“And they’re as sure of winning as if they had got London now.  They mean to get London.  They’re cocksure they are going to walk through Belgium, cocksure they will get to Paris by Sedan day, and then they are going to destroy your fleet with Zeppelins and submarines and make a dash across the Channel.  They say it’s England they are after, in this invasion of Belgium.  They’ll just down France by the way.  They say they’ve got guns to bombard Dover from Calais.  They make a boast of it.  They know for certain you can’t arm your troops.  They know you can’t turn out ten thousand rifles a week.  They come and talk to any one in the trains, and explain just how your defeat is going to be managed.  It’s just as though they were talking of rounding up cattle.”

Mr. Britling said they would soon be disillusioned.

Mr. Direck, with the confidence of his authentic observations, remarked after a perceptible interval, “I wonder how.”

He reverted to the fact that had most struck upon his imagination.

“Grown-up people, ordinary intelligent experienced people, taking war seriously, talking of punishing England; it’s a revelation.  A sort of solemn enthusiasm.  High and low....

“And the trainloads of men and the trainloads of guns....”

“Liege,” said Mr. Britling.

“Liege was just a scratch on the paint,” said Mr. Direck.  “A few thousand dead, a few score thousand dead, doesn’t matter—­not a red cent to them.  There’s a man arrived at the Cecil who saw them marching into Brussels.  He sat at table with me at lunch yesterday.  All day it went on, a vast unending river of men in grey.  Endless waggons, endless guns, the whole manhood of a nation and all its stuff, marching....

“I thought war,” said Mr. Direck, “was a thing when most people stood about and did the shouting, and a sort of special team did the fighting.  Well, Germany isn’t fighting like that....  I confess it, I’m scared....  It’s the very biggest thing on record; it’s the very limit in wars....  I dreamt last night of a grey flood washing everything in front of it.  You and me—­and Miss Corner—­curious thing, isn’t it? that she came into it—­were scrambling up a hill higher and higher, with that flood pouring after us.  Sort of splashing into a foam of faces and helmets and bayonets—­and clutching hands—­and red stuff....  Well, Mr. Britling, I admit I’m a little bit overwrought about it, but I can assure you you don’t begin to realise in England what it is you’ve butted against....”

Section 15

Cissie did not come up to the Dower House that afternoon, and so Mr. Direck, after some vague and transparent excuses, made his way to the cottage.

Here his report become even more impressive.  Teddy sat on the writing desk beside the typewriter and swung his legs slowly.  Letty brooded in the armchair.  Cissie presided over certain limited crawling operations of the young heir.