“In my heart.  Every beat tells me that this Paris of ours is not for the Germans.  We will yet turn them back!”

He reminded John of Lannes in his dramatic intensity, real and not affected, a true part of his nature.  Its effect, too, upon the American was powerful.  He had given courage to Lannes, and now Bougainville, that little Apache of the Butte Montmartre, was giving new strength to his own weakening heart.  Fresh life flowed back into his veins and he remembered that he, too, had beheld a sign, the flash of light on the Arc de Triomphe.

“I think we have seen enough here, Geronimo,” he said lightly, “and we’ll descend.  I’ve a friend to meet later.  Which way do you go from the church?”

“To the army.  I shall be in a uniform tonight, and tomorrow maybe I shall meet the Germans.”

John held out his hand and the Apache seized it in a firm clasp.

“I believe in you, as I hope you believe in me,” said young Scott.  “I belong to a company called the Strangers, made up chiefly of Americans and English, and commanded by Captain Daniel Colton.  If you’re on the battle line and hear of the Strangers there too I should like for you to hunt me up if you can.  I’d do the same for you, but I don’t yet know to what force you will belong.”

Bougainville promised and they walked down to the second platform, where Father Pelletier was still standing.

“What did you see?” he asked of John, unable to hide the eagerness in his eyes.

“Uhlans, Father Pelletier, and I fancied that I heard the echo of a German forty-two centimeter.  Would you care to use the glasses?  The view from this floor is almost as good as it is from the lantern.”

John distinctly saw the priest shudder.

“No,” he replied.  “I could not bear it.  I shall pray today that our enemies may be confounded; tomorrow I shall throw off the gown of a priest and put on the coat of a soldier.”

“Another sign,” said John to himself, as they continued the descent.  “Even the priests will fight.”

When they were once more in the narrow streets of Montmartre, John said farewell to Bougainville.

“Geronimo,” he said, “I expect to see you leading a victorious charge directly into the heart of the German army.”

“If I can meet your hopes I will, Monsieur Scott,” said the young Frenchman gayly, “and now, au revoir, I depart for my uniform and arms, which must be of the best.”

John smiled as he walked down the hill.  His heart had warmed toward the little Apache who might not be any Apache at all.  Nevertheless the name Geronimo seemed to suit him, and he meant to think of him by it until his valor won him a better.

He saw from the slopes the same endless stream of people leaving Paris.  They knew that the Germans were near, and report brought them yet nearer.  The tale of the monster guns had traveled fast, and the shells might be falling among them at any moment.  Aeroplanes dotted the skies, but they paid little attention to them.  They still thought of war under the old conditions, and to the great mass of the people flying machines were mere toys.