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.