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

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

So there came a silence, and then a gay laugh as three of us at once asked if he had ever heard of Lieutenant Durand. "Durand!" he cried, and looked squarely around at me. I lifted the cocked revolver, but he kept his fine eyes on mine and I rubbed my ear with my wrist. "What?" he said, "an elegant, Creole-seeming young fellow, very handsome? Why, that fellow saved my life this very afternoon."

"I understand, General; they'll not get it."

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