“How dare you?” cried Madame, stamping her foot. “I will have you whipped.”
But as she started to call the servants a sharp peal of the door bell rang through the house. Instantly a most remarkable transformation took place in the lady. Her rage disappeared as if by magic, and, as one of the darkies opened the door to announce. “Colonel Peyton,” she presented a serene and smiling countenance to the gentleman.
“Colonel Peyton,” she exclaimed, sweeping forward gracefully, “this is indeed an honor. To what good fortune am I indebted for such a favor?”
“The exigencies of war, Madame,” answered the Colonel, bowing over her hand with courtly grace. “I am accompanied by some of my men. May I ask that they be permitted to enter?”
“Certainly,” assented Madame sweetly, but there was a trace of uneasiness in her manner.
Into the room filed a squad of soldiers and with them, Jeanne could scarcely repress a cry of joy at sight of him, came Mr. Huntsworth.
“Madame,” said Colonel Peyton, pulling a paper from his pocket. “General Pemberton has sent a written order for a young man–a Federal prisoner–who was put in your charge to be taken care of until he should have recovered from his wound. As some time has elapsed he is convinced that he has sufficiently recovered to be turned over to us. I have come to take him and also the young girl who accompanied him. They are prisoners of war, you understand.”
Madame Vance bowed but her eyes glittered balefully.
“The girl is here, take her,” she said. “But the boy–ah, mon Colonel, you must not take him yet. He is not able to go. Besides, let me but have him a short time longer and who knows but that a full fledged Confederate may be the result? He is not able to go. Leave him with me, Colonel, I beseech you. I will see the General myself.”
“No; take him,” interposed Jeanne who feared that the Colonel might succumb to the lady’s blandishments. “She wants to force him to her wish, and you don’t want such soldiers, Colonel Peyton.”