“You shall have it from me.”
“May I ask from whom?” said Swartz.
“From General Mohun, of the Confederate army.”
Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:—
“I knew you very well, general—that is why I am so much at my ease. I am pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you were only a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted or killed.”
There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker. He did not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter his listener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently a character.
“Good!” said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. “These little compliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night—let us come to business, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and to these I expect plain replies.”
Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. His glance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open and unreserved.
“I will reply to all your questions, general,” he said, “and reply truthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say that I wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but little confidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you the whole truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I will answer them.”
Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm and yet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of the spy’s heart.