"Yes," I said, disgusted; "what do you suppose these fancy gentlemen are doing here in a little obscure inn among the Alps while all the world which they have helped to set on fire is in flames around them?"
Her firm hands pressed mine, very slightly.
"Do you feel it so keenly, Michael?"
"Feel what?"
"That these kings below have helped set the world afire?"
"Certainly I do."
She stood looking at me, her hands still resting in mine.
"And now," she mused, "the Americans are in it. But you are not a Yankee.... Otherwise—"
"Otherwise what?"
"But you are a Chilean."