"Anna!" he commanded, harshly, to his wife, "give me your arm. This officer will excuse me, I trust. I feel unwell."
Franz von Kreuzenach went quickly over to his father, before his mother could rise.
"Father, I deeply regret having pained you. The truth is tragic enough"
The old man answered him ferociously.
"You have not spoken truth, but lies. You are a disgrace to the rank of a German officer, and to my name. You have been infected by the poison of socialism and anarchy. Anna—your arm!"
Elsa's mother stooped over her husband, and lifted his hand to her lips.
"Mein lieber Mann," she said, very softly.
The old man rose stiffly, leaning on his wife's arm, and bowed to Brand.
"I beg you to excuse me, sir. As a German soldier I do not admit the words 'defeat' or 'retreat,' even when spoken within my own household. The ever-glorious German Army has never been defeated, and has never retreated—except according to plan. I wish you good-*night."
Brand was standing, and bowed to the General in silence.
It was a silence which lasted after the husband and wife had left the room. The girl Elsa was mopping her eyes. Franz von Kreuzenach stood, very pale, by the empty chair in which his father had sat. He was the first to speak.
"I'm awfully sorry. I ought not to have spoken like that before my father. He belongs to the old school."
Brand told me that he felt abominably uncomfortable,
