“We all knew him--we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, his courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a pure and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is wonderful for me to be here with you. And this man loves you.”
It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment. Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for an instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave themselves.
“I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name,” Berthe said. “But I am going to tell him--before he goes.”
“He is safe,” said Fallows. “I felt free with him--almost immediately--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for _The States_. You will see great things--best of all with the Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of brotherhood is faring? God, how he took to that dream! He will be a Voice--”
They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. “I'll go out with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night.”
Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had already said too much.
“He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly full of power,” Peter added. “And yet he said so little of his own part.”
“He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh, Peter, where do you keep your passion?”
“You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?”
“I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. But you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must have loved the world--”
“Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!”
Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows' mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She had always talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk.