began to find place about
the Cafe des Refugies, and the Mexican physician made three calls in one
day. It was said by the people around that the tall Cuban gentleman
named Benito was very sick in one of the back rooms. A similar frequency
of the same physician's calls was noticed about the Cafe des Exiles.

"The man with one eyebrow," said the neighbors, "is sick. Pauline left
the house yesterday to make room for him."

"Ah! is it possible?"

"Yes, it is really true; she and her husband. She took her mocking-bird
with her; he carried it; he came back alone."

On the next afternoon the children about the Cafe des Refugies enjoyed
the spectacle of the invalid Cuban moved on a trestle to the Cafe des
Exiles, although he did not look so deathly sick as they could have
liked to see him, and on the fourth morning the doors of the Cafe des
Exiles remained closed. A black-bordered funeral notice, veiled with
crape, announced that the great Caller-home of exiles had served his
summons upon Don Pedro Hernandez (surname borrowed for the occasion),
and Don Carlos Mendez y Benito.

The hour for the funeral was fixed at four P.M. It never took place.
Down at the Picayune Tier on the river bank there was, about two o'clock
that same day, a slight commotion, and those who stood aimlessly about a
small, neat schooner, said she was "seized." At four there suddenly
appeared before the Cafe des Exiles a squad of men with silver crescents
on their breasts--police officers. The old cottage sat silent with
closed doors, the crape hanging heavily over the funeral notice like a
widow's veil, the little unseen garden sending up odors from its hidden
censers, and the old weeping-willow bending over all.

"Nobody here?" asks the leader.

The crowd which has gathered stares without answering.

As quietly and peaceably as possible the officers pry open the door.
They enter, and the crowd pushes in after. There are the two coffins,
looking very heavy and solid, lying in state but unguarded.

The crowd draws a breath of astonishment. "Are they going to wrench the
tops off with hatchet and chisel?"

Bap, rap, rap; wrench, rap, wrench. Ah! the cases come open.

"Well kept?" asks the leader flippantly.

"Oh, yes," is the reply. And then all laugh.

One of the lookers-on pushes up and gets a glimpse within.

"What is it?" ask the other idlers.

He tells one quietly.

"What did he say?" ask the rest, one of another.

"He says they ar