dire want, partly for very love to homeless souls,
the Cafe des Exiles. He had hoped that, as strong drink and high words
were to be alike unknown to it, it might not prejudice sensible people;
but it had. He had no doubt they said among themselves, "She is an
excellent and beautiful girl and deserving all respect;" and respect
they accorded, but their _respects_ they never came to pay.

"A cafe is a cafe," said the old gentleman. "It is nod possib' to ezcape
him, aldough de Cafe des Exiles is differen from de rez."

"It's different from the Cafe des Refugies," suggested the Irishman.

"Differen' as possib'," replied M. D'Hemecourt He looked about upon the
walls. The shelves were luscious with ranks of cooling sirups which he
alone knew how to make. The expression of his face changed from sadness
to a gentle pride, which spoke without words, saying--and let our story
pause a moment to hear it say:

"If any poor exile, from any island where guavas or mangoes or plantains
grow, wants a draught which will make him see his home among the
cocoa-palms, behold the Cafe des Exiles ready to take the poor child up
and give him the breast! And if gold or silver he has them not, why
Heaven and Santa Maria, and Saint Christopher bless him! It makes no
difference. Here is a rocking-chair, here a cigarette, and here a light
from the host's own tinder. He will pay when he can."

As this easily pardoned pride said, so it often occurred; and if the
newly come exile said his father was a Spaniard--"Come!" old M.
D'Hemecourt would cry; "another glass; it is an innocent drink; my
mother was a Castilian." But, if the exile said his mother was a
Frenchwoman, the glasses would be forthcoming all the same, for "My
father," the old man would say, "was a Frenchman of Martinique, with
blood as pure as that wine and a heart as sweet as this honey; come, a
glass of orgeat;" and he would bring it himself in a quart tumbler.

Now, there are jealousies and jealousies. There are people who rise up
quickly and kill, and there are others who turn their hot thoughts over
silently in their minds as a brooding bird turns her eggs in the nest.
Thus did Manuel Mazaro, and took it ill that Galahad should see a vision
in the temple while he and all the brethren tarried without. Pauline had
been to the Cafe des Exiles in some degree what the image of the Virgin
was to their churches at home; and for her father to whisper her name to
one and not to another wa