few moments they were threatened with collapse which very
strong efforts of the will prevented. They were conscious, too, as they
stood upon the ground, of a quivering, shaking motion. They were
assailed once more by the violent waves of air coming from the
concussion of cannon and rifles past counting. The thin, whitish film
which was a compound of dust and burned gunpowder assailed them again
and lay, bitter, in their mouths and nostrils.

"The earth shakes too much," said Lannes in a droll tone. "I think we'd
better go back into the unchanging ether, where a man can be sure of
himself."

"I'm seasick," said John; "who wouldn't be, with ten thousand cannon,
more or less, and a million or two of rifles shaking the planet? I'm
going into the house as fast as I can."

It was a building, centuries old, of gray crumbling stone, with large,
low rooms, and, to John's amazement, the peasant who inhabited it and
his family were present. The farmer and his wife, both strong and dark,
were about forty, and there were four children, the oldest a girl of
about thirteen. What fear they may have felt in the morning was gone
now, and, as they knew that the French army was advancing, a joy,
reserved but none the less deep, had taken its place.

John and Lannes sat down at a small table covered with a neat white
cloth, and Madame, walking quickly and lightly, served them with bread,
cold meat and light red wine. The smaller children hovered in the
background and looked curiously at the young foreigner who wore the
French uniform.

"May I ask your name, Madame?" John asked politely.

"Poiret," she said. "My man is Jules Poiret, and this farm has been in
his family since the great revolution. You and your comrade came from
the air, as I saw, and you can tell us, can you not, whether the Poiret
farm is to become German or remain French? The enemy has been pushed
back today, but will he come so near to Paris again? Tell me truly, on
your soul, Monsieur!"

"I don't believe the Germans will ever again be so near to Paris,"
replied John with sincerity. "My friend, who is the great Philip Lannes,
the flying man, and I, have looked down upon a battle line fifty, maybe
a hundred miles long, and nearly everywhere the Germans are retreating."

She bent her head a little as she poured the coffee for them, but not
enough to hide the glitter in her eye. "Perhaps the good God intervened
at the last moment, as Father Hansard promised he would