. Which side should that be? That was the only question.

"It will the sooner end fighting, won't it, Lanny?" she asked in a
small, tense voice.

"Yes."

"And the only real end that means real peace is to prove that the weak
can hold back the strong from their threshold?"

"Yes."

Even now Westerling might be on the veranda, perhaps waiting for news
that would enable him to crush the weak; to prove that the law of five
pounds of human flesh against three, and five bayonets against three, is
the law of civilization.

"Yes, yes, yes!" The constriction was gone from her throat; there was a
drum-beat in her soul. "Depend on me, Lanny!" It was Feller's favorite
phrase spoken by the one who was to take his place. "Yes, I'm ready to
make any sacrifice now. For what am I? What is one woman compared to
such a purpose? I don't care what is said of me or what becomes of me if
we can win! Good-by, Lanny, till I call you up again! And God with us!"

"God with us!" as Partow had said, over and over The saying had come to
be repeated by hard-headed, agnostic staff-officers, who believed that
the deity had no relation to the efficiency of gun-fire. The Brown
infantrymen even were beginning to mutter it in the midst of action.

XXXIV

THREE VOICES

Waiting on the path of the second terrace for Westerling to come, Marta
realized the full meaning of her task. Day in and day out she was to
have suspense at her elbow and the horror of hypocrisy on her
conscience, the while keeping her wits nicely balanced. She must feel
her part and at the same time she must be sufficiently conscious that
she was placing a part not to let any impulse of aversion betray her.
The tea-table scene had been a rehearsal; coming was a _premiere_ before
the ghostly, still faces across the bent glare of the footlights. No
ready-made lines, hers She must create them. Every word must be the
right word and spoken in the right way, all for the deception of one
man.

When she saw Westerling appear on the veranda and start over the lawn
she felt dizzy and uncertain of her capabilities. In the gathering dusk
he seemed of giant stature, too masterful to be outwitted by any
trickery she might devise. She wondered if she would be able to
articulate a word; if she would not turn and flee.

"I have considered all that you said for my guidance and I have
decided," she began.

Marta heard her own voice with the relief of a singer in a debut who,
with kne