Angela’s quickness of wit answered for experience in fencing, and she replied coolly: “Neither Captain Isabey nor any other man, except my husband, has any influence over me.” A pause followed, and then Adrienne said, with more than her usual gentleness: “I do not know what made me speak Philip Isabey’s name. The truth is one leads such a retired life here. I live so constantly upon my own thoughts and feelings that when I speak it is often merely thinking aloud. In my former life we spoke of what happened from day to day. There was not much time for thinking, for our life was very gay; and now it seems to me as if I were becoming acquainted with an Adrienne Le Noir whom I never knew before. You, who have lived a life of reflection, with many hours of solitude each day, really know yourself much better than I know myself, and you are better governed in your speech and even in your thoughts.” Angela remained silent. She saw that jealousy, the most ignoble of passions, had seized upon Adrienne, making her hover near a subject of conversation dangerous in the extreme--Philip Isabey. She, however, with some skill, turned into a safer path of conversation. “This life we are leading all over the South is very strange. We are cut off completely from the outside world. Those we love best may be imprisoned, may suffer agonies, may be killed in battle or die of wounds, and it might be weeks before we would know it. All around us a fearful turmoil is going on and we sit still and helpless. We are like people on a raft in mid-ocean--we may be ingulfed at any moment; and meanwhile we watch the sun from hour to hour, not knowing what the day brings forth to anyone on earth except ourselves. Come, it is growing chilly and we must go in.” After supper and family prayers the Harrowby family bade good-by to Colonel Gratiot, whose saddled horse was standing at the door. He, however, remained with Colonel Tremaine until eleven o’clock, when the moon would have gone down. The house speedily grew still and dark except in the library, where the two men sat with maps spread out which they examined by the light of a couple of tallow candles. As Colonel Gratiot was following a certain route with his finger, his quick ear caught a sound, and he said to Colonel Tremaine: “Something has fallen on the ground outside.” He went to one of the great windows and, opening the shutter softly, looked out. At the same moment a light appeared in the window of one of the negro houses, Mammy Tulip’s house, some distance off, toward the lane. “Come here,” said Colonel Gratiot to Colonel Tremaine coolly, “some one is signaling from that house over yonder.” “Nonsense!” replied Colonel Tremaine. “They are probably sitting up roasting apples.” Just then the window overhead was softly lowered and Colonel Gratiot, peering out, saw a letter lying on the grass. “Some one will come to get that letter,” he whispered to Colonel Tremaine.