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Updated: May 21, 2025
"You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said John. "I know of no reason to the contrary," replied von Boehlen briefly. Then he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts.
The leader of the Uhlans pushed his helmet back a little from his forehead, and looked down at John, who had been disarmed but who stood erect and defiant. "It is odd, Mr. Scott," said Captain von Boehlen, "how often the fortunes of this war have caused us to meet." "It is, and sometimes fortune favors one, sometimes the other. You're in favor now." Von Boehlen looked steadily at his prisoner.
John pointed back over his shoulder and then produced his passport, which Colonel von Boehlen, after reading, handed carefully back to him. "Did you see anything of the French?" he asked glancing again at John, but without a sign of recognition. "No, sir," replied John in his new German with a French accent, "but I saw a most unpleasant messenger of theirs." "A messenger?
His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. John could see that they were cutting into the flesh. He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform. He was in German eyes only a franc tireur, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed. "Save your strength, Antoine," he whispered soothingly.
The officer's eyes dilated at first. Then he smiled again and stroked his young mustache. "It may be true, as you say," he replied, "but meanwhile I'll have to take you to my chief, Captain von Boehlen." John's heart sank a little when he heard the name von Boehlen. Fortune, he thought, had played him a hard trick by bringing him face to face with the man who had least cause to like him.
"And the greatest day for France in her history! What mighty calculations must have been made and what tremendous marchings and combats must have been carried out to achieve such a result." "One of the decisive battles of history, like Platæa, or the Metaurus or Gettysburg. There go the Uhlans with Captain von Boehlen at their head. Now I wonder what they mean to do!"
They passed through a wood and into another field, where a large body of Prussian cavalry was waiting. A tall man, built heavily, stood beside a horse, watching a distant corner of the battle through glasses. John knew that uncompromising figure at once. It was von Boehlen. "A prisoner, Captain," said von Arnheim, saluting respectfully.
But the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless. "I know of one Lannes," he said, "Philip Lannes, the aviator, a name that fame has brought to us Germans." "I am his sister," said Julie. "I can wish, Mademoiselle Lannes," said von Boehlen, politely in French, "that we had captured your brother instead of his sister." "But as I said, you will send them back to their own people?
Von Boehlen laughed, and then his strong jaws closed tighter. After a moment's silence, he said: "Many such messengers have been passing in recent months. The air has been full of them. If you don't like battles, Castel, I don't blame you for traveling in the direction you take."
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