Fortin went on to say that over there it was the entire populace from the Kaiser down to the last of the beggars, who dreamt of the greater Germany.... The fateful hour had struck.... He reminded us of the saying where the five sons of the German family came to demand a share of his heritage from the only son of the French family. We certainly had no luck in just happening to be the neighbours and thus the picked adversaries of this terribly covetous race, and in holding so many rich provinces that they meant to annex again in the name of ancient traditions for the Germanic Empire! Any schoolboy coming from Germany would tell you of their ambitions. To begin with they must have what remained to us of Lorraine and Champagne and Flanders, they'd see about Burgundy and the Franche-Comté, when the occasion arose!
"Then you think we shall be beaten?" Guillaumin broke in harshly.
It was like a cold douche, we looked at each other. Fortin shrugged his broad shoulders.
"I'll tell you one thing, I think, and that is that we're fighting in a cause ... that is out of date. We no longer incarnate a great force worthy of existence. Our day is nearly done. Just think how long we have held the stage. Mark you, I do not say that our end will not be glorious. We are an old fighting race, we shall do wonders, I think, before succumbing. Nor do I say that our decline is not to be regretted in the superior interests of civilisation...."
"Then you see no hope of anything but decline and disappearance!"
Guillaumin's face was kindled, his big nose shone, his hand was clutching at a match stand.
"Sss...! I say. Chuck it at his head!" whispered Holveck.
Someone laughed, and there was a short relaxation.