iles, his _combinaison_ scratched and the end of his
glove torn. By what miracle had he escaped?--He had passed through
encircling death as a man leaps through a hoop.

His method was one of the wildest temerity and impetuosity, and can be
recommended to nobody. The number and strength of the enemy, so far from
repelling, attracted him. He flew to vertiginous heights, and taking his
place in the sunshine, watched and waited. In an attack he did not make
use of the aerial acrobatic maneuvers with which, however, he was
perfectly familiar. He struck without delay,--what is known in fencing
as the cut direct. Without trying to maintain his machine within his
adversary's dead angles, he fell on him as a stone falls. He shot as
near to the enemy as he could, at the risk of being shot first himself,
and even of interlocking their machines, though in that respect the
sureness of his maneuvering sufficed to disengage him. If he failed to
take the enemy by surprise, he did not quit the combat as prudence
exacted; but returned to the charge, refusing to unhook his clutch from
the enemy airplane, and held him, and wanted him, and got him.

His passion for flying never diminished. On rainy days, when it was
unreasonable and useless to attempt to fly, he wandered around the sheds
where the winged horses took their repose. He could not resist it: he
entered, and mounted his own machine, settling himself in his cock-pit
and handling the controls, holding mysterious conferences with his
faithful steed.

In the air, he had a higher power of resistance than the most robust
men. This frail, sickly Guynemer, twice refused by the army because of
feebleness of constitution, never gave up. In proportion as the
requirements of aviation became more severe, as the higher altitudes
reached made it more exhausting, Guynemer seemed to prolong his flights
to the point where overwork and nervous depression compelled him to go
away and take a little rest--which made him suffer still more. And
suddenly, before he had taken the necessary repose, he threw it off like
ballast, and returning to camp, reappeared in the air, like the falcon
in the legend of Saint Julien the Hospitaller: "The bold bird rose
straight in the air like an arrow, and there could be seen two spots of
unequal size which turned and joined, and then disappeared in the
heights of heaven. The falcon soon descended, tearing some bird to
pieces, and returned to his perch on the gauntlet