"
"I take only one guess. That coruscating core of your dream was a girl."
"I told you I wouldn't say whether you were right or wrong."
"Is she blonde or dark?"
"I repeat that I'm answering no questions."
"Does she live in one of your Northern or one of your Southern States?"
John smiled.
"I suppose you haven't heard from her in a long time, as mail from
across the water isn't coming with much regularity to this battle
field."
John smiled again.
"And now I'll conclude," said Carstairs, speaking very seriously. "If
it is a girl, and I know it is, I hope that she'll smile when she thinks
of you, as you've been smiling when you think of her. I hope, too, that
you'll go through this war without getting killed, although the chances
are three or four to one against it, and go back home and win her."
John smiled once more and was silent, but when Carstairs held out his
hand he could not keep from shaking it. Then Paris, the modest house
beyond the Seine, and the girl within it, floated away like an illusion,
driven from thought in an instant by a giant shell that struck within a
few hundred yards of them, exploding with a terrible crash and filling
the air with deadly bits of flying shell.
There was such a whistling in his ears that John thought at first he had
been hit, but when he shook himself a little he found he was unhurt, and
his heart resumed its normal beat. Other shells coming out of space
began to strike, but none so near, and the Strangers went calmly on.
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