Mrs. Warren went much farther.  She was not very voluble nowadays.  The German occupation of her villa had given her a mental and physical shock from which she never recovered.  She often sat quite silent and rather huddled at meal times and looked the old woman now.  In such a conversation as this she roused herself and her voice took an aggressive tone.  “My daughter write to her friends to ask them to obstruct the government at such a time as this? Never! I’d disown her if she did, I’d repudiate her!  She may have had her own turn-up with ’em.  I was quite with her there.  But that, so to speak, was only a domestic quarrel.  We’re British all through, and don’t you forget it—­sir—­(she added deprecatingly):  British all through and we’re goin’ to beat Germany yet, you’ll see.  The British navy never has been licked nor won’t be, this time.”

Colonel von Giesselin did not insist.  He seemed depressed himself at times, and far from elated at the victories announced in his own newspapers.  He would in the dreary autumn evenings show them the photographs of his wife—­a sweet-looking woman—­and his two solid-looking, handsome children, and talk with rapture of his home life.  Why, indeed, was there this War!  His heart like his Emperor’s bled for these unhappy Belgians.  But it was all due to the Macchiavellian policy of “Sir Grey and Asquiss.”  If Germany had not felt herself surrounded and barred from all future expansion of trade and influence she would not have felt forced to attack France and invade Belgium.  Why, see!  All the time they were talking, barbarous Russia, egged on by England, was ravaging East Prussia!

Then, in other moods, he would lament the war and the policy of Prussia.  How he had loved England in the days when he was military attache there.  He had once wanted to marry an Englishwoman, a Miss Fraser, a so handsome daughter of a Court Physician.

“Why, that must have been Honoria, my former partner,” said Vivie, finding an intense joy in this link of memory.  And she told much of her history to the sentimental Colonel, who was conceiving for her a sincere friendship and camaraderie.  They opened up other veins of memory, talked of Lady Feenix, of the musical parties at the Parrys, of Emily Daymond’s playing, of this, that and the other hostess, of such-and-such an actress or singer.

The Colonel of course was often absent all day on military duties.  He advised Vivie strongly on such occasions not to go far from Mrs. Warren’s little domain.  “I am obliged to remind you, dear young lady, that you and your mother are my prisoners in a sense.  Many bad things are going on—­things we cannot help in war—­outside this quiet place...”