silver chimes.

It seemed to Harry that the tension and excitement of the people in the
streets were of a rather pleasant kind. They had done a great deed, and,
keyed to a high pitch by their orators and newspapers, they did not fear
the consequences. The crowd seemed foreign to him in many aspects,
Gallic rather than American, but very likeable.

He reached his hotel, a brick building behind a high iron fence, kept by
a woman of olive complexion, middle years, and pleasant manners, Madame
Josephine Delaunay. She looked at him at first with a little doubt,
because it was a time in Charleston when one must inspect strangers,
but when he mentioned Colonel Leonidas Talbot she broke into a series of
smiles.

"Ah, the good colonel!" she exclaimed. "We were children at school
together, but since he became a soldier he has gone far from here.
And has he returned to fight for his great mother, South Carolina?"

"He has come back. He has resigned from the army, and he is here to do
South Carolina's bidding."

"It is like him," said Madame Delaunay. "Ah, that Leonidas, he has a
great soul!"

"I travelled with him from Nashville to Charleston," said Harry, "and I
learned to like and admire him."

He had established himself at once in the good graces of Madame Delaunay
and she gave him a fine room overlooking a garden, which in season