He had been among the Germans and he liked them personally, he had served already with the English, and their point of view was more nearly like the American than any other.

But he was here with the French and he felt for them the deepest sympathy of all.
He was conscious of a tie like that of blood brotherhood.
He knew it was due to the old and yet unpaid help France had given to his own country, and above all to the conviction that France, minding her own business, had been set upon by a greater power, with intent to crush and destroy.

France was attacked by a dragon, and the old similes of mythology floated through his mind, but, oftenest, that of Andromeda chained to the rock.

And the figure that typified France always had the golden hair and dark blue eyes of slim, young Julie Lannes.
They advanced several hours almost in silence, as far as talk was concerned, but two hundred thousand men marching made a deep and steady murmur.

General Vaugirard kept well in front of his staff, riding, despite his immense bulk, like a Comanche, and occasionally putting his glasses to those fiery little red eyes.