"What will Austria do?" he said. "Supposing she threatens Servia in some
outrageous way and Russia says she won't stand it? What then?"
Michael looked across to Sylvia; he was much more interested in the way
she dabbled the tips of her hands in the cool water of her finger bowl
than in what Hermann was saying. Her fingers had an extraordinary life
of their own; just now they were like a group of maidens by a fountain.
. . . But Hermann repeated the question to him personally.
"Oh, I suppose there will be a lot of telegraphing," he said, "and
perhaps a board of arbitration. After all, one expected a European
conflagration over the war in the Balkan States, and again over their
row with Turkey. I don't believe in European conflagrations. We are all
too much afraid of each other. We walk round each other like collie dogs
on the tips of their toes, gently growling, and then quietly get back to
our own territories and lie down again."
Hermann laughed.
"Thank God, there's that wonderful fire-engine in Germany ready to turn
the hose on conflagrations."
"What fire-engine?" asked Michael.
"The Emperor, of course. We should have been at war ten times over but
for him."
Sylvia dried her finger-tips one by one.
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