“Why, it’s Miss Triscoe!” cried his wife, and before March had noticed the approach of another figure, the elder and the younger lady had rushed upon each other, and encountered with a kiss.  At the same time the visage of the last Emperor resolved itself into the face of General Triscoe, who gave March his hand in a more tempered greeting.

The ladies began asking each other of their lives since their parting two days before, and the men strolled a few paces away toward the distant prospect of Leipsic, which at that point silhouettes itself in a noble stretch of roofs and spires and towers against the horizon.

General Triscoe seemed no better satisfied with Germany than he had been on first stepping ashore at Cuxhaven.  He might still have been in a pout with his own country, but as yet he had not made up with any other; and he said, “What a pity Napoleon didn’t thrash the whole dunderheaded lot!  His empire would have been a blessing to them, and they would have had some chance of being civilized under the French.  All this unification of nationalities is the great humbug of the century.  Every stupid race thinks it’s happy because it’s united, and civilization has been set back a hundred years by the wars that were fought to bring the unions about; and more wars will have to be fought to keep them up.  What a farce it is!  What’s become of the nationality of the Danes in Schleswig-Holstein, or the French in the Rhine Provinces, or the Italians in Savoy?”

March had thought something like this himself, but to have it put by General Triscoe made it offensive.  “I don’t know.  Isn’t it rather quarrelling with the course of human events to oppose accomplished facts?  The unifications were bound to be, just as the separations before them were.  And so far they have made for peace, in Europe at least, and peace is civilization.  Perhaps after a great many ages people will come together through their real interests, the human interests; but at present it seems as if nothing but a romantic sentiment of patriotism can unite them.  By-and-by they may find that there is nothing in it.”

“Perhaps,” said the general, discontentedly.  “I don’t see much promise of any kind in the future.”

“Well, I don’t know.  When you think of the solid militarism of Germany, you seem remanded to the most hopeless moment of the Roman Empire; you think nothing can break such a force; but my guide says that even in Leipsic the Socialists outnumber all the other parties, and the army is the great field of the Socialist propaganda.  The army itself may be shaped into the means of democracy—­even of peace.”

“You’re very optimistic,” said Triscoe, curtly.  “As I read the signs, we are not far from universal war.  In less than a year we shall make the break ourselves in a war with Spain.”  He looked very fierce as he prophesied, and he dotted March over with his staccato glances.

“Well, I’ll allow that if Tammany comes in this year, we shall have war with Spain.  You can’t ask more than that, General Triscoe?”