The three joined a group of the Strangers, Captain Colton at their head,
and they stood there together, eating and drinking, their appetites made
wonderfully keen by the sharp morning and a hard life in the open air.
Bougainville, the little colonel, came from the next valley and remained
with them awhile. He was almost the color of an Indian now, but his
uniform was remarkably trim and clean and he bore himself with dignity.
He was distinctly a personality and John knew that no one would care to
undertake liberties with him.

In the long months following the battle on the Marne Bougainville had
done great deeds. Again and again he had thrown his regiment into some
weak spot in the line just at the right moment. He seemed, like Napoleon
and Stonewall Jackson, to have an extraordinary, intuitive power of
divining the enemy's intentions, and General Vaugirard, to whose command
his regiment belonged, never hesitated to consult him and often took his
advice. "Ah, that child of Montmartre!" he would say. "He will go far,
if he does not meet a shell too soon. He keeps a hand of steel on his
regiment, there is no discipline sterner than his, and yet his men love
him."

Bougainville showed pleasure at seeing John again, and gave him his hand
American fashion.

"We both still live," he said briefly.

"And hope for complete victory."

"We do," said Bougainville, earnestly, "but it will take all the
strength of the allied nations to achieve it. Much has happened,