The others did not propose to let him do all the honors.  Each murmured words of welcome on his own account.

“We are here, thanks to you!”

“And, thanks to you, our flag will float over the Gray range!”

She must be tired, was their next thought.  Four or five of them hurried to place a chair for her, the vice-chief winning over his rivals, more through the exercise of the rights of rank than by any superior alacrity.

“You are appointed actual chief of staff and a field-marshal!” said the vice-chief to Lanstron.  “The premier says that every honor the nation can bestow is yours.  The capital is mad.  The crowds are crying:  ’On to the Gray capital!’ To-morrow is to be a public holiday and they are calling it Lanstron Day.  The thing was so sudden that the speculators who depressed our securities in the world’s markets have got their due—­ruin!  And we ought to get an indemnity that will pay the cost of the war.”

Seated at one side, Marta could watch all that passed, herself unobserved.  She noted a touch of color come to Lanstron’s cheeks as he made a little shrug of protest.

“It never rains but it pours!” he said.  “We were all just as able and loyal yesterday as to-day when we find ourselves heroic.  We owe our victory to Partow’s plans, to the staff’s industry, the spirit of the people and the army, and—­” He threw a happy smile toward Marta.

“Perhaps it ought to be Galland Day rather than Lanstron Day,” remarked the vice-chief.  “The crowds at the capital when they know her part might cheer her more frenziedly than you, general.”

“No, no—­please, no!” Marta was hectic in alarm and protest.

“Your secret is ours!  It’s in the family!” the vice-chief hastened to assure her.  Where could a secret be safe if not in the keeping of an army staff?

“That was almost like teasing!” she exclaimed with a laugh of relief.

“We’re all in pretty good humor,” remarked the vice-chief.  He seemed to have a pleasant taste in his mouth that would last him for life.

Then Marta saw their faces grow businesslike and keen, as they gathered around the table, with Lanstron at the head.  They were oblivious of her presence, immured in a man’s world of war.

“Your orders were obeyed.  We have not passed a single white post yet!” said the vice-chief impatiently.  “As the Grays never expected to take the defensive, their fortresses are inferior.  Every hour we wait means more time for them to fortify, more time to recover from their demoralization.  Our dirigibles having command of the air—­we had a wireless from one reporting all clear half-way to the Gray capital—­why, we shall know their concentrations while they are ignorant of ours.  It’s the nation’s great opportunity to gain enough provinces to even the balance of population with the Grays.  With the unremitting offensive, blow on blow, using the spirit of our men to drive in mass attacks at the right points, the Gray range is ours!”