It was now about noon.  The rain the night before had given fresh tints to the green of grass and foliage.  The whole earth, indifferent to the puny millions that struggled on its vast bosom, seemed refreshed and revitalized.  A modest little bird in brown plumage perched on a bough near them, and, indifferent too, to war, poured forth a brilliant volume of song.

“Happy little fellow,” John said.  “Nothing to do but eat and sleep and sing.”

“Unless he’s snapped up by some bigger bird,” said Weber, “but having been an hour without callers we’re now about to have a new one.  And as this comes from the west it’s likely to be French.”

John felt excitement, and stood up.  Yes, there was the machine coming out of the blue haze in the west, soaring beautifully and fast.  It was very high, but his eye, trained now, saw that it was descending gradually.  He felt an intense hope that it was Lannes, but he soon knew that it was not lie.  The approaching machine could not possibly be the Arrow.

“It’s a Bleriot monoplane,” said Weber.  “I can tell the type almost as far as I can see it.  It’s much like a gigantic bird, with powerful parchment wings mounted upon a strong body.  The wings as you see now present a concave surface to the earth.  They always do that.  The flyer sits between the two wings and has in front of him the lever with which he controls the whole affair.”

“You seem to know a good deal about flying machines, Weber.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve observed them a lot.  I’ve always been curious about them and I’ve attended the great flying meets at Rheims, but personally I’m a coward about heights.  I study the types of these wonderful machines, but I don’t go up in ’em.  That’s a little fellow coming now and he’s seen the flag.”

“There’s only one man in the plane, but as he’s undoubtedly French what do you think we ought to do?  He can’t carry us away with him in the machine, it’s too small.  Do you think we should signal him to come to the ground and have a talk?”

“Perhaps we’d better let him pass, Mr. Scott.  We have no real information to give.  He might suspect that we are Germans and a lot of time would be lost maneuvering.  Suppose we remain in hiding, and say nothing until Lannes himself appears.”

“You still feel sure that he will come?”

“It’s a conviction.”

“Same way with me, and I agree with you that we’d better let our friend in the Bleriot go by.  He’s descending fast now.  The plane certainly does look like a bird.  Reminds me somewhat of a German Taube, though this machine is much smaller.”

“The pilot will take only a look or two at the flag.  Then, if we don’t hail him, he’ll sail swiftly back to the west.”

“For good reasons too.  The air here is chiefly in the German sphere of influence, and if I were in his place I’d take to my heels too at a single glance.”

“That’s what he’s doing now.  He’s flying past the flag just as one of the Germans did.  He leans over to take a look at it, can’t make out what it means, glances back apprehensively toward the German quarter of the heavens, and now he’s sliding like a streak through the blue for French air.”