we could push cars widout
touchin' them. 'Fall in,' says he. 'Fix bayonets. First file to the
right av the cars, second rank to the left. Forward, march!' An' we went
into that hell, an' rolled them cars out just as if we was marchin' down
Broadway, wid flags, an' music, an' women clappin' hands."

"But weren't you dreadfully burnt?"

"Oh, miss, yez should have seen us! We was blacker thin the divil
himsilf. Hardly one av us but didn't have the hair burnt off the part
his cap didn't cover; an', as for eyelashes, an' mustaches, an'
blisters, no one thought av them the next day. Shure, the whole company
was in bed, except them as couldn't lie easy."

"And Mr. Stirling?"

"Shure, don't yez know about him?"

"No."

"Why, he was dreadful burnt, an' the doctors thought it would be blind
he'd be; but he went to Paris, an' they did somethin' to him there that
saved him. Oh, miss, the boys were nearly crazy wid fear av losin' him.
They'd rather be afther losin' the regimental cat."

Peter had been tempted to interrupt two or three times, but it was so
absorbing to watch Leonore's face, and its changing expression, as,
unconscious of his presence, she listened to Dennis, that Peter had not
the heart to do it. But now Watts spoke up.

"Do you hear that, Peter? There's value for you! You're better than the
cat."

So the scenes were shifted, and they all sat and chatted till Dennis
left. Then the necessary papers were brought in and looked over at
Peter's study-table, and Miss D'Alloi took another of his pens. Peter
hoped she'd stop and think a little, again, but she didn't. Just as she
had begun an L she hesitated, however.

"Why," she said, "this paper calls me 'Leonore D'Alloi, spinster!' I'm
not going to sign that."

"That is merely the legal term," Peter explained. Leonore pouted for
some time over it, but finally signed. "I shan't be a spinster, anyway,
even if the paper does say so," she said.

Peter agreed with her.

"See what a great blot I've made on your clean blotter," said Leonore,
who had rested the pen-point there. "I'm very sorry." Then she wrote on
the blotter, "Leonore D'Alloi. Her very untidy mark." "That was what
Madame Mellerie always made me write on my exercises."

Then they said "Good-bye." "I like down-town New York better and
better," said Leonore.

So did Peter.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A BIRTHDAY EVENING.

Peter went into Ray's office on Monday. "I want your advice," he said.
"I