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

"Did you"--he began, and stopped; "did you notice a"--he stopped again.

"Me!--No, sir. But you spoke as if--"

My heart beat wildly and I wanted to ask if it was on my account; but I was too pusillanimous a coward, and when I feebly tried to look into her eyes she would not let me, which convinced me that she lacked candor. A dance ended. Gold-laced fellows came and sat on the veranda rail wiping wrists and brows with over-tasked handkerchiefs, and explaining the small mishaps of the floor. Two promenaders mentioned the hour. I gasped my amazement and extended my hand. "Good-bye."

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