“Halloo!” said he as Mazaro approached, “heer’s the etheerial Angelica herself.  Look-ut heer, sissy, why ar’n’t ye in the maternal arms of the Cafe des Exiles?”

Mazaro smiled amiably and sat down.  A moment after, the Irishman, stepping away from his companions, stood before the young Cuban, and asked with a quiet business air: 

“D’ye want to see me, Mazaro?”

The Cuban nodded, and they went aside.  Mazaro, in a few quick words, looking at his pretty foot the while, told the other on no account to go near the Cafe des Exiles, as there were two men hanging about there, evidently watching for him, and—­

“Wut’s the use o’ that?” asked Galahad; “I say, wut’s the use o’ that?”

Major Shaughnessy’s habit of repeating part of his words arose from another, of interrupting any person who might be speaking.

“They must know—­I say they must know that whenever I’m nowhurs else I’m heer.  What do they want?”

Mazaro made a gesture, signifying caution and secrecy, and smiled, as if to say, “You ought to know.”

“Aha!” said the Irishman softly.  “Why don’t they come here?”

“Z-afrai’,” said Mazaro; “d’they frai’ to do an’teen een d-these-a crowth.”

“That’s so,” said the Irishman; “I say, that’s so.  If I don’t feel very much like go-un, I’ll not go; I say, I’ll not go.  We’ve no business to-night, eh Mazaro?”

“No, Senor.”

A second evening was much the same, Mazaro repeating his warning.  But when, on the third evening, the Irishman again repeated his willingness to stay away from the Cafe des Exiles unless he should feel strongly impelled to go, it was with the mental reservation that he did feel very much in that humor, and, unknown to Mazaro, should thither repair, if only to see whether some of those deep old fellows were not contriving a practical joke.

“Mazaro,” said he, “I’m go-un around the caurnur a bit; I want ye to wait heer till I come back.  I say I want ye to wait heer till I come back; I’ll be gone about three-quarters of an hour.”

Mazaro assented.  He saw with satisfaction the Irishman start in a direction opposite that in which lay the Cafe des Exiles, tarried fifteen or twenty minutes, and then, thinking he could step around to the Cafe des Exiles and return before the expiration of the allotted time, hurried out.

Meanwhile that peaceful habitation sat in the moonlight with her children about her feet.  The company outside the door was somewhat thinner than common.  M. D’Hemecourt was not among them, but was sitting in the room behind the cafe.  The long table which the burial society used at their meetings extended across the apartment, and a lamp had been placed upon it.  M. D’Hemecourt sat by the lamp.  Opposite him was a chair, which seemed awaiting an expected occupant.  Beside the old man sat Pauline.  They were talking in cautious undertones, and in French.