A year passed away, and the early Southern spring had again returned
with flowers and fragrance. After a day in music and embroidery, with
sundry games at Battledoor and The Graces with her sister, Floracita
heard the approaching footsteps of her father, and, as usual, bounded
forth to meet him. Any one who had not seen him since he parted from
the son of his early New England friend would have observed that he
looked older and more careworn; but his daughters, accustomed to see
him daily, had not noticed the gradual change.
"You have kept us waiting a little, Papasito," said Rosabella, turning
round on the music-stool, and greeting him with a smile.
"Yes, my darling," rejoined he, placing his hand fondly on her head.
"Getting ready to go to Europe makes a deal of work."
"If we were sons, we could help you," said Rosabella.
"I wish you _were_ sons!" answered he, with serious emphasis and a
deep sigh.
Floracita nestled close to him, and, looking up archly in his face,
said, "And pray what would you do, papa, without your nightingale and
your fairy, as you call us?"
"Sure enough, what _should_ I do, my little flower?" said he, as with
a loving smile he stooped to kiss her.
They led him to the tea-table; and when the repast was ended, they
began to talk over their preparations for leaving home.
"_Cher papa_, how long before we shall go to Paris?" inquired
Floracita.
"In two or three weeks, I hope," was the reply.
"Won't it be delightful!" exclaimed she. "You will take us to see
ballets and everything."
"When I am playing and singing fragments of operas," said Rosabella,
"I often think to myself how wonderfully beautiful they would sound,
if all the parts were brought out by such musicians as they have in
Europe. I should greatly enjoy hearing operas in Paris; but I often
think, Papasito, that we can never be so happy anywhere as we have
been in this dear home. It makes me feel sad to leave all these pretty
things,--so many of them--"
She hesitated, and glanced at her father.
"So intimately associated with your dear mother, you were about to
say," replied he. "That thought is often present with me, and the idea
of parting with them pains me to the heart. But I do not intend they
shall ever be handled by strangers. We will pack them carefully and
leave them with Madame Guirlande; and when we get settled abroad, in
some nice little cottage, we will send for them. But when you have
been in Paris, when you have seen the world and the world has seen
you, perhaps you won't be contented to live in a cottage with your old
Papasito. Perhaps your heads will become so turned with flattery, that
you will want to be at balls and operas all the time."
"No flattery will be so sweet as yours, _cher papa_," said Floracita.
"No indeed!" exclaimed Rosa. But, looking up, she met his eye, and
blushed crimson. She was conscious of having already listened to
flattery that was at least more intoxicating than his. Her father
noticed the rosy confusion, and felt a renewal of pain that unexpected
entanglements had prevented his going to Europe months ago. He
tenderly pressed her hand, that lay upon his knee, and looked at her
with troubled earnestness, as he said, "Now that you are going to make
acquaintance with the world, my daughters, and without a mother to
guide you, I want you to promise me that you will never believe any
gentleman sincere in professions of love, unless he proposes marriage,
and asks my consent."
Rosabella was obviously agitated, but she readily replied, "Do you
suppose, Papasito, that we would accept a lover without asking you
about it? When _Mamita querida_ died, she charged us to tell you
everything; and we always do."
"I do not doubt you, my children," he replied; "but the world is full
of snares; and sometimes they are so covered with flowers, that the
inexperienced slip into them unawares. I shall try to shield you from
harm, as I always have done; but when I am gone--"
"O, don't say that!" exclaimed Floracita, with a quick, nervous
movement.
And Rosabella looked at him with swimming eyes, as she repeated,
"Don't say that, _Papasito querido_!"
He laid a hand on the head of each. His heart was very full. With
solemn tenderness he tried to warn them of the perils of life. But
there was much that he was obliged to refrain from saying, from
reverence for their inexperienced purity. And had he attempted to
describe the manners of a corrupt world, they could have had no
realizing sense of his meaning; for it is impossible for youth to
comprehend the dangers of the road it is to travel.
The long talk at last subsided into serious silence. After remaining
very still a few moments, Rosabella said softy, "Wouldn't you like to
hear some music before you go to bed, _Papasito mio_?"
He nodded assent, and she moved to the piano. Their conversation had
produced an unusually tender and subdued state of feeling, and she
sang quietly many plaintive melodies that her mother loved. The
fountain trickling in the garden kept up a low liquid accompaniment,
and the perfume of the orange-groves seemed like the fragrant breath
of the tones.
It was late when they parted for the night. "_Bon soir, cher papa_"
said Floracita, kissing her father's hand.
"_Buenas noches, Papasito querido_" said Rosabella, as she touched his
cheek with her beautiful lips.
There was moisture in his eyes as he folded them to his heart and
said, "God bless you! God protect you, my dear ones!" Those melodies
of past times had brought their mother before him in all her loving
trustfulness, and his soul was full of sorrow for the irreparable
wrong he had done her children.
The pensive mood, that had enveloped them all in a little cloud the
preceding evening, was gone in the morning. There was the usual
bantering during breakfast, and after they rose from table they
discussed in a lively manner various plans concerning their residence
in France. Rosabella evidently felt much less pleasure in the prospect
than did her younger sister; and her father, conjecturing the reason,
was the more anxious to expedite their departure. "I must not linger
here talking," said he. "I must go and attend to business; for there
are many things to be arranged before we can set out on our travels,"
"_Hasta luego, Papasito mio_" said Rosabella, with an affectionate
smile.
"_Au revoir, cher papa_" said Floracita, as she handed him his hat.
He patted her head playfully as he said, "What a polyglot family we
are! Your grandfather's Spanish, your grandmother's French, and your
father's English, all mixed up in an _olla podrida_. Good morning, my
darlings."
Floracita skipped out on the piazza, calling after him, "Papa, what
_is_ polyglot?"
He turned and shook his finger laughingly at her, as he exclaimed, "O,
you little ignoramus!"
The sisters lingered on the piazza, watching him till he was out of
sight. When they re-entered the house, Floracita occupied herself with
various articles of her wardrobe; consulting with Rosa whether any
alterations would be necessary before they were packed for France.
It evidently cost Rosa some effort to attend to her innumerable
questions, for the incessant chattering disturbed her revery. At
every interval she glanced round the room with a sort of farewell
tenderness. It was more to her than the home of a happy childhood; for
nearly all the familiar objects had become associated with glances and
tones, the memory of which excited restless longings in her heart. As
she stood gazing on the blooming garden and the little fountain, whose
sparkling rills crossed each other in the sunshine like a silvery
network strung with diamonds, she exclaimed, "O Floracita, we shall
never be so happy anywhere else as we have been here."
"How do you know that, _sistita mia_?" rejoined the lively little
chatterer. "Only think, we have never been to a ball! And when we get
to France, Papasito will go everywhere with us. He says he will."
"I should like to hear operas and see ballets in Paris," said
Rosabella; "but I wish we could come back _here_ before long."
Floracita's laughing eyes assumed the arch expression which rendered
them peculiarly bewitching, and she began to sing,--
"Petit blanc, mon bon frère!
Ha! ha! petit blanc si doux!
Il n'y a rien sur la terre
De si joli que vous.
"Un petit blanc que j'aime--"
A quick flush mantled her sister's face, and she put her hand over the
mischievous mouth, exclaiming, "Don't, Flora! don't!"
The roguish little creature went laughing and capering out of the
room, and her voice was still heard singing,--
"Un petit blanc que j'aime."
The arrival of Signor Papanti soon summoned her to rehearse a music
lesson. She glanced roguishly at her sister when she began; and as she
went on, Rosa could not help smiling at her musical antics. The old
teacher bore it patiently for a while, then he stopped trying to
accompany her, and, shaking his finger at her, said, "_Diavolessa_!"
"Did I make a false note?" asked she, demurely.
"No, you little witch, you _can't_ make a false note. But how do you
suppose I can keep hold of the tail of the Air, if you send me chasing
after it through so many capricious variations? Now begin again, _da
capo_"
The lesson was recommenced, but soon ran riot again. The Signor became
red in the face, shut the music-book with a slam, and poured forth a
volley of wrath in Italian, When she saw that he was really angry, she
apologized, and promised to do better. The third time of trying, she
acquitted herself so well that her teacher praised her; and when
she bade him good morning, with a comic little courtesy, he smiled
good-naturedly, as he said, "_Ah, Malizietta_!"
"I knew I should make Signor Pimentero sprinkle some pepper,"
exclaimed she, laughing, as she saw him walk away.
"You are too fond of sobriquets," said Rosa. "If you are not careful,
you will call him Signor Pimentero to his face, some day."
"What did you tell me _that_ for?" asked the little rogue. "It will
just make me do it. Now I am going to pester Madame's parrot."
She caught up her large straw hat, with flying ribbons, and ran to the
house of their next neighbor, Madame Guirlande. She was a French lady,
who had given the girls lessons in embroidery, the manufacture of
artificial flowers, and other fancy-work. Before long, Floracita
returned through the garden, skipping over a jumping-rope. "This is
a day of compliments," said she, as she entered the parlor, "Signor
Pimentero called me _Diavolessa_; Madame Guirlande called me _Joli
petit diable_; and the parrot took it up, and screamed it after me, as
I came away."
"I don't wonder at it," replied Rosa. "I think I never saw even you so
full of mischief."
Her frolicsome mood remained through the day. One moment she assumed
the dignified manner of Rosabella, and, stretching herself to the
utmost, she stood very erect, giving sage advice. The next, she was
impersonating a negro preacher, one of Tulipa's friends. Hearing a
mocking-bird in the garden, she went to the window and taxed his
powers to the utmost, by running up and down difficult _roulades_,
interspersed with the talk of parrots, the shrill fanfare of trumpets,
and the deep growl of a contra-fagotto. The bird produced a grotesque
fantasia in his efforts to imitate her. The peacock, as he strutted up
and down the piazza, trailing his gorgeous plumage in the sunshine,
ever and anon turned his glossy neck, and held up his ear to listen,
occasionally performing his part in the _charivari_ by uttering a
harsh scream. The mirthfulness of the little madcap was contagious,
and not unfrequently the giggle of Tulipa and the low musical laugh of
Rosabella mingled with the concert.
Thus the day passed merrily away, till the gilded Flora that leaned
against the timepiece pointed her wand toward the hour when their
father was accustomed to return.