He spoke with so much magnanimity that John was compelled to laugh.  Geronimo laughed, too, showing splendid white teeth.  The understanding between them was now perfect.

“I must talk with Father Pelletier,” said John.  “Until you’re a great man, as you’re going to be, Geronimo, I suppose I can be spokesman.  After that it will be your part to befriend me.”

On the second platform they found Father Pelletier, a tall young priest with a fine but severe face, who looked with curiosity at John, and with disapproval at the Apache.

“You are Father Pelletier, I believe,” said John with his disarming smile.  “These are unusual times, but I wish to go up into the lantern.  I am an American, though, as you can see by my uniform, I am a soldier of France.”

“But your companion, sir?  He has a bad reputation in the quarter.  When he should come to the church he does not, and now when he should not he does.”

“That reputation of which you speak, Father Pelletier, will soon pass.  Another, better and greater will take its place.  Our friend here, and perhaps both of us will be proud to call him so some day, leaves soon to fight for France.”

The priest looked again at Bougainville, and his face softened.  The little Apache met his glance with a firm and open gaze, and his figure seemed to swell again, and to radiate strength.  Perhaps the priest saw in his eyes the same spark that John had noticed there.

“It is a time when France needs all of her sons,” he said, “and even those who have not deserved well of her before may do great deeds for her now.  You can pass.”

Bougainville walked close to Father Pelletier, and John heard him say in low tones: 

“I feel within me the power to achieve, and when you see me again you will recognize it.”

The priest nodded and his friendly hand lay for a moment on the other’s shoulder.

“Come on, Geronimo,” said John cheerfully.  “As I remember it’s nearly a hundred steps into the lantern, and that’s quite a climb.”

“Not for youth like ours,” exclaimed Bougainville, and he ran upward so lightly that the American had some difficulty in following him.  John was impressed once more by his extraordinary strength and agility, despite his smallness.  He seemed to be a mass of highly wrought steel spring.  But unwilling to be beaten by anybody, John raced with him and the two stood at the same time upon the utmost crest of the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur.

They paused a few moments for fresh breath and then John put the glasses to his eye, sweeping them in a slow curve.  Through the powerful lenses he saw the vast circle of Paris, and all the long story of the past that it called up.  Two thousand years of history rolled beneath his feet, and the spectacle was wholly magnificent.

He beheld the great green valley with its hills, green, too, the line of the Seine cutting the city apart like the flash of a sword blade, the golden dome of the Hotel des Invalides, the grinning gargoyles of Notre Dame, the arches and statues and fountains and the long green ribbons that marked the boulevards.