ing all space, and his prompt decision,
were visible in them, as well as his carefulness and his courage. Their
glance was so direct, almost brutal, that it could be felt, so to speak,
physically; and yet it could suddenly express a cheerful, boyish nature,
or disclose his close attention to the technical problems which
everlastingly engrossed his mind.

Guynemer was very different from Navarre, with his powerful profile and
broad chest like an eagle in repose, and different from Nungesser, the
Nungesser before his wounds had so devastated his body that a medical
board wanted to declare him unfit, a decision which he heroically
resisted, adding to his thirty victories another triumph over physical
disability. Guynemer differed from them mentally, too, possessing
neither their instinct nor their intuitiveness. These he replaced with
scientific accuracy based on study, by a passion for flying, by method
allied to fervor, by violent logic. His power was nervous and almost
electric. The vicinity of danger drew sparks from him.

His most daring exploits were prepared by meditation beforehand, and he
never indulged in recklessness without having pondered and calculated.
His action was so swift that it might seem instinctive, but under
appearances the reasoning element was always present.

It was now late, but he was willing to talk to us about that wonderful
25th of May, for he had no objection to talking about his enemy-chasing;
on the contrary, he would tell us details with the same amusement as if
he related lucky plays at poker, and with the same knowing ways. There
was not the least shade of affectation or of posing in his narrative,
but he talked with the simplicity of a child. He told us that his third
encounter had been the most enjoyable. He was coming back to lunch, had
seen the impudent German soaring above the camp, had fired, and the man
had gone down dead. After this exceedingly brief account he laughed as
usual, a fresh laugh like a girl's, and his eyes closed. He said he was
sleepy; he had been out twice, and before he went again he wanted a
little rest.

* * * * *

I remember how bustling the camp looked! It was half-past six, and the
weather was wonderful, with not a cloud in the sky, for some floating
white flakes in the blue could not be called clouds. But these white
flakes began to multiply; they were, in fact, an enemy patrol, which had
succeeded in crossing the lines