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 "We must help the spirit of democracy to rise among them," he said. "We must make it easy for them to exorcise the devil. If we press them too hard, put the screw on to the torture of their souls (defeat will be torture to a proud people), they will nourish a hope of vengeance and go back to their devil for hope."

I asked him whether he thought his President would lead the world to a nobler stage of history.

He hesitated at that, groped a little, I thought, among old memories and prejudices.

"Why," he said, "Wilson has the biggest chance that ever came to a human being—the biggest chance and the biggest duty. We are rich (too darned rich) and enormously powerful when most other peoples are poor and weak—drained of wealth and blood. That's our luck, and a little bit perhaps our shame, though our boys have done their bit all right and are ready to do more, and it's not their fault they weren't here before—but we're hardly touched by this war as a people, except spiritually. There we've been touched by the finger of Fate. (God, if you like that better!) So with that strength behind him the President is in a big way of business. He can make his voice heard, stand for a big idea. God, sonny, I hope he'll do it! For the world's sake, for the sake of all these suffering people, here in this city of Lille and in a million little towns where people have been bashed by war."

I asked him if he doubted Wilson's greatness, and the question embarrassed him.

"I'm loyal to the man," he said. "I'll back him if he plays straight and big. Bigness, that's what we want. Bigness of heart as well as bigness of brain. Oh, he's clever, though not wise in making so many enemies. He has fine ideas and can write real words. Things which speak. True things. I'd like to be sure of his character*