he second mounted battery of the 9th
Regiment of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans
with black eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when he listened
respectfully to the well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in the
act of saying to himself:

"The prettier is Mrs. Scott!"

Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a little
interval of ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jean
remained apart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening.
His thoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval.

"Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percival
is only a child."

He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little table. He heard her
story told with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that very
peculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was again
in the church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, her
pretty head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, and
far off, in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile of
Bettina.

"A child--is she only a child?"

The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately,
no command, no responsibility. The four batteries executed their
evolutions together; this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages,
deployed in every direction, now drawn out in a long line, again
collected into a compact group. All stopped at the same instant along
the whole extent of the ground; the gunners sprang from their horses,
ran to their pieces, detached each from its team, which went off at
a trot and prepared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then the horses
returned, the men re-attached their pieces; sprang quickly to saddle,
and the regiment started at full gallop across the field.

Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina regained her advantage over
Mrs. Scott. She appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the sunlit
clouds of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called him, Monsieur
Jean, and never had his name sounded so sweet. And that last pressure
of the hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. Had not Miss
Percival given him a more cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes,
positively a little more.

"I was mistaken," thought Jean; "the prettier is Miss Percival."

The day's work was finished; the pieces were ranged regularly in line
one behind the other; they defiled rapidly, with a ho