CHAPTER III

THE HEART OF A MAID

When the wild and throbbing excitement of the evening was over, the fear, the horror, the joy, the triumph, the exulting exhilaration, Broussard, smoking his last cigar at one o’clock in the morning, felt a little ashamed of himself.  After all, Anita was little more than a child, being but seventeen, and it was hardly fair to her that he should try to chain her young feet and blindfold her young eyes before she had seen the great moving picture of the world.  Broussard did not in the least remember what he said to Anita when he was putting her cap on her head, nor even the words in which she had replied; he only knew that they were burning words that came from the heart and spoke through the eyes as well as the tongue.  But a man was not always master of himself.  Broussard had a good many plausible excuses to urge for himself, and was always a good barker for Victor Broussard, and Anita was so charming, she had so much more sense than the average seventeen-year-old fledgling, she was so obviously more developed mentally and emotionally for her age, she had grown up in an atmosphere of tenderness and happiness, for everybody knew that the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue were still like lovers, after twenty years of married life.  Broussard fell into a delicious reverie that lasted until he heard the clang of the changing sentries at two o’clock in the morning.

The Christmas gaieties went on for a fortnight, including another big ball given by the officers.  Colonel Fortescue brought upon himself many maledictions from the junior officers by the way in which he regulated these balls.  The Colonel was neither bashful nor backward with his young officers, and he liked them to dance, bearing in mind the saying of a great commander that a part of every soldier’s equipment is gaiety of heart; but he was grimly particular about the kind of dancing that took place at Fort Blizzard.  Before every ball, Colonel Fortescue’s aide, Conway, a serious young lieutenant, delivered the Colonel’s orders that there was to be no tangoing or turkey-trotting or chicken-reeling or “Here Comes My Daddy” business in that ball-room.  Moreover, Neroda, the bandmaster, had orders if any of these dances, abhorred of the Colonel’s heart, were started the music was to stop immediately.  Colonel Fortescue himself, by way of setting an example, would do a sedate waltz with some matron of the post, or select a rosebud girl for a solemn set of lancers quadrilles.  Mrs. Fortescue still held the palm as the prettiest waltzer at the post, none the less gay for being dignified.  However, the young people, except Anita, revenged themselves on the C. O. by doing, in their own drawing-rooms, all the prohibited dances.  With Anita, nothing could have induced her to do anything forbidden by the beloved of her heart—­a trait not without its dangers.

Broussard was treated as a hero by everybody at the post and enjoyed it extremely, in spite of his deprecation of all praise and declaring that Gamechick was the real hero.