the secret, it is well kept; so well
that it can be known only to the Emperor and one or two of his
ministers. We have tried every means, we have exhausted every resource,
all in vain. We know, in part, what is being done; of the purpose back
of it we know nothing. But we can guess--the purpose is war; it can be
nothing else!"

Lepine sat silent and contemplated the rugged face opposite him--the
face which told by its lined forehead, its worried eyes, its savage
mouth, of the struggles, rebuffs, and disappointments of thirty years.
Always, out of disaster, this man had risen unconquered. Upon his
shoulders now was placed the whole of this terrific burden. He alone, of
the whole cabinet, was fit to bear it; beside him, the others were mere
pigmies: Premier Caillaux, an amiable financier; Foreign Minister de
Selves, a charming amateur of the fine arts; War Minister Messimy, an
obscure army officer with a love for uniforms; Minister of Commerce
Couyba, a minor poet, tainted with decadence--above all these, Delcasse
loomed as a Gulliver among Lilliputians. But greatness has its
penalties. While the Minister of Foreign Affairs spent his days in
collecting plaques, and the Minister of War his in strutting about the
boulevards, and the Minister of Commerce his in composing verses,
Delcasse laboured to save his country--laboured as a colossus labours,
sweating, panting, throwing every fibre of his being into the
struggle--which was all the more trying, all the more terrific, because
he felt that it must go against him!

"What would you suggest, Lepine?" Delcasse asked, at last. "Is there any
source of information which you can try?"

Lepine shook his head doubtfully.

"It is not a question of expense," Delcasse went on, rapidly. "A million
francs would not be too much to pay for definite information. We have
spent that already! We have had a Prince babbling in his cups; we have
had I know not how many admirals and generals and diplomats confiding
in their suddenly complaisant mistresses; we have searched their hearts,
shaken them inside out--but they know nothing. Such and such orders have
been issued; they obey the orders, but they do not know their purpose.
They all talk war, shout war--Germany seems mad for war--and the
government encourages them. Their inspired journals assert over and over
that Germany cannot recede--that its position is final--that hereafter
it must be paramount in Morocco. And to-day--or to-morrow a