o be stitched up; and there were many bruises; but the surgeons
reported no bones broken, and complete recovery only a matter of days.
Even the monoplane itself, we heard, was singularly little damaged. All
this would have appeared miraculous, and the pious Belgians would have
attributed it to direct intervention of the Blessed Virgin, had not the
wrecked dirigible on examination told a silent story of the air scout's
cleverness as well as his daring. Before swooping on the Zeppelin from
above, he had apparently discharged bombs of his own on the balloon,
which had burst before the monoplane dashed down on to it, and the great
bulk had fallen away from under, without carrying the lighter machine to
destruction. The theory which awaited corroboration from the aviator was
that he had begun to plane down, despite some damage, and had actually
fallen but a short distance, striking earth a hundred yards away from
the wrecked dirigible.

Nobody talked about anything except the feat of the foreign air scout.
The roar of the cannon from the fort had ceased to make us jump; and it
was better to chat about Monsieur Mars than to murmur in each other's
ears, "How long before _THEY_ slip round the forts and get into the
town?" I made up my mind that whatever happened, nothing should tear me
from Liege while Eagle March was there. And when Tony sent up word
begging to see me on important business, in imagination I was defending
Eagle's hospital cot (naturally with him in it!) against a troop of
uhlans. In that mood, Tony's arguments about my going away made as much
impression as the chirp of a sparrow on a man stone deaf in both ears.

"Wild horses, much less wild uhlans, couldn't drag me out of this
place," I said, feeling as brave and firm as a story-book heroine,
though to Tony I may have seemed obstinate as a mule. "What do you take
me for, boy? Go comfortably away in a motor car to safety indeed, while
Eagle March is here, lying at death's door? Or if he isn't at death's
door, it's only because the angels slammed it in his face."

"Eagle March! What are you talking about?" Tony wanted to know, looking
dazed. I had forgotten that there was no reason why he should have
guessed the hero's identity, and I dashed into explanations. "Don't tell
people yet," I said, "because he mayn't want it talked about, but he's
the 'Monsieur Mars' who's been helping Belgium since the very first day
of war. Why, they say _he_ gave the warning that