"We will triumph; and William will have to shoot himself."
The question of his shooting himself was the one thing that will be his end, in case of a defeat.
"I know the Kaiser very well," he continued. "He is only a Lieutenant, a Lieutenant that has grown old, keeping the cracked brain swagger of youth. But he has the sense of honor of an officer who, finding himself defeated, raises his revolver to his head. You will see that that will be his end, in case of a defeat."
"He writes verse, music, and paints pictures, giving his opinion on every matter, and making people accept it, like one of those young officers who on entering a drawing room of civilians monopolize attention with their insolence and conceit, emboldened by the silence of the guests, who are afraid of provoking a duel. He is the eternal twenty-two-year-old Lieutenant whose hair has grown gray under the imperial crown, whose head has been turned a bit by the constant triumphs of his personal vanity. But once Fate turns her back on him, he will act in the same decisive manner as an officer who has gambled away the funds entrusted to his care, or committed other crimes against his honor.
"Never fear; the Lieutenant will know how to act when the hour of adversity arises. He is a mad man, a vain comedian, but he has the sense of shame of a warrior. Let me repeat: He will shoot himself."
And in his imagination he could hear the Imperial revolver-shot.
What disgusted Don Marcos was not to be able to talk about this, nor about the danger of the offensive, when he was in Villa Sirena. The friends of the Prince lived like guests at a hotel. They never were all together except during the early morning hours. They rarely sat down together at table. Some power from the outside seemed to attract them away from the Villa, driving them toward Monte Carlo. Even the Prince often lunched or dined at the Hôtel de Paris, sending word at the last minute by telephone.
This domestic disorder was accepted by Toledo as providential.
The service had suffered an unavoidable decline through the departure of Estola and Pistola. One morning they appeared, stammering and filled with emotion, minus the dress suits which were too large for them. They were going away. They were to cross the frontier that very afternoon to appear at the Barracks. They had received orders from their Consul.
They did not seem filled with enthusiasm for their new profession; but Don Marcos, through a sense of professional duty, tried to buck them up with a bit of a speech. He, too, at their age, had gone off to war of his own accord. "Respect for your officers ... love them as you would your father ... for honor ... for the flag."