es 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.

"No," she seemed to insist; "we do not know that he refuses to come. We
only know that Manuel says so."

The father shook his head sadly. "When has he ever staid away three
nights together before?" he asked. "No, my child; it is intentional.
Manuel urges him to come, but he only sends poor excuses."

"But," said the girl, shading her face from the lamp and speaking with
some suddenness, "why have you not sent word to him by some other
person?"

M. D'Hemecourt looked up at his daughter a moment, and then smiled at
his own simplicity.

"Ah!" he said. "Certainly; and that is what I will--run away, Pauline.
There is Manuel, now, ahead of time!"

A step was heard inside the cafe. The maiden, though she knew the step
was not Mazaro's, rose hastily, opened the nearest door, and
disappeared. She had barely closed it behind her when Galahad
Shaughnessy entered the apartment.

M'Hemecourt rose up, both surprised and confused.

"Good-evening, Munsher D'Himecourt," said the Irishman. "Munsher
D'Himecourt, I know it's against rules--I say, I know it's against rules
to come in here, but"--smiling,--"I want to have a private wurd with ye.
I say, I want to have a private wurd with ye."

In the closet of bottles the maiden smiled triumphantly. She also wiped
the dew from her forehead, for the place was very close and warm.

With her father was no triumph. In him sadness and doubt were so mingled
with anger that he dared not lift his eyes, but gazed at the knot in the
wood of the table, which looked like a caterpillar curled up.

Mazaro, he concluded, had really asked the Major to come.

"Mazaro tol' you?" he asked.

"Yes," answered the Irishman. "Mazaro told me I was watched, and
asked"--

"Madjor," unluckily interrupted the old man, suddenly looking up and
speaking with subdued fervor, "for w'y--iv Maz