features were regular and might have been called handsome; the eyes,
hair, mustache, and imperial--he wore no beard--coal black; the
complexion so pale that the effect was startling. More curious than all
else, however, was the officer's expression. In the lips and eyes could
be read something bitterly cynical, mingled with a profound and
apparently ineradicable melancholy. After looking at my new
acquaintance for an instant, I said to myself: "This man has either
suffered some great grief, or committed some great crime."

His bearing was cold, but courteous.

"I recognized you as soon as I saw you, colonel," he said, in response
to my salute. "You probably do not know me, however, as I have just
been transferred from the Army of the West. Colonel Mohun, at your
service."

I exchanged a pressure of the hand with Colonel Mohun, or, speaking
more correctly, I grasped his. It did not return the pressure. I then
thanked him for his timely appearance, and he bowed coldly.

"It was lucky that my scout led me in this direction," he said, "that
party is whipped back over the river, and will give us no more trouble
to-night--the woods are full of their dead and wounded."

As he spoke he took a cigar case from his pocket, and presented it.

"Will you smoke, sir?" he said.

I bowed and selected a cigar. Colonel Mohun imitated me, and was about
to commence smoking, when two or three cavalry men were seen