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Updated: June 8, 2025
He has only to while away the time till the train is due. The prospect in itself is quieting, and besides Major du Peuty, one of the chiefs of Aviation at Headquarters, and Major Brocard, recently appointed attaché to the Minister of Aëronautics, were coming down by the early train.
Jack strained his eyes in the darkness; the road ahead was black and silent. "You can't see him," whispered Grahame. "Brocard caught the distant rattle of his lance in the stirrup. He's gone to kill him, the bloodthirsty imbecile!" "To shoot him?" asked Jack, aghast. "No; he's got his broad wood-knife that's the way these brutes kill. Hark! Good God!"
The Germans dragged him away.... Four days later Brocard and the son, on being liberated, returned home, and after a search, found the bodies. The two women, while still in the water, had been shot several times through the head.
Monsieur le député, gain admittance for him to the Panthéon, where he has already been placed by the mothers and children of France. There his protecting wings will not be out of place, for under that dome where sleep those who gave us our France, they will be the symbol of those who have defended her for us. Major Brocard.
And there, crouched on the saddle, two men swayed, locked in a death-clench an Uhlan with ghostly face and bared teeth, and Brocard, the poacher, cramped and clinging like a panther to his prey, his broad knife flashing in the gloom. In a second they were gone; far away in the forest the hoof strokes echoed farther and farther, duller, duller, then ceased.
But you have not added what I place first of all; it is for the gracious châtelaine of the Château de Nesville that I, Jean Brocard, play at hazard with the Prussians, the stakes being my skin. I will bring you through the lines; leave it to me."
He threw a blanket over the bed, shoved the logs in the fireplace with his hobnailed boots until the sparks whirled upward, and the little flames began to rustle and snap. Lorraine sank down on the bed, covering her head with her arms; Jack dropped into a chair by the fire, looking miserably from Lorraine to Brocard.
A team of horses harnessed to a carriage was standing before the door; smoke rose from the dilapidated chimney. "I have a guest," he said; "you need not fear him. Come!" In a dozen steps they entered the low doorway, Brocard leading, Lorraine leaning heavily on Jack's shoulder. "Pst! There is a thick-headed Englishman in the next room; let him sleep in peace," murmured Brocard.
And after landing, he rushed off to his escadrille chief, Captain Brocard, took him by the arm, and never left him until he had drawn him almost by force to his machine, compelling him to put his fingers into the wounds, exulting meanwhile and fairly bounding with joy.
The bold Pégoud had several times fought with too enterprising Fokkers or Aviatiks; Captain Brocard had forced down one of them in flames over Soissons; and the latest recruit of the escadrille, this youngster of a Guynemer, was burning to have his own Boche.
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