ficers rose from their work to stand
at salute like stone images, in respect to a field-marshal's rank. There
was no word of greeting but a telling silence before Turcas spoke. His
voice had lost its parchment crinkle and become natural. The blue veins
on his bulging temples were a little more pronounced, his thin features
a little more pinched, but otherwise he was unchanged and he seemed
equal to another strain as heavy as the one he had undergone.

"We have a new government, a new premier," he said. "The old premier was
killed by a shot from a crowd that he was addressing from the balcony of
the palace. After this, the capital became quieter. As we get in touch
with the divisions, we find the army in better shape than we had feared
it would be. There is a recovery of spirit, owing to our being on our
own soil."

"Yes," replied Westerling, drowning in their stares and grasping at a
straw. "Only a panic, as I said. If--" his voice rising hoarsely and
catching in rage.

"We have a new government, a new premier!" Turcas repeated, with firm,
methodical politeness. Westerling looking from one face to another with
filmy eyes, lowered them before Bouchard. "There's a room ready for Your
Excellency up-stairs," Turcas continued. "The orderly will show you the
way."

Now Westerling grasped the fact that he was no longer chief of staff. He
drew himself up in a desperate attempt at dignity; the staff saluted
again, and, uncertainly, he followed the orderly, with the aide and
valet still in loyal attendance.

Meanwhile, the aerial scouts of the Grays were puzzled by a moving cloud
on the landscape several miles away. It filled the highway and
overflowed into the fields, without military form: women and men of
every age except the fighting age, marching together in a sinister
militancy of purpose.

"Bring the children, too!" cried the leaders. "They've more right to be
heard than any of us."

From such a nucleus it seemed that the whole population of the land
might be set in motion by a common passion. Neither the coming of
darkness nor a chill rain kept recruits from village and farmhouse from
dropping their tasks and leaving meals unfinished to swell the ranks.
What Westerling had called the bovine public with a parrot's head had
become a lion.

"There's no use of giving any orders, to stop this flood," said an
officer who had ridden fast to warn the Gray staff. "The police simply
watch it go by. Soldiers ready to lay