hastened peace on any terms; Princess Starnwoerth, a Socialist and idealist, a brilliant and persuasive speaker, to whom war was the ultimate horror; Johanna Stueck, whose revolt had been deep and bitter long before the war and who was one of Gisela’s fervent disciples and aides—­these and six others were sent on one pretense or another into the various States of Germany—­the kingdoms, principalities, grand duchies, duchies, and “free towns”—­to bear Gisela’s personal message and select the proper leaders.

Gisela went at once to Berlin and had a long interview with Mariette, who was ripe for revolution:  her lover had been killed and her husband had not.  Mariette was not of the type that sorrow and loss ennoble.  She was still a handsome woman, particularly in her uniform, but the pink and white cheeks that once had covered her harsh bones were sunken and sallow.  Her mouth was like a narrow bar of iron.  Her eyes were half closed as if to hide the cold and deadly flame that never flickered; even her nostrils were rigid.  All her hard and sensual nature, devoid of tenderness, but dissolved with sentimentality while the man who had conquered her had lived, she had centered on her lover, and with his death she was a tool to Gisela’s hand to wreak vengeance upon the powers that had sent him out of the world.

“Leave it to me,” she said grimly.  “There are not only the women in the towns where I have been stationed these many years, but, here in Berlin, the wives of men whose money is financing this war:  men who permitted the war because they hoped for infinite riches but are now terrified that they will not have a pfennig if the war goes on much longer.  They dare not rebel, for they would be shot, and their fortunes be confiscated:  their banks, industries, shops, run by cowed minor officials.  But the women—­I can count on many of them.  Even if their husbands suspected, they would wink at it, willing that the women should take the risk and they reap the benefit.  God!  How they hate the war—­every woman I know.  Leave this part of Germany to me, and be prepared for Schrecklichkeit.  There will be no mercy, no politics, in this revolution—­merely one end in view.  The Russians are babies but we are not.  ‘Huns’ shall cease to be a term of opprobrium, for female Huns will end the war.”

Countess Niebuhr, whose love of intrigue had not diminished with the years, and who had known more of the Pan-Germanic mind than her naive husband had guessed—­who, moreover, had had a long and enlightening interview with one of her sons but a month before—­undertook to win over many women of her own class who had suffered death and disillusion.

Elsa’s transfer to a hospital in Saxony was skilfully managed; and Lili went on a concert tour for the Red Cross.  It was not worth while to campaign in Austria; the moment Germany was helpless she would collapse automatically.