A group of men stood in the corner and seemed to be talking politics, as far as I could judge from then gesticulations. A few ladies in sweeping trains, and very _décolletées_, sat looking on listlessly. The daughter of the house was nearing the piano. The Dean said to me, with a sly smile, "Now is the _coup de grâce!_"--his little joke. She sang, "Robert, toi que j'aime. Grâce! Grâce!" etc. Also she sang the waltz of "Pardon de Ploërmel," a familiar _cheval de bataille_ of my own, which I was glad to see cantering on the war-path again. In the mean time conversation was at low ebb for poor Laura. She told me some fragments which certainly were peculiar. For instance, she understood the gentle man who had last been talking to her to say that he had been married five times, had twenty- eight children, and had married his eldest son's daughter as his fifth wife. I afterward ascertained that what he had intended to convey was that he was twenty-eight when he married and had fifteen children. That was bad enough, I thought. I sang two or three times. The gaiety was brought to rather an abrupt close, as the Marquis received a telegram of his brother's death. The Abbé went on playing his game, not at all disturbed (such is the force of habit); but we folded our tents and departed. The hours are sung out in the streets at night, with a little flourish at the end of each verse. I fancy the watchman trusts a good deal to inspiration about this, as my clock--an excellent one--did not at all chime in with his hours. Perhaps he composes his little verse, in which case a margin ought to be allowed him.... The bells in the churches are old and cracked and decrepit. All the fleet, and any other boat that wants to join in fire off salute, to wake you up in the morning. I bought to-day the eighth part of a lottery-ticket. The Captain of the Port thinks his English is better than his French, but sometimes it is very funny. He says: "Don't take care," instead of "Never mind"--"The _volante_ is to the door"--"Look to me, I am all proudness"-- "You are all my anxiousness." The houses are generally not more than one story high, built around an open court, on which all rooms open. In the middle of this is a fountain; no home is complete without a fountain, and no fountain is complete without its surroundings of palms, plants, and flowers. In one of the rooms you can see where the _volante_ reposes for the night. You only see these glories at night. When the heavy bolts are drawn back you and everybody can look in from the street on the family gathering, basking in rocking-chairs around the fountain, and in oriental, somnolent conversation. CUBA, _February._