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Remember! I had yet to make their discovery. But I was on the eve of making it.

"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

Whereat Cécile replied, "Ah--well! we cou'n' like you the leaz bit any-'ow."

"Clifton?"

"Good-bye." I could barely hear it.

"Ferry's scouts," I repeated. "F-e-r-r-y-apostrophe s, Ferry's--s-k-o-w-t-s--scouts."

"Since the hour of her marriage she has never gone into her chamber without locking the door; she has never come out of it unarmed."

"No, though of course if she lived in the city, common sympathies might easily bring them together."

"She would be incredible," I said for him, and he accepted the clause by a gesture, and after a meditative pause went on with her history. The subject of our conversation had first met Oliver, it seemed, when by reason of some daring performance in the military field--near Milliken's Bend, in the previous autumn--he was the hero of the moment. Even so it was strange enough that he should capture her; one would as soon look to see Vicksburg fall; but the world was upside down, everything was happening as if in a tornado, and he cast his net of lies; lies of his own, and lies of two or three match-making friends who chose to believe, at no cost to themselves, that war, with one puff of its breath, had cleansed him of his vices and that marriage would complete the happy change. This was in Natchez, Ferry went on to say. Most fortunately for the bride one of the bridegroom's wedding gifts was a certain young slave girl; before the wedding was an hour past--before the orange-blossoms were out of the bride's hair--this slave maid had told her what he was, "And you know what that is."

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