you some nigh' an' cut-a you' heart ou'. An' I sayce to heem-a, 'Boat-a
if Senor D'Hemecourt he fin'-in' ou' frone Pauline'"--

"_Silence!_" fiercely cried the old man. "My God! 'Sieur Mazaro, neider
you, neider somebody helse s'all h'use de nem of me daughter. It is nod
possib' dad you s'all spick him! I cannot pearmid thad."

While the old man was speaking these vehement words, the Cuban was
emphatically nodding approval.

"Co-rect-a, co-rect-a, Senor," he replied. "Senor, you' r-r-right-a;
escuse-a me, Senor, escuse-a me. Senor D'Hemecourt, Mayor Shanghness',
when he talkin' wi' me he usin' hore-a name o the t-thime-a!"

"My fren'," said M. D'Hemecourt, rising and speaking with labored
control, "I muz tell you good nighd. You 'ave sooprise me a verry gred
deal. I s'all _in_vestigade doze ting; an', Manuel Mazaro, h-I am a hole
man; bud I will requez you, iv dad wad you say is nod de true, my God!
not to h-ever ritturn again ad de Café des Exilés."

Mazaro smiled and nodded. His host opened the door into the garden, and,
as the young man stepped out, noticed even then how handsome was his
face and figure, and how the odor of the night jasmine was filling the
air with an almost insupportable sweetness. The Cuban paused a moment,
as if to speak, but checked himself, lifted his girlish face, and looked
up to where the daggers of the palmetto-tree were crossed upon the face
of the moon, dropped his glance, touched his Panama, and silently
followed by the bare-headed old man, drew open the little garden-gate,
looked cautiously out, said good-night, and stepped into the street.