"I can guess what is in your mind," he said. "You are wondering why we march at all--why we offer ourselves as cannon-fodder, if we do not wish to do so. You are thinking of defiances, of revolutions. But there will never be a revolution in Germany--not in this generation." "Yes, I was thinking something like that," Stewart agreed. "Why will there be no revolution?" "Because we are too thoroughly drilled in the habit of obedience. That habit is grooved deep into our brains. Were any of us so rash as to start a revolution, the government could stop it with a single word." "A single word?" "Yes--'_verboten_'!" retorted Bloem, with a short laugh. Then he pushed back his chair and rose abruptly. "I must say good-by. My orders are awaiting me at Elberfeld." Stewart rose too, his face still mazed with incredulity. "You really mean----" "I mean," Bloem broke in, "that to-morrow I go to my depot, hang about my neck the metal tag stamped with my number, put on my uniform and shoulder my rifle. I cease to be an individual--I become a soldier. Good-by, my friend," he added, his voice softening. "Think of me sometimes, in that far-off, sublime America of yours. One thing more--do not linger in Germany--things will be very different here under martial law. Get home as quickly as you can; and, in the midst of your peace and happiness, pity us poor blind worms who are forced to slay each other!" "But I will go with you to the station," Stewart protested. "No, no," said Bloem; "you must not do that. I am to meet my cousin. Good-by. _Lebe wohl!_" "Good-by--and good luck!" and Stewart wrung the hand thrust into his. "You have been most kind to me." Bloem answered only with a little shake of the head; then turned resolutely and hastened from the terrace. Stewart sank back into his seat more moved than he would have believed possible by this parting from a man whom, a fortnight before, he had not known at all. Poor Bloem! To what fate was he being hurried! A cultured man graded down to the level of the hind; a gentleman set to the task of slaughter; a democrat driven to fight in defense of the divine right of kings! But could such a fight succeed? Was any power strong enough to drag back the hands of time---- And then Stewart started violently, for someone had touched him on the shoulder. He looked up to find standing over him a tall man in dark blue uniform and wearing a spiked helmet. "Your pardon, sir," said the man in careful English; "I am an agent of the police. I must ask you certain questions." "Very well," agreed Stewart with a smile. "Go ahead--I have nothing to conceal. But won't you sit down?" "I thank you," and the policeman sat down heavily. "You are, I believe, an American." "Yes." "Have you a passport?" "Yes--I was foolish enough to get one before I left home. All my friends laughed at me and told me I was wasting a dollar!" "I should like to see it."