eet, as it was beginning to be
called). Manuel Mazaro was made secretary.

It was for some reason thought judicious for the society to hold its
meetings in various places, now here, now there; but the most frequent
rendezvous was the Cafe des Exiles; it was quiet; those Spanish Creoles,
however they may afterward cackle, like to lay their plans noiselessly,
like a hen in a barn. There was a very general confidence in this old
institution, a kind of inward assurance that "mother wouldn't tell;"
though, after all, what great secrets could there be connected with a
mere burial society?

Before the hour of meeting, the Cafe des Exiles always sent away her
children and closed her door. Presently they would commence returning,
one by one, as a flock of wild fowl will do, that has been startled up
from its accustomed haunt. Frequenters of the Cafe des Refugies also
would appear. A small gate in the close garden-fence let them into a
room behind the cafe proper, and by and by the apartment would be full
of dark-visaged men conversing in the low, courteous tone common to
their race. The shutters of doors and windows were closed and the chinks
stopped with cotton; some people are so jealous of observation.

On a certain night after one of these meetings had dispersed in its
peculiar way, the members retiring two by two at intervals, Manuel
Mazaro and M. D'Hemecourt were left alone, sitting close together in the
dimly lighted room, the former speaking, the other, with no pleasant
countenance, attending. It seemed to the young Cuban a proper
precaution--he was made of precautions--to speak in English. His voice
was barely audible.

"---- sayce to me, 'Manuel, she t-theeng I want-n to marry hore.' Senor,
you shouth 'ave see' him laugh!"

M. D'Hemecourt lifted up his head, and laid his hand upon the young
man's arm.

"Manuel Mazaro," he began, "iv dad w'ad you say is nod"--

The Cuban interrupted.

"If is no' t-thrue you will keel Manuel Mazaro?--a' r-r-right-a!"

"No," said the tender old man, "no, bud h-I am positeef dad de Madjor
will shood you."

Mazaro nodded, and lifted one finger for attention.

"---- sayce to me, 'Manuel, you goin' tell-a Senor D'Hemecourt, I fin'-a
you some nigh' an' cut-a you' heart ou'. An' I sayce to heem-a, 'Boat-a
if Senor D'Hemecourt he fin'-in' ou' frone Pauline'"--

"_Silence!_" fiercely cried the old man. "My God! 'Sieur Mazaro, neider
you, neider somebody helse s'all h'use de nem of