"A town in flames," said Zara after scrutiny.
"A thousand baby-hands raised above the waves!
"Women, children and old men for breastworks!
"Death lying in wait on the floor of the ocean!
"Fire from the heavens," read Zara, and again and again her shrill voice rang out, recording horrors even more dreadful.
When the bird of ill-omen had offered the last pasteboard, Zara shook my arms with a fierce gesture. "Fiend incarnate, thy name and station!" she yelled.
Probably Wilhelm had been listening. "How dare you touch Fraulein Krupp," he demanded, as, running in, he stepped between me and the sorceress.
At the mentioning of my name, a look of triumph came into Zara’s face.
"My cards never lie, nor do the embers," she proclaimed. "The burning towns, the wails of babies rendered fatherless by your works, the waste of centuries of culture, the smoke, the fire, the calling upon all resources of nature for the wholesale annihilation of life—five letters cover it: K-R-U-P-P."
The feelings setting my head awhirl must have been pictured in my face, for eventually even this fury of wrath was moved to mercy; yet like the spirit that ever denies, Zara’s pity took a cruel turn.
"Never fear," she said, with a profound curtsy; "it is written that the oceans of blood you will help spill will not even soil the hem of your dress.
"A world in arms, every mother’s son turned upon every other mother’s son, shooting, stabbing, bombing, suffocating. Cities laid waste, countrysides desolated, brave men changed to vultures, honest men to thieves—your work, Bertha Krupp! But the War Lady remains scathless!
"Blood’s a peculiar liquor—means death to those from whom it flows, and profits to her that forges the bullets!
"Chimborazos of dead bodies: fathers, brothers, nephews and uncles; excellent manure, and your dividends, little girl, going up by leaps and bounds!
"Towns in ruins—_your_ ruins, Bertha, but they will have to be rebuilt. More millions in your coffers!
"Ten thousands of miles of railways destroyed. Look out for big orders, Bertha!
"The world groaning under unheard-of loads of debts—debts created that Essen might flourish. Splendid opportunities for investment, eh?"
She continued a while longer in the same cruel vein, her basilisk eyes glued upon mine—I couldn’t get away, try as I might—while Wilhelm, my self-proclaimed cavalier, did naught to help me. Indeed, I had to endure her abuse till Zara herself became tired of hurling invectives, and turned upon the Crown Prince with: "Twenty marks, please. I have wasted enough time."