The start was made quickly. John found that the women with surgical supplies were traveling in carts. The soldiers, about twenty in number, walked. John and the doctor walked with them. All the automobiles were in use carrying troops to the front, but the carts were strong and comfortable and John did not mind. It ought to be a pleasant trip.



CHAPTER XIII

THE MIDDLE AGES

The little party moved away without attracting notice. In a time of such prodigious movement the going or coming of a few individuals was a matter of no concern. The hood that Julie Lannes had drawn over her hair and face, and her plain brown dress might have been those of a nun. She too passed before unseeing eyes.

Lieutenant Legare was a neutral person, arousing no interest in John who walked by the side of the gigantic Picard, the stalwart Suzanne being in one of the carts beside Julie. The faint throbbing of the guns, now a distinct part of nature, came to them from a line many miles away, but John took no notice of it. He had returned to the world among pleasant people, and this was one of the finest mornings in early autumn that he had ever seen.

The country was much more heavily forested than usual. At points, the woods turned into what John would almost have called a real forest. Then they could not see very far ahead or to either side, but the road was good and the carts moved forward, though not at a pace too great for the walkers.

Picard carried a rifle over his shoulders, and John had secured an automatic. All the soldiers were well armed. John felt a singular lightness of heart, and, despite the forbidding glare of Suzanne, who was in the last cart, he spoke to Julie.

"It's too fine a morning for battle," he said in English. "Let's pretend that we're a company of troubadours, minnesingers, jongleurs, acrobats and what not, going from one great castle to another."

"I suppose Antoine there is the chief acrobat?"

"He might do a flip-flap, but if he did the earth would shake."

"Then you are the chief troubadour. Where is your harp or viol, Sir Knight of the Tuneful Road?"

"I'm merely imagining character, not action. I haven't a harp or a viol, and if I had them I couldn't play on either."

"Do you think it right to talk In English to the strange young American, Mademoiselle? Would Madame your mother approve?" said Suzanne in a fierce whisper.

"It is sometimes necessary in war, Suzanne, to talk where one would not do so in peace," replied Julie gravely, and then she said to John again in English:

"We cannot carry out the pretense, Mr. Scott. The tuneful or merry folk of the Middle Ages did not travel with arms. They had no enemies, and they were welcome everywhere. Nor did they travel as we do to the accompaniment of war. The sound of the guns grows louder."

"So it does," said John, bending an ear—he had forgotten that a battle was raging somewhere, "but we're behind the French lines and it cannot touch us."

"It was a wonderful victory. Our soldiers are the bravest in the world are they not, Mr. Scott?"

John smiled. They were still talking English. He liked to hear her piquant pronunciation of it, and he surmised too that the bravest of hearts beat in the bosom of this young girl whom war had suddenly made a woman. How could the sister of such a man as Lannes be otherwise than brave? The sober brown dress, and the hood equally sober, failed to hide her youthful beauty. The strands of hair escaping from the hood showed pure gold in the sunshine, and in the same sunshine the blue of her eyes seemed deeper than ever.

John was often impressed by the weakness of generalities, and one of them was the fact that so many of the French were so fair, and so many of the English so dark. He did not remember the origin of the Lannes family, but he was sure that through her mother's line, at least, she must be largely of Norman blood.

"What are you thinking of so gravely, Mr. Scott?" she asked, still in English, to the deep dissatisfaction of Suzanne, who never relaxed her grim glare.

"I don't know. Perhaps it was the contrast of our peaceful journey to what is going on twelve or fifteen miles away."

"It is beautiful here!" she said.

Truly it was. The road, smooth and white, ran along the slopes of hills, crested with open forest, yet fresh and green. Below them were fields of chequered brown and green. Four or five clear brooks flowed down the slopes, and the sheen of a little river showed in the distance. Three small villages were in sight, and, clean white smoke rising from their chimneys, blended harmoniously into the blue of the skies. It reminded John of pictures by the great French landscape painters. It was all so beautiful and peaceful, nor was the impression marred by the distant mutter of the guns which he had forgotten again.

Julie and Suzanne, her menacing shadow, dismounted from the wagon presently and walked with John and Picard. Lieutenant Legare was stirred enough from his customary phlegm to offer some gallant words, but war, the great leveler, had not quite leveled all barriers, so far as he was concerned, and, after her polite reply, he returned to his martial duties. John had become the friend of the Lannes family through his association with Philip in dangerous service, and his position was recognized.

The road ascended and the forest became deeper. No houses were now in sight. As the morning advanced it had grown warmer under a brilliant sun, but it was pleasant here in the shade. Julie still walked, showing no sign of a wish for the cart again. John noticed that she was very strong, or at least very enduring. Suddenly he felt a great obligation to take care of her for the sake of Lannes. The sister of his comrade-in-arms was a precious trust in his hands, and he must not fail.

The wind shifted and blew toward the east, no longer bringing the sound of guns. Instead they heard a bird now and then, chattering or singing in a tree. The illusion of the Middle Ages returned to John. They were a peaceful troupe, going upon a peaceful errand.

"Don't tell me there isn't a castle at Menouville," he said. "I know there is, although I've never been there, and I never heard of the place before. When we arrive the drawbridge will be down and the portcullis up. All the men-at-arms will have burnished their armor brightly and will wait respectfully in parallel rows to welcome us as we pass between. His Grace, the Duke of Light Heart, in a suit of red velvet will be standing on the steps, and Her Graciousness, the Duchess, in a red brocade dress, with her hair powdered and very high on her head, will be by his side to greet our merry troupe. Behind them will be all the ducal children, and the knights and squires and pages, and ladies. I think they will all be very glad to see us, because in these Middle Ages of ours, life, even in a great ducal castle, is somewhat lonely. Visitors are too rare, and there is not the variety of interest that even the poor will have in a later time."

"You make believe well, Mr. Scott," she said.

"There is inspiration," he said, glancing at her. "We are here in the deeps of an ancient wood, and perhaps the stories and legends of these old lands move the Americans more than they do the people who live here. We're the children of Europe and when we look back to the land of our fathers we often see it through a kind of glorified mist."

"The wind is shifting again," she said. "I hear the cannon once more."

"So do I, and I hear something else too! Was that the sound of hoofs?"

John turned in sudden alarm to Legare, who heard also and stiffened at once to attention. They were not alone on the road. The rapid beat of hoofs came, and around a corner galloped a mass of Uhlans, helmets and lances glittering. Picard with a shout of warning fired his rifle into the thick of them. Legare snatched out his revolver and fired also.

But they had no chance. The little detachment was ridden down in an instant. Legare and half of the men died gallantly. The rest were taken. Picard had been brought to his knees by a tremendous blow from the butt of a lance, and John, who had instinctively sprung before Julie, was overpowered. Suzanne, who endeavored to reach a weapon, fought like a tigress, but two Uhlans finally subdued her.

It was so swift and sudden that it scarcely seemed real to John, but there were the dead bodies lying ghastly in the road, and there stood Julie, as pale as death, but not trembling. The leader of the Uhlans pushed his helmet back a little from his forehead, and looked down at John, who had been disarmed but who stood erect and defiant.

"It is odd, Mr. Scott," said Captain von Boehlen, "how often the fortunes of this war have caused us to meet."

"It is, and sometimes fortune favors one, sometimes the other. You're in favor now."

Von Boehlen looked steadily at his prisoner. John thought that the strength and heaviness of the jaw were even more pronounced than when he had first seen the Prussian in Dresden. The face was tanned deeply, and face and figure alike seemed the embodiment of strength. One might dislike him, but one could not despise him. John even found it in his heart to respect him, as he returned the steady gaze of the blue eyes with a look equally as firm.

"I hope," said John, "that you will send back Mademoiselle Lannes and the nurses with her to her people. I take it that you're not making war upon women."

Von Boehlen gave Julie a quick glance of curiosity and admiration. But the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless.

"I know of one Lannes," he said, "Philip Lannes, the aviator, a name that fame has brought to us Germans."

"I am his sister," said Julie.

"I can wish, Mademoiselle Lannes," said von Boehlen, politely in French, "that we had captured your brother instead of his sister."

"But as I said, you will send them back to their own people? You don't make war upon women?" repeated John.

"No, we do not make war upon women. We are making war upon Frenchmen, and I do not hesitate to say in the presence of Mademoiselle Lannes that this war is made upon very brave Frenchmen. Yet we cannot send the ladies back. The presence of our cavalry here within the French lines must not be known to our enemies. Moreover, I obey the orders of another, and I am compelled to hold them as prisoners—for a while at least."

Von Boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. It was more than respectful when he spoke directly to Julie Lannes, and John's feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement—he was a creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.

"You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said John.

"I know of no reason to the contrary," replied von Boehlen briefly. Then he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts. Dismounted Uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road into the woods, von Boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number, rode on down the road.

John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin. He had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes' sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners. But when he saw the face of Antoine Picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he. The gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well. His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. John could see that they were cutting into the flesh. He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform. He was in German eyes only a franc tireur, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed.

"Save your strength, Antoine," he whispered soothingly. "We'll need it later. I've been a prisoner before and I escaped. What's been done once can be done again. In such a huge and confused war as this there's always a good chance."

"Ah, you're right, Monsieur," said Antoine, and he ceased to struggle.

Julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at John confidently. She was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.

"They cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days," she said.

John was silent, turning away his somber face. He did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in Julie. They were following a little path through the woods, the German drivers and German guards seeming to know well the way. John, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the German army and that they would pass unobserved beyond the French outposts. The path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation. He was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards. The leader rode beside the carts and said in very good French that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly. No exception would be made in the case of a woman.

John knew that the threat would be kept. Julie Lannes paled a little, and the faithful Suzanne by her side was darkly menacing, but they showed no other emotion.

"Don't risk anything," said John in the lowest of whispers. "It would be useless."

Julie nodded. The carts moved on down the gorge, their wheels and the hoofs of the horses making but little noise on the soft turf. The crash of the guns was now distinctly louder and far ahead they saw wisps of smoke floating above the trees. John was sure that the German batteries were there, but he was equally sure that even had he glasses he could not have seen them. They would certainly be masked in some adroit fashion.

The roaring also grew on their right and left. That must be the French cannon, and soon they would be beyond the French lines. His bitterness increased. Nothing could be more galling than to be carried in this manner through one's own forces and into the camp of the enemy. And there was Julie, sitting quiet and pale, apparently without fear.

He reckoned that they rode at least three miles in the gorge. Then they came into a shallow stream about twenty feet wide that would have been called a creek at home. Its banks were fairly high, lined on one side by a hedge and on the other by willows. Instead of following the path any further the Germans turned into the bed of the stream and drove down it two or three miles. The roar of the artillery from both armies was now very great, and the earth shook. Once John caught the shadow of a huge shell passing high over their heads.

All the prisoners knew that they were well beyond hope of rescue for the present. The French line was far behind them and they were within the German zone. It was better to be resigned, until they saw cause for hope.

When they came to a low point in the eastern bank of the stream the carts turned out, reached a narrow road between lines of poplars and continued their journey eastward. In the fields on either side John saw detachments of German infantry, skirmishers probably, as they had not yet reached the line of cannon.

"Officer," said John to the German leader, "couldn't you unbind the arms of my friend in the cart here? Ropes around one's wrists for a long time are painful, and since we're within your lines he has no chance of escape now."

The officer looked at Picard and shrugged his shoulders.

"Giants are strong," he said.

"But a little bullet can lay low the greatest of them."

"That is so."

He leaned from his horse, inserted the point of his sword between Picard's wrists and deftly cut the rope without breaking the skin. Picard clenched and unclenched his hands and drew several mighty breaths of relief. But he was a peasant of fine manners and he did not forget them. Turning to the officer, he said:

"I did not think I'd ever thank a German for anything, but I owe you gratitude. It's unnatural and painful to remain trussed up like a fowl going to market."

The officer gave Picard a glance of pity and rode to the head of the column, which turned off at a sharp angle toward the north. The great roar and crash now came from the south and John inferred that they would soon pass beyond the zone of fire. But for a long time the thunder of the battle was undiminished.

"Do you know this country at all?" John asked Picard.

The giant shook his head.

"I was never here before, sir," he said, "and I never thought I should come into any part of France in this fashion. Ah, Mademoiselle Julie, how can I ever tell the tale of this to your mother?"

"No harm will come to me, Antoine," said Julie. "I shall be back in Paris before long. Suzanne and you are with me—and Mr. Scott."

Suzanne again frowned darkly, but John gave Julie a grateful glance. Wisdom, however, told him to say nothing. The officer in command came back to the cart and said, pointing ahead:

"Behold your destination! The large house on the hill. It is the headquarters of a person of importance, and you will find quarters there also. I trust that the ladies will hold no ill will against me. I've done only what my orders have compelled me to do."

"We do not, sir," said Julie.

The officer bowed low and rode back to the head of the column. He was a gallant man and John liked him. But his attention was directed now to the house, an old French chateau standing among oaks. The German flag flew over it and sentinels rode back and forth on the lawn. John remembered the officer's words that a "person of importance" was making his headquarters there. It must be one of the five German army commanders, at least.

He looked long at the chateau. It was much such a place as that in which Carstairs, Wharton and he had once found refuge, and from the roof of which Wharton had worked the wireless with so much effect. But houses of this type were numerous throughout Western Europe.

It was only two stories in height, large, with long low windows, and the lawn was more like a park in size. It as now the scene of abundant life, although, as John knew instinctively, not the life of those to whom it belonged. A number of young officers sat on the grass reading, and at the edge of the grounds stood a group of horses with their riders lying on the ground near them. Not far away were a score of high powered automobiles, several of which were armored. John also saw beyond them a battery of eight field guns, idle now and with their gunners asleep beside them. He had no doubt that other troops in thousands were not far away and that, in truth, they were in the very thick of the German army.

The chateau and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. A group of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized the young prince, von Arnheim. It was impossible for him to regard von Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart he said:

"I had to leave you for a while. It had become irksome to be a prisoner, but you see I've come back."

Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.

"Ah, it's Scott, the American! I speak truth when I say that I'm sorry to see you here."

"I'm sorry to come," said John, "but I'd rather be your prisoner than anybody else's, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard."

"I'll do what I can, but you're mistaken in assuming that I'm in command here. There's a higher personage—but pardon me, I must speak to the lieutenant."

The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report and have done with an unpleasant duty. Von Arnheim gave him rapid directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.

John saw von Arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner. He lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:

"It's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes. In this chateau you must consider yourself a guest, and not a captive. It would not become us to treat otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother."

John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. It was indirect, coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever, because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. The brown dress and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. She was beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more than a child, and she had come into strange places. The stalwart Suzanne also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look deepened.

"We will give you the best hospitality the house affords," continued von Arnheim. "It's scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners left—"

He paused and reddened. John knew his embarrassment was due to the fact that the house to which he was inviting Julie belonged to one of her own countrymen. But she did not seem to notice it. The manner and appearance of von Arnheim inspired confidence.

"We'll be put with the other prisoners, of course," said John tentatively.

"I don't know," replied von Arnheim. "That rests with my superior, whom you shall soon see."

They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the young prince as he passed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere. The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline. A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John thought so.

The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered the chateau. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was troubled.

Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood, even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not like it at all. The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they stood had set the torch to Europe.

"Captain von Boehlen took some prisoners, Your Highness," said von Arnheim, "and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has sent them here under the escort of Lieutenant Puttkamer. The young lady is Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man, whom we have seen before, is an American, John Scott in the French service."

He spoke in French, with intention, John thought, and the heavy-lidded eyes of Auersperg dwelt an instant on the fresh and beautiful face of Julie. And that momentary glance was wholly medieval. John saw it and understood it. A rage against Auersperg that would never die flamed up in his heart. He already hated everything for which the man stood. Auersperg's glance passed on, and slowly measured the gigantic figure of Picard. Then he smiled in a slow and ugly fashion.

"Ah, a peasant in civilian's dress, captured fighting our brave armies! Our orders are very strict upon that point. Von Arnheim, take this franc tireur behind the chateau and have him shot at once."

He too had spoken in French, and doubtless with intention also. John felt a thrill of horror, but Julie Lannes, turning white, sprang before Picard:

"No! No!" she cried to Auersperg. "You cannot do such a thing! He is not a soldier! They would not take him because he is too old! He is my mother's servant! It would be barbarous to have him shot!"

Auersperg looked again at Julie, and smiled, but it was the slow, cold smile of a master.

"You beg very prettily, Mademoiselle," he said.

She flushed, but stood firm.

"It would be murder," she said. "You cannot do it!"

"You know little of war. This man is a franc tireur, a civilian in civilian's garb, fighting against us. It is our law that all such who are caught be shot immediately."

"Your Highness," said von Arnheim, "I have reason to think that the lady's story is correct. This man's daughter is her maid, and he is obviously a servant of her house."

Auersperg turned his slow, heavy look upon the young Prussian, but John noticed that von Arnheim met it without flinching, although Picard had really fired upon the Germans. He surmised that von Arnheim was fully as high-born as Auersperg, and perhaps more so. John knew that these things counted for a lot in Germany, however ridiculous they might seem to a democratic people. Nevertheless Auersperg spoke with irony:

"Your heart is overworking, von Arnheim," he said "Sometimes I fear that it is too soft for a Prussian. Our Emperor and our Fatherland demand that we shall turn hearts of steel to our enemies, and never spare them. But it may be, my brave Wilhelm, that your sympathy is less for this hulking peasant and more for the fair face of the lady whom he serves."

John saw Julie's face flush a deep red, and his hand stole down to his belt, but no weapon was there. Von Arnheim's face reddened also, but he stood at attention before his superior officer and replied with dignity:

"I admire Mademoiselle Lannes, although I have known her only ten minutes, but I think, Your Highness, that my admiration is warranted, and also that it is not lacking in respect."

"Good for you, von Arnheim," said John, under his breath. But the medieval mind of Auersperg was not disturbed. The slow, cruel smile passed across his face again.

"You are brave my Wilhelm," he said, "but I am confirmed in my opinion that some of our princely houses have become tainted. The harm that was done when Napoleon smashed his way through Europe has never been undone. The touch of the democracy was defilement, and it does not pass. Do you think our ancestors would have wasted so much time over a miserable French peasant?"

This was a long speech, much too long for the circumstances, John thought, but von Arnheim still standing stiffly at attention, merely said:

"Your Highness I ask this man's life of you. He is not a franc tireur in the real sense."

"Since you make it a personal matter, my brave young Wilhelm, I yield. Let him be held a prisoner, but no more requests of the same kind. This is positively the last time I shall yield to such a weakness."

"Thank you, Your Highness," said von Arnheim. Julie gave him one flashing look of gratitude and stepped away from Picard, who had stood, his arms folded across his chest, refusing to utter a single word for mercy. "This indeed," thought John "is a man." Suzanne was near, and now both he and his daughter turned away relaxing in no wise their looks of grim resolution. "Here also is a woman as well as a man," thought John.

"I hope, Your Highness, that I may assign Mademoiselle Lannes and her maid to one of the upper rooms," said von Arnheim in tones respectful, but very firm. "Here also is another man," thought John.

"You may," said Auersperg shortly, "but let the peasant be sent to the stables, where the other prisoners are kept."

Two soldiers were called and they took Picard away. Julie and Suzanne followed von Arnheim to a stairway, and John was left alone with medievalism. The man wore no armor, but when only they two stood in the room his feeling that he was back in the Middle Ages was overpowering. Here was the baron, and here was he, untitled and unknown.

Auersperg glanced at Julie, disappearing up the stairway, and then glanced back at John. Over his heavy face passed the same slow cruel smile that set all John's nerves to jumping.

"Why have you, an American, come so far to fight against us?" he asked.

"I didn't come for that purpose. I was here, visiting, and I was caught in the whirl of the war, an accident, perhaps. But my sympathies are wholly with France. I fight in her ranks from choice."

Auersperg laughed unpleasantly.

"A republic!" he said. "Millions of the ignorant, led by demagogues! Bah! The Hohenzollerns will scatter them like chaff!"

"I can't positively say that I saw any Hohenzollern, but I did see their armies turned back from Paris by those ignorant people, led by their demagogues. I'm not even sure of the name of the French general who did it, but God gave him a better brain for war, though he may have been born a peasant for all I know, than he did to your Kaiser, or any king, prince, grand duke or duke in all the German armies!"

John had been tried beyond endurance and he knew that he had spoken with impulsive passion, but he knew also that he had spoken with truth. The face of Auersperg darkened. The medieval baron, full of power, without responsibility, believing implicitly in what he chose to call his order, but which was merely the chance of birth, was here. And while the Middle Ages in reality had passed, war could hide many a dark tale. John was unable to read the intent in the cruel eyes, but they heard the footsteps of von Arnheim on the stairs, and the clenched hand that had been raised fell back by Auersperg's side. Nevertheless medievalism did not relax its gaze.

"What to you is this girl who seems to have charmed von Arnheim?" he asked.

"Her brother has become my best friend. She has charmed me as she has charmed von Arnheim, and as she charms all others whom she meets. And I am pleased to tell Your Highness that the spell she casts is not alone her beauty, but even more her pure soul."

Auersperg laughed in an ugly fashion.

"Youth! Youth!" he exclaimed. "I see that the spell is upon you, even more than it is upon von Arnheim. But dismiss her from your thoughts. You go a prisoner into Germany, and it's not likely that you'll ever see her again."

Young Scott felt a sinking of the heart, but he was not one to show it.

"Prisoners may escape," he said boldly, "and what has been done once can always be done again."

"We shall see that it does not happen a second time in your case. Von Arnheim will dispose of you for the night, and even if you should succeed in stealing from the chateau there is around it a ring of German sentinels through which you could not possibly break."

Some strange kink appeared suddenly in John's brain—he was never able to account for it afterward, though Auersperg's manner rasped him terribly.

"I mean to escape," he said, "and I wager you two to one that I do."

Auersperg sat down and laughed, laughed in a way that made John's face turn red. Then he beckoned to von Arnheim.

"Take him away," he said. "He is characteristic of his frivolous democracy, frivolous and perhaps amusing, but it is a time for serious not trifling things."

John was glad enough to go with von Arnheim, who was silent and depressed. Yet the thought came to him once more that there were princes and princes. Von Arnheim led the way to a small bare room under the roof. John saw that there were soldiers in the upper halls as well as the lower, and he was sorry that he had made such a boast to Auersperg. As he now saw it his chance of escape glimmered into nothing.

"You should not have spoken so to His Highness," said von Arnheim. "I could not help but hear. He is our commander here, and it is not well to infuriate one who holds all power over you?"

"I am but human," replied John.

"And being human, you should have had complete control over yourself at such a time."

"I admit it," said John, taking the rebuke in the right spirit.

"You're to spend the night here. I've been able to secure this much lenity for you, but it's for one night only. Tomorrow you go with the other prisoners in the stables. Your door will be locked, but even if you should succeed in forcing it don't try to escape. The halls swarm with sentinels, and you would be shot instantly. I'll have food sent to you presently."

He spoke brusquely but kindly. When he went out John heard a huge key rumbling in the lock.



CHAPTER XIV

A PROMISE KEPT

The room in which John was confined contained only a bed, a chair and a table. It was lighted by a single window, from which he could see numerous soldiers below. He also heard the distant mutter of the cannon, which seemed now to have become a part of nature. There were periods of excitement or of mental detachment, when he did not notice it, but it was always there. Now the soldiers in the grounds were moving but little, and the air pulsed with the thud of the great guns.

He recalled again his promise, or rather threat, to Auersperg that he would escape. Instinctively he went to the narrow but tall window and glanced at the heavens. Then he knew that impulse had made him look for Lannes and the Arrow, and he laughed at his own folly. Even if Lannes knew where they were he could not slip prisoners out of a house, surrounded by watchful German troops.

He heard the heavy key turning in the lock, and a silent soldier brought him food, which he put upon the table. The man remained beside the door until John had eaten his supper, when he took the dishes and withdrew. He had not spoken a word while he was in the room, but as he was passing out John said:

"Good-bye, Pickelbaube! Let's have no ill feeling between you and me."

The German—honest peasant that he was—grinned and nodded. He could not understand the English words, but he gathered from John's tone that they were friendly, and he responded at once. But when he closed the door behind him John heard the heavy key turning in the lock again. He knew there was little natural hostility between the people of different nations. It was instilled into them from above.

Food brought back new strength and new courage. He took his place again at the window which was narrow and high, cut through a deep wall. The illusion of the Middle Ages, which Auersperg had created so completely, returned. This was the dungeon in a castle and he was a prisoner doomed to death by its lord. Some dismounted Uhlans who were walking across the grounds with their long lances over their shoulders gave another touch to this return of the past, as the first rays of the moonlight glittered on helmet and lance-head.

He was not sleepy at all, and staying by the window he kept a strange watch. He saw white flares appear often on a long line in the west. He knew it was the flashing of the searchlights, and he surmised that what he saw was meant for signals. The fighting would go on under steady light continued long, and that it would continue admitted of no doubt. He could hear the mutter of the guns, ceaseless like the flowing of a river.

He saw the battery drive out of the grounds, then turn into the road before the chateau and disappear. He concluded that the cannon were needed at some weak point where the Franco-British army was pressing hard.

Then a company of hussars came from the forest and rode quietly into the grounds, where they dismounted. John saw that many, obviously the wounded, were helped from their horses. In battle, he concluded, and not so far off. Perhaps not more than two or three miles. Rifle-fire, with the wind blowing the wrong way, would not be heard that distance.

The hussars, leading their horses, disappeared in a wood behind the house, and they were followed presently by a long train of automobiles, moving rather slowly. The moonlight was very bright now and John saw that they were filled with wounded who stirred but little and who made no outcry. The line of motors turned into the place and they too disappeared behind the chateau, following the hussars.

Two aeroplanes alighted on the grass and their drivers entered the house. Bearers of dispatches, John felt sure, and while he watched he saw both return, spring into their machines and fly away. Their departure caused him to search the heavens once more, and he knew that he was looking for Lannes, who could not come.

Now von Arnheim passed down the graveled walk that led to the great central gate, but, half way, turned from it and began to talk to some sentinels who stood on the grass. He was certainly a fine fellow, tall, well built, and yet free from the German stoutness of figure. He wore a close uniform of blue-gray which fitted him admirably, and the moonlight fell in a flood on his handsome, ruddy face.

"I hope you won't be killed," murmured John. "If there is any French shell or shrapnel that is labeled specially for a prince and that must have a prince, I pray it will take Auersperg in place of von Arnheim."

It was a serious prayer and he felt that it was without a trace of wickedness or sacrilege. Evidently von Arnheim was giving orders of importance, as two of the men, to whom he was talking, hurried to horses, mounted and galloped down the road. Then the young prince walked slowly back to the house and John could see that he was very thoughtful. He passed his hand in a troubled way two or three times across his forehead. Perhaps the medieval prince inside was putting upon the modern prince outside labors that he was far from liking.

John's unformed plan of escape included Julie Lannes. He could not go away without her. If he did he could never face Lannes again, and what was more, he could never face himself. It was in reality this thought that made his resolve to escape seem so difficult. It had been lurking continuously in the back of his head. To go away without Julie was impossible. Under ordinary circumstances her situation as a prisoner would not be alarming. Germans regarded women with respect. They had done so from the earliest times, as he had learned from the painful study of Tacitus. Von Arnheim had received a deep impression from Julie's beauty and grace. John could tell it by his looks, but those looks were honest. They came from the eyes and heart of one who could do no wrong. But the other! The man of the Middle Ages, the older prince. He was different. War re-created ancient passions and gave to them opportunities. No, he could not think of leaving without Julie!

He kept his place at the tall, narrow window, and the night was steadily growing brighter. A full, silver moon was swinging high in the heavens. The stars were out in myriads in that sky of dusky, infinite blue, and danced regardless of the tiny planet, Earth, shaken by battle. From the hills came the relentless groaning which he knew was the sound of the guns, fighting one another under the searchlights.

Then he heard the clatter of hoofs, and another company of Uhlans rode up to the chateau. Their leader dismounted and entered the great gate. John recognized von Boehlen, who had taken off his helmet to let the cool air blow upon his close-cropped head. He stood on the graveled walk for a few minutes directly in a flood of silver rays, every feature showing clearly. He had been arrogant and domineering, but John liked him far better than Auersperg. His cruelty would be the cruelty of battle, and there might be a streak of sentimentalism hidden under the stiff and harsh German manner, like a vein of gold in rock. As von Boehlen resumed his approach to the house he passed from John's range of vision, and then the prisoner watched the horizon for anything that he might see. Twice he beheld the far flare of searchlights, but nobody else came to the chateau, and the night darkened somewhat. No rattle of arms or stamp of hoofs came from the hussars in the grounds, and he judged that all but the sentinels slept. Nor was there any sound of movement in the house, and in the peaceful silence he at last began to feel sleepy. The problems of his position were too great for him to solve—at least for the present—and lying down on the cot he was fast asleep before he knew it.

Youth does not always sleep soundly, and the tension of John's nerves continued long after he lapsed into unconsciousness. That, perhaps, was the reason why he awoke at once when the heavy key began to turn again in the lock. He sat up on the cot—he had not undressed—and his hand instinctively slipped to his belt, where there was no weapon.

The key was certainly turning in the lock, and then the door was opening! A shadow appeared in the space between door and wall, and John's first feeling was of apprehension. An atmosphere of suspicion had been created about him and he considered his life in much more danger there than it had been when he was first a prisoner.

The door closed again quickly and softly, but somebody was inside the room, somebody who had a light, feline step, and John felt the prickling of the hair at the back of his neck. He longed for a weapon, something better than only his two hands, but he was reassured when the intruder, speaking French, called in a whisper:

"Are you awake, Mr. Scott?"

It was surely not the voice and words of one who had come to do murder, and John felt a thrill of recognition.

"Weber!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, it's Weber, Mr. Scott."

"How under the sun did you get here, Weber?"

"By pretending to be a German. I'm an Alsatian, you know, and it's not difficult. I'm doing work for France. It's terribly dangerous. My life is on the turn of a hair every moment, but I'm willing to take the risk. I did not know you were here until late tonight, when I came to the chateau to see if I could discover anything further about the numbers and movements of the enemy. You must get away now. I think I can help you to escape."

There was a tone in Weber's voice that aroused John's curiosity.

"It's good of you, Weber," he said, "to take such a risk for me, but why is it so urgent that I escape tonight?"

"I've learned since I came to the chateau that the Prince of Auersperg is much inflamed against you. Perhaps you spoke to him in a way that gave offense to his dignity. Ah, sir, the members of these ancient royal houses, those of the old type, consider themselves above and beyond the other people of the earth. In Germany you cannot offend them without risk, and it may be, too, that you stand in his way in regard to something that he very much desires!"

Although Weber spoke in a whisper his voice was full of energy and earnestness. His words sank with the weight of truth into John's heart.

"Can you really help me to escape?" he asked.

"I think so. I'm sure of it. The guards in the house are relaxed at this late hour, and they would seem needless anyhow with so many sentinels outside."

"But, Weber, Julie Lannes, the sister of Philip Lannes, is here a prisoner also. She was taken when I was. She is a Red Cross nurse, and although the Germans would not harm a woman, I do not like to leave her in this chateau. Your Prince of Auersperg does not seem to belong to our later age."

"Perhaps not. He holds strongly for the old order, but the young von Arnheim is here also. His is a devoted German heart, but his German eyes have looked with admiration, nay more, upon a French face. He will protect that beautiful young Mademoiselle Julie with his life against anybody, against his senior in military rank, the Prince of Auersperg himself. Sir, you must come! If you wish to help Philip Lannes' sister you can be of more help to her living than dead. If you linger here you surely disappear from men tomorrow!"

"How do you know these things, Weber?"

"I have been in the house three or four hours and there is talk among the soldiers. I pray you, don't hesitate longer!"

"How can you find a way?"

"Wait a minute."

He slipped back to the door, opened it and looked into the hall.

"The path is clear," he said, when he returned. "There is no sentinel near your door, and I've found a way leading out of the chateau at the back. Most of these old houses have crooked, disused passages."

"But suppose we succeed in reaching the outside, Weber, what then? The place is surrounded by an army."

"A way is there, too. One man in the darkness can pass through a multitude. We can't delay, because another chance may not come!"

John was overborne. Weber was half pulling him toward the door. Moreover, there was much sense in what the Alsatian said. It was a commonplace that he could be of more service to Julie alive than dead, and the man's insistence deciding him, he crept with the Alsatian into the hall. They stood a few minutes in the dark, listening, but no sound came. Evidently the house slept well.

"This way, Mr. Scott," whispered Weber, and he led toward the rear of the house. Turning the corner of the hall he opened a small door in the wall, which John would have passed even in the daylight without noticing.

"Put a hand on my coat and follow me," said Weber.

John obeyed without hesitation, and they ascended a half dozen steps along a passage so narrow that his shoulders touched the walls. It was very dark there, but at the top they entered a room into which some moonlight came, enough for John to see barrels, boxes and bags heaped on the floor.

"A storeroom," said Weber. "The French are thrifty. The owner of this house had splendor below, and he has kept provision for it above, almost concealed by the narrowness of the door and stair. But we'll find a broader stair on the other side, and then we'll descend through the kitchen and beyond."

"This looks promising. You're a clever man, Weber, and my debt to you is too big for me."

"Don't think about it. Be careful and don't make any noise. Here's the other stair. You'd better hold to my coat again."

They stole softly down the stair, crossed an unused room, went down another narrow, unused passage, and then, when Weber opened a door, John felt the cool air of the night blowing upon his face. When the attempt at escape began, he had not been so enthusiastic, because he was leaving Julie behind, but with every step his eagerness grew and the free wind brought with it a sort of intoxication. He did not doubt now that he would make good his flight. Weber, that fast friend of his, was a wonderful man. He worked miracles. Everything came out as he predicted it would, and he would work more miracles.

"Where are we now?" asked John.

"This door is by the side of the kitchens. A little to the left is an extensive conservatory, nearly all the glass of which has been shattered by a shell, but that fact makes it all the more useful as a path for us. If we reach it unobserved we can creep through the mass of flowers and shrubbery to a large fishpond which lies just beyond it. You're a good swimmer, as I know—and you can swim along its edge until you reach the shrubbery on the other side. Then you ought to find an opening by which you can reach the French army."

"And you, Weber?"

"I? Oh, I must stay here. The Prince of Auersperg is a man of great importance. He is high in the confidence of the Kaiser. Besides his royal rank he commands one of the German armies. If I am to secure precious information for France it must be done in this house."

"Come away with me, Weber. You've risked enough already. They'll catch you and you know the fate of spies. I feel like a criminal or coward abandoning you to so much danger, after all that you've done for me."

"Thank you for your good words, Mr. Scott, but it's impossible for me to go. Keep in the shadow of the wall, and a dozen steps will take you to the conservatory."

John wrung the Alsatian's hand, stepped out, and pressed himself against the side of the house. The breeze still blew upon his face, revivifying and intoxicating. The lazy, feathery clouds were yet drifting before the moon and stars.

He saw to his right the gleam of a bayonet as a sentinel walked back and forth and he saw another to his left. His heart beat high with hope. He was merely a mote in infinite night, and surely they could not see him.

He walked swiftly along in the shadow of the house, and then sprang into the conservatory, where he crouched between two tall rose bushes. He waited there a little while, breathing hard, but he had not been observed. From his rosy shelter he could still see the sentinels on either side, walking up and down, undisturbed. Around him was a frightful litter. The shell, the history of which he would never know, had struck fairly in the center of the place, and it must have burst in a thousand fragments. Scarcely a pane of glass had been left unbroken, and the great pots, containing rare fruits and flowers, were mingled mostly in shattered heaps. It was a pitiable wreck, and it stirred John, although he had seen so many things so much worse.

He walked a little distance in a stooping position, and then stood up among some shrubs, tall enough to hide him. He noticed a slight dampness in the air, and he saw, too, that the feathery clouds were growing darker. The faint quiver in the air brought with it, as always, the rumble of the guns, but he believed that it was not a blended sound. There was real thunder on the horizon, where the French lay, and then he saw a distant flash, not white like that of a searchlight, but like yellow lightning. Rain, a storm perhaps, must be at hand. He had read that nearly all the great battles in the civil war in his own country had been followed at once by violent storms of thunder, lightning and rain. Then why not here, where immense artillery combats never ceased?

Near the end of the conservatory he paused and looked back at the house. Every window was dark. There must be light inside, but shutters were closed. His heart throbbed with intense gratitude to Weber. Without him escape would have been impossible. He would make his way to the French. He would find Lannes and together in some way they would rescue Julie, Julie so young and so beautiful, held in the castle of the medieval baron. In the lowering shadows the house became a castle and Auersperg had always been of the Middle Ages.

The wind freshened and a few drops of rain struck his face. He stood boldly erect now, unafraid of observation, and picked a way through the mass of broken glass and overturned shrubbery toward the end of the conservatory, seeing beyond it a gleam of water which must be the big fishpond.

He turned to the left and reached the edge of the pond just as four figures stepped from the dusk, their raised rifles pointing at him. The shock was so great that, driven by some unknown but saving impulse, he threw himself forward into the water just as the soldiers fired. He heard the four rifles roaring together. Then he swam below water to the far edge of the pond and came up under the shelter of its circling shrubbery, raising above its surface only enough of his face for breath.

As his eyes cleared he saw the four soldiers standing at the far edge of the pond, looking at the water. Doubtless they were waiting for his body to reappear, as his action, half fall, half spring, and the roaring of the rifles had been so close together that they seemed a blended movement.

He was trembling all over from intense nervous exertion and excitement, but his mind steadied enough for him to observe the soldiers. Undoubtedly they were talking together, as he saw them making the gestures of men who speak, but, even had he heard them, he could not have understood their German. They were watching for his body, and as it did not reappear they might make the circle of the pond looking for it. He intended, in such an event, to leap out and run, but the elements were intereceding in his favor. Thunder now preponderated greatly in that rumble on the western horizon, and a blaze of yellow lightning played across the surface of the pond. It was followed by a rush of rain and the soldiers turned back toward the house, evidently sure that they had not missed.

John drew himself out of the water and climbed up the bank. His knees gave way under him and he sank to the ground. Excitement and emotion had been so violent that he was robbed of strength, but the condition lasted only a minute or two. Then he rose and began to pick a way.

The rain was driving hard, and it had grown so dark that one could not see far. But he felt that the German sentinels now would seek a little shelter from the wrath of the skies, and keeping in the shelter of a hedge he passed by the stables, where many of the hussars and Uhlans slept, through an orchard, the far side of which was packed with automobiles, and thence into a wood, where he believed at last that he was safe.

He stopped here a little while in the lee of a great oak to protect himself from the driving rain, and he noticed then that it was but a passing shower, sent, it seemed then to him, as a providential aid. The part of the rumble that was real thunder was dying. The yellow flare of the lightning stopped and the rain swept off to the east. The moon and stars were coming out again.

John tried to see the chateau, but it was hidden from him by trees. They would miss him there, and then they would know that it was he whom the soldiers had fired upon at the edge of the pond. All of them would believe that he was dead, and he remembered suddenly that Julie, who was there among them, would believe it, too. Would she grieve? Or would he merely be one of the human beings passing through her life, fleeting and forgotten, like the shower that had just gone? It was true that he had escaped, but he might be killed in some battle before she was rescued from Auersperg—if she was rescued.

These thoughts were hateful, and turning into the road by which they had come to the chateau he ran down it. He ran because he wanted motion, because he wished to reach the French army as quickly as he could, and help Lannes organize for the rescue of Julie.

He ran a long distance, because his excitement waned slowly, and because the severe exercise made the blood course rapidly through his veins, counteracting the effects of his cold and wetting. When he began to feel weary he turned out of the road, knowing that it was safer in the fields. He had the curious belief or impression now that the black shower was all arranged for his benefit. Providence was merely making things even. The soldiers had been brought upon him when the chances were a hundred to one against him, and then the shower had been sent to cover him, when the chances were a hundred to one against that, too.

He saw far to the south a sudden faint radiance and he knew that it was the last of the lightning. The little feathery clouds, which looked so friendly and pleasant against the blue of the sky, came back and the moaning on the western horizon toward which he was traveling was wholly that of the guns.

He heard a noise over his head, a mixture of a whistle and a scream, and he knew that a shell was passing high. He walked on, and heard another. But they could not be firing at him. He was still that mere mote in the infinite darkness, but, looking back for the bursting of the shells, he saw a blaze leap up near the point from which he had come.

A cold shiver seized him. The range was that of the chateau, and Julie was there. The French gunners could have no knowledge that their own people were prisoners in the building, and if one of those huge shells burst in it, ruin and destruction would follow. The conservatory had been a silent witness of what flying metal could do. He stopped, appalled. He had been wrong to leave without Julie, and yet he could have done nothing else. It was impossible to foresee a shelling of the chateau by the French themselves.

The screaming and whistling came again, but he did not see any explosion near the chateau. One could not tell much from such a swift and passing sound, but he concluded that it was a German shell replying. He had seen a German battery near the house and it would not remain quiet under bombardment.

He had no doubt that the French gunners, having got the range, would keep it. Somebody, perhaps an aeroplane or an officer with flags in a tree, was signaling. It was horrible, this murderous mechanism by which men fired at targets miles away, targets which they could not see, but which they hit nevertheless. Every pulse beating hard, John shook his fist at the invisible German guns and the invisible French guns alike.

Then he recovered himself with an angry shake and began to run again. He knew now that he must go forward and secure a French force for rescue. But no matter how much he urged himself on, a great power was pulling at him, and it was Julie Lannes, a prisoner of the Germans in the chateau. Often he stopped and looked back, always in the same direction. Twice more he saw shells burst in the neighborhood of the house, and then his heart would beat hard, but after brief hesitation he would always pursue his course once more toward the French army.

He did not know the time, but he believed it to be well past midnight. He had his watch, but his immersion in the fish pond had caused it to stop. Still, the feel of the air made him believe that he was in the morning hours. Shells continued to pass over his head, and now they came from many points. He had seen or heard so much firing in the last eight or ten days that the world, he felt, must be turned into a huge ammunition factory to feed all the guns. He laughed to himself at his own grim joke. He was overstrained and he began to see everything through a red mist.

His clothing was drying fast, but his throat was very hot from excitement and exertion. He came to a little brook, and kneeling down, drank greedily. Then he bathed his face and felt stronger and better. His nerves also grew steadier. There was not so much luminous mist in the atmosphere. Ahead of him the crash of the guns was much louder, and he knew that he had already come a long distance. It seemed that the passing of the storm had renewed the activity of the gunners. The mutter had become rolling thunder, and both to north and south the searchlights flared repeatedly.

He heard the beat of hoofs, and he hoped that they were French cavalry on patrol, but they proved to be German Hussars, Bavarians he judged by the light blue uniforms, and they were coming from the direction of the French lines. They had been scouting there, he had no doubt, but they passed in a few moments, and, leaving his hedge, he resumed his own rapid flight, continually hoping that he would meet some French force, scouting also.

But he was doomed to a long trial of patience. Twice he saw Germans and hid until they had gone by. They seemed to be scouting in the night almost to the mouths of the French guns, and he admired their energy although it stood in the way of his own plans. He came to a second brook, drank again, and then took a short cut through a small wood. He had marked the reports of guns from a hill about two miles in front of him, and he was sure that a French battery must be posted there. He reckoned that he could reach it in a half hour, if he exerted himself.

Half way through the wood and human figures rose up all about him. Strong hands seized his arms and an electric torch flashed in his face.

"Who are you?" came the fierce question in French.

But it was not necessary for John to answer. The man who held the torch was short, but very muscular and strong, his face cut in the antique mold, his eyes penetrating and eager. It was Bougainville and John gave a gasp of joy. Then he straightened up and saluted:

"Colonel Bougainville," he said, "I see that you know me! I have just escaped from the enemy for the second time. There is a house in that direction, and it is occupied by the Prince of Auersperg, one of the German generals."

He pointed where the chateau lay, and Bougainville uttered a shout:

"Ah!"

"He holds there a prisoner, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the great Philip Lannes, the aviator; and other Frenchwomen."

"Ah!" said Bougainville again.

"You will help rescue them, will you not?"

Bougainville smiled slightly.

"An army can't turn aside for the rescue of women," he replied, "but it happens that this brigade, under General Vaugirard is marching forward now to find, if possible, an opening between the German armies, and you're the very man to lead it."

John's heart bounded with joy. He would be again with the general whom he admired and trusted, and he would certainly guide the brigade straight to the chateau.

"Is General Vaugirard near?" he asked.

"Just over the brow of this hill, down there where the dim light is visible among the trees."

"Then take me to him at once."



CHAPTER XV

THE RESCUE

Escorted by Bougainville, John went down a little slope to a point where several officers stood talking earnestly. The central figure was that of a huge man who puffed out his cheeks as he spoke, and whose words and movements were alive with energy. Even had he seen but a dim outline, John would have recognized him with no difficulty as General Vaugirard, and beside him stood de Rougemont.

Bougainville saluted and said;

"The American, John Scott, sir. He has just escaped from the enemy and he brings important information."

Vaugirard puffed out his great cheeks and whistled with satisfaction.

"Ah, my young Yankee!" he said. "They cannot hold you!"

"No, my general," replied John, "I've come back again to fight for France."

General Vaugirard looked at him keenly.

"You're exhausted," he said. "You've been under tremendous pressure."

"But I can guide you. I want neither sleep nor rest."

"You need both, as I can see with these two old eyes of mine. Sleep you can't have now, but rest is yours. You go with me in my automobile, which this war has trained to climb mountains, jump rivers, and crash through forests. The motor has become a wonderful weapon of battle."

"May I ask one question, General?" said John.

"A dozen."

"Do you know where the aviator, Philip Lannes, is? His sister is held a prisoner by a German general in a chateau toward which we will march, and doubtless he would wish to go at once to her rescue."

"He is not here, but his friend, Caumartin, is only a half-mile away. I'll send a man at once with a message to him to find Lannes, who will surely follow us, if he can be found. And now, my brave young Yankee, here is my machine. Into it, and we'll lead the way."

John sprang into the automobile, and sank down upon the cushions. He had a vast sense of ease and luxury. He had not known until then, the extent of his mental and physical overstrain, but de Rougemont, who was also in the machine, observed it and gave him a drink from a flask, which revived him greatly.

Then the automobile turned into the road and moved forward at a slow gait, puffing gently like a monster trying to hold in his breath. From the wood and the fields came the tread of many thousand men, marching to the night attack. Behind their own automobile rose the hum of motors, bearing troops also, and dragging cannon.

John felt that he was going back in state, riding by the side of a general and at the head of an army. He found both pride and exultation in it. Sleep was far from his eyes. How could one think of sleep at such a moment? But youth, the restorer, was bringing fresh strength to his tired muscles and he was never more alert.

At one point they stopped while the general examined the dusky horizon through his glasses, and a company of men with faces not French marched past them. They were John's own Strangers, and despite the presence of General Vaugirard both Wharton and Carstairs reached up and shook his hand as they went by.

"Welcome home," said Wharton.

"See you again in the morning," said Carstairs.

"God bless you both," said John with some emotion.

Captain Daniel Colton nodded to him. They were not effusive, these men of the Strangers, but their feelings were strong. When the automobile in its turn passed them again and resumed its place at the head of the column, they seemed to take no notice.

No more shells passed over John's head. He knew that General Vaugirard had sent back word for the batteries to cease firing in that direction, but both to south and north of them the sullen thunder went on. The night remained light, adorned rather than obscured by the little white clouds floating against the sky. The only sound that John could hear was the great hum and murmur of a moving army, a sound in which the puffing of automobiles had introduced a new element. He wondered why they had not roused up German skirmishers, but perhaps those vigilant gentlemen, had grown weary at last.

They reached the first brook, and, as they were crossing it, the rifle fire expected so long began to crackle in front. Then the French trumpets shrilled, and the whole force marched rapidly, rifles and field guns opening in full volume. But the French had the advantage of surprise. Their infantry advanced at the double quick, a powerful force of cavalry on their right flank galloped to the charge, and Bougainville's Paris regiment and the Strangers swept over the field.

A heavy fire met them, but the general's automobile kept in front puffing along the main road. General Vaugirard puffed with it, but now and then he ceased his puffing to whistle. John knew that he was pleased and that all was going well. The battle increased in volume, and their whole front blazed with fire. The dark was thinning away in the east and dawn was coming.

"The chateau! The chateau!" cried John as a dark shape rose on the horizon. Even as he looked a shell burst over it and it leaped into flames. He cried aloud in fear, not for himself, but for those who were there. But General Vaugirard was calmly examining the field and the house through powerful glasses.

"They're pouring from the building," he said, "and it's full time. Look how the fire gains! What a pity that we should destroy the home of some good Frenchman in order to drive out the enemy."

"Faster, sir! Faster! Ah, I pray you go faster!" exclaimed John, whose heart was eaten up with anxiety as he saw the chateau roaring with flames. But he did not need the general's glasses now to see the people stream from it, and then rush for refuge from the fire of the French. The surprise had been so thorough that at this point the enemy was able to offer little resistance, and, in a few moments more, the automobile reached the grounds surrounding the burning chateau.

John, reckless of commands and of everything else, leaped out of the machine and ran forward. A gigantic man bearing a slender figure in his arms emerged from the shrubbery. Behind him came a stalwart young woman, grim of face. John shouted with joy. It was Picard, carrying Julie, and the woman who followed was the faithful Suzanne.

Picard put Julie down. She stood erect, pale as death. But the color flooded into her face when she saw John, and uttering a cry of joy she ran forward to meet him. She put her hands in his and said:

"I knew that you would save me!"

Time and place were extraordinary, and war, the great leveler, was once more at work.

"The chateau was set on fire by shells, Monsieur Scott," Picard said, "and when the enemy saw the French force appearing across the fields they took to flight. That dog of a prince, the Auersperg, tried to carry off Mademoiselle Julie in his automobile, but the young prince interfered and while they were quarreling I seized her and took her away. All the other women have escaped too."

"Thank God, Picard," exclaimed John, wringing the huge hand of the peasant, who was at once a peasant and a prince too.

"And look," said Carstairs, who with Wharton had approached unnoticed. "An aeroplane comes like the flight of an eagle, and my guess is poor if it is not our friend, the great Lannes."

Caumartin in truth had found Philip, and he came like the lightning, circling and swooping until he touched the ground almost at Julie's feet. Brother and sister were united in a close embrace, and Lannes turned to John.

"I have heard from Caumartin that it was you who brought the word. We can never repay you."

"We'll wait and see," said John.

Her brother did not see Julie flush rosily, as she turned her face away.

"And now," said Lannes, "we go to Paris. My duties allow me enough time for the flight. No, John, my friend, don't object. She's been up in the Arrow with me before. Picard, you and Suzanne can come later."

The thunder of the battle rolling toward the east still reached them, but Lannes quickly threw a coat around Julie, gave her a cap and huge glasses to put on, and exclaimed:

"Now we go."

"But I must first thank Mr. Scott himself for saving me," she said.

She put her hand, small and warm, in his, American fashion, and the two palms met in a strong clasp.

"Good-bye, Mr. Scott," she said.

"Good-bye, but not forever. I'm coming back to Paris."

"And it's my hope, too, that it's not forever."

She and her brother took their seats in the Arrow. Carstairs, Wharton and the others gave it a push, and it soared up into the fresh blue of the dawn. An ungloved hand, white and small, reached over the side and waved farewell, a farewell which John felt was for him.

To the east the battle still rolled, but John had forgotten its existence. Higher and higher rose the Arrow, flying toward Paris, until it diminished to a mere dot in the sky, and then was gone.

THE END



BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

The Civil War Series

In this series of stories Mr. Altsheler covers the principal battles of the Civil War. In four of the volumes Dick Mason, who fights for the North, is the leading character, and in the others, his cousin, Harry Kenton, who joins the Confederate forces, takes the principal part.

The Guns of Bull Run

Harry Kenton follows the lead of his father and joins the Southern forces. His cousin, Dick Mason, the hero, fights with the North.

The Guns of Shiloh

Dick takes part in the battle of Mill Spring, is captured but escapes. The story gives a vivid account of the first defeat of the South.

The Scouts of Stonewall

Harry and some friends become aides of Stonewall Jackson. They follow him through the campaign in the Valley of Virginia.

The Sword of Antietam

After engaging in the Battle of Shiloh, Dick gets into three big fights. Antietam is the big battle described, with McClellan always in the foreground.

The Star of Gettysburg

In this book Harry and his friends take part in the battles of Fredericksburg, The Wilderness and finally Gettysburg. General Lee is a central figure.

The Rock of Chickamauga

This volume deals with the crisis of the Union during the siege of Vicksburg and the Battle of Chickamauga. Dick takes an active part.

The Shades of the Wilderness

The story opens with Lee's retreat after Gettysburg. Harry is sent to Richmond and becomes involved in a dangerous situation with a spy.

The Tree of Appomattox

This description of the Battle of Appomattox has been written from the account of an eyewitness. Dick plays an important part. The volume closes with the blue and the gray turning toward a new day.

These Are Appleton Books D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York



BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

The Texan Series

Three stories telling of the Texan struggle for independence and the events culminating in the capture of the erratic Santa Anna.

The Texan Star

Ned Fulton, the hero, is a prisoner in the city of Mexico. He makes an exciting escape and sees the capture of San Antonio.

The Texan Scouts

Ned Fulton and his friends are right in the midst of exciting events that keep the reader continually on edge. The battle of the Alamo is the climax of the story.

The Texan Triumph

The duel of skill and courage between Ned and Urrea, his young Mexican enemy, furnishes pages of excitement. The battle of San Jacinto, which secured Texan Independence, and the capture of Santa Anna by five Texans is vividly described.

The World War Series

Mr. Altsheler, who was in Vienna the day war was declared on Servia, in Munich when war was declared against Russia, and in England when the British forces were mobilising, has given in three volumes the impressions he gained at the places of action during the world crisis.

The Guns of Europe

A young American, unable to reach home, enlists with the Allies where he sees active service from the beginning. The story closes with the fierce fighting which preceded the retreat of the Germans from Paris.

The Forest of Swords

The hero finds himself in Paris with Phillip Lannes, his friend, and the Germans only fifteen miles away. Finally the enemy is turned back at the Marne, a battle in which John and Phillip are actively engaged.

The Hosts of the Air

The pretty young sister of Phillip is seized by the enemy and carried into Austria. John resolves to get her back and his adventures make a wonderfully exciting story.

These Are Appleton Books D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York

THE END