Thus now, Flora gave no hint of the beautiful skill and quick success with which, on her homeward railway trip with Greenleaf that evening, she had bettered his impressions of her.  By no more than a gentle play of light and shade in her smile and an undulating melody of voice—­without a word that touched the wound itself, but with a timid glow of compassionate admiration—­she had soothed the torture of a heart whose last hope Anna had that same hour put to death.

“But before he took the train with you,” murmured the mosquito to the butterfly, “when he said the General was going to take Irby upon his staff and give the battery to Kincaid, what did you talk of?”

“Talk of?  Charlie.  He said I ought to make Charlie join the battery.”

“Ah?  For what?  To secure Kincaid’s protection of your dear little brother’s health—­character—­morals—­eh?”

“Yes, ’twas so he put it,” replied Flora, while the old lady’s eyebrows visibly cried: 

“You sly bird! will you impute all your own words to that Yankee, and his to yourself?”

Which is just what Flora continued to do as the grandma tinkled:  “And you said—­what?”

“I said if I couldn’t keep him at home I ought to get him into the cavalry.  You know, dear, in the infantry the marches are so cruel, the camps so—­”

“But in the artillery,” piped the small dame, “they ride, eh?” (It was a trap she was setting, but in vain was the net spread.)

“No,” said the serene girl, “they, too, go afoot.  Often they must help the horses drag the guns through the mire.  Only on parade they ride, or when rushing to and fro in battle, whips cracking, horses plunging, the hills smoking and shaking!” The rare creature sparkled frankly, seeing the battery whirling into action with its standard on the wind—­this very flag she expected presently to bestow.

“And with Kincaid at the head!” softly cried the antique.

The girl put on a fondness which suddenly became a withering droop of the eyes:  “Don’t mince your smile so, grannie dear, I can hear the paint crack.”

The wee relic flashed, yet instantly was bland again:  “You were about to say, however, that in the artillery—?”

“The risks are the deadliest of all.”

“Ah, yes!” sang the mosquito, “and for a sister to push her boy brother into a battery under such a commander would be too much like murder!”

The maiden felt the same start as when Greenleaf had ventured almost those words.  “Yes,” she beamingly rejoined, “that’s what I told the Lieutenant.”

“With a blush?”

“No,” carelessly said the slender beauty, and exchanged happy signals with the Callenders.

“You tricksy wretch!” muttered the grandmother to herself.  For though Charlie was in the battery by his own choice, Hilary would have kept him out had not the sister begged to have him let in.

Suddenly there was a glad stoppage of all by-play in the swarming streets.  Down St. Charles from LaFayette Square came the shock of saluting artillery, and up Royal from Jackson Square rolled back antiphonal thunders.