ht wedged in the crowd, were laughing and talking on the staircase,
when I caught sight of a lady a step or two above me. She was signalling
with her fan to a friend behind me, and I thought then, and I think
still, that her smiling face was the most beautiful thing I had ever
beheld. Her hair, which is pure silver now, and no less lovely, was as
dark as night, but her face was full of pure color, the brow pale, the
cheeks rosy, and the red of the lips unusually bright and full for an
Englishwoman, as I at first thought her to be. Her beautiful figure was
set off to great advantage by a simple gown of white Indian muslin-the
white was of a crearaish tone, I remember, and a string of large pearls
was her only ornament. My heart gave a sudden odd leap when I saw her,
and I had the feeling I have known more than once when I have been
ordered on a dangerous service. But the sensation did not pass away, as
it does under danger when the feeling comes that action is necessary. I
continued to flutter like a school-girl; and when by accident her eyes
met mine, a moment later, I felt that I blushed like fire. I could read
a sort of recognition in her glance, and for a moment it seemed as if
she would float down the stairs, in spite of the intervening crush,
and speak to me. But instead of that she sighted Brunow at my side and
beckoned him.

* _Note by Violet Fyffe_.--My husband had saved the life of
his general a day earlier, in circumstances of extraordinary
heroism. I do not expect to find any record of that sort of
act in any pages written by his hand.

"Can you contrive to come to me, Mr. Brunow?" she asked, in a voice as
lovely as her own eyes. They were the first words I heard her speak, and
I seem to hear them again as I write them down, just as I can see her
exquisite face and noble figure instinct with youth, though when I raise
my eyes I can see my old wife-God bless her!-walking a little feebly in
the garden, with a walking-stick of mine to help her steps.

Brunow made his way to her, and they talked for a minute. I couldn't
help listening to her voice, and I heard my own name.

"You know the gentleman who stood beside you?" she asked. And Brunow
answering that he and I were old friends, she said, "It is Captain
Fyffe, I think."

"No other, Miss Rossano," said Brunow.

"Bring him here and introduce me to him," she said. "I have a great
desire to know Captain Fyffe."

At this I hardly knew w