"Preposterous!" he alternately mumbled or hissed. "A mere slut foiling my plans, interfering with my life's work! Stop making implements of war: the great Alexander held up on the road to India by a blacksmith!" He laughed hysterically, lunging forth to both sides with his clenched fist as if striking at imaginary enemies.
"But the maw of death will be glutted with or without your assistance, Frau Krupp—glutted to nausea!" he cried, pausing before the trembling girl. "There will be an accumulation of anguish such as the world has never witnessed, despite thee, ingrate that thou art."
The War Lady raised her hand and looked at him with ghastly, tear-stained eyes.
"Don't—oh, don't!" she breathed.
"The more you plead the quicker the catastrophe will come! You mean to keep me in a state of unreadiness, but my enemies are even less ready—time to strike!"
"Even Your Majesty can't make war without pretext," wailed Bertha.
"I can't, eh? I can't? And there are no pretexts, either? What about Morocco? If I seize the smallest harbour of that —— country, isn't that tantamount to invading Algiers? I tell you in such event France and Great Britain must fight whether they like or not. And their blood upon your head, Bertha, the blood of France and Great Britain and Russia, and of the German people, too."
He affected to shudder. "A thing of horror such as even Dante could not have conceived!" he exclaimed pathetically.
"And I the cause?" faltered Bertha.
"Who else, since you are driving me to war! Can I, dare I wait until Le Creusot, Woolwich and the Putiloffs have finished their preparations? I be —— if I will!" he added rudely, "so I propose to seize the Krupp plant and manufacture my own war material until 'The Day' and after."