But after the first gladness of meeting Lannes was mournful.
"I have seen your friends Carstairs and Wharton," he said, "and they are unhurt, but the German flood moves on. Only a miracle can save Paris. My errand takes me there. Come, you shall have another flight with me, and we shall see together, for perhaps the last time, that Paris, that city of light, that crown of Europe, that fountain of civilization."
"I, an American, still hope for Paris."
"Then I do too."
John put on the coat and visor that Lannes gave him, and they took their seats.
The Arrow rose slowly, and John, with his visor and his clothing adjusted carefully for speed and the colder air of the upper regions, settled in his place. He felt an extraordinary sense of relief and comfort. In the air he had a wonderful trust in Lannes, the most daring of all the flying men of France, which perhaps meant the most daring in the world.
He leaned back in his seat, and watched the strong arm and shoulders and steady hand of his comrade. Again Lannes in the Arrow was a master musician playing on the keys of a piano. The Arrow responded to his slightest touch, rising swooping and darting. John, after the long and terrible tension of so many days, released his mind from all responsibility. He was no longer the leader, and he did not have any doubt that Lannes would take him, where he ought to go. His feeling of ease deepened into one of luxury.
They did not rise very high at present, and John could still catch glimpses of the world below which was now a sort of blurred green, houses and streams failing to show.
They sailed easily and John told much of what had befallen him and his comrades, Carstairs the Englishman and Wharton the American.
"The British army came within a hair's breadth of destruction," he said, "and I'm not so sure that it will escape yet."