saw it fall. But, Phil, I don't see the object in such attacks. They
may kill a few people, nearly always the unarmed, but that has no real
effect on a war."

"They wish to spread terror, I suppose. Lend me your glasses, John."

Lannes studied the heavens a long time, minutely examining every black
speck against the blue, and John stood beside him, waiting patiently.
Meanwhile the throng of fleeing people moved on as before, silent and
somber, even the children saying little. John was again stirred by the
deepest emotion of sympathy and pity. What a tremendous tragedy it would
be if New York were being abandoned thus to a victorious foe! Lannes
himself had seemed to take no notice of the flight, but John judged he
had made a powerful effort of the will to hide the grief and anger that
surely filled his heart.

"I don't see anything in the air but our own machines," said Lannes, as
he returned the glasses. "It was evidently a dash by the Taube that
threw the bomb. But we've stayed here long enough. They're waiting for
us at home."

He led the way through the multitude, relapsing into silence, but
casting a glance now and then at his own peculiar field, the heavens.
They reached the Place de la Concorde, and stopped there a moment or
two. Lannes looked sadly at the black drapery hanging from the stone
figure that typified the lost city of Strassburg, but John glanced up
the great sweep of the Place to the Arc de Triomphe, where he caught
again the glittering shaft of sunlight that he had accepted as a sign.

"We may be looking upon all this for the last time," said Lannes, in a
voice of grief. "Oh, Paris, City of Light, City of the Heart! You may
not understand me, John, but I couldn't bear to come back to Paris
again, much as I love it, if it is to be despoiled and ruled by
Germans."

"I do understand you, Philip," said John cheerfully, "but you mustn't
count a city yours until you've taken it. The Germans are near, but
they're not here. Now, lead on. It's not like you to despair!"

Lannes shook himself, as if he had laid violent hands upon his own body,
and his face cleared.

"That was the last time, John," he said. "I made that promise before,
but I keep it this time. You won't see me gloomy again. Henceforward
it's hope only. Now, we must hurry. My mother and Julie will be growing
anxious, for we are overdue."

They crossed the Seine by one of the beautiful stone bridges and entered
a region of narrow and