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

IN THE FRENCH CAMP

John rushed forward and grasped his comrade.  The sympathetic hands of others seized him also, and they raised him to his feet, while an officer gave him stimulant out of a flask, John meanwhile telling who his comrade was.  Lannes’ eyes opened and he flushed through the tan of his face.

“Pardon,” he said, “it was a momentary weakness.  I am ashamed of myself, but I shall not faint again.”

“You’ve been shot,” said the officer, looking at his sanguinary cap and face.

“So I have, but I ask your pardon for it.  I won’t let it occur again.”

Lannes was now standing stiffly erect, and his eyes shone with pride, as the general, a tall, elderly man, rapidly read the letter that Philip had delivered with his own hand.  The officer who had spoken of his wound looked at him with approval.

“I’ve heard of you, Philip Lannes,” he said, “you’re the greatest flying man in the world.”

Lannes’ eyes flashed now.

“You do me too much honor,” he said, “but it was not I who brought our aeroplane here.  It was my American friend, John Scott, now standing beside me, who beat off an attack upon us and who then, although he had had no practical experience in flying, guided the machine to this spot.  Born an American, he is one of us and France already owes him much.”

John raised his hand in protest, but he saw that Lannes was enjoying himself.  His dramatic instinct was finding full expression.  He had not only achieved a great triumph, but his best friend had an important share in it.  There was honor for both, and his generous soul rejoiced.

Both John and Lannes stood at attention until the general had read the letter not once but twice and thrice.  Then he took off his glasses, rubbed them thoughtfully a moment or two, replaced them and looked keenly at the two.  He was a quiet man and he made no gestures, but John met his gaze serenely, read his eyes and saw the tremendous weight of responsibility back of them.

“You have done well, you two, perhaps far better than you know,” said the general, “and now, since you are wounded, Philip Lannes, you must have attention.  De Rougemont, take care of them.”

De Rougemont, a captain, was the man to whom they had been talking, and he gladly received the charge.  He was a fine, well built officer, under thirty, and it was obvious that he already took a deep interest in the two young aviators.  Noticing Lannes’ anxious glances toward his precious machine, he promptly detailed two men to take care of the Arrow and then he led John and Lannes toward the group of tents.

“First I’ll get a surgeon for you,” he said to the Frenchman, “and after that there’s food for you both.”

“I hope you’ll tell the surgeon to be careful how he takes off my cap,” said Lannes, “because it’s fastened to my head now by my own dried blood.”

“Trust me for that,” said de Rougemont.  “I’ll bring one of our best men.”

Then, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he added: 

“I suppose the message you brought was one of life or death for France.”

“I think so,” said Lannes, “but I know little of its nature, myself.”

“I would not ask you to say any more.  I know that you cannot speak of it.  But you can tell me this.  Are the Germans before Paris?”

“As nearly as I could tell, their vanguard was within fifteen miles of the capital.”

“Then if we strike at all we must strike quickly.  I think we’re going to strike.”

Lannes was silent, and they entered the tent, where blankets were spread for him.  A surgeon, young and skillful, came promptly, carefully removed the cap and bound up his head.  John stood by and handed the surgeon the bandages.

“You’re not much hurt,” he said to Lannes as he finished.  “Your chief injury was shock, and that has passed.  I can keep down the fever and you’ll be ready for work very soon.  The high powered bullet makes a small and clean wound.  It tears scarcely at all.  Nor will your beauty be spoiled in the slightest, young sir.  Both orifices are under the full thickness of your hair.”

“I’m grateful for all your assurances,” said Lannes, his old indomitable smile appearing in his eyes, “but you’ll have to cure me fast, faster than you ever cured anybody before, because I’m a flying man, and I fly again tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow.  In two or three days, perhaps—­”

“Yes, tomorrow, I tell you!  Nothing can keep me from it!  This army will march tonight!  I know it! and do you think such a wound as this can keep me here, when the fate of Europe is being decided?  I’d rise from these blankets and go with the army even if I knew that it would make me fall dead the next day!”

He spoke with such fierce energy that the surgeon who at first sternly forbade, looked doubtful and then acquiescent.

“Go, then,” he said, “if you can.  The fact that we have so many heroes may save us.”

He left John alone in the tent with Lannes.  The Frenchman regarded his comrade with a cool, assured gaze.

“John,” he said, “I shall be up in the Arrow tomorrow.  I’m not nervous and excited now, and I’ll not cause any fever in my wound.  Somebody will come in five minutes with food.  I shall eat a good supper, fall quietly to sleep, sleep soundly until night, then rise, refreshed and strong, and go about the work for which I’m best fitted.  My mind shall rule over my body.”

“I see you’re what we would call at home a Christian Scientist, and in your case when a mind like yours is brought to bear there’s something in it.”

The food appeared within the prescribed time, and both ate heartily.  John watched Lannes.  He knew that he would suffer agonies of mortification if he were not able to share in the great movement which so obviously was about to take place, and, as he looked, he felt a growing admiration for Philip’s immense power of self-control.

Mind had truly taken command of body.  Lannes ate slowly and with evident relish.  From without came many noises of a great army, but he refused to be disturbed or excited by them.  He spoke lightly of his life before the war, and of a little country home that the Lannes family had in Normandy.

“We own the two places, that and the home in the city,” he said.  “The house in Normandy is small, but it’s beautiful, hidden by flower gardens and orchards, with a tiny river just back of the last orchard.  Julie has spent most of her life there.  She and my mother would go there now, but it’s safer at Lyons or in the Midi.  A wonderful girl, Julie!  I hope, John, that you’ll come for a long stay with us after the war, among the Normandy orchards and roses.”

“I hope so,” said John.  He was dreaming a little then, and he saw young Julie sitting at the table with them back in Paris.  Truly, her golden hair was the purest gold he had ever seen, and there was no other blue like the blue of her blue eyes.

“Now, John,” said Lannes, “I’ll resume my place on the blankets and in ten minutes I’ll be asleep.”

He lay down, closed his eyes and three minutes short of the appointed time slept soundly.  John gazed at him for a moment in wonder and admiration.  The triumph of will over body had been complete.  He touched Lannes’ head.  It was normally cool.  Either the surgeon’s skill had been great or the very strength of his resolve had been so immense that he had kept nerves and blood too quiet for fever to rise.

John left the tent, feeling for the time a personal detachment from everything.  He had no position in this army, and no orders had been given to him by anybody.  But he knew that he was among friends, and while he stood looking about in uncertainty Captain de Rougemont appeared.

“How is young Lannes?” he asked.

“Sleeping and free from fever.  He will move with the army, or rather he will be hovering over it in his aeroplane.  I never before saw such extraordinary power of will.”

“He’s a wonderful fellow.  Of course, most of us have heard of him through his marvelous flying exploits, but it’s the first time that I’ve ever seen him.  What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.  I seem to be left high and dry for the present, at least.  My company is with one of the armies, but where that army is now is more than I can tell.”

“Nor do I know either.  We’re all in the dark here, but any young strong man can certainly get a chance to fight in this war.  I’m on the staff of General Vaugirard, a brigade commander, and he needs active young officers.  You speak good French, and the fact that you came with Lannes will be a great recommendation, I’ll provide you with a horse and all else necessary.”

John thanked him with great sincerity.  The offer was in truth most welcome.  He knew that Lannes would willingly take him in the Arrow, but he felt that he would be in the way there and, as he had said to his friend, the rolling earth rather than the air around it was his true field of action.  His first enrollment in the French army had been hurried and without due forms, but war had made it good.

“I’ll not come back for you until afternoon,” said de Rougemont, “because we’re already making preparations to advance, and I shall have much to do meanwhile.  You can watch over Lannes and see that he’s not interrupted in his sleep.  He’ll need it.”

“Yes, I have reason to know that he did not sleep at all last night, and he must be in a state of complete exhaustion.  But, just as he predicted, he’ll rise, his old self again.”

Captain de Rougemont hurried away, and John was left alone in the midst of a great army.  He stood before Lannes’ tent, which was in the midst of a grassy and rather elevated opening, and he heard once more the infinite sounds made by two hundred thousand armed men, blending into one vast, fused note.

The army, too, was moving, or getting ready to move.  Batteries of the splendid French artillery passed before him, squadrons of horsemen galloped by, and regiments of infantry followed.  It all seemed confused, aimless to the eye, but John knew that nevertheless it was proceeding with order and method, directed by a master mind.

Often trumpets sounded and the motion of the troops seemed to quicken.  Now he beheld men from the lands of the sun, the short, dark, fierce soldiers of the Midi, youths of Marseilles and youths of the first Roman province, whose native language was Provencal and not French.  He remembered the men of the famous battalion who had marched from Marseilles to Paris singing Rouget de Lisle’s famous song, and giving it their name, while they tore down an ancient kingdom.  Doubtless, spirits no less ardent and fearless than theirs were here now.

He saw the Arabs in turbans and flowing robes, and black soldiers from Senegal, and seeing these men from far African deserts he knew that France was rallying her strength for a supreme effort.  The German Empire, with the flush of unbroken victory in war after war, could command the complete devotion of its sons, but the French Republic, without such triumphs as yet, could do as well.  John felt an immense pride because he, too, was republican to the core, and often there was a lot in a name.

It was about noon now, and the sun was shining with dazzling brilliancy.  The tall hill and the low hill were clothed in deep green, and the waters of the little river that ran between, sparkled in the light.  The air was crisp with a cool wind that blew from the west, and John felt that the omens were good for the great mysterious movement which he believed to be at hand.

He looked into the tent and saw that Lannes was sleeping soundly, with a good color in his face.  A powerful constitution aided by a strong will had done its work and he was sure that on the morrow Lannes would again be the most daring French scout of the air.

John found the waiting hard work.  There was so much movement and action that he wanted to be a part of it.  He had thrown in his lot with this army and he wanted to share its work at once.  Yet much time passed, and de Rougemont did not return.  The evidences that the great French army was marching to the point designated in the note brought by Lannes multiplied.  From the crest of the hill he already saw large bodies of troops marching forward steadily, their long blue coats flapping awkwardly about their legs.  He wondered once more why they wore such an inharmonious and conspicuous uniform as blue frock coats and baggy red trousers.

He heard presently the martial sounds of the Marseillaise, and the regiment singing it passed very close to him.  The men were nearly all short, dark, and very young.  But the spring and fire with which they marched were magnificent.  As they thundered out the grand old tune their feet seemed scarcely to touch the earth, and fierce eyes glowed in dark faces.

John, with a start, recognized one, a petty officer, a sergeant it seemed, who marched beside the line.  He was the most eager of them all, and his face was tense and wrapt.  It was Geronimo, the little Apache, in whom the spark of patriotism had lit the fire of genius.  His call had come and it had drawn him from a half savage life into one of glorious deeds for his country.

“He’ll be a general if he isn’t killed first,” murmured John, with absolute conviction.

Geronimo, at that moment, looked his way and recognized him.  His hand flew to his head in a military salute, which John returned in kind, and his eyes plainly showed pleasure at sight of this new friend whom he had made in a few minutes on the Butte Montmartre.

“We meet again,” he said, “and before the week is out it will be victory or death.”

“I think so, too,” said John.

“I know it,” said Geronimo, and, saluting once more, he marched on with his regiment.  John saw them pass across the valley and join the great mass of troops that filled the whole northern horizon.  About an hour later a cheerful voice called to him, and he beheld Lannes standing in the door of the tent, his head well bandaged, but his eyes clear and strong and the natural color in his face.

“What has happened, John?” he asked.

“You’ve slept six or seven hours.”

“And while I slept, the army, as I can see, has begun its march according to the order we brought.  I’m sorry I had to miss any of it, but I was bound to sleep.”

“You’re a marvel.”

“No marvel at all.  I’m merely one of a million Frenchmen molded on the same model.  An army can’t move fast and tonight the Arrow and I will be hovering over its front.  There’s your old place for you in the plane.”

“I’d only be in your way, Philip.  But can’t you wait until tomorrow?  Don’t rush yourself while you’ve got a new wound.”

“The wound is nothing.  I’m bound to go tonight with the Arrow.  But what are you going to do if you don’t go with me?”

“A new friend whom I’ve made while you slept has found a place for me with him, on the staff of General Vaugirard, a brigade commander.  I shall serve there until I’m able to rejoin the Strangers.”

“General Vaugirard!  I’ve seen him.  An able man, and a most noticeable figure.  You’ve fared well.”

“I hope so.  Here comes Captain de Rougemont.”

The captain showed much pleasure at seeing Lannes up and apparently well.

“What!  Has our king of the air revived so soon!” he exclaimed.

“The dead themselves would rise when we’re about to strike for the life of France,” said Lannes, his dramatic quality again coming to the front.

“Well spoken,” said de Rougemont, the color flushing into his face.

“I return to my aeroplane within two hours,” said Lannes.  “I hold a commission from our government which allows me to operate somewhat as a free lance, but, of course, I shall conform for the present to the wishes of the man who commands the flying corps of this army.  Meanwhile, I leave with you my young Yankee friend here, John Scott.  For some strange reason I’ve conceived for him a strong brotherly affection.  Kindly see that he doesn’t get killed unless it’s necessary for our country, and this, I think, is a long enough speech for me to make now.”

“I’ll do my best for him,” said de Rougemont earnestly.  “I’ve come for you, Scott.”

“Good-bye, Philip,” said John, extending his hand.

“Good-bye, John,” said Lannes, “and do as I tell you.  Don’t get yourself killed unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Usually so stoical, his voice showed emotion, and he turned away after the strong pressure of the two hands.  John and de Rougemont walked down the valley, where they joined General Vaugirard and the rest of his staff.

As soon as John saw the general he knew what Lannes meant by his phrase “a noticeable figure.”  General Vaugirard was a man of about sixty, so enormously fat that he must have weighed three hundred pounds.  His face was covered with thick white beard, out of which looked small, sharp red eyes.  He reminded John of a great white bear.  The little red eyes bored him through for an instant, and then their owner said briefly: 

“De Rougemont has vouched for you.  Stay with him.  An orderly has your horse.”

A French soldier held for him a horse bearing all the proper equipment, and John, saluting the general, sprang into the saddle.  He was a good horseman, and now he felt thoroughly sure of himself.  If it came to the worst, and he was unseated, the earth was not far away, but if he were thrown out of the Arrow he would have a long and terrible time in falling.

General Vaugirard had not yet mounted, but stood beside a huge black horse, fit to carry such a weight.  He was listening and looking with the deepest attention and his staff was silent around him.  John saw from their manner that these men liked and respected their immense general.

More trumpets sounded, much nearer now, and a messenger galloped up, handing a note to General Vaugirard, who glanced at it hastily, uttered a deep Ah! of relief and joy and thrust it into his pocket.

Then saying to his staff, “Gentlemen, we march at once,” he put one hand on his horse’s shoulder, and, to John’s immense surprise, leaped as lightly into the saddle as if he had been a riding master.  He settled himself easily into his seat, spoke a word to his staff, and then he rode with his regiments toward that great mass of men on the horizon who were steadily marching forward.

John kept by the side of de Rougemont.  There were brief introductions to some of the young officers nearest him, and he felt an air of friendliness about him.  As de Rougemont told them he had already given ample proof of his devotion to the cause, and he was accepted promptly as one of them.

John was now conscious how strongly he had projected himself into the life of the French.  He was an American for generations back and his blood by descent was British.  He had been among the Germans and he liked them personally, he had served already with the English, and their point of view was more nearly like the American than any other.  But he was here with the French and he felt for them the deepest sympathy of all.  He was conscious of a tie like that of blood brotherhood.

He knew it was due to the old and yet unpaid help France had given to his own country, and above all to the conviction that France, minding her own business, had been set upon by a greater power, with intent to crush and destroy.  France was attacked by a dragon, and the old similes of mythology floated through his mind, but, oftenest, that of Andromeda chained to the rock.  And the figure that typified France always had the golden hair and dark blue eyes of slim, young Julie Lannes.

They advanced several hours almost in silence, as far as talk was concerned, but two hundred thousand men marching made a deep and steady murmur.  General Vaugirard kept well in front of his staff, riding, despite his immense bulk, like a Comanche, and occasionally putting his glasses to those fiery little red eyes.  At length he turned and beckoned to John, who promptly drew up to his side.

“You speak good French?” he said in his native tongue.

“Yes, sir,” replied John promptly.

“I understand that you came with the flying man, Lannes, who brought the message responsible for this march, and that it is not the only time you’ve done good service in our cause?”

John bowed modestly.

“Did you see any German troops on the way?”

“Only a band of Uhlans.”

“A mere scouting party.  It occurred to me that you might have seen masses of troops belonging to the foe, indicating perhaps what is awaiting us at the end of our march.”

“I know nothing, sir.  The Uhlans were all the foes we saw from the air, save the man who shot Lannes.”

“I believe you.  You belong to the youngest of the great nations.  Your people have not yet learned to say with the accents of truth the thing that is not.  I am sixty years old, and yet I have the curiosity to know where I am going and what I am expected to do when I get there.  Behold how I, an old man, speak so frankly to you, so young.”

“When I saw your excellency leap into the saddle you did not seem to me to be more than twenty.”

John called him “your excellency” because he thought that in the absence of precise knowledge of what was fitting the term was as good as another.

A smile twinkled in the eyes of General Vaugirard.  Evidently he was pleased.

“That is flattery, flattery, young man,” he said, “but it pleases me.  Since I’ve drawn from you all you know, which is but little, you may fall back with your comrades.  But keep near; I fancy I shall have much for you to do before long.  Meanwhile, we march on, in ignorance of what is awaiting us.  Ah, well, such is life!”

He seemed to John a strange compound of age and youth, a mixture of the philosopher and the soldier.  That he was a real leader John could no longer doubt.  He saw the little red eyes watching everything, and he noticed that the regiments of Vaugirard had no superiors in trimness and spirit.

They marched until sundown and stopped in some woods clear of undergrowth, like most of those in Europe.  The camp kitchens went to work at once, and they received good food and coffee.  As far as John could see men were at rest, but he could not tell whether the whole army was doing likewise.  It spread out much further to both right and left than his eyes could reach.

The members of the staff tethered their horses in the grove, and after supper stood together and talked, while the fat general paced back and forth, his brow wrinkled in deep thought.

“Good old Papa Vaugirard is studying how to make the best of us,” said de Rougemont.  “We’re all his children.  They say that he knows nearly ten thousand men under his command by face if not by name, and we trust him as no other brigade commander in the army is trusted by his troops.  He’s thinking hard now, and General Vaugirard does not think for nothing.  As soon as he arrives at what seems to him a solution of his problem he will begin to whistle.  Then he will interrupt his whistling by saying:  ‘Ah, well, such is life.’”

“I hope he’ll begin to whistle soon,” said John, “because his brow is wrinkling terribly.”

He watched the huge general with a sort of fascinated gaze.  Seen now in the twilight, Vaugirard’s very bulk was impressive.  He was immense, strong, primeval.  He walked back and forth over a line about thirty feet long, and the deep wrinkles remained on his brow.  Every member of his staff was asking how long it would last.

A sound, mellow and soft, but penetrating, suddenly arose.  General Vaugirard was whistling, and John’s heart gave a jump of joy.  He did not in the least doubt de Rougemont’s assertion that an answer to the problem had been found.

General Vaugirard whistled to himself softly and happily.  Then he said twice, and in very clear tones:  “Ah, well, such is life!” He began to whistle again, stopped in a moment or two and called to de Rougemont, with whom he talked a while.

“We’re to march once more in a half-hour,” said de Rougemont, when he returned to John and his comrades.  “It must be a great converging movement in which time is worth everything.  At least, General Vaugirard thinks so, and he has a plan to get us into the very front of the action.”

“I hope so,” said John.  “I’m not anxious to get killed, but I’d rather be in the battle than wait.  I wonder if I’ll meet anywhere on the front that company to which I belong, the Strangers.”

“I think I’ve heard of them,” said de Rougemont, “a body of Americans and Englishmen, volunteers in the French service, commanded by Captain Daniel Colton.”

“Right you are, and I’ve two particular friends in that company—­I suppose they’ve rejoined it—­Wharton, an American, and Carstairs, an Englishman.  We went through a lot of dangers together before we reached the British army near Mons, and I’d like to see them again.”

“Maybe you will, but here comes an extraordinary procession.”

They heard many puffing sounds, uniting in one grand puffing chorus, and saw advancing down a white road toward them a long, ghostly train, as if a vast troop of extinct monsters had returned to earth and were marching this way.  But John knew very well that it was a train of automobiles and raising the glasses that he now always carried he saw that they were empty except for the chauffeurs.

General Vaugirard began to whistle his mellowest and most musical tune, stopping only at times to mutter a few words under his breath.  John surmised that he was expressing deep satisfaction, and that he had been waiting for the motor train.  War was now fought under new conditions.  The Germans had thousands and scores of thousands of motors, and perhaps the French were provided almost as well.

“I fancy,” said de Rougemont, who was also watching the arrival of the machines, “that we’ll leave our horses now and travel by motor.”

De Rougemont’s supposition was correct.  The line of automobiles began to mass in front, many rows deep, and all the chauffeurs, their great goggles shining through the darkness, were bent over their wheels ready to be off at once with their armed freight.  It filled John with elation, and he saw the same spirit shining in the eyes of the young French officers.

General Vaugirard began to puff like one of the machines.  He threw out his great chest, pursed up his mouth and emitted his breath in little gusts between his lips, “Very good!  Very good, my children!” he said, “Oil and electricity will carry us now, and we go forward, not backward!”

True to de Rougemont’s prediction, the horses were given to orderlies, and the staff and a great portion of the troops were taken into the cars.  General Vaugirard and several of the older officers occupied a huge machine, and just behind him came de Rougemont, John and a half-dozen young lieutenants and captains in another.  Before them stretched a great white road.  Far overhead hovered many aeroplanes.  John had no doubt that the Arrow was among them, or rather was the farthest one forward.  Lannes’ eager soul, wound or no wound, would keep him in front.

They now moved rapidly, and John’s spirits continued to rise.  There was something wonderful in this swift march on wheels in the moonlight.  As far back as he could see the machines came in a stream, and to the left and right he saw them proceeding on other roads also.  All the country was strange to John.  He could not remember having seen it from the aeroplane, and he was sure that the army, instead of going to Paris, was bound for some point where it would come in instant contact with the German forces.

“Do you know the road?” he asked of de Rougemont.

“Not at all.  I’m from the Gironde country.  I’ve been in Paris, but I know little of the region about it.  A good way to reach the front, is it not, Mr. Scott?”

“Fine.  I fancy that we’re hurried forward to make a link in a chain, or at least to stop a gap.”

“And those large birds overhead are scouting for us.”

“Look!  One of them is dropping down.  I dare say it’s making a report to some general higher in rank than ours.”

He pointed with a long forefinger, and John watched the aeroplane come down in its slanting course like a falling star.  It was a beautiful night, a light blue sky, with a fine moon and hosts of clear stars.  One could see far, and soon after the plane descended John saw it rise again from the same spot, ascend high in air, and shoot off toward the east.

“That may have been Lannes,” he said.

“Likely as not,” said de Rougemont.

John now observed General Vaugirard, who sat erect in the front of his automobile, with a pair of glasses, relatively as huge as himself, to his eyes.  Occasionally he would purse his lips, and John knew that his favorite expression was coming forth.  To the young American’s imaginative mind his broad back expressed rigidity and strength.

The great murmuring sound, the blended advance of so many men, made John sleepy by-and-by.  In spite of himself his heavy eyelids drooped, and although he strove manfully against it, sleep took him.  When he awoke he heard the same deep murmur, like the roll of the sea, and saw the army still advancing.  It was yet night, though fine and clear, and there before him was the broad, powerful back of the general.  Vaugirard was still using the glasses and John judged that he had not slept at all.  But in his own machine everybody was asleep except the man at the wheel.

The country had grown somewhat hillier, but its characteristics were the same, fertile, cultivated fields, a small wood here and there, clear brooks, and church spires shining in the dusk.  Both horse and foot advanced across the fields, but the roads were occupied by the motors, which John judged were carrying at least twenty thousand men and maybe forty thousand.

He was not sleepy now, and he watched the vast panorama wheel past.  He knew without looking at his watch that the night was nearly over, because he could already smell the dawn.  The wind was freshening a bit, and he heard its rustle in the leaves of a wood as they pushed through it.

Then came a hum and a whir, and a long line of men on motor cycles at the edge of the road crept up and then passed them.  One checked his speed enough to run by the side of John’s car, and the rider, raising his head a little, gazed intently at the young American.  His cap closed over his face like a hood, but the man knew him.

“Fortune puts us on the same road again, Mr. Scott,” he said.

“I don’t believe I know you,” said John, although there was a familiar note in the voice.

“And yet you’ve met me several times, and under exciting conditions.  It seems to me that we’re always pursuing similar things, or we wouldn’t be together on the same road so often.  You’re acute enough.  Don’t you know me now?”

“I think I do.  You’re Fernand Weber, the Alsatian.”

“And so I am.  I knew your memory would not fail you.  It’s a great movement that we’ve begun, Mr. Scott.  France will be saved or destroyed within the next few days.”

“I think so.”

“You’ve deserted your friend, Philip Lannes, the finest of our airmen.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t.  He’s deserted me.  I couldn’t afford to be a burden on his aeroplane at such a time as this.”

“I suppose not.  I saw an aeroplane come down to earth a little while ago, and then rise again.  I’m sure it was his machine, the Arrow.”

“So am I.”

“Here’s where he naturally would be.  Good-bye, Mr. Scott, and good luck to you.  I must go on with my company.”

“Good-bye and good luck,” repeated John, as the Alsatian shot forward.  He liked Weber, who had a most pleasing manner, and he was glad to have seen him once more.

“Who was that?” asked de Rougemont, waking from his sleep and catching the last words of farewell.

“An Alsatian, named Fernand Weber, who has risked his life more than once for France.  He belongs to the motor-cycle corps that’s just passing.”

“May he and his comrades soon find the enemy, because here is the day.”

The leaves and grass rippled before the breeze and over the eastern hills the dawn broke.