“You can imagine, my most gracious Miss,” said the caller, “that His Majesty would never permit a calamity so colossal to overtake his people, whose welfare he has continually and exclusively in his all-highest thoughts.  Therefore you may take it from me as completely certain that war is now assured.”

“But nobody has done anything to you,” I said.

He gazed at me a moment, and then smiled.  “High politics, and little heads,” he said.  “High politics, and little women’s heads,—­” and went on up the stairs smiling and shaking his own.

I do wish they wouldn’t keep on talking as though my head were so dreadfully small.  Never in my life have people taken so utterly and complacently for granted that I’m stupid.

Well, I feel very sick at heart.  How long will it be before Bernd too will be one of that marching column on the Charlottenburger Chaussee.  He won’t go away from me that way, I know.  He’s on the Staff, and will go more splendidly; but those men in the new grey uniforms tramping day and night are symbols each one of them of departing happiness, of a closed chapter, of the end of something that can never be the same again.

  Your tired Chris.

  Before Breakfast. 
  Berlin, Sat., Aug. 1st, 1914.

My blessed little mother,

I’ve seen a thing I don’t suppose I’ll forget.  It was yesterday, after the news came that Germany had sent Russia an ultimatum about instantly demobilizing, demanding an answer by eleven this morning.  The sensation when this was known was tremendous.  The Grafin was shaken out of her calm into exclamations of joy and fear,—­joy that the step had been taken, fear lest Russia should obey, and there be no war after all.

We had to shut the windows to be able to hear ourselves talk.  Some women friends of the Grafin’s who were here—­we had no men with us—­instantly left to drive by back streets to the Schlossplatz to see the sight it must be there, and the Grafin, saying that we too must witness the greatest history of the world’s greatest nation in the making, sent for a taxi—­her chauffeur has gone—­and prepared to follow.  We had to wait ages for the taxi, but it was lucky we had to, else we might have gone and come back and missed seeing the Kaiser come out and speak to the crowd.  We went a long way round, but even so all Germany seemed to be streaming towards the Lindens and the part at the end where the palace is.  I don’t expect we ever would have got there if it hadn’t been that a cousin of the Grafin’s, a very smart young officer in the Guards, saw us in the taxi as it was vainly trying to cross the Friedrichstrasse, and flicking the obstructing policemen on one side with a sort of little kick of his spur, came up all amazement and salutes to inquire of his most gracious cousin what in the world she was doing in a taxi.  He said it was hopeless to try to get to the Schlossplatz in it, but if we would allow him to escort us on foot he would be proud—­the gracious cousin would permit him to offer her his arm, and the young ladies would keep very close behind him.