h Armies in the
field were cut off from their base; defeat was certain, and the national
history of France, or, at any rate, the glory of it, would be stamped
out for ever under the Kaiser's heel. The fate of France was in the
balance, and also the fate of the Russian Armies. If Paris fell, Europe
might be as much the slave of Prussia as it had been a century ago of
Napoleon. As for England, if her Fleet could master the German, well
and good. But, if not....

It looked as if the enemy were within an ace of victory. He had flooded
Belgium and Luxembourg with his armies, and, at the first clash of arms,
had hurled everything before him in a manner which to the civilian must
have appeared terrible in its completeness. Several times had the
defenders apparently attempted to stand, and as many times had they been
hurled with even greater violence southwards. And now, before the
campaign was a month old, the enemy were within an ace of the most
complete victory of modern times. Many men will never forget that
night--men on either side with high commands.

How the Kaiser must have chuckled when the French Cabinet left for
Bordeaux! Bombastic phrases were perchance chasing themselves through
his perverted mind. How fine he would look at Versailles, strutting
about the Hall of Victories. He would sleep in the bed of the "Grand
Monarque"--and in Les Invalides how he would smile at the tomb of
Napoleon! Perhaps his statesmen were that very night drafting the terms
of peace that a crushed adversary would be only too thankful to accept.
His day had come at last! Henceforward how he would laugh at Democracy
and Socialism. He would show them that he was master. The best weapon in
all the world was sudden, bloody war. He would show his people that he
was their Master, their Salvation, their War Lord. He was the greatest
man in history, so he thought that night.

There may come a time when he will realise that, after all, he was only
the most contemptible and pitiable. But that is by the way.

His Generals could not have been so sure. They must have seen the
exhaustion of their men. Von Kluck must have already felt the weight of
the army, rushed out of Paris by General Gallieni, that threatened to
envelop his right flank. Von Heeringen must have realised that the
offensive was being wrenched from his grasp. And the Crown Prince was
throwing himself in vain upon the forts of Verdun and Nancy.

That night, too, somewhere behind the