"Yes, my child, and you were right. The Café des Exilés never should have been opened. It is no place for you; no place at all." "Let us leave it," said Pauline. "Ah! Pauline, I would close it to-morrow if I could, but now it is too late; I cannot." "Why?" asked Pauline, pleadingly. She had cast an arm about his neck. Her tears sparkled with a smile. "My daughter, I cannot tell you; you must go now to bed; good-night--or good-morning; God keep you!" "Well, then, papa," she said, "have no fear; you need not hide me; I have my prayer-book, and my altar, and my garden, and my window; my garden is my fenced city, and my window my watch-tower; do you see?" "Ah! Pauline," responded the father, "but I have been letting the enemy in and out at pleasure." "Good-night," she answered, and kissed him three times on either cheek; "the blessed Virgin will take care of us; good-night; _he_ never said those things; not he; good-night." The next evening Galahad Shaughnessy and Manuel Mazaro met at that "very different" place, the Café des Réfugiés. There was much free talk going on about Texan annexation, about chances of war with Mexico, about San Domingan affairs, about Cuba and many et-ceteras. Galahad was in his usual gay mood. He strode about among a mixed company of Louisianais, Cubans, and Américains, keeping them in a great laugh with his account of one of Ole Bull's concerts, and how he had there extorted an invitation from M. and Mme. Devoti to attend one of their famous children's fancy dress balls. "Halloo!" said he as Mazaro approached, "heer's the etheerial Angelica herself. Look-ut heer, sissy, why ar'n't ye in the maternal arms of the Café des Exilés?" Mazaro smiled amiably and sat down. A moment after, the Irishman, stepping away from his companions, stood before the young Cuban, and asked with a quiet business air: "D'ye want to see me, Mazaro?" The Cuban nodded, and they went aside. Mazaro, in a few quick words, looking at his pretty foot the while, told the other on no account to go near the Café des Exilés, as there were two men hanging about there, evidently watching for him, and-- "Wut's the use o' that?" asked Galahad; "I say, wut's the use o' that?" Major Shaughnessy's habit of repeating part of his words arose from another, of interrupting any person who might be speaking. "They must know--I say they must know that whenever I'm nowhurs else I'm heer. What do they want?" Mazaro made a gesture, signifying caution and secrecy, and smiled, as if to say, "You ought to know." "Aha!" said the Irishman softly. "Why don't they come here?" "Z-afrai'," said Mazaro; "d'they frai' to do an'teen een d-these-a crowth." "That's so," said the Irishman; "I say, that's so. If I don't feel very much like go-un, I'll not go; I say, I'll not go. We've no business to-night, eh Mazaro?" "No, Senor."