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"No," said the tender old man, "no, bud h-I am positeef dad de Madjor will shood you." Mazaro nodded, and lifted one finger for attention. " sayce to me, 'Manuel, you goin' tell-a Senor D'Hemecourt, I fin'-a 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!
"Madjor," unluckily interrupted the old man, suddenly looking up and speaking with subdued fervor, "for w'y iv Mazaro tol' you for w'y you din come more sooner? Dad is one 'eavy charge again' you." "Didn't Mazaro tell ye why I didn't come?" asked the other, beginning to be puzzled at his host's meaning. "Yez," replied M. D'Hemecourt, "bud one brev zhenteman should not be afraid of"
"No," said Mazaro, still endeavoring to smile through his agony; "z-was on'y tellin' Senor D'Hemecourt someteen z-was t-thrue." "And I tell ye," said Galahad, "ye'r a liur, and to be so kind an' get yersel' to the front stoop, as I'm desiruz o' kickin' ye before the crowd." "Madjor!" cried D'Hemecourt "Go," said Galahad, advancing a step toward the Cuban.
The old man asked in his simplicity: "Madjor Shaughnessy?" Mazaro smiled mockingly. "Mayor Shaughness'," he said; "oh, no; not Mayor Shaughness'!" Pauline could stay no longer; escape she must, though it be in Manuel Mazaro's very face. Turning again and looking up into Galahad's face in a great fright, she opened her lips to speak, but
A certain hidden hearer instantly made up her mind to rush out between the two young men and be a heroine. "Non, non!" exclaimed M. D'Hemecourt excitedly. "Nod in de Café des Exilés nod now, Madjor. Go in dad door, hif you pliz, Madjor. You will heer 'im w'at he 'ave to say. Mague you'sev de troub'. Nod dad door diz one."
He opened his lips to say he knew not what, when his ear caught the voice of Manuel Mazaro, replying to the greeting of some of his comrades outside the front door. "He is comin'!" cried the old man. "Mague you'sev hide, Madjor; do not led 'im kedge you, Mon Dieu!" The Irishman smiled. "The little yellow wretch!" said he quietly, his blue eyes dancing. "I'm goin' to catch him."
"Madjor Shaughnessy!" cried M. D'Hemecourt, losing all self-control. "H-I am nod a cud-troad, Madjor Shaughnessy, h-an I 'ave a r-r-righd to wadge you." The Major rose from his chair. "What d'ye mean?" he asked vacantly, and then: "Look-ut here, Munsher D'Himecourt, one of uz is crazy. I say one" "No, sar-r-r!" cried the other, rising and clenching his trembling fist. "H-I am not crezzy.
"Oh, Madjor and Madjor," said the Irishman; "Munsher D'Hemecourt, just say 'Madjor, heer's a gude wife fur ye, and I'll let the little serpent go."
Had Manuel Mazaro wished to personate the prince of darkness, his beautiful face had the correct expression for it. He slowly turned, opened the door into the café, sent one glowering look behind, and disappeared. Pauline laid her hand upon her lover's arm. "Madjor," began her father.
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