Martinez smiled across to the tall, gray Benito on Galahad's left, and he, in turn, smilingly showed to the company a thin, white line of teeth between his moustachios like distant reefs. "Who knows," the young Irishman proceeded to inquire, "I say, who knows but Pedro, theyre, may be struck wid a fever?" Pedro, a short, compact man of thoroughly mixed blood, and with an eyebrow cut away, whose surname no one knew, smiled his acknowledgments. "Who knows?" resumed Galahad, when those who understood English had explained in Spanish to those who did not, "but they may soon need the services not only of our good doctor heer, but of our society; and that Fernandez and Benigno, and Gonzalez and Dominguez, may not be chosen to see, on that very schooner lying at the Picayune Tier just now, their beloved remains and so forth safely delivered into the hands and lands of their people. I say, who knows bur it may be so!" The company bowed graciously as who should say, "Well-turned phrases, Senor--well-turned." "And _amigos_, if so be that such is their approoching fate, I will say:" He lifted his glass, and the rest did the same. "I say, I will say to them, Creoles, countrymen, and lovers, boun voyadge an' good luck to ye's." For several moments there was much translating, bowing, and murmured acknowledgments; Mazaro said: "_Bueno!_" and all around among the long double rank of moustachioed lips amiable teeth were gleaming, some white, some brown, some yellow, like bones in the grass. "And now, gentlemen," Galahad recommenced, "fellow-exiles, once more. Munsher D'Himecourt, it was yer practice, until lately, to reward a good talker with a dlass from the hands o' yer daughter." (_Si, si!_) "I'm bur a poor speaker." (_Si, si, Senor, z-a-fine-a kin'-a can be; si!_) "However, I'll ask ye, not knowun bur it may be the last time we all meet together, if ye will not let the goddess of the Café des Exilés grace our company with her presence for just about one minute?" (_Yez-a, Senor; si; yez-a; oui._) Every head was turned toward the old man, nodding the echoed request. "Ye see, friends," said Galahad in a true Irish whisper, as M. D'Hemecourt left the apartment, "her poseetion has been a-growin' more and more embarrassin' daily, and the operaytions of our society were likely to make it wurse in the future; wherefore I have lately taken steps--I say I tuke steps this morn to relieve the old gentleman's distresses and his daughter's"-- He paused. M. D'Hemecourt entered with Pauline, and the exiles all rose up. Ah!--but why say again she was lovely? Galahad stepped forward to meet her, took her hand, led her to the head of the board, and turning to the company, said: "Friends and fellow-patriots, Misthress Shaughnessy."