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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"No," he said, "my last name is Durand." He gave it the French pronunciation.

"Prisoners making a break!" I forgot all my tatters and stood on tiptoe in the stirrups to overpeer the fence-row. The next instant--"Sh--sh!" said I and slid to the ground. "Hold this bridle!" I gave it to Camille. "Don't one of you make a sound or a motion; there's a Yankee coming across this field in the little gully just behind us."

"Yess, sir, you are!" I retorted. "Move to that wagon! And if you take one step out of common time you'll never take another."

"I'm enjoying one advantage," she replied, "which you do not."

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