In the long luxuriously furnished saloon car of the special train an officer clad in the field-service uniform of a South-Eastern Power sat in conversation with a colonel of the German General Staff. The deference shown to him made it immediately obvious that he was a distinguished personage representing a neutral whose friendliness was important. His dark, clever eyes rested thoughtfully upon the groups of officers with whom the car was overcrowded. All round was a buzz of talk, of suppressed excitement. The air was thick with cigar smoke.
"Ja, Excellenz," said the German colonel, podgy little fingers drumming the table between them. "The secret is out. You have rightly guessed our objective." His eyes were those of a rather clumsy and not too scrupulous diplomat. His smile was deliberate flattery. "Allow me to congratulate you upon your good fortune. You will see the machinery of our Kriegswirtschaftlichkeit,"[11] he throated the word impressively, "at the moment when it works at its highest power to shape for Germany her final victory."
The distinguished neutral smiled also, perfectly courteous. He spoke with a faint Austrian accent.
"I can understand your desire for the final," he underlined the word ever so lightly, "victory, Herr Oberst."
The German stared at him, suspicious of the nimbler brain.
"Who would not desire it, Excellenz? This awful slaughter," he waved a deprecating hand. "It is terrible that our adversaries do not recognise they are already beaten."
The neutral nodded.
"Bar-le-Duc and the Upper Marne, I suppose—Paris!"