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!”