"I mean that we have only begun to attack!" declared Westerling. He liked that sentence. It sounded like the shibboleth of a great leader in a crisis. "I shall assault again to-morrow night."
"Then your losses were not heavy?"
"No, not relatively. To-morrow night we press home the advantage we gained to-night."
"But you have been so confident each time. You still think that—"
"That I mean to win! There is no stopping half-way."
"Well, I'll still try to hold the situation here," replied the premier. "But keep me informed."
Drugged by his desperate stubbornness, Westerling was believing in his star again when he returned to the library. All the greater his success for being won against scepticism and fears! He summoned his chiefs of divisions, who came with the news that the Browns had taken the very redoubt from which the head of the Gray charge had started; but there they had stopped.
"Of course! Of course they stopped!" exclaimed Westerling. "They are not mad. A few are not going to throw themselves against superior numbers—our superior numbers beaten by our own panic! Lanstron is not a fool. You'll find the Browns back in their old position, working like beavers to make new defences in the morning. Meanwhile, we'll get that mob of ours into shape and find out what made them lose their nerve. To-morrow night we shall have as many more behind them. We are going to attack again!"
The staff exchanged glances of amazement, and Turcas, his dry voice crackling like parchment, exclaimed:
"Attack again? At the same point?"