"_Pfui_! It smells of soot, and petrol, and drainage, this London air of yours," said Raymond, as he chose a table in a quiet corner. "You will eat with me? No! Then smoke and share my wine." He ordered cutlets, _petit pois_, a sweet omelette, and a bottle of Beaujolais, and, filling his own glass and one for Sherbrand, touched brims gaily and said with a smile: "To France and her Allies, Victory! On earth," a clink, "by sea," a clink, "under the sea," another clink, "and in the Air!" He clinked three times, and emptied the glass thirstily. Sherbrand asked: "Was the battle near Dinant a big affair?" "Not big." He broke a roll and munched bread. "Not on the grand scale. A _spectacle très intéressante_, regarded from the—archaic point of view. An example of the ancient _mode de bataille_ that will be dead as the Dodo in three months. _Chasseurs à cheval_ and German Imperial Guard Regiments charging and meeting with shocks like thunder. Much slaughter. So fierce was the onslaught upon our side that the Germans were driven back across the Meuse. Many missed the bridge and were drowned. One French regiment followed them in pursuit for several _kilomètres_. They were led by the man of whom I have told you. A glass to his memory—and _hers_!" They touched full glasses and drank. Raymond went on. "My Flying Centre was near Maubeuge on the 16th. Some _escadrilles_ of my command were engaged that day near Dinant. My faith! those _côtellettes_ are slow in arriving." He munched more bread, and his blue eyes narrowed smilingly. "We had only the little bombs we used in Morocco, but yes!—we did some good work with the _balles-bon_. Flying low, at ordered distances—for to make War by Air successfully the science of tactics must assist the aviator.... What says your great Field Marshal, who has bent his neck to the collar-work of Administration—who has conjured an Army of trained soldiers out of your shops and counting-houses, and playing-fields,—and will make another and another when the time comes?" Sherbrand quoted the words uttered by the great voice now quenched for ever in the bitter waters of the North Sea. "_Until aviators learn to fly, manoeuvre, and attack in regular formation, the Fifth Arm will remain a useless limb._" "_Tonnerre de Dieu!_ but that goes to the point," said Raymond, "straight and sharp as a thrust from his sword. If we possessed that man we should make use of him. He should be Marshal of France, or President or Emperor—all we should ask of him would be to lead us. _Notr’_ Joffre would not be jealous—they would agree like the hilt and the hand. But I was telling you of an attack by the _fléchette_.... You may imagine how the Uhlans loved that rain of steel. It changed the retreat to a rout. Only it spoiled so many German horses. Right through the man, you understand, into the animal! ... Sieves on four legs are useless as Remounts for French Chasseurs."