She listened too, seized with the same excitement, and asked, anxiously:
"Do you really think that war is possible?"
"Yes," he replied, "I do."
They were silent for a moment. And Morestal continued:
"It's a presentiment with me.... We shall have it all over again, as in 1870.... And, mark you, I hope that this time ..."
She put down her breakfast-cup, which she had found in a cupboard, and, leaning on her husband's arm:
"I say, the boy's coming ... with his wife. She's a dear girl and we're very fond of her.... I want the house to look nice for them, bright and full of flowers.... Go and pick the best you have in your garden."
He smiled:
"That's another way of saying that I'm boring you, eh? I can't help it. I shall be just the same to my dying day. The wound is too deep ever to heal."