"I am a Prussian," replied Franzius; "and we are returning."
"Returning?"
"To my own country."
"You are leaving me?"
There was silence for a moment, and Eloise began to weep.
"Toto, can't you see?"
"Ah, yes," I said; "I can see—everything is going from me. Don't cry, Eloise; I can see. Franzius, forgive me. I forgot. I did not know what war meant till now."
Up to this I had seen war through the stories told in books. I had seen war on the canvases in the Luxembourg and the Louvre. But up till now, standing there in the library before Franzius, with his overcoat on his arm, and Eloise weeping, I had not seen war.
Oh, yes; it is very grand: the long lines of infantry going into action, the clouds of cavalry, the roar of the cannon, and the drums beating the charge!
But that is not war. War is voiceless.