As news of positions lost came in, he could only grimly repeat, “Hold!  Tell them to hold!” fruitlessly, like adjurations to the wind to cease blowing.  The bell of the long distance kept ringing unheeded, until at last his aide came to say that the premier must speak either to him or to the vice-chief.  Westerling staggered to his feet and with lurching steps went into the closet.  There he sank down on the chair in a heap, staring at the telephone mouthpiece.  Again the bell rang.  Clenching his hands in a rocking effort, he was able to stiffen his spine once more as he took down the receiver.  To admit defeat to the premier—­no, he was not ready for that yet.

“The truth is out!” said the premier without any break in his voice and with the fatalism of one who never allows himself to blink a fact.  “Telegraphers at the front who got out of touch with the staff were still in touch with the capital.  Once the reports began to come, they poured in—­decimation of the attacking column, panic and retreat in other portions of the line—­chaos!”

“It’s a lie!” Westerling declared vehemently.

“The news has reached the press,” the premier proceeded.  “Editions are already in the streets.”

“What!  Where is your censorship?” gasped Westerling.

“It is helpless, a straw protesting against a current,” the premier replied.  “A censorship goes back to physical force, as every law does in the end—­to the police and the army; and all, these days, finally to public opinion.  After weeks of secrecy, of reported successes, when nobody really knew what was happening, this sudden disillusioning announcement of the truth has sent the public mad.”

“It is your business to control the public!” complained Westerling.

“With what, now?  With a speech or a lullaby?  As well could you stop the retreat with your naked hands.  My business to control the public, yes, but not unless you win victories.  I gave you the soldiers.  We have nothing but police here, and I tell you that the public is in a mob rage—­the whole public, bankers and business and professional men included.  I have just ordered the stock exchange and all banks closed.”

“There’s a cure for mobs!” cried Westerling.  “Let the police fire a few volleys and they’ll behave.”

“Would that stop the retreat of the army?  We must sue for peace.”

“Sue for peace!  Sue for peace when we have five millions against their three!”

“It seems so, as the three millions are winning!” said the premier.

“Sue for peace because women go hysterical?  Do you suppose that the Browns will listen now when they think they have the advantage?  Leave peace to me!  Give me forty-eight hours more!  I have told our troops to hold and they will hold.  I don’t mistake cowardly telegraphers’ rumors for facts—­”