"But we are in favor of the Allies!" I interrupted.
"I know that also—that is why you have come a third time to Artois."
The next correspondent in the line was a Spaniard. Foch eyed him for a moment. "I know you," he said. "I met you in Madrid six years ago." The correspondent bowed with amazement at the general's memory. He passed along the line, shaking hands. He stopped before a tall Dutchman, the representative of a paper in Amsterdam.
"Ho! Ho!—the big representative of a little nation." The Dutchman was poked in the ribs with the genial index finger of the General's right hand. "Don't you know that if Germany wins, your country will be swallowed up? You have developed a great commerce and valuable industries. Germany will never be your friend. As of old, the big fish will eat the little one." Then he swung back down the line, in my direction.
"You have already been twice on my battle front. You have seen a great difference between the first and second trips. You will see another great change now. Perhaps you will come here still again—for the last great offensive,—in Artois."
"What do you mean, mon general?" I asked.
The little man was silent for a moment, chewing the end of his cigar and looking steadily, first at one and then at another of us. I shall never forget his words. They revealed the cardinal necessity for waging modern war.
"We have shown," he said slowly, "that we can go through them any time we like. The great need is shells. The consumption of shells during the last offensive was fantastic. But still we did not shoot enough." He stopped, then said still more slowly: "The next time we will shoot enough."
"And then, mon general?" asked the Spaniard. "And then?"
"And then," Foch replied, "and then we shall keep on advancing, and the Germans will have to go away."