The Forest of Swords | Page 3

republic. Look at the
flying men, Lannes!"
Lannes glanced up where the aeroplanes hovered thick over Paris, and
toward the horizon where the invisible German host with its huge guns
was advancing. The look of despair came into his eyes again, but it
rested there only a moment. He remembered his new courage and
banished it.
"Perhaps I ought to be in the sky myself with the others," he said, "but
I'd only see what I don't like to see. The Arrow and I can't be of any
help now."
"You brought me here in the Arrow, Lannes," said John, seeking to
assume a light tone. "Now what do you intend to do with me? As
everybody is leaving Paris you ought to get me out of it."

"I hardly know what to do. There are no orders. I've lost touch with the
commander of our flying corps, but you're right in concluding that we
shouldn't remain in Paris. Now where are we to go?"
"We'll make no mistake if we seek the battle front. You know I'm
bound to rejoin my company, the Strangers, if I can. I must report as
soon as possible to Captain Colton."
"That's true, John, but I can't leave Paris until tomorrow. I may have
orders to carry, I must obtain supplies for the Arrow, and I wish to visit
once more my people on the other side of the Seine."
"Suppose you go now, and I'll meet you this afternoon in the Place de
l'Opéra."
"Good. Say three o'clock. The first to arrive will await the other before
the steps of the Opera House?"
John nodded assent and Lannes hurried away. Young Scott followed
his figure with his eyes until it disappeared in the crowd. A back may
be an index to a man's strength of mind, and he saw that Lannes, head
erect and shoulders thrown back, was walking with a rapid and springy
step. Courage was obviously there.
But John, despite his own strong heart, could not keep from feeling an
infinite sadness and pity, not for Lannes, but for all the three million
people who inhabited the City of Light, most of whom were fleeing
now before the advance of the victorious invader. He could put himself
in their place. France held his deepest sympathy. He felt that a great
nation, sedulously minding its own business, trampled upon and robbed
once before, was now about to be trampled upon and robbed again. He
could not subscribe to the doctrine, that might was right.
He watched the fugitives a long time. They were crowding the railway
stations, and they were departing by motor, by cart and on foot. Many
of the poorer people, both men and women, carried packs on their
backs. The boulevards and the streets were filled with the retreating
masses.

It was an amazing and stupefying sight, the abandonment by its
inhabitants of a great city, a city in many ways the first in the world,
and it gave John a mighty shock. He had been there with his uncle and
Mr. Anson in the spring, and he had seen nothing but peace and
brightness. The sun had glittered then, as it glittered now over the Arc
de Triomphe, the gleaming dome of the Invalides and the golden waters
of the Seine. It was Paris, soft, beautiful and bright, the Paris that
wished no harm to anybody.
But the people were going. He could see them going everywhere. The
cruel, ancient times when cities were destroyed or enslaved by the
conqueror had come back, and the great Paris that the world had known
so long might become lost forever.
The stream of fugitives, rich and poor, mingled, poured on without
ceasing. He did not know where they were going. Most of them did not
know themselves. He saw a great motor, filled high with people and
goods, break down in the streets, and he watched them while they
worked desperately to restore the mechanism. And yet there was no
panic. The sound of voices was not high. The Republic was justifying
itself once more. Silent and somberly defiant, the inhabitants were
leaving Paris before the giant German guns could rain shells upon the
unarmed.
It was three or four hours until the time to meet Lannes, and drawn by
an overwhelming curiosity and anxiety he began the climb of the Butte
Montmartre. If observers on the Eiffel Tower could see the German
forces approaching, then with the powerful glasses he carried over his
shoulder he might discern them from the dome of the Basilica of the
Sacred Heart.
As he made his way up the ascent through the crooked and narrow little
streets he saw many eyes, mostly black and quick, watching him. This
by night was old Paris, dark