“Defeat?” he said. “My son and daughter talk of defeat!... There was no defeat. The German Armies were invincible to the last. They never lost a battle. They fell back, not because of their own failure but because the heart of the German people was sapped by the weakness of hunger, caused by the infamous English blockade, which starved our women and children. _Ja_, even our manhood was weakened by starvation. Still more, our civilians were poisoned by a pestilential heresy learnt in Russia, a most damnable pacifism, which destroyed their will to win. Our glorious armies were stabbed in the back by anarchy and treachery.” “It is defeat, sir, all the same,” said Franz von Kreuze-nach, with grim deference, to his father. “Let us face the tragedy of the facts. As an officer of the rearguard defence, I have to admit, too, that the German Armies were beaten in the field. Our war machine was worn out and disintegrated by the repeated blows that struck us. Our man-power was exhausted, and we could no longer resist the weight of the Allied Armies. The Americans had immense reserves of men to throw in against us. We could only save ourselves by retreat. Field Marshal von Hindenburg himself has admitted that.” The general’s face was no longer flushed with angry colour. He was very white, with a kind of dead look, except for the smouldering fire of his eyes. He spoke in a low, choking voice, in German. “If I had known that a son of mine, bearing the name of Franz von Kreuzenach, would have admitted the defeat of the German Army before an officer of an enemy power I would have strangled him at birth.” He grasped the arms of his chair and made one or two efforts to rise, but could not do so. “Anna!” he commanded harshly, to his wife, “give me your arm. This officer will excuse me, I trust. I feel unwell.” Franz von Kreuzenach went quickly over to his father, before his mother could rise. “Father, I deeply regret having pained you. The truth is tragic enough----” The old man answered him ferociously. “You have not spoken truth, but lies. You are a disgrace to the rank of a German officer and to my name. You have been infected by the poison of socialism and anarchy. Anna--your arm!” Elsa’s mother stooped over her husband and lifted his hand to her lips. “_Mein lieber Mann_,” she said very softly. The old man rose stiffly, leaning on his wife’s arm, and bowed to Brand. “I beg you to excuse me, sir. As a German soldier I do not admit the words ‘defeat’ or ‘retreat,’ even when spoken within my own household. The ever-glorious German Army has never been defeated, and has never retreated--except according to plan. I wish you goodnight.” Brand was standing, and bowed to the general in silence. It was a silence which lasted after the husband and wife had left the room. The girl Elsa was mopping her eyes. Franz von Kreuzenach stood, very pale, by the empty chair in which his father had sat. He was the first to speak.