He knew now that the struggle there was no less
fierce than the one before him.
The Kaiser himself must be present with one or the other of these
armies, and a man who had talked for more than twenty years of his
divine right, his shining armor, his invincible sword and his mailed
fist must be raging with the bitterness of death to find that he was
only a mortal like other mortals, and that simple French republicans
were defeating the War Lord, his Grand Army and the host of kings,
princes, dukes, barons, high-born, very high-born, and all the other
relics of medievalism. Dipped to the heel and beyond in the fountain of
democracy, John could not keep from feeling a fierce joy as he saw with
his own eyes the Germans fighting in the utmost desperation, not to take
Paris and destroy France, but to save themselves from destruction.
The afternoon, slow and bright, save for the battle, dragged on. Scott
and Fleury kept together. Weber appeared once more and spoke rather
despondently. He believed that the Germans would hold fast, and might
even resume the offensive toward Paris again, but Fleury shook his head.
"Today is like yesterday," he said.
"How can you tell?" asked Weber.
"Because the fire on both flanks is slowly moving eastward, that is, the
Germans there are yielding ground. My ears, trained to note such things,
tell me so. My friend, I am not mistaken."
He spoke gravely, without exultation, but John took fresh hope from his
words.
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