The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. ” He said. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure.
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