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."

A second evening was much the same, Mazaro repeating his warning. But
when, on the third evening, the Irishman again repeated his willingness
to stay away from the Café des Exilés unless he should feel strongly
impelled to go, it was with the mental reservation that he did feel very
much in that humor, and, unknown to Mazaro, should thither repair, if
only to see whether some of those deep old fellows were not contriving a
practical joke.

"Mazaro," said he, "I'm go-un around the caurnur a bit; I want ye to
wait heer till I come back. I say I want ye to wait heer till I come
back; I'll be gone about three-quarters of an hour."

Mazaro assented. He saw with satisfaction the Irishman start in a
direction opposite that in which lay the Café des Exilés, tarried