er knees to him! She stopped
short, struck in revolt with a memory of the way he had looked at her
once as she sat across the tea-table from him in the hotel
reception-room. "No, I could not endure that except as a last resort. If
ever there were a time to use all my wits it is now--to save Hugo
Mallin, the one soldier who acted out the principles which I taught my
children!"

XXXII

TEA ON THE VERANDA AGAIN

As it lacked one minute to four when Hedworth Westerling, chief of staff
in name as well as power now, alighted from the gray automobile that
turned in at the Galland drive, the chauffeur thought well enough of
himself to forget the crush of supplies and ambulances that had delayed
His Excellency's car for at least ninety seconds in the main street of
the town. Though His Excellency had not occupied his new headquarters as
soon as he expected, this could have no influence on results. If he had
lost fifty thousand men on the first two days and two hundred thousand
since the war had begun, should he allow this to disturb his well-being
of body or mind? His well-being of body and mind meant the ultimate
saving of lives.

The Grays were winning; this alone counted in the present. They would
continue to win; this alone counted in the future. They had won by
crowding in reserves till the positions attacked yielded to superior
strength. Thus they would continue to win until the last positions had
yielded.

Five million mothers' sons against three million mothers' sons! Five to
three pounds of flesh! Five to three ounces of blood! With equal skill,
superior strength must always tell. Westerling and his staff were
responsible for the skill. If their minds would work better for it, the
nation could well afford to feed them on nightingales' tongues.

Confidence is the handmaiden of skill. Confidence is the edge on the
sword; confidence brings the final charge that wins the redoubt.
Confidence was reflected in Westerling's bearing and in his smile of
command as he passed through the staff rooms, Turcas and Bouchard in his
train, with tacit approval of the arrangements. Finally, Turcas, now
vice-chief of staff, and the other chiefs awaited his pleasure in the
library, which was to be his sanctum. On the massive seventeenth-century
desk lay a number of reports and suggestions. Westerling ran through
them with accustomed swiftness of sifting and then turned to his
personal aide.

"Tell Francois that I will have