The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne

THE MESSENGER

There was little more talk.  The dignified quiet of the Lannes family remained unchanged, and John imitated it.  If they could be so calm in the face of overwhelming disaster it should be no effort for him to remain unmoved.  Yet he glanced often, though covertly, at Julie Lannes, admiring her lovely color.

When dinner was over they returned to the room in which Madame Lannes had received them.  The dark had come already, and Suzanne had lighted four tall candles.  There was neither gas nor electricity.

“Mr. Scott will be our guest tonight, mother,” said Lannes, “and tomorrow he and I go together to the army.”

John raised his hand in protest.  It had not been his intention when he came to remain until morning, but Lannes would listen to no objection; nor would his mother.

“Since you fight for our country,” she said, “you must let us give you shelter for at least one night.”

He acquiesced, and they sat a little while, talking of the things furthest from their hearts.  Julie Lannes withdrew presently, and before long her mother followed.  Lannes went to the window, and looked out over Paris, where the diminished lights twinkled.  John stood at the other window and saw the great blur of the capital.  All sounds were fused into one steady murmur, rather soothing, like the flowing of a river.

He seemed to hear presently the distant thunder of German guns, but reason told him it was only a trick of the imagination.  Nerves keyed high often created the illusion of reality.

“What are you thinking about, Lannes?” he asked.

“Of my mother and sister.  Only the French know the French.  The family tie is powerful with us.”

“I know that, Phil.”

“So you do.  You’re an adopted child of France.  Madame Lannes is a woman of great heart, John.  I am proud to be her son.  I have read of your civil war.  I have read how the mothers of your young soldiers suffered and yet were brave.  None can know how much Madame, my mother, has suffered tonight, with the Germans at the gates of Paris, and yet she has shown no sign of it.”

John was silent.  He did not know what to say, but Lannes did not pursue the subject, remaining a full five minutes at the window, and not speaking again, until he turned away.

“John,” he said then, “let’s go outside and take a look about the quarter.  It’s important now to watch for everything.”

John was full willing.  He recognized the truth of Lannes’ words and he wanted air and exercise also.  A fortress was a fortress, whether one called it a home or not, Lannes led the way and they descended to the lower hall, where the gigantic porter was on watch.

“My friend and I are going to take a look in the streets, Antoine,” said Lannes.  “Guard the house well while we are gone.”

“I will,” replied the man, “but will you tell me one thing, Monsieur Philip?  Do Madame Lannes and Mademoiselle Julie remain in Paris?”

“They do, Antoine, and since I leave tomorrow it will be the duty of you and Suzanne to protect them.”

“I am gratified, sir, that they do not leave the capital.  I have never known a Lannes to flee at the mere rumor of the enemy’s coming.”

“And I hope you never will, Antoine.  I think we’ll be back in an hour.”

“I shall be here, sir.”

He unbolted the door and Lannes and John stepped out, the cool night air pouring in a grateful flood upon their faces.  Antoine fastened the door behind them, and John again heard the massive bolt sink into its place.

“The quarter is uncommonly quiet,” said Lannes.  “I suppose it has a right to be after such a day.”

Then be looked up, scanning the heavens, after the manner that had become natural to him, a flying man.

“What do you see, Philip?” asked John.

“A sky of dark blue, plenty of stars, but no aeroplanes, Taubes or other machines of man’s making.”

“I fancy that some of them are on the horizon, but too far away to be seen by us.”

“Likely as not.  The Germans are daring enough and we can expect more bombs to be dropped on Paris.  Our flying corps must organize to meet theirs.  I feel the call of the air, John.”

Young Scott laughed.

“I believe the earth has ceased to be your natural element,” he said.  “You’re happiest when you’re in the Arrow about a mile above our planet.”

Lannes laughed also, and with appreciation.  The friendship between the two young men was very strong, and it had in it all the quality of permanence.  Their very unlikeness in character and temperament made them all the better comrades.  What one could not do the other could.

As they walked along now they said but little.  Each was striving to read what he could in that great book, the streets of Paris.  John believed Lannes had not yet told him his whole mission.  He knew that in their short stay in Paris Philip had spent an hour in the office of the military governor of the city, and his business must be of great importance to require an hour from a man who carried such a fearful weight of responsibility.  But whatever Lannes’ secret might be, it was his own and he had no right to pry into it.  If the time came for his comrade to tell it he would do so.

When they reached the Seine the city did not seem so quiet.  They heard the continuous sound of marching troops and people were still departing through the streets toward the country or the provincial cities.  The flight went on by night as well as day, and John again felt the overwhelming pity of it.

He wondered what the French generals and their English allies would do?  Did they have any possible way of averting this terrible crisis?  They had met nothing but defeat, and the vast German army had crashed, unchecked, through everything from the border almost to the suburbs of Paris.

They stood in the Place Valhubert at the entrance to the Pont d’Austerlitz, and watched a regiment crossing the river, the long blue coats and red trousers of the men outlined against the white body of the bridge.  The soldiers were short, they looked little to John, but they were broad of chest and they marched splendidly with a powerful swinging stride.

“From the Midi,” said Lannes.  “Look how dark they are!  France is called a Latin nation, but I doubt whether the term is correct.  These men of the Midi though are the real Latins.  We of northern France, I suspect, are more Teutonic than anything else, but we are all knitted together in one race, heart and soul, which are stronger ties than blood.”

“We are to go early in the morning, are we not, Philip?”

“Yes, early.  The Arrow is at the hangar, all primed and eager for a flight, fearful of growing rusty from a long rest.”

“I believe you actually look upon your plane as a human being.”

“A human being, yes, and more.  No human being could carry me above the clouds.  No human being could obey absolutely and without question the simplest touch of my hand.  The Arrow is not human, John, it is superhuman.  You have seen its exploits.”

The dark emitted a figure that advanced toward them, and took the shape of a man with black hair, a short close beard and an intelligent face.  He approached John and Lannes and looked at them closely.

“Mr. Scott!” he exclaimed, with eagerness, “I did not know what had become of you.  I was afraid you were lost in one of the battles!”

“Why, it’s Weber!” said John, “our comrade of the flight in the automobile!  And I was afraid that you too, were dead!”

The two shook hands with great heartiness and Lannes joined in the reunion.  He too at once liked Weber, who always made the impression of courage and quickness.  He wore a new uniform, olive in color with dark blue threads through it, and it became him, setting off his trim, compact figure.

“How did you get here, Mr. Weber?” asked John.

“I scarcely know,” he replied.  “My duties are to a certain extent those of a messenger, but I was caught in the last battle, wounded slightly, and separated from the main French force.  The little company which I had formed tried to break through the German columns, but they were all killed or captured except myself, and maybe two or three others.  I hid in a wood, slept a night there, and then reached Paris to see what is going to happen.  Ah, it is terrible! terrible! my comrades!  The Germans are advancing in five great armies, a million and a half strong, and no troops were ever before equipped so magnificently.”

“Do you know positively that they have a million and a half?” asked Lannes.

“I did not count them,” replied Weber, smiling a little, “but I have heard from many certain sources that such are their numbers.  I fear, gentlemen, that Paris is doomed.”

“Scott and I don’t think so,” said Lannes firmly.  “We’ve gained new courage today.”

Weber was silent for a few moments.  Then he said, giving Lannes his title as an officer: 

“I’ve heard of you, Lieutenant Lannes.  Who does not know the name of France’s most daring aviator?  And doubtless you have information which is unknown to me.  It is altogether likely that one who pierces the air like an eagle should bear messages between generals of the first rank.”

Lannes did not answer, but looked at Weber, who smiled.

“Perhaps our trades are not so very different,” said the Alsatian, “but you shoot through clouds while I crawl on the ground.  You have a great advantage of me in method.”

Lannes smiled back.  The little tribute was pleasing to the dramatic instinct so strong in him.

“You and I, Mr. Weber,” he said, “know enough never to speak of what we’re going to do.  Now, we’ll bid you good night and wish you good luck.  I’d like to be a prophet, even for a day only, and tell what the morrow would bring.”

“So do I,” said Weber, “and I must hurry on my own errand.  It may not be of great importance, but is vital to me that I do it.”

He slid away in the darkness and both John and Lannes spoke well of him as they returned to the house.  Picard admitted them.

“May I ask, sir, if there is any news that favors France?” he said to Philip.

“Not yet, my good Antoine, but it is surely coming.”

John heard the giant Frenchman smother a sigh, but he made no comment, and walked softly with Lannes to the little room high up that had been assigned to him.  Here when he was alone with his candle he looked around curiously.

The room was quite simple, not containing much furniture, in truth, nothing of any note save on the wall a fine picture of the great Marshal Lannes, Napoleon’s dauntless fighter, and stern republican, despite the ducal title that he took.  It was a good portrait, painted perhaps by some great artist, and John holding up the candle, looked at it a long time.

He thought he could trace some likeness to Philip.  Lannes’ face was always stern, in repose, far beyond his years, although when he became animated it had all the sunniness of youth.  But he noticed now that he had the same tight lips of the Marshal, and the same unfaltering eyes.

“Duke of Montebello!” said John to himself.  “Well, you won that title grandly, and while the younger Lannes may do as well, if the chance comes to him, the new heroes of France will be neither dukes nor princes.”

Then, after removing all the stiff pillows, inclines, foot pieces and head pieces that make European beds so uncomfortable, he slipped between the covers, and slid quickly into a long and soothing sleep, from which he was awakened apparently about a minute later by Lannes himself, who stood over him, dressed fully, tall and serious.

“Why, I just got into bed!” exclaimed John.

“You came in here a full seven hours ago.  Open your window and you’ll see the dawn creeping over Paris.”

“Thank you, but you can open it yourself.  I never fool with a European window.  I haven’t time to master all the mechanism, inside, outside and between, to say nothing of the various layers of curtains, full length, half length and otherwise.  Nothing that I can conceive of is better fitted than the European window to keep out light and air.”

Lannes smiled.

“I see that you’re in fine feather this morning,” he said, “I’ll open it for you.”

John jumped up and dressed quickly, while Lannes, with accustomed hand, laid back shutters and curtains.

“Now, shove up the window,” exclaimed John as he wielded towel and brush.  “A little fresh air in a house won’t hurt you; it won’t hurt anybody.  We’re a young people, we Americans, but we can teach you that.  Why, in the German hotels they’d seal up the smoking-rooms and lounges in the evenings, and then boys would go around shooting clouds of perfume against the ceilings.  Ugh!  I can taste now that awful mixture of smoke, perfume and thrice-breathed air!  Ah! that feels better!  It’s like a breath from heaven!”

“Ready now?  We’re going down to breakfast with my mother and sister.”

“Yes.  How do I look in this uniform, Lannes?”

“Very well.  But, Oh, you Americans! we French are charged with vanity, but you have it.”

John had thought little of his raiment until he came to the house of Lannes, but now there was a difference.  He gave the last touch to his coat, and he and Philip went down together.  Madame Lannes and Julie received them.  They were dressed very simply, Julie in white and Madame Lannes in plain gray.  Their good-morning to John was quiet, but he saw that it came from the heart.  They recognized in him the faithful comrade in danger, of the son and brother, and he saw once more that French family affection was very powerful.

It was early, far earlier than the ordinary time for the European breakfast, and he knew that it had been served so, because he and Lannes were to depart.  He sat facing a window, and he saw the dawn come over Paris in a vast silver haze that soon turned to a cloud of gold.  He again stole glances at Julie Lannes.  In all her beautiful fairness of hair and complexion she was like one of the blonde American girls of his own country.

When breakfast was over and the two young men rose to go John said the first farewell.  He still did not know the French custom, but, bending over suddenly, he kissed the still smooth and handsome hand of Madame Lannes.  As she flushed and looked pleased, he judged that he had made no mistake.  Then he touched lightly the hand of the young girl, and said: 

“Mademoiselle Julie, I hope to return soon to this house with your brother.”

“May it be so,” she said, in a voice that trembled, “and may you come back to a Paris still French!”

John bowed to them both and with tact and delicacy withdrew from the room.  He felt that there should be no witness of Philip’s farewell to his mother and sister, before going on a journey from which the chances were that he would never return.

He strolled down the hall, pretending to look at an old picture or two, and in a few minutes Lannes came out and joined him.  John saw tears in his eyes, but his face was set and stern.  Neither spoke until they reached the front door, which the giant, Picard, opened for them.

“If the worst should happen, Antoine,” said Lannes, “and you must be the judge of it when it comes, take them to Lyons, to our cousins the Menards.”

“I answer with my life,” said the man, shutting together his great teeth, and John felt that it was well for the two women to have such a guardian.  Under impulse, he said: 

“I should like to shake the hand of a man who is worth two of most men.”

Whether the French often shake hands or not, his fingers were enclosed in the mighty grasp of Picard, and he knew that he had a friend for life.  When they went out Lannes would not look back and was silent for a long time.  The day was warm and beautiful, and the stream of fugitives, the sad procession, was still flowing from the city.  Troops too were moving, and it seemed to John that they passed in heavier masses than on the day before.

“I went out last night while you slept,” said Lannes, when they were nearly at the hangar, “and I will tell you that I bear a message to one of our most important generals.  I carry it in writing, and also in memory in case I lose the written word.  That is all I feel at liberty to tell you, and in truth I know but little more.  The message comes from our leader to the commander of the army at Paris, who in turn orders me to deliver it to the general whom we’re going to seek.  It directs him with his whole force to move forward to a certain point and hold fast there.  Beyond that I know nothing.  Its whole significance is hidden from me.  I feel that I can tell you this, John, as we’re about to start upon a journey which has a far better prospect of death than of life.”

“I’m not afraid,” said John, and he told the truth.  “I feel, Philip, that great events are impending and that your dispatch or the effect of it will be a part in some gigantic plan.”

“I feel that way, too.  What an awful crisis!  The Germans moved nearer in the dark.  I didn’t sleep a minute last night.  I couldn’t.  If the signs that you and I saw are to be fulfilled they must be fulfilled soon, because when a thing is done it’s done, and when Paris falls it falls.”

“Well, here we are at the hangar, and the Arrow will make you feel better.  You’re like the born horseman whose spirits return when he’s on the back of his best runner.”

“I suppose I am.  The air is now my proper medium, and anyway, John, my gallant Yankee, for a man like me the best tonic is always action, action, and once more action.”

The Arrow was in beautiful condition, smooth, polished and fitted with everything that was needed.  They put on their flying clothes, drew down their visors, stowed their automatics in handy pockets, and took their seats in the aeroplane.  Then, as he put his hand on the steering rudder and the attendants gave the Arrow a mighty shove, the soul of Lannes swelled within him.

They rose slowly and then swiftly over Paris, and his troubles were left behind him on the earth.  Up, up they went, in a series of graceful spirals, and although John, at first, felt the old uneasy feeling, it soon departed.  He too exulted in their mounting flight and the rush of cold air.

“Use your glasses, John,” said Lannes, “and tell me what you can see.”

“Some captive balloons, five other planes, all our own, and on the horizon, where the German army lies, several black specks too vague and indefinite for me to make out what they are, although I’ve no doubt they’re German flyers.”

“I’d like to have a look at the Germans, but our way leads elsewhere.  What else do you see, John?”

“I look downward and I see the most magnificent and glittering city in the world.”

“And that’s Paris, our glorious Paris, which you and I and a million others are going to save.  I suppose it’s hope, John, that makes me feel we’ll do something.  Did you know that the Germans dropped two more bombs on the city last night?  One, luckily, fell in the Seine.  The other struck near the Madeleine, close to a group of soldiers, killing two and wounding four more.”

“Bombs from the air can’t do any great damage to a city.”

“No, but they can spread alarm, and it’s an insult, too.  We feel as the Germans would if we were dropping bombs on Berlin.  I wish you’d keep those glasses to your eyes all the time, John, and watch the skies.  Let me know at once, if you see anything suspicious.”

John, continually turning in his seat, swept the whole curve of the world with the powerful glasses.  Paris was now far below, a blur of white and gray.  Above, the heavens were of the silkiest blue, beautiful in their infinite depths, with tiny clouds floating here and there like whitecaps on an ocean.

“What do you see now, John?”

“Nothing but one of the most beautiful days that ever was.  It’s a fine sun, that you’ve got over here, Philip.  I can see through these glasses that it’s made out of pure reddish gold.”

“Never mind about that sun, John.  America is a full partner in its ownership and you’re used to it.  I’ve heard that you have more sunshine than we do.  Watch for our companions of the air, friend or foe.”

“I see them flying; over Paris, but none is going in our direction.  How far is our port of entry, Lannes?”

“We should be there in two hours, if nothing happens.  Do we still have the course to ourselves or is anything coming our way now?”

“No company at all, unless you’d call a machine about three miles off and much lower down, a comrade.”

“What does it look like?”

“A French aeroplane, much resembling the Arrow.”

“Is it following us?”

“Not exactly.  Yes, it is coming our way now, although it keeps much lower!  A scout, I dare say.”

Lannes was silent for a little while, his eyes fixed on his pathway through the blue.  Then he said: 

“What has become of that machine, John?”

“It has risen a little, but it’s on our private course, that is, if we can claim the right of way all down to the ground.”

Lannes glanced backward and downward, as well as his position would allow.

“A French plane, yes,” he said thoughtfully.  “There can be no doubt of it, but why should it follow us in this manner?  You do think it’s following us, don’t you, John?”

“It begins to look like it, Phil.  It’s rising a little now, and is directly in our wake.”

“Take a long look through those glasses of yours.”

John obeyed, and the following aeroplane at once increased in size tenfold and came much nearer.

“It’s French.  There cannot be any doubt of it,” he said, “and only one man is in it.  As he’s hidden by his flying-suit I can’t tell anything about him.”

“Watch him closely, John, and keep your hand on the butt of your automatic.  I don’t like that fellow’s actions.  Still, he may be a Frenchman on an errand like ours.  We’ve no right to think we’re the only people carrying important messages today.”

“He’s gaining pretty fast.  Although he keeps below us, it looks as if he wanted to communicate with us.”

The second aeroplane suddenly shot forward and upward at a much greater rate of speed.  John, still watching through his glasses, saw the man release the steering rudder for an instant, snatch a rifle from the floor of his plane, and fire directly at Lannes.

John uttered a shout of anger, and in action, too, he was as quick as a flash.  His automatic was out at once and he rained bullets upon the treacherous machine.  It was hard to take aim, firing from one flying target, at another, but he saw the man flinch, turn suddenly, and then go rocketing away at a sharp angle.

Blazing with wrath John watched him, now far out of range, and then reloaded his automatic.

“Did you get him, John?” asked Lannes.

“I know one bullet found him, because I saw him shiver and shrink, but it couldn’t have been mortal, as he was able to fly away.”

“I’m glad that you at least hit him, because he hit me.”

“What!” exclaimed John.  Then he looked at his comrade and saw to his intense horror that black blood was flowing slowly down a face deadly pale.

“His bullet went through my cap and then through my head,” said Lannes.  “Oh, not through my skull, or I wouldn’t be talking to you now.  I think it glanced off the bone, as I know it’s gone out on the other side.  But I’m losing much blood, John, and I seem to be growing numb.”

His voice trailed off in weakness and the Arrow began to move in an eccentric manner.  John saw that Lannes’ hand on the rudder was uncertain and that he had been hard hit.  He was aghast, first for his friend, to whom he had become so strongly attached, and then for the Arrow, their mission and himself.  Lannes would soon become unconscious and he, no flying man at all, would be left high in air with a terrible weight of responsibility.

“We must change seats,” said Lannes, struggling against the dimness that was coming over his eyes and the weakness permeating his whole body.  “Be careful, Oh, be careful as you can, and then, in your American language, a lot more.  Slowly!  Slowly!  Yes, I can move alone.  Drag yourself over me, and I can slide under you.  Careful!  Careful!”

The Arrow fluttered like a wounded bird, dropping, darting upward, and careering to one side.  John was sick to his soul, both physically and mentally.  His head became giddy and the wind roared in his ears, but the exchange of seats was at last, successfully accomplished.

“Now,” said Lannes, “you’re a close observer.  Remember all that you’ve seen me do with the plane.  Resolve to yourself that you do know how to fly the Arrow.  Fear nothing and fly straight for our destination.  Don’t bother about the bleeding of my wound.  My thick hair and thick cap acting together as a heavy bandage will stop it.  Now, John, our fate rests with you.”

The last words were almost inaudible, and John from the corner of his eye saw his comrade’s head droop.  He knew that Lannes had become unconscious and now, appalling though the situation was, he rose to the crisis.

He knew the immensity of their danger.  A sudden movement of the rudder and the aeroplane might be wrecked.  And in such a position the nerves of a novice were subject at any time to a jerk.  They might be assailed by another treacherous machine, the dangers, in truth, were uncountable, but he was upborne by a tremendous desire to carry the word and to save Lannes and himself.

In the face of intense resolve all obstacles became as nothing and his hand steadied on the rudder.  He knew that when it came to the air he was no Lannes and never could be.  The solid earth, no matter how much it rolled around the sun or around itself, was his favorite field of action, but he felt that he must make one flight, when he carried with him perhaps the fate of a nation.

The Arrow was still rocking from side to side and dipping and jumping.  Slowly he steadied it, handling the rudder as if it were a loaded weapon, and gradually his heart began to pound with triumph.  It was no such flying as the hand of Lannes drew from the Arrow, but to John it seemed splendid for a first trial.  He let the machine drop a little until it was only six or seven hundred yards above the earth, and took wary glances from side to side.  He feared another pursuer, but the air seemed clear.

Lannes had sunk a little further forward.  John saw that the bleeding from his head had ceased.  There was a dark stain down either cheek, but it was drying there, and as Lannes had foreseen, his hair and the cap had acted as a bandage, at last checking the flow effectively.  His breathing was heavy and jerky, but John believed that he would revive before long.  It was not possible that one so vital as Lannes, so eager for great action, could die thus.

Now he looked ahead.  Their landmarks as Lannes had told him before the fight, were to be a high hill, a low hill, and a small stream flowing between.  Just behind it they would find a great French army marching northward and their errand would be over.  He did not yet see the hills, but he was sure that he was still in the pathway of the air.

He had left Paris far behind, but when he looked down he saw a beautiful country, a fertile land upon which man had worked for two thousand years, too beautiful to be trodden to pieces by armies.  He saw the cultivated fields, varying in color like a checker board, and the neat villages with trees about them.  Here and there the spire of a church rose high above everything.  Churches and wars were so numerous in Europe!

John checked the speed of the Arrow.  He was afraid, despite all his high resolve, to fly fast, and then he must not go beyond the army for which he was looking.  He dropped a little lower as he was passing over a wood, and then he heard the crack of rifles beneath him.  Bullets whizzed and sang past his ears and he took one fearful glance downward.

He saw men, spiked helmets on their heads, galloping among the trees, and he knew that they were a daring band of Uhlans, actually scouting inside the French lines.  They were shooting at the Arrow and firing fast.

He attempted to rise so suddenly that the plane gave a violent jerk and quivered in every fiber.  He thought for a moment they were going to fall, and the sickening sensation at his heart was overpowering.  But the trusty Arrow ceased quivering, and then rose swiftly at an angle not too great.

Bullets still whizzed around the plane, and one glanced off its polished side, but John’s first nervous jerkiness in handling the machine had probably saved him.  The target had been so high in air, and of such a shifting nature that the Uhlans had little chance to hit it.

He was now beyond the range of any rifle, and he drew a long breath of relief that was like a deep sigh.  Then he took a single downward glance, and caught a fleeting glimpse of the Uhlans galloping away.  Doubtless they were making all speed back to their own army.

He flew on for a minute or two, searching the horizon eagerly, and at last, he saw a tall hill, a low hill and a flash of water between.  He felt so much joy that he uttered a cry, and an echo of it came from a point almost by his side.

“Did I hear firing, John?”

It was Lannes’ voice, feeble, but showing all the signs of returning strength, and again John uttered a joyous shout.

“You did,” he replied.  “It was Uhlans in a grove.  I was flying low and their bullets whistled around us.  But the Arrow has taken no harm.  I see, too, the hills and the stream which are our landmarks.  We’re about to arrive, Philip, with our message, but there’s been treachery somewhere.  I wish I knew who was in that French plane.”

“So do I, John.  It certainly came out of Paris.  In my opinion it meant to destroy us and keep our message from reaching the one for whom it was intended.  Who could it have been and how could he have known!”

“Feeling better now, aren’t you, Phil?”

“A lot better.  My head aches tremendously, but the dimness has gone from before my eyes, and I’m able to think, in a poor and feeble way, perhaps, but I’m not exactly a dumb animal.  Where are the hills?”

John pointed.

“I can see them,” said Lannes exultantly.  “Since they did no harm I’m glad the Uhlans fired at the Arrow.  Their shots aroused me from stupor and as we’re to reach the army I want to be in possession of my five senses when I get there.”

John understood perfectly.

“It’s your message and you deliver it,” he said.

Lannes’ strength continued to increase, and his mind cleared rapidly.  His head ached frightfully, but he could think with all his usual swiftness and precision.  He sat erect in his seat.

“Pass me your glasses, John,” he said.

“Now I see the troops,” he said, after a long look.  “Frenchmen, Frenchmen, Frenchmen, infantry in thousands and scores of thousands, big guns in scores and hundreds, cuirassiers, hussars, cannoneers!  Ah!  It’s a sight to kindle a dead heart back to life!  John, this is one of the great wheels in the mighty machine that is to move forward!  Here come two aeroplanes, scouts sent forward to see who and what we are.”

“You are sure they contain genuine Frenchmen?  Remember the fellow who shot you.”

“Frenchmen, good and true.  I can see them for myself.”

He moved his hand, and in a few moments John heard hissing and purring near, as if great birds were flying to meet him.  The outlines of the hovering planes showed by his side, and Lannes called in a loud voice to shrouded and visored men.

“Philip Lannes and his comrade, John Scott, with a message from Paris to the commander!” he exclaimed.

He was his old self again, erect, intense, dramatic.  He evidently expected the name Philip Lannes to be known well to them, and it was, as a cheer followed high in air.

“Now, John,” said Lannes, “Be careful!  Your hardest task is before you, to land.  But I’ve noticed that with you the harder the task the better you do it.  Make for that wide green space to the left of the stream and come down as slowly and gently as you can.  Just slide down.”

John had a fleeting glimpse of thousands of faces looking upward, but he held a true course for the grassy area, and with a multitude looking on his nerve was never steadier.  Amid great cheering the Arrow came safely to rest at her appointed place.  John and Lannes stepped forth, as an elderly man in a quiet uniform came forward to meet them.

Lannes, holding himself stiffly erect, drew a paper from his pocket and extended it to the general.

“A letter, sir, from the commander-in-chief of all our armies,” he said, saluting proudly.

As the general took the letter, Lannes’ knees bent beneath him, and he sank down on his face.