“Father, war is nothing else.  One must pull on, even if the rope should threaten to snap.”

It was the first time that M. Guynemer had given undisguised advice, and he urged his point.

“Why not stop awhile?  Your record is pretty good; you might form younger pilots, and in time go back to your squadron.”

“Yes, and people would say that, hoping for no more distinctions, I have given up fighting.”

“What does it matter?  Let people talk, and when you reappear in better condition they will understand.  You know I never gave you a word of advice which the whole world could not hear.  I always helped you, and you always found the most disinterested approval here in your home.  But you will admit that human strength has its limits.”

“Yes,” Georges interposed, “a limit which we must endeavor to leave behind.  We have given nothing as long as we have not given everything.”

M. Guynemer said no more.  He felt that he had probed his son’s soul to the depths, and his pride in his hero did not diminish his sorrow.  When they parted he concealed his anguish, but he watched the boy, thinking he would never see him again.  His wife and daughters, too, stood on the threshold oppressed by the same feelings, trying to suppress their anxiety and finding no words to veil it.

In the Iliad, Hector, after breaking into the Greek camp like a dark whirlwind unexpectedly sweeping the land, and which the gods alone could stop, returns to Troy and stopping at the Scaean gates waits for Achilles, who he knows must be wild to avenge Patroclus.  Old Priam sees his son’s danger, and beseeches him not to seek his antagonist.  Hecuba joins her tears to his supplications.  But tears and entreaties avail little, and Hector, turning a deaf ear to his parents, walks out to meet Achilles, as he thinks, but indeed to meet his own fate.

On September 4, Guynemer was at the flying field of Saint-Pol-sur-Mer near Dunkirk.  His old friend, Captain Heurtaux, so long Commander of the Storks, was not there; he had been wounded the day before by an explosive bullet, and the English had picked up and evacuated him.  Heurtaux possessed infinite tact, and had not infrequently succeeded in influencing the rebellious Guynemer; but nobody was there to replace him.  September 5 was a day of extraordinary activity for Guynemer.  His magic airplane was still at the works, where he had complained of not having another in reserve; and not being able to wait for it, he sent for his old machine and immediately attacked a D.F.W. at close quarters, as usual; but the Boche was saved by the jamming of both of Guynemer’s guns, and the aviator had to get back to his landing-ground.  Furious at this failure, he promptly soared up again and attacked a chain of five one-seated planes, hitting two, which however managed to protect each other and escape.  After two hours and a half, Guynemer went home again, overhauled his guns, found a trigger out