“However, we had not prepared our positions for the defensive,” continued that very literal parchment voice.  “They began an assault on our left flank first and we’ve just had word that they have turned it.”

“Probably a false report.  Probably they have taken an outpost.  Order a counter-attack!” exclaimed Westerling.

“Nor is that the worst of it,” said the vice-chief.  “They are pressing at other well-chosen points.  They threaten to pierce our centre.”

“Our centre!” gibed Westerling.  “You do need rest.  Our centre, where we have the column of last night’s attack still concentrated!  If anything would convince me that I have to fight this war-alone—­I—­” Westerling choked in irritation.

“Yes.  The ground is such that it is a tactically safe and advantageous move for Lanstron to make.  He strikes at the vitals of our machine.”

“But what about the remainder of the force that made the charge?  What about all our guns concentrated in front of Engadir?”

“I was coming to that.  The rout of the assaulting column was much worse than we had supposed.  Those who are strong enough cannot be got to reform.  Many were so exhausted that they dropped in their tracks.  Our guns are at this moment in retreat—­or being captured by the rush of the Browns’ infantry.  Your Excellency, the crisis is sudden, incredible.”

“Our wire service has broken down.  We cannot communicate with many of our division commanders,” put in Bellini, the chief of intelligence.

“Yes, our organization, so dependent on communication, is in danger of disruption,” concluded Turcas.  “To avoid disorder, we think it best to retreat across the plain to our own range.”

At the word “retreat” Westerling sprang to his feet, his cheeks purple, the veins of his neck and temples sculptured as he took a threatening step toward the group, which fell back before the physical rage of the man, all except the vice-chief, his mouth a thin, ashy line, who held his own.

“You cowards!” Westerling thundered.  “Retreat when we have five millions to their three!”

“We have not that odds now,” replied the parchment voice.  “All their men are engaged.  They have caught us at a disadvantage, unable to use our numbers except in detail in trying to hold on in face of—­”

“I tell you we cannot retreat!” Westerling interrupted.  “That is the end.  I know what you do not know.  I am in touch with the government.  Yes, I know—­”

This brought fresh alarm into faces which had become set in grim stoicism by many alarms.  If the people were in ignorance of the losses and the army in ignorance of the nation’s feeling, the officers of the staff were no less in ignorance of what passed over the long-distance wire between the chief of staff and the premier.