to be made of
steel, and he stood, poised on his little feet, ready to spring like a
leopard when he chose.

The blue eyes of the tall American looked steadily into the black eyes
of the short Frenchman, and the black eyes looked back as steadily. John
was fast learning to read the hearts and minds of men through their
eyes, and what he saw in the dark depths pleased him. Here were cunning
and yet courage; impudence and yet truth; caprice and yet honor. Apache
or not, he decided to like him.

"I'm going up into the lantern of the Basilica," he said, "to see if I
can see the Germans, who are my enemies as well as yours."

"And will not Monsieur take me, too, and let me have look for look with
him through those glasses at the Germans, some of whom I'm going to
shoot?"

John smiled.

"If you're going out potting Germans," he said, "you'd better get
yourself into a uniform as soon as you can. They have no mercy on _franc
tireurs_."

"I'll chance that. But you'll take me with you into the dome?"

"What's your name?"

"Pierre Louis Bougainville."

"Bougainville! Bougainville! It sounds noble and also historical. I've
read of it, but I don't recall where."

The little Frenchman drew himself up, and his black eyes glittered.

"There is a legend among us that it was noble once," he said, "but we
don't know when. I feel within me the spirit to make it great again.
There was a time when the mighty Napoleon said that every soldier
carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack. Perhaps that time has come
again. And the great emperor was a little man like me."

John began to laugh and then he stopped suddenly. Pierre Louis
Bougainville, so small and so insignificant, was not looking at him. He
was looking over and beyond him, dreaming perhaps of a glittering
future. The funny little red cap with the tassel might shelter a great
brain. Respect took the place of the wish to laugh.

"Monsieur Bougainville," he said in his excellent French, "my name is
John Scott. I am from America, but I am serving in the allied
Franco-British army. My heart like yours beats for France."

"Then, Monsieur Jean, you and I are brothers," said the little man, his
eyes still gleaming. "It may be that we shall fight side by side in the
hour of victory. But you will take me into the lantern will you not?
Father Pelletier does not know, as you do, that I'm going to be a great
man, and he will not admit me."

"If I secure entrance you will, too.