She turned and spoke. The old butler came forward. “Etienne, this gentleman is our guest. Show him to the panelled room, and tell Simon he is to wait upon him.” She spoke again to Edward. “Breakfast will be sent to you there. And then you must sleep.—No, there is nothing we can do. The danger to the main levee has passed for this time, I am sure.—Yes, there is still food. We can only fold our hands and wait. I am used to that if you are not. Refresh yourself and sleep. Supper is at seven, and I hope that you will take it with me.” The panelled room, with a lightwood fire crackling upon the hearth, with jalousied windows just brushed against from without by a superb magnolia, with a cricket chirping, with a great soft white bed—ah, the panelled room was a place in which to sleep! The weary soldier from Virginia slept like the dead. The day passed, the afternoon was drawing toward evening, before he began to dream. First he dreamed of battle; of A.P. Hill in his red battle-shirt, and of an order from “Old Jack” which nobody could read, but which everybody knew must be immediately obeyed. In the midst of the whole division trying to decipher it, it suddenly became perfectly plain, and the Light Division marched to carry it out,—only he himself was suddenly back home at Greenwood and Mammy was singing to him “The buzzards and the butterflies.” He turned upon his side and drifted to the University, and then turned again and dreamed of a poem which it seemed he was writing,—a great poem,—a string of sonnets, like Petrarch or Surrey or Philip Sidney. The sonnets were all about Love.... He woke fully and his mind filled at once with the red torchlight, the wild river beyond the levee, and the face and form of Désirée Gaillard. The door gently opened and Simon entered the panelled room, behind him two boys bearing great pitchers of heated water. The lightwood fire was burning brightly; through the jalousies stole the slant rays of the sinking sun; the magnolia, pushed by the evening wind, tapped against the window frame. Simon had across his extended arm divers articles of wearing apparel. These he laid with solemnity upon a couch by the fire, and then, having dismissed the boys and observed that Edward was awake, he bowed and hoped that the guest had slept well. “Heavenly well,” said Edward dreamily. “Hot water, soap, and towels.” “I hab tek de liberty, sah,” said Simon, “ob extractin’ yo’ uniform from de room while you slep’. De mud whar we could clean off, we hab cleaned off, en’ we hab pressed de uniform, but de sempstress she say ’scuse her fer not mendin’ de tohn places better. She say dat uniform sut’n’y seen hard service.”