"How fast you have gone ahead!" she said. "That little prophecy of mine
did come true. You are chief of Staff!"

After a smile of satisfaction he corrected her.

"Not quite; vice-chief--the right-hand man of His Excellency. I am a
buffer between him and the heads of divisions. This has led to the
erroneous assumption which I cannot too forcibly deny--"

He was proceeding with the phraseology habitual whenever men or women,
to flatter him, had intimated that they realized that he was the actual
head of the army. His Excellency, with the prestige of a career, must be
kept soporifically enjoying the forms of authority. To arouse his
jealousy might curtail Westerling's actual power.

"Yes, yes!" breathed Marta softly, arching her eyebrows a trifle as she
would when looking all around and through a thing or when she found any
one beating about the bush. The little frown disappeared and she smiled
understandingly. "You know I'm not a perfect goose!" she added. "Had you
been made chief of staff in name, too, all the old generals would have
been in the sulks and the young generals jealous," she continued. "The
one way that you might have the power to exercise was by proxy."

This downright frankness was another reflection of the old days before
he was at the apex of the pyramid. Now it was so unusual in his
experience as to be almost a shock. On the point of arguing, he caught a
mischievous, delightful "Isn't that so?" in her eyes, and replied:

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder if it were!"