“You are mistaken!”      

       “Is it possible that I could have forgotten so pleasing a circumstance, madam?”      

       “Yes!”      

       “Where and when have I seen you since that time?”      

       “Everywhere, and at all times!—awake and asleep, day and night!”      

       Mohun shuddered.     

       “True,” he said, with a bitter smile.     

       “You remember, then! I am not wrong!” exclaimed the prisoner, gazing intently at him.     

       Mohun raised his head, and I could see the old cynical expression upon his lips.     

       “Certainly I remember, madam,” he said. “Do you think it possible for any one to forget your charming ladyship? And could any thing be more delightful than this interview between two old friends? But let us reserve these sweet confidences, these gushing emotions! One thing only is wanting, to perfect the happiness of this moment; the presence this evening of your dear brother!—but he is doubtless detained elsewhere!”      

       Mohun’s expression was singular as he uttered these words. The prisoner looked at him as he was speaking with an indescribable smile. I can only compare it to that of the swordsman about to deliver a mortal lunge.     

       “My brother,” she said, in accents as soft as a flute; “detained elsewhere, do you say, sir? You are mistaken in supposing so. He commanded the cavalry with which you were fighting to-night!”      

       At these words, uttered in a strange, mocking voice, I saw Mohun start as if a rattlesnake had bitten his heel. With all his self-possession he could not restrain this exhibition of emotion.     

       “Impossible! You are deceiving me—”      

       The prisoner interrupted him with a gay laugh.     

       “So you do not believe me,” she said; “you think, my dear sir, that everybody 

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