Emperor (after hesitating). No, no! I will not so stain my name.
Chancellor. I am with you, Sire, but I fear it will not be so with France. She has grown cynical. She will find the road through Belgium.
Emperor. You seek to tempt me. She also signed the treaty.
Chancellor. Your Imperial Majesty judges others by yourself. I have private ground for fearing that in the greed for a first advantage France will call the treaty but a scrap of paper.
Emperor. I think your private ground may be your own private newspaper.
Chancellor. She will say that necessity knows no law, or some such dastard words.
Emperor. Belgium is no craven. She will fight the betrayer.
Chancellor. France will hack her way through her.
Emperor. My Chancellor, that is a hideous phrase.
Chancellor. I ask your pardon, Sire. It came, somehow, pat to my lips.