nsidered war necessary to existence, and yet they were bewailing
the hardship that it was imposing upon them. The Count exhaled the
plaint of the craftsmaster.

"Oh, the havoc that this war has brought in my plans!" he sighed. "This
winter they were going to bring out my dance in Paris!"

They all protested at his sadness; his work would surely be presented
after the triumph, and the French would have to recognize it.

"It will not be the same thing," complained the Count. "I confess that I
adore Paris. . . . What a pity that these people have never wished to
be on familiar terms with us!" . . . And he relapsed into the silence of
the unappreciated man.

Desnoyers suddenly recognized in one of the officers who was talking,
with eyes bulging with covetousness, of the riches of Paris, the Chief
Thief with the band on his arm. He it was who so methodically had
sacked the castle. As though divining the old Frenchman's thought, the
commissary began excusing himself.

"It is war, monsieur. . . ."

The same as the others! . . . War had to be paid with the treasures of
the conquered. That was the new German system; the healthy return to
the wars of ancient days; tributes imposed on the cities, and each house
sacked separately. In this way, the enemy's resistance would be more
effectually overcome and the war soon brought to a close. He ought
not to be downcast over the appropriations, for his furnishings and
ornaments would all be sold in Germany. After the French defeat, he
could place a remonstrance claim with his government, petitioning it to
indemnify his loss; his relatives in Berlin would support his demand.

Desnoyers listened in consternation to his counsels. What kind of
mentality had these men, anyway? Were they insane, or were they trying
to have some fun at his expense? . . .

When the lunch was at last ended, the officers arose and adjusted their
swords for service. Captain von Hartrott rose, too; it was necessary for
him to return to his general; he had already dedicated too much time
to family expansion. His uncle accompanied him to the automobile where
Moltkecito once more justified the ruin and plunder of the castle.

"It is war. . . . We have to be very ruthless that it may not last long.
True kindness consists in being cruel, because then the terror-stricken
enemy gives in sooner, and so the world suffers less."

Don Marcelo shrugged his shoulders before this sophistry. In the
doorway, the captain