igue. M.
Guynemer no longer hesitated to speak, adding that the period of rest he
advised was in the very interest of his son's service. "You need
strengthening; you have done too much. If you should go on, you would be
in great danger of falling below yourself, or not really being
yourself."

"Father, war is nothing else. One must pull on, even if the rope should
threaten to snap."

It was the first time that M. Guynemer had given undisguised advice, and
he urged his point.

"Why not stop awhile? Your record is pretty good; you might form younger
pilots, and in time go back to your squadron."

"Yes, and people would say that, hoping for no more distinctions, I have
given up fighting."

"What does it matter? Let people talk, and when you reappear in better
condition they will understand. You know I never gave you a word of
advice which the whole world could not hear. I always helped you, and
you always found the most disinterested approval here in your home. But
you will admit that human strength has its limits."

"Yes," Georges interposed, "a limit which we must endeavor to leave
behind. We have given nothing as long as we have not given everything."

M. Guynemer said no more. He felt that he had probed his son's soul to
the depths, and his pride in his hero did not diminish his sorrow. When
they parted he concealed his anguish, but he watched the boy, thinking
he would never see him again. His wife and daughters, too, stood on the
threshold oppressed by the same feelings, trying to suppress their
anxiety and finding no words to veil it.

In the Iliad, Hector, after breaking into the Greek camp like a dark
whirlwind unexpectedly sweeping the land, and which the gods alone could
stop, returns to Troy and stopping at the Scaean gates waits for
Achilles, who he knows must be wild to avenge Patroclus. Old Priam sees
his son's danger, and beseeches him not to seek his antagonist. Hecuba
joins her tears to his supplications. But tears and entreaties avail
little, and Hector, turning a deaf ear to his parents, walks out to meet
Achilles, as he thinks, but indeed to meet his own fate.

On September 4, Guynemer was at the flying field of Saint-Pol-sur-Mer
near Dunkirk. His old friend, Captain Heurtaux, so long Commander of the
Storks, was not there; he had been wounded the day before by an
explosive bullet, and the English had picked up and evacuated him.
Heurtaux possessed infinite tact, and had not infrequently suc