last gleam from their afterglow. Nosce tempus! But the sun has set at last, Halkett, and the last haymaker is going home."
"It would not have been very amusing if one of those bullets had knocked you off your seat," remarked Halkett.
"But they didn't, old chap!" returned Warner heartily. "It was a good mix-up – exciting, harmless, and beneficial. I feel years younger. Respectability is a good, warm coat for the winter of life; but one feels its weight in Indian summer."
Halkett smiled but shook his head:
"No good hunting trouble. You've only to turn around any time to find it sniffing in your tracks."
"You don't understand. For years I've worked very steadily, very seriously. I've painted, studied, read; I've made a living by selling some pictures, by royalties on the reproduction of pictures, by teaching a summer class of girls. After a while, you know, one goes stale with respectability. I went out to the East and saw the Balkan fighting. It helped some. I made some sketches last year in Mexico. That helped.
"But there's an exhilaration about lawbreaking – or in aiding and abetting a lawbreaker – that has the rest beaten to a batter. Today's misdeeds mean a new lease of life to me, Halkett."
The Englishman laughed. He was still cradling the two automatics on his knees; now, with a careless glance behind him, he leaned forward and replaced them in their respective holsters.
"For a rather celebrated and weighty member of the social structure," he remarked, "there is a good deal of the boy left in you."
"When that dies in a man," returned Warner lightly, "creative and constructive work end. The child who built with blocks, the youth who built airier castles, is truly dead. And so is the man he has become."
"Do you think so?"
"I know it. The same intellectual and physical restlessness drives one to create and construct, which, as a boy, drove one into active and constructive mischief. When the day dawns wherein creating no longer appeals to me, then I am old indeed, Halkett, and the overcoat of respectability will suit me the year round… I'm very glad that I have found it oppressive this July day. By the way, what day does it happen to be?"
Halkett said:
"It happens to be the last day of July. I have an idea that several billion other people are destined to remember these last few days of July, 1914, as long as they live."
"Why?" inquired the American curiously.
"Because, within these last few days, Austria has declared war on Servia, Russia has already ordered partial mobilization, Germany has sent her an ultimatum, and will back it up tomorrow."
"What! How do you know?"
"You don't mean to ask me that, do you?" said Halkett pleasantly.
"No, of course not – " Warner gazed straight ahead of him as he drove; his altered features had become gravely expressionless. After a moment he said:
"I can't comprehend it. Servia had agreed to everything demanded – except that one item which she offered to arbitrate. I can't understand it."
Halkett said calmly:
"It is not difficult to understand. A telegram has been suppressed – the only telegram which could now prevent war." He removed his straw hat, took from the lining a strip of semi-transparent paper, and read aloud the minute handwriting:
"The German government has published several telegrams which the Emperor of Russia exchanged with Emperor William. Among these telegrams, nevertheless, is one which was not published – a dispatch from His Russian Majesty, dated July 29, 1914, containing a proposition to submit the Austro-Servian conflict to The Hague Tribunal.
"This has an appearance of a desire in Germany to pass over in silence the attempt to prevent the approaching collision. In view of this, the Minister of Foreign Affairs is authorized to publish the telegram mentioned, of which this is the text:
"'Thanks for your conciliatory and friendly telegram. Inasmuch as the official message presented today by your ambassador to my minister was conveyed in a very different tone, I beg you to explain this divergency. It would be right to give over the Austro-Servian problem to The Hague Conference. I trust in your wisdom and friendship.'"
"Where did you get that?" asked Warner bluntly.
"This morning at the Boule d'Argent. A friend was kind enough to leave it for me in a note," he added blandly.
"Do you believe it to be authentic?"
"Unfortunately, I can not question its truth."
"You think that the German government – "
"Without any doubt at all, Warner. For her The Day is about to dawn at last. Her Joshua has halted the course of the sun long enough to suit himself. It is scheduled to rise tomorrow."
"Do you mean war?"
"I do."
"Where?"
"Well, here, in France – to mention one place."
"In France!"
"Surely, surely!"
"Invasion?"
"Exactly."
"From which way?"
Halkett shrugged:
"Does anybody now believe it will come by way of the Barrier Forts? The human race never has been partial to cross-country traveling; only ants prefer it."
"You think it will come by the flank – through Belgium?"
"Ask yourself, Warner. Is there an easier way for it to come?"
"But the treaties?"
"Nulla salus bello; necessitas no habet legem."
"Nothing dishonorable is ever necessary."
"Ah! If nations could only agree upon the definition of that word 'honor'! There'd be fewer wars, my friend."
"You think, if France follows Russia's example and mobilizes, that Germany will strike through Belgium?"
"I'm sure of it."
"What about England, then?" asked Warner bluntly.
But Halkett remained silent; and he did not repeat the question.
"After all," he said, presently, "this entire business is incredible. Diplomacy will find a way out of it." And, after a moment's silence: "You don't think so?"
"No."
Presently Halkett turned and looked back through the gathering dusk.
"I wonder," he said, "whether they'll get their car out tonight?"
"They'll have to go back to Ausone for aid," said Warner.
"Do you still mean to put me up at Saïs?"
"Certainly. You don't expect your friends back there to assault the inn, do you?"
"No," said Halkett, laughing. "They don't do things that way just yet."
Warner snapped his whip, caught the curling lash, let it free, twirled it, and, snapped it again, whistling cheerfully a gay air from his student days – a tune he had not thought of before in years.
"I believe," he said, frankly hopeful, "that you and I are going to have another little party with those fellows before this matter is ended."
"I'm sure of it," said Halkett quietly.
A few moments later Warner, still whistling his joyous air, pointed toward a cluster of tiny lights far ahead in the dark valley.
"Saïs," he said; and resumed his song blithely:
"Gai, gai, mariez-vous!
C'est un usage
Fort sage.
Gai, gai, mariez-vous,
Le mariage est si doux! – "
"Like a bird it is!" he added ironically.
"By the way, you're not married, are you?"