"You surely can scarcely imagine that any country could take such an ultimatum lying down?" I suggested.
"Pooh," he replied, "you can't deny that they've always been a thorn in our flesh. But my country is mad—mad! Nobody seems to realise what this can lead to. The Serbs are good fighters too. If Russia backs them we're done for. Na, I must get back to Vienna now, for Walther will have to go if there's war. Pooh—they're all crazy everywhere."
Even the Man of Art grew mournful among his rosebushes. He was Croatian and bitterly anti-Austrian.
"Ach, Fräulein! There are sad days coming, for that wasn't an ultimatum that went to Serbia—it was a declaration of war. The Serbs will fight, Fräulein. I know the race; they are brave men such as we have in Croatia. Of course they'll fight. They are real soldiers and have real officers—old General Putnik—that's a man! They'll beat us, Fräulein, and I'll have to go and fight against them too—against my own race. Bah! we're slaves here in Austria."
V—THE PRINCE WAS "IRRITATED BY THE WAR"
Then came the Serbs' reply and the partial mobilisation of the Austrian army. Everybody looked grave and the Prince became distinctly irritable.
"Just in the middle of the harvest, too! What a time of year to send an ultimatum! How the devil do they expect me to get my harvest in, if they take my men away? The lifting of the beets won't even begin for six weeks yet."
"War will be finished by then," said Billy, "and Serbia will have ceased to exist."
"And what of little Poli—the beautiful Dragoon with the sky-blue coat?" asked Claire. "Won't you have to return to Göding and join your regiment now?"