When he awoke he
heard the same deep murmur, like the roll of the sea, and saw the army
still advancing. It was yet night, though fine and clear, and there
before him was the broad, powerful back of the general. Vaugirard was
still using the glasses and John judged that he had not slept at all.
But in his own machine everybody was asleep except the man at the wheel.
The country had grown somewhat hillier, but its characteristics were the
same, fertile, cultivated fields, a small wood here and there, clear
brooks, and church spires shining in the dusk. Both horse and foot
advanced across the fields, but the roads were occupied by the motors,
which John judged were carrying at least twenty thousand men and maybe
forty thousand.
He was not sleepy now, and he watched the vast panorama wheel past. He
knew without looking at his watch that the night was nearly over,
because he could already smell the dawn. The wind was freshening a bit,
and he heard its rustle in the leaves of a wood as they pushed through
it.
Then came a hum and a whir, and a long line of men on motor cycles at
the edge of the road crept up and then passed them. One checked his
speed enough to run by the side of John's car, and the rider, raising
his head a little, gazed intently at the young American. His cap closed
over his face like a hood, but the man knew him.
"Fortune puts us on the same road again, Mr. Scott," he said.
"I don't believe I know you," said John, although there was a familiar
note in the voice.
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