CHAPTER IV.
NEAR THE SACRED GROTTO Argensola had found a new occupation even more exciting than marking out on the map the manoeuvres of the armies.
"I am now devoting myself to the taube," he announced.

"It appears from four to five with the precision a punctilious guest coming to take tea." Every afternoon at the appointed hour, a German aeroplane was flying over Paris dropping bombs.

This would-be intimidation was producing no terror, the people accepting the visit as an interesting and extraordinary spectacle.

In vain the aviators were flinging in the city streets German flags bearing ironic messages, giving accounts of the defeat of the retreating army and the failures of the Russian offensive.
Lies, all lies! In vain they were dropping bombs, destroying garrets, killing or wounding old men, women and babes.

"Ah, the bandits!" The crowds would threaten with their fists the malign mosquito, scarcely visible 6,000 feet above them, and after this outburst, they would follow it with straining eyes from street to street, or stand motionless in the square in order to study its evolutions.
The most punctual of all the spectators was Argensola.