"Do you know the road?" he asked of de Rougemont.
"Not at all. I'm from the Gironde country. I've been in Paris, but I
know little of the region about it. A good way to reach the front, is it
not, Mr. Scott?"
"Fine. I fancy that we're hurried forward to make a link in a chain, or
at least to stop a gap."
"And those large birds overhead are scouting for us."
"Look! One of them is dropping down. I dare say it's making a report to
some general higher in rank than ours."
He pointed with a long forefinger, and John watched the aeroplane come
down in its slanting course like a falling star. It was a beautiful
night, a light blue sky, with a fine moon and hosts of clear stars. One
could see far, and soon after the plane descended John saw it rise again
from the same spot, ascend high in air, and shoot off toward the east.
"That may have been Lannes," he said.
"Likely as not," said de Rougemont.
John now observed General Vaugirard, who sat erect in the front of his
automobile, with a pair of glasses, relatively as huge as himself, to
his eyes. Occasionally he would purse his lips, and John knew that his
favorite expression was coming forth. To the young American's
imaginative mind his broad back expressed rigidity and strength.
The great murmuring sound, the blended advance of so many men, made John
sleepy by-and-by. In spite of himself his heavy eyelids drooped, and
although he strove manfully against it, sleep took him.
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