"France will not stand alone! Already she has Russia as an ally; Belgium is doing what it can; Servia has a well-tried army. Nor are those all! England will soon find that she cannot afford to stand aside, and if there is need, other nations will come in—Portugal, Rumania, even Italy!"
Stewart shook his head, skeptically.
"I don't know," he said, slowly. "I know nothing about world-politics, but I don't believe any nation will come in that doesn't have to!"
"That is it—all of them will find that they have to, for Prussian triumph means slavery for all Europe—for the Germans most of all. It is for them as much as for herself that France is fighting—for human rights everywhere—for the poor people who till the fields, and toil in the factories, and sweat in the mines! And civilization must fight with her against this barbarian state ruled by the upturned mustache and mailed fist, believing that might makes right and that she can do no wrong! That is why you and I are fighting on France's side!"
"If nobody fights any harder than I——"
She stopped him with a hand upon his arm.
"Ah, but you are fighting well! One can fight in other ways than with a rifle—one can fight with one's brains."
"It is your brains, not mine, which have done the fighting in this campaign," Stewart pointed out.
"Where should I have been but for you? Dead, most probably, my message lost, my life-work shattered!"
He placed his hand quietly over hers and held it fast.