“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.
“You understand, Julian,” the Bishop said, with a shade of anxiety in his tone, “that I am in the same position as yourself so far as regards the proposals which may lie within that envelope? I have joined this movement—or conspiracy, as I suppose it would be called—on the one condition that the terms pronounced there are such as a Christian and a law-loving country, whose children have already made great sacrifices in the cause of freedom, may honourably accept. If they are otherwise, all the weight and influence I may have with the people go into the other scale. I take it that it is so with you?”
“Entirely,” Julian acquiesced. “To be frank with you,” he added, “my doubts are not so much concerning the terms of peace themselves as the power of the German democracy to enforce them.”
“We have relied a good deal,” the Bishop admitted, “upon reports from neutrals.”