“We have a new government, a new premier,” he said.  “The old premier was killed by a shot from a crowd that he was addressing from the balcony of the palace.  After this, the capital became quieter.  As we get in touch with the divisions, we find the army in better shape than we had feared it would be.  There is a recovery of spirit, owing to our being on our own soil.”

“Yes,” replied Westerling, drowning in their stares and grasping at a straw.  “Only a panic, as I said.  If—­” his voice rising hoarsely and catching in rage.

“We have a new government, a new premier!” Turcas repeated, with firm, methodical politeness.  Westerling looking from one face to another with filmy eyes, lowered them before Bouchard.  “There’s a room ready for Your Excellency up-stairs,” Turcas continued.  “The orderly will show you the way.”

Now Westerling grasped the fact that he was no longer chief of staff.  He drew himself up in a desperate attempt at dignity; the staff saluted again, and, uncertainly, he followed the orderly, with the aide and valet still in loyal attendance.

Meanwhile, the aerial scouts of the Grays were puzzled by a moving cloud on the landscape several miles away.  It filled the highway and overflowed into the fields, without military form:  women and men of every age except the fighting age, marching together in a sinister militancy of purpose.

“Bring the children, too!” cried the leaders.  “They’ve more right to be heard than any of us.”

From such a nucleus it seemed that the whole population of the land might be set in motion by a common passion.  Neither the coming of darkness nor a chill rain kept recruits from village and farmhouse from dropping their tasks and leaving meals unfinished to swell the ranks.  What Westerling had called the bovine public with a parrot’s head had become a lion.

“There’s no use of giving any orders, to stop this flood,” said an officer who had ridden fast to warn the Gray staff.  “The police simply watch it go by.  Soldiers ready to lay down their lives to hold the range give it Godspeed when they learn what it wants.  Both are citizens before they are soldiers or policemen.  The thing is as elemental as an earthquake or a tidal wave.”

“Public opinion!  Unanimous public opinion!  Nothing can stop that!” exclaimed Turcas in dry fatalism.  “You will inform His Excellency,” he said to Westerling’s aide, “that they are coming for him—­all the people are coming, and we are powerless.  And—­” Even Turcas’s calmness failed him and his voice caught in a convulsive swallow.

“I—­I understand!” the aide said thickly, and went up-stairs.

He had suffered worse than in seeing his chief beaten; but even in disillusion he was loyal.  He was back immediately, and paused at the foot of the stairs stonily, in the attitude of one who listens for something; while the tramp of thousands of feet came pressing in upon all sides.