d 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