“That’s the worst of it,” Furley groaned. “They’ll have a bird’s-eye view of the whole affair, those people who write our requiem or our eulogy. You noticed the Press this morning? They’re all hinting at some great move in the West. It’s about in the clubs. Why, I even heard last night that we were in Ostend. It’s all a rig, of course. Stenson wants to gain time.” “Who opened these negotiations with Freistner?” Julian asked. “Fenn. He met him at the Geneva Conference, the year before the war. I met him, too, but I didn’t see so much of him. He’s a fine fellow, Julian--as unlike the typical German as any man you ever met.” “He’s honest, I suppose?” “As the day itself,” was the confident reply. “He has been in prison twice, you know, for plain speaking. He is the one man in Germany who has fought the war, tooth and nail, from the start.” Julian caught his friend by the shoulder. “Miles,” he said,--“straight from the bottom of your heart, mind--you do believe we are justified?” “I have never doubted it.” “You know that we have practically created a revolution--that we have established a dictatorship? Stenson must obey or face anarchy.” “It is the voice of the people,” Furley declared. “I am convinced that we are justified. I am convinced of the inutility of the prolongation of this war.” Julian drew a little sigh of relief. “Don’t think I am weakening,” he said. “Remember, I am new to this thing in practice, even though I may be responsible for some of the theory.” “It is the people who are the soundest directors of a nation’s policy,” Furley pronounced. “High politics becomes too much like a game of chess, hedged all around with etiquette and precedent. It’s human life we want to save, Julian. People don’t stop to realise the horrible tragedy of even one man’s death--one man with his little circle of relatives and friends. In the game of war one forgets. Human beings--men from the toiler’s bench, the carpenter’s bench, from behind the counter, from the land, from the mine--don khaki, become soldiers, and there seems something different about them. So many human lives gone every day; just soldiers, just the toll we have to pay for a slight advance or a costly retreat. And, my God, every one of them, underneath their khaki, is a human being! The politicians don’t grasp it, Julian. That’s our justification. The day that armistice is signed, several hundred lives at least--perhaps, thousands--will be saved; for several hundred women the sun will continue to shine. Parents, sweethearts, children--all of them--think what they will be spared!” “I am a man again,” Julian declared. “Come along round to Westminster. There are many things I want to ask about the Executive.”