But a clear wintry sun was shining in at the door of the tent, and he saw its gold across the snow.  Beyond was a kitchen automobile at which men were obtaining coffee and food.

“Has Lannes come?” asked John.

“Not yet, but of course he’ll be here soon; by noon, I fancy.”

John went out and took his breakfast with his comrades of the Strangers.  The morning was uncommonly bright.  There was not a trace of cloud in the heavens, which had turned to the soft, velvety blue that one sometimes sees in winter, and which can make a man fancy that it is summer when he looks up, rather than winter when he looks down.

While John ate and drank, he continually scanned the skies looking for the coming of the Arrow. He saw aeroplanes hovering here and there over the French and German lines, but none coming toward Chastel.

He had expected, too, that Weber might return in the morning, but he did not reappear and John felt a distinct disappointment.  Many had been killed, but Wharton and Carstairs had reported that no body had resembled Weber’s.  Then it was certain that he had not fallen.  Perhaps the Germans had driven him ahead of them, and he would rejoin the French at some distant point.

The morning passed, slow and bright, but it did not bring Lannes.  General Vaugirard himself came about noon, a huge purring man in a huge puffing automobile.  He cast an approving eye over Bougainville’s work, and puffing his cheeks still wider whistled a low, musical note.

“It could not have been done better,” he said.  Then he caught sight of John and exclaimed: 

“Ah, here is our young American, he who has been transformed into a good Frenchman!  Glad am I to see you alive and unhurt, but I bring you news which is unpleasant.  Ah, well, such is life!  It must be expected in a war like this.”

Alarm leaped up in John’s heart.  He felt instinctively that it concerned Lannes!  Was he dead?  But he steadied his voice and said: 

“May I ask what it is, General?”

“That young friend of yours and great servant of his nation, Philip Lannes, the famous aviator.  He has been wounded.  No, don’t be alarmed, it’s not mortal, but it will keep him in hospital for some time.  It happened two days ago, nearly a hundred miles west of here.  He had just landed from his aeroplane, and he was fired at by some German skirmishers hidden in a wood.  Fortunately French cavalry were near and drove off the Germans.  Lannes is so young and so healthy that his recovery will be complete, though slow.”

“What a misfortune at such a time!” exclaimed John.

“What do you mean by ’at such a time’?”

Then John related the presence of Julie Lannes in Chastel and the manner of her capture by Auersperg.  He told, too, why she had come there.

General Vaugirard puffed out his huge cheeks and whistled a note or two.

“I can’t understand why Lannes should have wanted her to come to such an exposed place,” he said.  “But youth is daring and doesn’t always count the risks.”