“But he adds—­look here!” continued the worthy Man from Marseilles, regretfully, “that what you managed to perform with your model and material, specially prepared by yourself, could not be attained on the proper scale in a war campaign.  He goes on to say that the scientific world await the explanation of the means to obtain such power as, heretofore, the pressure of liquefied gases has been but some five hundred pounds to the square inch, about a tenth of that of explosives now used.  It is admitted, however, that there may be something in your increase of effectiveness by reiterated emissions—­” He began to stammer, as if he were speaking too glibly, but his auditor took no alarm.  “He continues that, up to this day, gases have failed as propelling powers from their instantaneous explosions.”

“The writer is correct,” said Clemenceau, a little warmed, “or, rather, he had foundation for his criticism when he wrote.  The powerful agent was not perfectly controllable at the period of my last official experiments, but that is not the case at present.  This enormous, almost incalculable power is so perfectly under my thumb, monsieur, that not only is it manageable in the largest cannon, but it is suitable for a parlor pistol, which a child might play with.”

“Wonderful!” ejaculated Cantagnac, with undoubted sincerity, for his eyes gleamed.

“In solving that last enigma, I found the power became more strong when curbed.  Consequently, the gun that would before have carried fifteen miles, may send twenty, and the ball, if not explosible, might ricochet three.”

“Wonderful!” cried the Marseillais again, who displayed very deep interest in the abstruse subject for a retired notary.

“The bullet, or shell, or ball—­all the projectiles are perfected now!” went on Clemenceau, triumphantly, “and were I surrounded by a million of men, or had I an impregnable fortress before me, a battery of my cannon would finish the struggle in not more than four hours.”

“Why, this is a force of nature, not man’s work,” said Cantagnac, through his grating teeth, as though the admiration were extracted from him.  “I do not see how any army or any fort could resist such instruments.”

“No, monsieur, not one.”

“Would not all the other nations unite against your country?”

“What would that matter, when, I repeat, the number of adversaries would not affect the question?”

“What a dreadful thing!  I beg your pardon, but I go to church and I have had ‘Love one another!’ dinned into my ears.  What is to become of that precept, eh?”

“It is what I should diffuse by my cannon,” returned Clemenceau.

“By scattering the limbs of thousands of men, ha, ha!” but his laugh sounded very hollow, indeed.