unchecked, through everything from the border almost to the suburbs of
Paris.

They stood in the Place Valhubert at the entrance to the Pont
d'Austerlitz, and watched a regiment crossing the river, the long blue
coats and red trousers of the men outlined against the white body of the
bridge. The soldiers were short, they looked little to John, but they
were broad of chest and they marched splendidly with a powerful swinging
stride.

"From the Midi," said Lannes. "Look how dark they are! France is called
a Latin nation, but I doubt whether the term is correct. These men of
the Midi though are the real Latins. We of northern France, I suspect,
are more Teutonic than anything else, but we are all knitted together in
one race, heart and soul, which are stronger ties than blood."

"We are to go early in the morning, are we not, Philip?"

"Yes, early. The _Arrow_ is at the hangar, all primed and eager for a
flight, fearful of growing rusty from a long rest."

"I believe you actually look upon your plane as a human being."

"A human being, yes, and more. No human being could carry me above the
clouds. No human being could obey absolutely and without question the
simplest touch of my hand. The _Arrow_ is not human, John, it is
superhuman. You have seen its exploits."

The dark emitted a figure that advanced toward them, and took the shape
of a man with black hair, a short close beard and an intelligent face.