stic. He was his old self again, strong in every fiber. He would
certainly be with the Strangers the next morning.

Many more of the wounded, thousands of them, were lying or sitting on
the short grass in the forest. They were the less seriously hurt, and
they were cheerful. Some of them sang.

"They'll be going back to the army fast," said Picard. "Unless they're
torn by shrapnel nearly all the wounded get well again and quickly. The
bullet with the great power is merciful. It goes through so fast that it
does not tear either flesh or bone. If you're healthy, if your blood is
good, psst! you're well again in a week."

"Do you know if Lieutenant Lannes is expected here?" asked John.

"I heard from Mademoiselle Julie that he would come at set of sun. He
has been on another perilous errand. Ah, his is a strange and terrible
life, sir. Up there in the sky, a half mile, maybe a mile, above the
earth. All the dangers of the earth and those, too, of the air to fight!
Nothing above you and nothing below you. It's a new world in which
Monsieur Philip Lannes moves, but I would not go in it with him, not for
all the treasures of the Louvre!"

He looked up at the calm and benevolent blue sky and shuddered.

John laughed.

"Some of us feel that way," he said. "Many men as brave as any that ever
lived can't bear to look down from a height. But sunset is approaching,
my gallant Picard, and Lannes should soon be here."

The rays of the sun fell in showers of red gold where they stood, but a
narrow band of gray under the eastern horizon showed that twilight was
not far away. The two stood side by side staring up at the heavens,
where they felt with absolute certainty the black dot would appear at
the appointed time. It was a singular tribute to the courage and
character of Lannes that all who knew him had implicit faith in his
promises, not alone in his honesty of purpose, but in his ability to
carry it out in the face of difficulty and danger. The band of gray in
the east broadened, but they still watched with the utmost faith.

"I see something to the eastward," said John, "or is it merely a shadow
in the sky?"

"I don't think it's a shadow. It must be one of those terrible machines,
and perhaps it's that of our brave Monsieur Philip."

"You're right, Picard, it's no shadow, nor is it a bit of black cloud.
It's an aeroplane, flying very fast. The skies over Europe hold many
aeroplanes these days, but I know all the tricks