the divan, he covered
with a piece of Oriental drapery--a hat trimmed with flowers, he sent
flying into a far-away corner. Dona Luisa fancied that she saw a bit of
gauzy feminine negligee embroidered in pink, flitting past the window
frame. Upon the divan were two big coffee cups and bits of toast
evidently left from a double breakfast. These artists! . . . The same
as her son! And she was moved to compassion over the bad life of Julio's
counsellor.

"My honored Dona Luisa. . . . My DEAR Madame Desnoyers. . . ."

He was speaking in French and at the top of his voice, looking
frantically at the door through which the white and rosy garments had
flitted. He was trembling at the thought that his hidden companion, not
understanding the situation, might in a jealous fit, compromise him by a
sudden apparition.

Then he spoke to his unexpected guest about the soldier, exchanging news
with her. Dona Luisa repeated almost word for word the paragraphs of his
letters so frequently read. Argensola modestly refrained from displaying
his; the two friends were accustomed to an epistolary style which would
have made the good lady blush.

"A valiant man!" affirmed the Spaniard proudly, looking upon the deeds
of his comrade as though they were his own. "A true hero! and I, Madame
Desnoyers, know something about what that means. . . . His chiefs know
how to appreciate him." . . .

Julio was a sergeant after having been only two months in the campaign.
The captain of his company and the other officials of the regiment
belonged to the fencing club in which he had had so many triumphs.

"What a career!" he enthused. "He is one of those who in youth reach
the highest ranks, like the Generals of the Revolution. . . . And what
wonders he has accomplished!"

The budding officer had merely referred in the most casual way to some
of exploits, with the indifference of one accustomed to danger and
expecting the same attitude from his comrades; but his chum exaggerated
them, enlarging upon them as though they were the culminating events of
the war. He had carried an order across an infernal fire, after three
messengers, trying to accomplish the same feat, had fallen dead. He
had been the first to attack many trenches and had saved many of
his comrades by means of the blows from his bayonet and hand to hand
encounters. Whenever his superior officers needed a reliable man, they
invariably said, "Let Sergeant Desnoyers be called!"

He rattled