uite
ready to believe you; still, it seems to us that our army had a
little to do with it. The Italians say _they_ struck the decisive
blow; so do the Serbians and the Portuguese, of course. The Americans
go about wearing little badges in their buttonholes which proclaim,
"_We_ did it." Ludendorff claims that the German army won the war.
I am beginning to ask myself whether _I_ was not the victor. As a
matter of fact, I'm inclined to think it was you. You kept the Infant
Dundas quiet; if you hadn't repressed him, he would have kept
General Bramble from working; the general would have been nervous
at the time of the attack in April '18, and all would have been lost.

As to international politics I have very little to tell you. I am
observing the bucolic mind, and am noticing with some anxiety that
the brain of the countryman is very much like the turnip he grows
with such perseverance. I am hoping I shall not also develop any
vegetable characteristics.

You ask whether we are forgetting France. I don't think we are. Do
you know that we were ready to remit your war debts if America had
agreed? Not so bad for a nation of shopkeepers, is it? We don't brag
about our devotion, but we will be with you if anything goes wrong. I
trust you know us well enough to be quite assured of that.

I am very busy this morning with my favourite sow, who has just
borne a litter of twelve. She immediately squashed one of them; King
Solomon was not such a clever judge as he looked, after all. Au
revoir.

CHAPTER XVIII

GENERAL BRAMBLE'S RETURN

"The English have a mild aspect and a ringing, cheerful
voice."--Emerson.

"By Jove," said the Infant Dundas, "this Paris of yours _is_ a jolly
town."

Beltara the painter had invited Aurelle to spend an evening in his
studio to meet General Bramble, who was passing through Paris on his
way to Constantinople, accompanied by Dundas and Dr. O'Grady.

The general was sitting on a divan piled high with many-coloured
cushions, and gazing with emotion upon the sketch of a nude figure.
The Greek heads, Etruscan warriors and Egyptian scribes about him
had the rare and spiritual beauty of mutilated things. Aurelle gazed
at his old chief as he sat motionless among the statues, and
consecrated the brief moment of silence to the memory of his virtues.

"A fine woman," exclaimed the general, "a very fine woman indeed!
What a pity I can't show you a few Soudan negresses, Beltara!"

Beltar