His new decoration was given him at four o’clock on a beautiful summer afternoon.  Guynemer’s comrades were present, of course, and as pleased as if the function had concerned themselves.  The 11th Company of the 82d Regiment of Infantry took its station opposite the imposing row of squadron machines, sixty in number, which stood there like race horses as if to take part in the fete.  Guynemer’s well-known airplane, the Vieux-Charles, was the fifth to the left, its master having required its presence, though it had been injured that very day.  In front of the aviation and regimental flags the young aviator stood by himself in his black vareuse, looking slight and pale, but upright, with eyes sparkling.  At a little distance a few civilians—­his own people, whom the general had invited—­watched the proceedings.

General Franchet d’Esperey appeared, a robust, energetic man, and the following scene, described by one of the trench papers—­the Brise d’entonnoirs of the 82d Infantry—­took place:  “The general stopped before the young hero and eyed him with evident pleasure; then he proclaimed him a gallant soldier, touched his two shoulders with his sword, as they did to champions of past ages, pinned the rosette on his coat, and embraced him.  Then to the stirring tune of ‘Sambre-et-Meuse’ the band and the soldiers marched in front of the new officer who, the ceremony now being over, joined his relatives some distance away.”

General d’Esperey, looking over Guynemer’s Vieux-Charles, noticed the damaged parts.

“How comes it that your foot was not injured?” he asked, pointing to one of the bullet-holes.

“I had just removed it, mon general,” said Guynemer, with his usual simplicity.

None of the airmen with whom Guynemer shared his joy ever forgot that afternoon of July 5, 1917.  The summer sun, the serene beauty of the hills bordering the Aisne, the distant bass of the battle, lent to the scene an enchanting but solemn interest.  Tragic memories were in the minds of all the bystanders, and great names were on their lips—­the names of retiring, noble, hard-working Dorme, reported missing on May 25, and of Captain Lecour-Grandmaison, creator of the three-seaters, who, on one of these machines, brought down five Germans, but was killed in a combat on May 10 and brought back to camp dead by a surviving comrade.  Guynemer’s red rosette meant glory to the great chasers, to wounded Heurtaux, to Menard and Deullin, to Auger, Fonck, Jailler, Guerin, Baudouin, and all their comrades!  And it meant glory to the pilots and observers who, always together in the discharge of duty, are not infrequently together in meeting death:  to Lieutenant Fressagues, pilot, and sous-lieutenant Bouvard, observer, who once fought seven Germans and managed to bring one down; to Lieutenant Floret and Lieutenant Homo, who, placed in similar circumstances, set two machines