The Forest of Swords: A Story of Paris and the Marne. Altsheler Joseph Alexander

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      "I believe the earth has ceased to be your natural element," he said. "You're happiest when you're in the Arrow about a mile above our planet."

      Lannes laughed also, and with appreciation. The friendship between the two young men was very strong, and it had in it all the quality of permanence. Their very unlikeness in character and temperament made them all the better comrades. What one could not do the other could.

      As they walked along now they said but little. Each was striving to read what he could in that great book, the streets of Paris. John believed Lannes had not yet told him his whole mission. He knew that in their short stay in Paris Philip had spent an hour in the office of the military governor of the city, and his business must be of great importance to require an hour from a man who carried such a fearful weight of responsibility. But whatever Lannes' secret might be, it was his own and he had no right to pry into it. If the time came for his comrade to tell it he would do so.

      When they reached the Seine the city did not seem so quiet. They heard the continuous sound of marching troops and people were still departing through the streets toward the country or the provincial cities. The flight went on by night as well as day, and John again felt the overwhelming pity of it.

      He wondered what the French generals and their English allies would do? Did they have any possible way of averting this terrible crisis? They had met nothing but defeat, and the vast German army had crashed, unchecked, through everything from the border almost to the suburbs of Paris.

      They stood in the Place Valhubert at the entrance to the Pont d'Austerlitz, and watched a regiment crossing the river, the long blue coats and red trousers of the men outlined against the white body of the bridge. The soldiers were short, they looked little to John, but they were broad of chest and they marched splendidly with a powerful swinging stride.

      "From the Midi," said Lannes. "Look how dark they are! France is called a Latin nation, but I doubt whether the term is correct. These men of the Midi though are the real Latins. We of northern France, I suspect, are more Teutonic than anything else, but we are all knitted together in one race, heart and soul, which are stronger ties than blood."

      "We are to go early in the morning, are we not, Philip?"

      "Yes, early. The Arrow is at the hangar, all primed and eager for a flight, fearful of growing rusty from a long rest."

      "I believe you actually look upon your plane as a human being."

      "A human being, yes, and more. No human being could carry me above the clouds. No human being could obey absolutely and without question the simplest touch of my hand. The Arrow is not human, John, it is superhuman. You have seen its exploits."

      The dark emitted a figure that advanced toward them, and took the shape of a man with black hair, a short close beard and an intelligent face. He approached John and Lannes and looked at them closely.

      "Mr. Scott!" he exclaimed, with eagerness, "I did not know what had become of you. I was afraid you were lost in one of the battles!"

      "Why, it's Weber!" said John, "our comrade of the flight in the automobile! And I was afraid that you too, were dead!"

      The two shook hands with great heartiness and Lannes joined in the reunion. He too at once liked Weber, who always made the impression of courage and quickness. He wore a new uniform, olive in color with dark blue threads through it, and it became him, setting off his trim, compact figure.

      "How did you get here, Mr. Weber?" asked John.

      "I scarcely know," he replied. "My duties are to a certain extent those of a messenger, but I was caught in the last battle, wounded slightly, and separated from the main French force. The little company which I had formed tried to break through the German columns, but they were all killed or captured except myself, and maybe two or three others. I hid in a wood, slept a night there, and then reached Paris to see what is going to happen. Ah, it is terrible! terrible! my comrades! The Germans are advancing in five great armies, a million and a half strong, and no troops were ever before equipped so magnificently."

      "Do you know positively that they have a million and a half?" asked Lannes.

      "I did not count them," replied Weber, smiling a little, "but I have heard from many certain sources that such are their numbers. I fear, gentlemen, that Paris is doomed."

      "Scott and I don't think so," said Lannes firmly. "We've gained new courage today."

      Weber was silent for a few moments. Then he said, giving Lannes his title as an officer:

      "I've heard of you, Lieutenant Lannes. Who does not know the name of France's most daring aviator? And doubtless you have information which is unknown to me. It is altogether likely that one who pierces the air like an eagle should bear messages between generals of the first rank."

      Lannes did not answer, but looked at Weber, who smiled.

      "Perhaps our trades are not so very different," said the Alsatian, "but you shoot through clouds while I crawl on the ground. You have a great advantage of me in method."

      Lannes smiled back. The little tribute was pleasing to the dramatic instinct so strong in him.

      "You and I, Mr. Weber," he said, "know enough never to speak of what we're going to do. Now, we'll bid you good night and wish you good luck. I'd like to be a prophet, even for a day only, and tell what the morrow would bring."

      "So do I," said Weber, "and I must hurry on my own errand. It may not be of great importance, but is vital to me that I do it."

      He slid away in the darkness and both John and Lannes spoke well of him as they returned to the house. Picard admitted them.

      "May I ask, sir, if there is any news that favors France?" he said to Philip.

      "Not yet, my good Antoine, but it is surely coming."

      John heard the giant Frenchman smother a sigh, but he made no comment, and walked softly with Lannes to the little room high up that had been assigned to him. Here when he was alone with his candle he looked around curiously.

      The room was quite simple, not containing much furniture, in truth, nothing of any note save on the wall a fine picture of the great Marshal Lannes, Napoleon's dauntless fighter, and stern republican, despite the ducal title that he took. It was a good portrait, painted perhaps by some great artist, and John holding up the candle, looked at it a long time.

      He thought he could trace some likeness to Philip. Lannes' face was always stern, in repose, far beyond his years, although when he became animated it had all the sunniness of youth. But he noticed now that he had the same tight lips of the Marshal, and the same unfaltering eyes.

      "Duke of Montebello!" said John to himself. "Well, you won that title grandly, and while the younger Lannes may do as well, if the chance comes to him, the new heroes of France will be neither dukes nor princes."

      Then, after removing all the stiff pillows, inclines, foot pieces and head pieces that make European beds so uncomfortable, he slipped between the covers, and slid quickly into a long and soothing sleep, from which he was awakened apparently about a minute later by Lannes himself, who stood over him, dressed fully, tall and serious.

      "Why, I just got into bed!" exclaimed John.

      "You came in here a full seven hours ago. Open your window and you'll see the dawn creeping over Paris."

      "Thank СКАЧАТЬ