John watched the aeroplane disappear over the peak on its return journey, and then he walked boldly eastward toward the German lines.  Modesty kept him from accepting Delaunois’ tribute in full, but it had warmed his heart and strengthened his courage anew.  Delaunois had considered it not a reckless quest, but high adventure with a noble impulse, and John’s heart and spirit had responded quickly.  Great deeds come from exaltation, and that mood was his.

He followed what seemed to be a little path under the snow, leading along the side of the mountain toward the eastward, the way he would go.  Here portions of the earth were exposed, where the snow had already melted much under the heat of the high sun.  Three or four hundred feet below a brook ran noisily over stones, but that was the only sound in the mountains.  He felt though that the Germans must be somewhere near.  Men with glasses might be watching him already.

He decided at once upon his role.  In Europe peasants were often heavy and loutish.  It was expected of them, and none would be heavier or more loutish than he.  He thrust both hands in his pockets, and began to whistle familiar German songs and hymns, varying them now and then with a chanson or two that might have been sung for centuries in Lorraine.

The path led on across a little valley and then along the slope of another ridge.  Under the increasing heat of the sun the snow was now melting much faster, and streams ran in every ravine.  But the stalwart young peasant, Jean Castel of Lorraine, was sure of his footing, and he advanced steadily toward his goal.

Germans in rifle pits saw the figure coming their way, and several officers examined it critically with their glasses.  All pronounced the stranger obviously a peasant, and they were equally sure that he could do them no harm.  He was coming straight toward their pits and so they awaited him with some curiosity.

John presently caught the shimmer of sun on bayonets, and he knew now that he would soon reach the German earthworks.  His first care after Delaunois left him, had been to destroy the passport that General Vaugirard had given him and there was not a scratch of writing about him to identify him as John Scott.

Whistling louder than ever, and looking vacant of countenance, he walked boldly toward the first rifle pit, and, when the sharp hail of the German sentry came, he promptly threw up his hands.  An officer whom he took to be a lieutenant and four or five men came toward him.  All wore heavy gray overcoats and they were really boys rather than men; not one of them, including the officers, seeming to be more than twenty.  But they were large and muscular, heavily tanned by wind and snow and rain.

John had learned to read character, and as he walked carelessly toward them he nevertheless watched them keenly.  And so watching he judged that they were honest youths, ready to like or hate, according to orders from the men higher up, but by nature simple and direct.  He did not feel any fear of them.