At the _soirée_ of the lovely widow, Mrs. Kathleen O’Trump, I was confident that I should meet with no similar disappointment. Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the card-table, with my pretty hostess for a _vis-à-vis_, than I propounded those questions the solution of which had become a matter so essential to my peace. “Smith!” said my partner, “why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn’t it?—diamonds, did you say?—terrible wretches those Kickapoos!—we are playing _whist_, if you please, Mr. Tattle—however, this is the age of invention, most certainly _the_ age, one may say—_the_ age _par excellence_—speak French?—oh, quite a hero—perfect desperado!—_no hearts_, Mr. Tattle? I don’t believe it.—immortal renown and all that!—prodigies of valor! _Never heard!!_—why, bless me, he’s the man—” “Mann!—_Captain_ Mann?” here screamed some little feminine interloper from the farthest corner of the room. “Are you talking about Captain Mann and the duel?—oh, I _must_ hear—do tell—go on, Mrs. O’Trump!—do now go on!” And go on Mrs. O’Trump did—all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either shot or hung, or should have been both shot and hung. Yes! Mrs. O’Trump, she went on, and I—I went off. There was no chance of hearing anything farther that evening in regard to Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. Still I consoled myself with the reflection that the tide of ill luck would not run against me forever, and so determined to make a bold push for information at the rout of that bewitching little angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette. “Smith!” said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a _pas de zephyr_, “Smith!—why, not General John A. B. C.? Dreadful business that of the Bugaboos, wasn’t it?—dreadful creatures, those Indians!—_do_ turn out your toes! I really am ashamed of you—man of great courage, poor fellow!—but this is a wonderful age for invention—O dear me, I’m out of breath—quite a desperado—prodigies of valor—_never heard!_—can’t believe it—I shall have to sit down and enlighten you—Smith! why, he’s the man—”