Marching, singing, jesting, they pressed on until their advance guard met the plodding, cheerless, downcast refugees. The French peasants halted in their tracks, staring, unable to believe their eyes. Here, in the flesh, by thousands upon thousands, was the answer to their prayers. Perhaps it was not too late, after all. Here was new strength, new courage. Old men danced with joy, embracing their wives and children, embracing one another, and tears of joy coursed down their wan, lined faces. "_Les Americains!_" they shouted. "_Vive l' Amerique! Nous sauveurs sont arrivee!_" (The Americans! Long live America! Our saviors have arrived.) The cry spread; it ran up and down the roads and bypaths; it became a magic sentence restoring courage throughout all France. As for the resolute Americans, they merely plodded on, questioning one another as to what all the shouting was about. Oh, so that was it? Sure they were here, but why get excited about it? ... The Boche is breaking through, eh? As you were, Papa, and keep your shirt on! And as for that old lady over there by that cart, crying so softly--say! somebody who can parley this language go over there and tell that old lady not to cry any more. Tell her we'll fix it up, toot sweet. O-o-o! La, la! Pipe the pretty mademoiselle over there driving that dogcart. Ain't she the pippin though! Say-- "Fall in! Fall in!... Com-pan-ee, At-ten-shun! Forward, March!" "Mademoiselle from Armentieres, _Parlez vous_. Mademoiselle from Armentieres..." A new giant was going in, a giant that did not yet know its own strength, a somewhat clownish giant, singing as it came. 3 Those three days of the Crown Prince's drive on the Marne were dark days for France. The French people listened eagerly for word from the front--and prayed as they had never prayed before, while every American unit, wherever billeted in France, waited impatiently for orders that would send them in for their first baptism of fire. McGee and Larkin, though supposed to be instructors and therefore unmoved by the battle lust that had laid heavy hands on every pilot in France, found themselves itching for action. They could smell battle afar off; they knew the need of air supremacy at such a time. On the flying field, and at squadron headquarters, they tried to cheer up the depressed and sullen pilots who were chafing under the restraint of inaction. But alone, in the home of Madame Beauchamp, they freely expressed their feelings. "I can't see why this squadron is not ordered up," McGee said to Larkin one night as they sat alone in their room. "They are better trained than we were when we hopped across the channel. Remember that day, Buzz?" "Yes indeed! That was our big day; it's exactly the same big day these chaps are waiting for. There must be a great need of planes. I understand the German Army has crashed through to the Marne. If they pass there--" he shrugged his shoulders expressively.