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Angellotti, Marion Polk, 1894-1979

"The Firefly of France"

He had been wounded. The
framework of his plane was damaged. Still he gained on his foes and won
through to the lines of France.
"But I might not land there," he explained. "The Germans followed. A
mist had closed about us, hiding us from my friends below. I heard
only my propeller; and that, by now, sounded faint to me, for I was
weakening; one shot had hit my shoulder and another had wounded my left
arm."
The girl swayed closer against him, watching him with eyes of worship.
Well, I didn't wonder, though it cut me to the heart. Even a
fairy prince could have been no worthier of her than this
Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier; of that at least, I told myself dourly, I must
be glad.
"As I raced on," said the duke, "there came a certain thought to me.
We had traveled far; we were in the country near Prezelay, my cousin's
house. The village, I knew, was ruined, but the chateau stood; and if
I could reach it, old Marie-Jeanne would help me. You comprehend, my
weakness was growing. I knew I had little more time."
The shrouding mist had aided him to lose those pursuing vultures.


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