down their lives to hold the range
give it Godspeed when they learn what it wants. Both are citizens before
they are soldiers or policemen. The thing is as elemental as an
earthquake or a tidal wave."

"Public opinion! Unanimous public opinion! Nothing can stop that!"
exclaimed Turcas in dry fatalism. "You will inform His Excellency," he
said to Westerling's aide, "that they are coming for him--all the people
are coming, and we are powerless. And--" Even Turcas's calmness failed
him and his voice caught in a convulsive swallow.

"I--I understand!" the aide said thickly, and went up-stairs.

He had suffered worse than in seeing his chief beaten; but even in
disillusion he was loyal. He was back immediately, and paused at the
foot of the stairs stonily, in the attitude of one who listens for
something; while the tramp of thousands of feet came pressing in upon
all sides.

As one great, high-pitched voice, the crowd shouted its merciless
demand; and eyes eager with the hunt as those of soldiers in pursuit
gleamed through the windows out of the darkness. Bouchard, hawk-eyed,
stern, was standing by the street door. His mediaeval spirit revolted at
the thought of any kind of a mob. For such demonstrations he had a
single simple prescription--cold lead.

"We cannot strike the overwhelming spirit which we would forge into the
nation's defence," said Turcas.

The door was flung open and Bouchard drew back abruptly at the sight; he
drew back in fear of his own nature. If any one should so much as lay
hands on him when he was in uniform, a sword thrust would resent the
insult to his officer's honor; and even he did not want to strike
grandfathers and children and mothers.

Two figures were in the doorway: a heavy-set market woman with a fringe
of down on her lip and a cadaverous, tidily dressed old man, who might
have been a superannuated schoolmaster, with a bronze cross won in the
war of forty years ago on his breast and his eyes burning with the
youthful fire of Grandfather Fragini's.

"They got the premier in the capital. We've come for Westerling! We want
to know what he did with our sons! We want to know why he was beaten!"
cried the market woman.

"Yes," said the veteran. "We want him to explain his lies. Why did he
keep the truth from us? We were ready to fight, but not to be treated
like babies. This is the twentieth century!"

"We want Westerling! Tell Westerling to come out!" rose the impatient
shouts behin