It was Franz von Kreuzenach who spoke now. He was standing at the table, facing his father, and it was to his father that he talked. He said that Elsa was right about love. In spite of the war, the souls of men and women were not separated by racial boundaries. When two souls touched and mingled, no hatred of peoples, no patriotic passion, could intervene. Elsa’s love for an English gentleman was but a symbol of the peace that was coming, when all countries would be united in a Society of Nations with equal rights and equal duties, and a common brotherhood. They saw in the streets of Cologne that there was no natural, inevitable hatred between English and Germans. The Army of Occupation had proved itself to be an instrument of goodwill between those who had tried to kill each other during four years of slaughter. Captain Brand had behaved with the most charming courtesy and chivalry, according to the traditions of an English gentleman, and he, Franz von Kreuzenach, was glad and honoured because this officer desired to take Elsa for his wife. Their marriage would be a consecration of the new peace. The father listened to him silently, except for that hard noise of breathing. When his son uttered those last words, the old man leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes glittered. “Get out of my house, _Schweinhund!_ Do not come near me again, or I will denounce you as a traitor and shoot you like a dog.” He turned to Elsa with outstretched hand. “Go up to bed, girl. If you were younger I would flog you with my hunting-whip.” For the first time he spoke to Brand, controlling his rage with a convulsive effort. “I have not the power to evict you from the house. For the time being the German people of the Rhineland are under hostile orders. Perhaps you will find another billet more to your convenience, and more agreeable to myself.” “To-night, sir,” said Brand, and he told me that he admired the old man’s self-control and his studied dignity. Elsa still clasped his hand, and before her family he kissed her. “With your leave, or without leave,” he said, “your daughter and I will be man and wife, for you have no right to stand between our love.” He bowed and left the room, and, in an hour, the house. Franz von Kreuzenach came into his room before he left, and wrung his hand. “I must go, too,” he said. “My father is very much enraged with me. It is the break between the young and the old--the new conflict, as we were saying one day.” He was near weeping, and Brand apologised for being the cause of so much trouble. In the hall Elsa came to Brand as the orderly carried out his bags. “To-morrow,” she said, “we will meet at Elizabeth von Detmold’s--my true friend.” Her eyes were wet with tears, but she was smiling, and there was, said Brand, a fine courage shining in her face.