The eyes of the former Apache of Montmartre glittered.

"Yes," he replied. "It was an honor that General Vaugirard assigned to
me. I lead the vanguard."

Except the radiance from his eyes he showed no emotion. John noticed
that his features were cast in the antique mold. The pallor and thinness
of his face accentuated his powerful features, and once more John was
reminded of the portraits of the young Napoleon. Could there be such a
thing as reincarnation? But he remembered that while a new mind like
Napoleon's might be possible a new career like Napoleon's was not. Then
all thoughts of any kind upon the subject were driven from his mind by
the flash of firing that came from Chastel.

The rifles were rattling fast, and with them soon came the heavy crash
of artillery. Bougainville ran up and down his lines, but, to John's
surprise, he was holding his men back, rather than urging them on. But
he quickly saw the reason. He heard the hissing and shrieking of shells
over his head and he saw them bursting in Chastel. The fire increased so
fast and became so tremendous in volume that all the French lay down in
the snow, and John put his fingers in his ears lest he be deafened.

He understood the purpose of the French commander. It was to hurl a
continuous shower of steel upon the enemy, and then when it ceased the
French were to charge. Raising his head a little he saw the ruined
buildings of Chastel melting away entirely under the tremendous fire of
the great French field guns. House after house was springing into flames
and wall after wall was crumbling down in fragments. German guns were
replying fast, but their position amid falling masonry was much worse
than that of the French in the open.