It was four o’clock in the morning when this despatch concluded with “We heartily agree with the foregoing,” and the cabinet read the names of all the general staff and the corps and division commanders.  Coursing crowds in the streets were still shouting hoarsely and sometimes drunkenly:  “On to the Gray capital!  Nothing can stop us now!” The premier tried to imagine what a sea of faces in the great square would look like in a rage.  He was between the people in a passion for retribution and a headless army that was supposed to charge across the frontier at dawn.

“The thing is sheer madness!” he cried.  “It’s insubordination!  I’ll have it suppressed!  The army must go on to gratify public demand.  I’ll show the staff that they are not in the saddle.  They’ll obey orders!”

He tried to get Lanstron on the long distance.

“Sorry, but the chief has retired,” answered the officer on duty sleepily.  “In fact, all the rest of the staff have, with orders that they are not to be disturbed before ten.”

“Tell them that the premier, the head of the government, their commander, is speaking!”

“Yes, sir.  But the staff were up all last night and most of to-night, not to mention a pretty busy day.  When they had finished their report to you, sir, they were utterly done up.  Yes, the orders not to disturb them are quite positive, and as a junior I could not do so except by their orders as superiors.  The chief, before retiring, however, repeated to me, in case any inquiry came from you, sir, that there was nothing he could add to the staff’s message to the nation and the army.  It is to be given to the soldiers the first thing in the morning, and he will let you know how they regard it.”

“Confound these machine minds that spring their surprises as fully executed plans!” exclaimed the premier.

“It’s true—­Par tow and the staff have covered everything—­met every argument.  There is nothing more for them to say,” said the foreign minister.

“But what about the indemnity?” demanded the finance minister.  He was thinking of victory in the form of piles of gold in the treasury.

This question, too, was answered.

“War has never brought prosperity,” Partow had written.  “Its purpose is to destroy, and destruction can never be construction.  The conclusion of a war has often assured a period of peace; and peace gave the impetus of prosperity attributed to war.  A man is strong in what he achieves, not through the gifts he receives or the goods he steals.  Indemnity will not raise another blade of wheat in our land.  To take it from a beaten man will foster in him the desire to beat his adversary in turn and recover the amount and more.  Then we shall have the apprehension of war always in the air, and soon another war and more destruction.  Remove the danger of a European cataclysm, and any sum extorted from the Grays becomes paltry beside the wealth that peace will create.  An indemnity makes the purpose of the courage of the Grays in their assaults and of the Browns in their resistance that of the burglar and the looter.  There is no money value to a human life when it is your own; and our soldiers gave their lives.  Do not cheapen their service.”