“Foreigners?” Julian asked suspiciously.

“Neutrals, of course, but neutrals of discretion are very useful people.  The military party in Germany is making a brave show still, but it is beaten, notwithstanding its victories.  The people are gathering together in their millions.  Their voice is already being heard.  Here we have the proof of it.”

“But even if these proposed terms are as favourable as you say,” Julian objected, “how can you force them upon the English Cabinet?  There is America-France.  Yours is purely a home demand.  A government has other things to think of and consider.”

“France is war-weary to the bone,” she declared.  “France will follow England, especially when she knows the contents of that packet.  As for America, she came into this after the great sacrifices had been made.  She demands nothing more than is to be yielded up.  It is not for the sake of visionary ideas, not for diplomatic precedence that the humanitarians of the world are going to hesitate about ending this brutal slaughter.”

He studied her curiously.  In the firelight her face seemed to him almost strangely beautiful.  She was uplifted by the fervour of her thoughts.  The depth in her soft brown eyes was immeasurable; the quiver of her lips, so soft and yet so spiritual, was almost inspiring.  Her hand was resting upon his shoulder.  She seemed to dwell upon his expression, to listen eagerly for his words.  Yet he realised that in all this there was no personal note.  She was the disciple of a holy cause, aflame with purpose.

“It will mean a revolution,” he said thoughtfully.

“A revolution was established two years ago,” she pointed out, “and the people have held their power ever since.  I will tell you what I believe to-day,” she went on passionately.  “I believe that the very class who was standing the firmest, whose fingers grasp most tightly the sword of warfare, will be most grateful to the people who will wrest the initiative from them and show them the way to an honourable, inevitable peace.”

“When do you propose to break those seals?” he enquired.

“To-morrow evening,” she replied.  “There will be a full meeting of the Council.  The terms will be read.  Then you shall decide.”

“What am I to decide?”

“Whether you will accept the post of spokesman—­whether you will be the ambassador who shall approach the Government.”

“But they may not elect me,” he objected.

“They will,” she replied confidently.  “It was you who showed them their power.  It is you whose inspiration has carried them along:  It is you who shall be their representative.  Don’t you realise,” she went on, “that it is the very association of such men as yourself and Miles Furley and the Bishop with this movement which will endow it with reality in the eyes of the bourgeoisie of the country and Parliament?”

Their host returned, followed by his butler carrying a tray with refreshments, and the burden of serious things fell away from them.  It was only after Catherine had departed, and the two men lingered for a moment near the fire before retiring, that either of them reverted to the great subject which dominated their thoughts.