long. Disregarding their own losses they drove forward, immense,
overwhelming, triumphant. He felt yet their very physical weight,
pressing upon him, crushing him, giving him no time to breathe. The
German war machine was magnificent, invincible, and for the fourth time
in a century the Germans, the exulting Kaiser at their head, might enter
Paris.

The Emperor himself might be nothing, mere sound and glitter, but back
of him was the greatest army that ever trod the planet, taught for half
a century to believe in the divine right of kings, and assured now that
might and right were the same.

Every instinct in him revolted at the thought that Paris should be
trodden under foot once more by the conqueror. The great capital had
truly deserved its claim to be the city of light and leading, and if
Paris and France were lost the whole world would lose. He could never
forget the unpaid debt that his own America owed to France, and he felt
how closely interwoven the two republics were in their beliefs and
aspirations.

"Why are you so silent?" asked Lannes, half angrily, although John knew
that the anger was not for him.

"I've said as much as you have," he replied with an attempt at humor.

"You notice the sunlight falling on it?" said Lannes, pointing to the
Arc de Triomphe, rising before them.

"Yes, and I believe I know what you are thinking."