The premier, as he listened, rolled the paper-knife over and over, regarding its polished sides, which were like Westerling's manner of facile statement of a programme certain of fulfilment.
"We can win, then? We can go to their capital, or far enough to force a great indemnity, the annexation of one of their provinces, perhaps, and the taking over of their African colonies, which we can develop so much better than they?"
Westerling took care to show none of the eagerness which had set his pulses humming.
"To their capital!" he declared decisively. "Nothing less. For that I have planned."
"And the cost in lives?"
"Five or six hundred thousand casualties, which means about a hundred thousand killed."
"Ghastly! The population of a good-sized city!" exclaimed the premier.
"A small percentage out of five million soldiers; a smaller out of eighty million population," Westerling returned.
"And how long do you think the war would last? How long the strain on our finances, the suspense to the markets?"
"About a month. We shall go swiftly. The completeness of modern preparation must make a war of to-day brief between two great powers. We must win with a rush, giving the defenders no breathing spell, pouring masses after masses upon the critical positions."