“At this very hour in Berlin, everyone is accepting war, everyone is believing that victory is sure, while here! . . .  I do not say that the French are afraid; they have a brave past that galvanizes them at certain times—­but they are so depressed that it is easy to guess that they will make almost any sacrifices in order to evade what is coming upon them.  The people first will shout with enthusiasm, as it always cheers that which carries it to perdition.  The upper classes have no faith in the future; they are keeping quiet, but the presentiment of disaster may easily be conjectured.  Yesterday I was talking with your father.  He is French, and he is rich.  He was indignant against the government of his country for involving the nation in the European conflict in order to defend a distant and uninteresting people.  He complains of the exalted patriots who have opened the abyss between Germany and France, preventing a reconciliation.  He says that Alsace and Lorraine are not worth what a war would cost in men and money. . . .  He recognizes our greatness and is convinced that we have progressed so rapidly that the other countries cannot come up to us. . . .  And as your father thinks, so do many others—­all those who are wrapped in creature comfort, and fear to lose it.  Believe me, a country that hesitates and fears war is conquered before the first battle.”

Julio evinced a certain disquietude, as though he would like to cut short the conversation.

“Just leave my father out of it!  He speaks that way to-day because war is not yet an accomplished fact, and he has to contradict and vent his indignation on whoever comes near him.  To-morrow he will say just the opposite. . . .  My father is a Latin.”

The professor looked at his watch.  He must go; there were still many things which he had to do before going to the station.  The Germans living in Paris had fled in great bands as though a secret order had been circulating among them.  That afternoon the last of those who had been living ostensibly in the Capital would depart.

“I have come to see you because of our family interest, because it was my duty to give you fair warning.  You are a foreigner, and nothing holds you here.  If you are desirous of witnessing a great historic event, remain—­but it will be better for you to go.  The war is going to be ruthless, very ruthless, and if Paris attempts resistance, as formerly, we shall see terrible things.  Modes of offense have greatly changed.”

Desnoyers made a gesture of indifference.

“The same as your father,” observed the professor.  “Last night he and all your family responded in the same way.  Even my mother prefers to remain with her sister, saying that the Germans are very good, very civilized and there is nothing to apprehend in their triumph.”

This good opinion seemed to be troubling the Doctor.