The news about the murder of the Austrian Grand Duke, which, for that moment at dinner, had caused Hermann to peer with apprehension into the veil of the future, was taken quietly enough by the public in general in England.  It was a nasty incident, no doubt, and the murder having been committed on Servian soil, the pundits of the Press gave themselves an opportunity for subsequently saying that they were right, by conjecturing that Austria might insist on a strict inquiry into the circumstances, and the due punishment of not only the actual culprits but of those also who perhaps were privy to the plot.  But three days afterwards there was but little uneasiness; the Stock Exchanges of the European capitals—­those highly sensitive barometers of coming storm—­were but slightly affected for the moment, and within a week had steadied themselves again.  From Austria there came no sign of any unreasonable demand which might lead to trouble with Servia, and so with Slavonic feeling generally, and by degrees that threatening of storm, that sudden lightning on the horizon passed out of the mind of the public.  There had been that one flash, no more, and even that had not been answered by any growl of thunder; the storm did not at once move up and the heavens above were still clear and sunny by day, and starry-kirtled at night.  But here and there were those who, like Hermann on the first announcement of the catastrophe, scented trouble, and Michael, going to see Aunt Barbara one afternoon early in the second week of July, found that she was one of them.

“I distrust it all, my dear,” she said to him.  “I am full of uneasiness.  And what makes me more uneasy is that they are taking it so quietly at the Austrian Embassy and at the German.  I dined at one Embassy last night and at the other only a few nights ago, and I can’t get anybody—­not even the most indiscreet of the Secretaries—­to say a word about it.”

“But perhaps there isn’t a word to be said,” suggested Michael.

“I can’t believe that.  Austria cannot possibly let an incident of that sort pass.  There is mischief brewing.  If she was merely intending to insist—­as she has every right to do—­on an inquiry being held that should satisfy reasonable demands for justice, she would have insisted on that long ago.  But a fortnight has passed now, and still she makes no sign.  I feel sure that something is being arranged.  Dear me, I quite forgot, Tony asked me not to talk about it.  But it doesn’t matter with you.”

“But what do you mean by something being arranged?” asked Michael.

She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were alone.

“I mean this:  that Austria is being persuaded to make some outrageous demand, some demand that no independent country could possibly grant.”

“But who is persuading her?” asked Michael.

“My dear, you—­like all the rest of England—­are fast asleep.  Who but Germany, and that dangerous monomaniac who rules Germany?  She has long been wanting war, and she has only been delaying the dawning of Der Tag, till all her preparations were complete, and she was ready to hurl her armies, and her fleet too, east and west and north.  Mark my words!  She is about ready now, and I believe she is going to take advantage of her opportunity.”