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."

There was no outburst of astonishment--only the same old bowing,
smiling, and murmuring of compliment. Galahad turned with a puzzled look
to M. D'Hemecourt, and guessed the truth. In the joy of an old man's
heart he had already that afternoon told the truth to each and every man
separately, as a secret too deep for them to reveal, but too sweet for
him to keep. The Major and Pauline were man and wife.