“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.”