A sound was coming over, borne by the morning breeze--a sound of singing in loud, confident, boasting notes. Three notes, they were, three times repeated--the three notes which were blown on the bugles in Berlin when the kaiser or princes of the royal house were coming; three blatant, bragging notes which Ruth had learned a year before to mean, “Over there!” For the Yanks are coming; the Yanks are coming, The drums rum-tumming everywhere.... Ruth caught to the side of the ambulance and held on tight. American voices; thousands of them! American men; American soldiers singing! Americans coming into this battle--coming forward into this battle, singing! Swinging! She could see them now as they wound about the hill--see the sun flashing on their bayonets, and the fine, confident swing--the American swing--of their ranks as they approached. The Yanks are coming; the Yanks are coming... And we won’t go back till it’s over, over here! Ruth leaped up and screamed aloud with joy. “What is it, Mademoiselle?” one of the dazed poilus inquired. “The Americans are coming! Our men are here! Our Americans! _The Yanks--the Yanks are coming!_” she shouted it in the rhythm of the song. What had seized her that day upon the _Ribot_ when she saw the _Starke_ come up and Gerry told her it was American; what had thrilled through her that night she arrived in France; what had stirred throughout her that morning near Mirevaux when the English officer called out to her, “Good old America,” and she watched the English march off to die; what had come when the French at last arrived before Amiens; even that ecstasy of the bombs bursting over Mannheim when she had sung _The Star-Spangled Banner_ and Gerry Hull had found her; all those together surged through her combined and intensified a thousand-fold. And this came not to her alone. It had come, too, to the French--the French who had been falling back in flight--yes, in flight, one could say it now--knowing that the Americans were behind them, but expecting nothing of those Americans. Why they had expected nothing, they did not know. At this moment it was incredible that--only the instant before--they had been in total despair. The Yanks are coming; the Yanks are coming! They were marines who were coming; they were so close that Ruth could see their uniforms; American marines, who marched past her singing--swinging--on their way to kill and to die! For they were going to kill--and to die. They knew it; that was why they sang as they did; that was why they were so sure--so boastfully, absolutely sure! ... send the word; send the word to beware!