man, and he will not admit me."

"If I secure entrance you will, too. Come."

They reached side by side the Basilique de Sacré-Coeur, which crowns the
summit of the Butte Montmartre, and bought tickets from the porter,
whose calm the proximity of untold Germans did not disturb. John saw the
little Apache make the sign of the cross and bear himself with dignity.
In some curious way Bougainville impressed him once more with a sense of
power. Perhaps there was a spark of genius under the red cap. He knew
from his reading that there was no rule about genius. It passed kings
by, and chose the child of a peasant in a hovel.

"You're what they call an Apache, are you not?" he asked.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Well, for the present, that is until you win a greater name, I'm going
to call you Geronimo."

"And why Zhay-ro-nee-mo, Monsieur?"

"Because that was the name of a great Apache chief. According to our
white standards he was not all that a man should be. He had perhaps a
certain insensibility to the sufferings of others, but in the Apache
view that was not a fault. He was wholly great to them."

"Very well then, Monsieur Scott, I shall be flattered to be called
Zhay-ro-nee-mo, until I win a name yet greater."