d's
rule; she spends vast sums of money in teaching treachery in your
schools, in arousing suspicion among farmers, in subsidising
mercantile firms.

"Garry, I tell you that a Hun is always a Hun; a Boche is always a
Boche, call him what else you will.

"The Germans are the monkeys of the world; they have imitated the
human race. But, Garry, they are still what they always have been at
heart, barbarians who have no business in Europe.

"In their hearts--and for all their priests and clergymen and
cathedrals and churches--they still believe in their old gods which
they themselves created--fierce, bestial supermen, more cruel, more
powerful, more treacherous, more beastly than they themselves.

"That is the German. That is the Hun under all his disguises. No white
man can meet him on his own ground; no white man can understand him,
appeal to anything in common between himself and the Boche. He is
brutal and contemptuous to women; he is tyrannical to the weak,
cringing to the strong, fundamentally bestial, utterly selfish,
intolerant of any civilisation which is not his conception of
civilisation--his monkey-like conception of Christ--whom, in his pagan
soul, he secretly sneers at--not always secretly, now!"

She straightened up with a quick little gesture of contempt. Her face
was brightly flushed; her eyes brilliant with scorn.

"Garry, has not America heard enough of 'the good German,' the 'kindly
Teuton,' the harmless, sentimental and 'excellent citizen,' whose
morally edifying origin as a model emigrant came out of his own sly
mouth, and who has, by his own propaganda alone, become an accepted
type of good-natured thrift and erudition in your Republic?

"Let me say to you what a French girl thinks! A hundred years ago you
were a very small nation, but you were homogeneous and the average of
culture was far higher in America then than it is at present. For now,
your people's cultivation and civilisation is diluted by the ignorance
of millions of foreigners to whom you have given hospitality. And, of
these, the Germans have done you the most deadly injury, vulgarising
public taste in art and literature, affronting your clean, sane
intelligence by the new decadence and perversion in music, in
painting, in illustration, in fiction.

"Whatever the normal Hun touches he vulgarises; whatever the decadent
Boche touches he soils and degrades and transforms into a horrible
abomination. This he has done under your eyes