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“Why, Munsher D’Himecourt, Mazaro’s been keepin’ me away from heer with a yarn about two Spaniards watchin’ for me. That’s what I came in to ask ye about. My dear sur, do ye s’pose I wud talk about the goddess–I mean, yer daughter–to the likes o’ Mazaro–I say to the likes o’ Mazaro?”

To say the old man was at sea would be too feeble an expression–he was in the trough of the sea, with a hurricane of doubts and fears whirling around him. Somebody had told a lie, and he, having struck upon its sunken surface, was dazed and stunned. He opened his lips to say he knew not what, when his ear caught the voice of Manuel Mazaro, replying to the greeting of some of his comrades outside the front door.

“He is comin’!” cried the old man. “Mague you’sev hide, Madjor; do not led ‘im kedge you, Mon Dieu!”

The Irishman smiled.

“The little yellow wretch!” said he quietly, his blue eyes dancing. “I’m goin’ to catch him.”

A certain hidden hearer instantly made up her mind to rush out between the two young men and be a heroine.

“Non, non!” exclaimed M. D’Hemecourt excitedly. “Nod in de Cafe des Exiles–nod now, Madjor. Go in dad door, hif you pliz, Madjor. You will heer ‘im w’at he ‘ave to say. Mague you’sev de troub’. Nod dad door–diz one.”

The Major laughed again and started toward the door indicated, but in an instant stopped.

“I can’t go in theyre,” he said. “That’s yer daughter’s room.”

“Oui, oui, mais!” cried the other softly, but Mazaro’s step was near.

“I’ll just slip in heer,” and the amused Shaughnessy tripped lightly to the closet door, drew it open in spite of a momentary resistance from within which he had no time to notice, stepped into a small recess full of shelves and bottles, shut the door, and stood face to face–the broad moonlight shining upon her through a small, high-grated opening on one side–with Pauline. At the same instant the voice of the young Cuban sounded in the room.

Pauline was in a great tremor. She made as if she would have opened the door and fled, but the Irishman gave a gesture of earnest protest and re-assurance. The re-opened door might make the back parlor of the Cafe des Exiles a scene of blood. Thinking of this, what could she do? She staid.

“You goth a heap-a thro-vle, Senor,” said Manuel Mazaro, taking the seat so lately vacated. He had patted M. D’Hemecourt tenderly on the back and the old gentleman had flinched; hence the remark, to which there was no reply.

“Was a bee crowth a’ the Cafe the Refugies,” continued the young man.

“Bud, w’ere dad Madjor Shaughnessy?” demanded M. D’Hemecourt, with the little sternness he could command.

“Mayor Shaughness’–yez-a; was there; boat-a,” with a disparaging smile and shake of the head, “he woon-a come-a to you. Senor, oh’ no.”

The old man smiled bitterly.

“Non?” he asked.

“Oh, no, Senor!” Mazaro drew his chair closer. “Senor;” he paused,–“eez a-vary bath-a fore-a you thaughter, eh?”

“W’at?” asked the host, snapping like a tormented dog.

“D-theze talkin’ ‘bou’,” answered the young man; “d-theze coffee-howces noth a goo’ plaze-a fore hore, eh?”

The Irishman and the maiden looked into each other’s eyes an instant, as people will do when listening; but Pauline’s immediately fell, and when Mazaro’s words were understood, her blushes became visible even by moonlight.

“He’s r-right!” emphatically whispered Galahad.

She attempted to draw back a step, but found herself against the shelves. M. D’Hemecourt had not answered. Mazaro spoke again.

“Boat-a you canno’ help-a, eh? I know, ‘out-a she gettin’ marry, eh?”

Pauline trembled. Her father summoned all his force and rose as if to ask his questioner to leave him; but the handsome Cuban motioned him down with a gesture that seemed to beg for only a moment more.

“Senor, if a-was one man whath lo-va you’ thaughter, all is possiblee to lo-va.”

Pauline, nervously braiding some bits of wire which she had unconsciously taken from a shelf, glanced up–against her will,–into the eyes of Galahad. They were looking so steadily down upon her that with a great leap of the heart for joy she closed her own and half turned away. But Mazaro had not ceased.