" "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau.
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