When they were once more in the narrow streets of Montmartre, John said
farewell to Bougainville.

"Geronimo," he said, "I expect to see you leading a victorious charge
directly into the heart of the German army."

"If I can meet your hopes I will, Monsieur Scott," said the young
Frenchman gayly, "and now, _au revoir_, I depart for my uniform and
arms, which must be of the best."

John smiled as he walked down the hill. His heart had warmed toward the
little Apache who might not be any Apache at all. Nevertheless the name
Geronimo seemed to suit him, and he meant to think of him by it until
his valor won him a better.

He saw from the slopes the same endless stream of people leaving Paris.
They knew that the Germans were near, and report brought them yet
nearer. The tale of the monster guns had traveled fast, and the shells
might be falling among them at any moment. Aeroplanes dotted the skies,
but they paid little attention to them. They still thought of war under
the old conditions, and to the great mass of the people flying machines
were mere toys.

But John knew better. Those journeys of his with Lannes through the
heavens and their battles in the air for their lives were unforgettable.
Stopping on the last slope of Montmartre he studied space with his
glasses. He was sure that he saw captive balloons on the horizon where
the German army lay, and one shape larger than the rest looked like a
Zeppelin, but he did not believe those monsters had come so far to the