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I passed on, flattered but scandalized, wasting no guesses on how she knew me--if she really knew me at all--but taking my revenge by moralizing on her, to myself, as a sign of the times, until brigade headquarters were in full view, a few rods off the road; four or five good, white wall-tents in a green bit of old field backed by a thicket of young pines.

"And a suit of unie-fawm!" called Cécile, with her Creole accent.

"What's the name, General, of the man whose house I'm to go to?"

"Mis-ter Smith! you wrote that?--to-day! Wh'--who is she?"

I stepped back, heaving. "Who and what are you? Who and what are you?"

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