interested Annette Kelly.

"H'm!" It was something between