well, my lord."

"Item three, a fair and slim white hand, and a round and beautiful
wrist."

"Correct. Again thou observest well, Sir Launcelot."

"Item four, a rosy young face which the firelight makes more rosy,
and a crown of golden hair, which this same firelight turns to deeper
gold."

"Correct, ye Squire of Fair Ladies; and now, lead on!"

They entered the great house and found it already filled with officers
and women, most of whom were young. The visitors had brought with them
the best supplies that the farms could furnish, turkeys, chickens, hams,
late fruits well preserved, and, above all, that hero-worship with which
they favored their champions. To these girls and their older sisters
the young officers who had taken part in so many great battles were like
the knights of old, splendid and invincible.

There was no warning note in all that joyous scene, although a hostile
army of one hundred and thirty-five thousand men and four hundred guns
lay on the other side of the river which flowed almost at their feet.
It seemed to Harry afterward that they danced in the very face of death,
caring nothing for what the dawn might bring.

Stuart was in great feather. In his finest apparel he was the very life
and soul of the ball, and these people forgot for a while the desolation
into which war was turning their country. The Virginia band and the
Acadians carried on an intense but friendly rivalry, playing with all
the spirit and vigor of men who were anxious to please. It was a joy to
Harry when he was not dancing to watch them, especially the Acadians,
whose faces glowed as the dancers and their own bodies swayed to the
music they were making.

Harry and his comrades were very young, but youth matures rapidly in war,
and they felt themselves men. In truth they had done the deeds of
men for two years now, and they were treated as such by the others.
Bertrand also was present, and while he cast a dark look or two at
St. Clair, he kept away from him.

Bye and bye another young man, obviously of French blood, appeared.
But he was not dark. He had light hair, blue eyes, and he was tall and
slender. But the pure strain of his Gallic blood showed, nevertheless,
as clearly as if he had been born in Northern France itself.
Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire welcomed him with warmth and
pride and introduced him to the lads, who at that moment were not
dancing.

"This is that young cousin of mine of who