Julio was beginning to be impressed by these affirmations enunciated with such oracular certainty, and he felt almost irritated at the incredulous Argensola, who continued looking insolently at the seer, repeating with his winking eyes, “He is insane—­insane with pride.”  The man certainly must have strong reasons for making such awful prophecies.  His presence in Paris just at this time was difficult for Desnoyers to understand, and gave to his words a mysterious authority.

“But the nations will defend themselves,” he protested to his cousin.  “Victory will not be such a very simple thing as you imagine.”

“Yes, they will defend themselves, and the struggle will be fiercely contested.  It appears that, of late years, France has been paying some attention to her army.  We shall undoubtedly encounter some resistance; triumph may be somewhat difficult, but we are going to prevail. . . .  You have no idea to what extent the offensive power of Germany has attained.  Nobody knows with certainty beyond the frontiers.  If our foes should comprehend it in all its immensity, they would fall on their knees beforehand to beg for mercy, thus obviating the necessity for useless sacrifices.”

There was a long silence.  Julius von Hartrott appeared lost in reverie.  The very thought of the accumulated strength of his race submerged him in a species of mystic adoration.

“The preliminary victory,” he suddenly exclaimed, “we gained some time ago.  Our enemies, therefore, hate us, and yet they imitate us.  All that bears the stamp of Germany is in demand throughout the world.  The very countries that are trying to resist our arms copy our methods in their universities and admire our theories, even those which do not attain success in Germany.  Oftentimes we laugh among ourselves, like the Roman augurs, upon seeing the servility with which they follow us! . . .  And yet they will not admit our superiority!”

For the first time, Argensola’s eyes and general expression approved the words of Hartrott.  What he had just said was only too true—­the world was a victim of “the German superstition.”  An intellectual cowardice, the fear of Force had made it admire en masse and indiscriminately, everything of Teutonic origin, just because of the intensity of its glitter—­gold mixed with talcum.  The so-called Latins, dazed with admiration, were, with unreasonable pessimism, becoming doubtful of their ability, and thus were the first to decree their own death.  And the conceited Germans merely had to repeat the words of these pessimists in order to strengthen their belief in their own superiority.

With that Southern temperament, which leaps rapidly from one extreme to another, many Latins had proclaimed that in the world of the future, there would be no place for the Latin peoples, now in their death-agony—­adding that Germany alone preserved the latent forces of civilization.  The French who declaimed among themselves, with the greatest exaggeration, unconscious that folks were listening the other side of the door, had proclaimed repeatedly for many years past, that France was degenerating rapidly and would soon vanish from the earth. . . .  Then why should they resent the scorn of their enemies. . . .  Why shouldn’t the Germans share in their beliefs?