how?"

"A former officer has connections in the army. You could speak for me."

"Very well, I will."

M. Guynemer, in his turn, went to Bayonne. From that date, indeed from
the first day of war, he had promised himself never to set obstacles in
the way of his son's military service, but to favor it upon all
occasions. He kept his word, as we shall see later, at whatever cost to
himself. The recruiting major listened to his request. It was the hour
of quick enthusiasms, and he had already sustained many assaults and
resisted many importunities.

"Monsieur," he now said, "you may well believe that I accept all who can
serve. I speak to you as a former officer: does your conscience assure
you that your son is fit to carry a knapsack and be a foot-soldier?"

"I could not say that he is."

"Would he make a cavalryman?"

"He can't ride on account of his former enteritis."

"Then you see how it is; it's proper to postpone him. Build him up, and
later on he'll be taken. The war is not finished."

As Georges had been present at this interview, he now saw himself
refused a second time. He returned with his father to Biarritz, pale,
silent, unhappy, and altogether in such a state of anger and bitterness
that his face was altered. Nothing consoled him, nothing amused him. On
those magnificent August days the sea was a waste of sunshine, and the
beach was an invitation to enjoy the soft summer hours; but he did not
go to the beach, and he scorned the sea. His anxious parents wondered
if, for the sake of his health, it would not be easier to see him
depart. As for them, it was their fate to suffer in every way.

Ever since the mobilization, Georges Guynemer had had only one thought:
to serve--to serve, no matter where, no matter how, no matter in what
branch of the service, but to leave, to go to the front, and not stay
there at Biarritz like those foreigners who had not left, or like those
useless old men and children who were now all that remained of the male
population.

Many trains had carried off the first recruits, trains decorated with
flowers and filled with songs. The sons of France had come running from
her farthest provinces, and a unanimous impulse precipitated them upon
the assaulted frontier. But this impulse was perfectly controlled. The
songs the men sang were serious and almost sacred. The nation was living
through one of her greatest hours, and knew it. With one motion she
regained her national unity,