The Livingston mansion, the most fashionable home in the city, had been lighted with many candles when Juliette arrived. From its wide-pillared portico a negro butler ushered her in where a hum of feminine voices greeted her and a beautiful sight met her eyes. Besides herself, a dozen of the most beautiful society women of New Orleans had been asked to help receive the noted Indian fighter. “Oh, what does he look like?” cried one, as soon as she saw Juliette and greeted her, “and how shall we do to please him? I am told you know him well, _ma chérie_—does he wear coon caps, and, O, what do you call it?—furs?” Mrs. Livingston came up, smiling: “Now, my dear, you must act as my aide-de-camp. You must introduce me and all these girls to the General and his staff, and do taste the punch and see if I have put enough whiskey in, for they say he drinks it straight out of a dipper!” There were sounds of footsteps on the portico and the clatter of swords against spurs. The bevy of pretty women fell back in line behind their hostess, with: “There they are, now!” Juliette fell back with the others, her face pale, for just as they came into the door her quick eye had seen them, Major Livingston ushering them in—and Trevellian among them. Then her heart began to thump so loudly—her breath to come so quickly that she felt as if she should faint. She had heard of his deeds and his rapid promotion. Mrs. Jackson herself had written her over a month ago—how he had led the troops into Pensacola, taking a battery which was threatening them with a squad of men. How he had helped at Ft. Bowser, driving the British out and (for Mrs. Jackson would not omit this, since she had written the letter for no other purpose)—he had been promoted to the colonelcy of the Tennessee regiment in place of Bristow, captured by the British and taken off in their man-of-war as it ran out of Pensacola: “And Mr. Jackson says,” she wrote, “that he had met them secretly and was acting without authority at a critical time.” All this had gone through her mind as she saw them advancing. She smiled when she saw General Jackson’s magnificent bow to Mrs. Livingston, and that lady’s look of surprise, as with courtly grace, he turned and introduced to her each of his officers. In turn she introduced him to the ladies and when he reached Juliette he stopped, raised and kissed her hand, saying: “I am delighted to see you so soon after my arrival, my dear, for I was just going to look you up,” and then with a wonderful memory for French and American names, he turned and introduced each of his officers to the younger hostess and the younger ladies, pronouncing their names as if he had been familiar with them always. Taking Mrs. Livingston by the hand he conducted her to a sofa and seated her amid the hum and hubbub of younger voices mingling. Juliette turned. It was a pretty girl whispering in her ear. “Is this your backwoodsman? He is a prince.”