His victories of August 17 and 20 showed
him at his boldest best. Yet his comrades noticed that his nerves seemed
overstrained. He was not content with flying oftener and longer than the
others in quest of his game, but fretted if his Boche did not appear
precisely when he wanted him. When an enemy did not turn up where he was
expected, he made up his mind to seek him where he himself was not
expected, and he became accustomed to scouting farther and farther away
into dangerous zones. Was he tired of holding the door tight against
destiny, or feeling sure that destiny could not look in? Did it not
occur to him that his hour, whether near or not, was marked down?
Indeed, it is certain that the thought not only presented itself to him
sometimes, but was familiar. "At our last meeting," writes his
school-fellow of Stanislas days, Lieutenant Constantin, "I had been
struck by his melancholy expression, and yet he had just been victorious
for the forty-seventh time. 'I have been too lucky,' he said to me, 'and
I feel as if I must pay for it.' 'Nonsense,' I replied, 'I am absolutely
certain that nothing will happen to you.
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