A romance set near New Orleans during the Civil War.
Creole of maybe twenty-nine years, member of his new staff, in bright uniform:
"Ah, Général, yo' moze ob-edient! Never less al-lone then when al-lone? 'T is the way with myseff--"
He seemed not unrefined, though of almost too mettlesome an eye; in length of leg showing just the lack, in girth of waist just the excess, to imply a better dignity on horseback and to allow a proud tailor to prove how much art can overcome. Out on the road a liveried black coachman had halted an open carriage, in which this soldier had arrived with two ladies. Now these bowed delightedly from it to the General, while Kincaid and his friend stood close hid and listened agape, equally amused and dismayed.
"How are you, Mandeville?" said the General. "I am not nearly as much alone as I seem, sir!"
A voice just beyond the green-veiled fence cast a light on this reply and brought a flush to the Creole's very brows. "Alas! Greenleaf," it cried, "we search in vain! He is not here! We are even mo