She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. I told you no good would come of it. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. I'll see her myself; and that's more than she bargained for, I'll be sworn.
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