Let me say, however, in passing, that there was something sad as well
as joyful, gloomy as well as brilliant, in all that echoing laughter,
and the movements of these gay figures, on the eve of the bloody battle
of Fleetwood. Girls were smiling upon youths who in twelve hours would
be dead. Lips were shaping gallant compliments--soon they were going to
utter the death-groan. All went merry as a marriage-bell, and they
danced to the joyous music. Soon the cannon would begin to roll, and
the youths would charge to that stormy music as they danced to this.

I was gazing at the lively assemblage--at the undulating forms moving
to and fro, the gay uniforms, the fluttering scarfs, the snowy arms,
the rosy cheeks, when my attention was attracted by a figure which made
me lose sight of all else.

It was that of a young girl about twenty, tall, stately, and beautiful.
Her dark hair was carried back in glossy waves, and ended in profuse
curls. Her cheeks resembled blush roses; the eyes were large,
brilliant, and full of laughing hauteur; the lips red, and wreathed
into a dazzling smile, which was the perfection of satirical mirth.

I grow extravagant; but this young girl was superb. There was something
queen like and imposing in her movements and whole appearance. She
seemed to look down on the crowd with satirical disdain, and the gay
youths who surrounded her were every instant struck by the bright
shafts of a wit which spared nothing.

Who was this dangerous beauty, who received the attentions of the young
officers with so much careless disdain? I asked that question of a
friend and he replied: