ne, blushing.

"That makes all the difference," replied Zulma, with a pleasant laugh
that was slightly tinged with sarcasm. "I declare I should like to know
this specimen."

"You know him, dear."

"Impossible!"

"He has spoken to me of you."

"Indeed!"

"And is a great admirer of yours."

"You mock me!"

"You can't guess who it is?"

And little Pauline brightened up with childish glee at having gained
this slight advantage over her companion.

"You puzzle and excite me, darling. I can't guess. Tell me who it is."

"Lieutenant Hardinge!"

"Lieutenant Hardinge?"

Why was the cheek of Zulma suddenly touched with flame? Why did her blue
eyes darken as in a lurid shadow? And her lips--why did they contract
into marble whiteness, without the power of articulation? There was a
pause of deep solemnity. To Pauline it was perplexing. She feared that
she had said too much, both for her own sake and that of her friend. But
she was soon relieved of her misgivings by the touch of Zulma's hand
laid upon hers, and a deep, penetrating look, which showed, better than
any words, that the latter understood all, and generously sympathized
with her friend.

"Of course," she said with a laugh, "if you borrow your ideas from
Lieutenant Hardinge, you cannot have much of an opinion of the
Americans, and I suppose it would be loss of time for me to controvert
that opinion."

"Fortunately the result of the war does not depend on the notions of two
girls like ourselves," retorted Pauline, with an argumentative spirit
which was quite foreign to her, and which made her companion laugh
again.

"Never mind," said Zulma. "Let us do something more womanly. Let us go
and look at these new soldiers."

"Very well, and I may hear something of my father on the way."

They stepped out of the house and joined a crowd of men, women and
children bending their steps to the ramparts. When they reached the
walls, they found them already lined with people talking and
gesticulating in the most excited manner. Some spoke aloud, some shouted
at the top of their lungs, some waved their hats, some fluttered their
handkerchiefs attached to the end of their walking sticks, like flags,
and some openly beckoned a welcome to the rebel host. There stood
Arnold's army spread out before them, deployed into a loose double
column on the Plains of Abraham. They had brushed their clothes,
furbished their arms, and put on the best possible appearance. They we