Such sudden reverses, such overwhelming sorrows, mature characters
with wonderful rapidity. Rosa, though formed by nature and habit to
cling to others, soon began to form plans for future support. Her
inexperienced mind foresaw few of the difficulties involved in the
career her friends had suggested. She merely expected to study and
work hard; but that seemed a trifle, if she could avoid for herself
and her sister the publicity which their father had so much dreaded.
Floracita, too, seemed like a tamed bird. She was sprightly as ever in
her motions, and quick in her gestures; but she would sit patiently at
her task of embroidery, hour after hour, without even looking up to
answer the noisy challenges of the parrot. Sometimes the sisters,
while they worked, sang together the hymns they had been accustomed
to sing with their father on Sundays; and memory of the missing voice
imparted to their tones a pathos that no mere skill could imitate.
One day, when they were thus occupied, the door-bell rang, and they
heard a voice, which they thought they recognized, talking with
Madame. It was Franz Blumenthal. "I have come to bring some small
articles for the young ladies," said he. "A week before my best
friend died, a Frenchwoman came to the store, and wished to sell some
fancy-baskets. She said she was a poor widow; and Mr. Royal, who
was always kind and generous, commissioned her to make two of her
handsomest baskets, and embroider the names of his daughters on them.
She has placed them in my hands to-day, and I have brought them myself
in order to explain the circumstances."
"Are they paid for?" inquired Madame.
"I have paid for them," replied the young man, blushing deeply; "but
please not to inform the young ladies of that circumstance. And,
Madame, I have a favor to ask of you. Here are fifty dollars. I want
you to use them for the young ladies without their knowledge; and I
should like to remit to you half my wages every month for the same
purpose. When Mr. Royal was closing business, he wrote several letters
of recommendation for me, and addressed them to well-established
merchants. I feel quite sure of getting a situation where I can earn
more than I need for myself."
"_Bon garçon_!" exclaimed Madame, patting him on the shoulder. "I will
borrow the fifty dollars; but I trust we shall be able to pay you
before many months."
"It will wound my feelings if you ever offer to repay me," replied the
young man. "My only regret is, that I cannot just now do any more for
the daughters of my best friend and benefactor, who did so much for me
when I was a poor, destitute boy. But would it be asking too great a
favor, Madame, to be allowed to see the young ladies, and place in
their hands these presents from their father?"
Madame Guirlande smiled as she thought to herself, "What is he but a
boy now? He grows tall though."
When she told her _protégées_ that Franz Blumenthal had a message
he wished to deliver to them personally, Rosa said, "Please go and
receive it, Sistita. I had rather not leave my work."
Floracita glanced at the mirror, smoothed her hair a little, arranged
her collar, and went out. The young clerk was awaiting her appearance
with a good deal of trepidation. He had planned a very nice little
speech to make; but before he had stammered out all the story about
the baskets, he saw an expression in Flora's face which made him feel
that it was indelicate to intrude upon her emotion; and he hurried
away, scarcely hearing her choked voice as she said, "I thank you."
Very reverently the orphans opened the box which contained the
posthumous gifts of their beloved father. The baskets were
manufactured with exquisite taste. They were lined with quilled
apple-green satin. Around the outside of one was the name of Rosabella
embroidered in flowers, and an embroidered garland of roses formed the
handle. The other bore the name of Floracita in minute flowers, and
the handle was formed of _Pensées vivaces_. They turned them round
slowly, unable to distinguish the colors through their swimming tears.
"How like Papasito, to be so kind to the poor woman, and so thoughtful
to please us," said Rosabella. "But he was always so."
"And he must have told her what flowers to put on the baskets," said
Floracita. "You know Mamita often called me _Pensée vivace_. O, there
never _was_ such a Papasito!"
Notwithstanding the sadness that invested tokens coming as it were
from the dead, they inspired a consoling consciousness of his
presence; and their work seemed pleasanter all the day for having
their little baskets by them.
The next morning witnessed a private conference between Madame and the
Signor. If any one had seen them without hearing their conversation,
he would certainly have thought they were rehearsing some very
passionate scene in a tragedy.
The fiery Italian rushed up and down the room, plucking his hair;
while the Frenchwoman ever and anon threw up her hands, exclaiming,
"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu_!"
When the violence of their emotions had somewhat abated, Madame said,
"Signor, there must be some mistake about this. It cannot be true. Mr.
Royal would never have left things in such a way."
"At your request," replied the Signor, "I went to one of the
creditors, to ask whether Mr. Royal's family could not be allowed to
keep their mother's watch and jewels. He replied that Mr. Royal
left no family; that his daughters were slaves, and, being property
themselves, they could legally hold no property. I was so sure my
friend Royal would not have left things in such a state, that I told
him he lied, and threatened to knock him down. He out with his pistol;
but when I told him I had left mine at home, he said I must settle
with him some other time, unless I chose to make an apology. I told
him I would do so whenever I was convinced that his statement was
true. I was never more surprised than when he told me that Madame
Royal was a slave. I knew she was a quadroon, and I supposed she was a
_placés_, as so many of the quadroons are. But now it seems that Mr.
Royal bought her of her father; and he, good, easy man, neglected to
manumit her. He of course knew that by law 'the child follows the
condition of the mother,' but I suppose it did not occur to him that
the daughters of so rich a man as he was could ever be slaves. At all
events, he neglected to have manumission papers drawn till it was too
late; for his property had become so much involved that he no longer
had a legal right to convey any of it away from creditors."
Madame swung back and forth in the vehemence of her agitation,
exclaiming, "What _is_ to be done? What _is_ to be done?"
The Italian strode up and down the room, clenching his fist, and
talking rapidly. "To think of that Rosabella!" exclaimed he,--"a
girl that would grace any throne in Europe! To think of _her_ on the
auction-stand, with a crowd of low-bred rascals staring at her, and
rich libertines, like that Mr. Bruteman--Pah! I can't endure to think
of it. How like a satyr he looked while he was talking to me about
their being slaves. It seems he got sight of them when they took an
inventory of the furniture. And that handsome little witch, Floracita,
whom her father loved so tenderly, to think of her being bid off to
some such filthy wretch! But they sha'n't have 'em! They sha'n't have
'em! I swear I'll shoot any man that comes to take 'em." He wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, and rushed round like a tiger in a
cage.
"My friend," replied Madame, "they have the law on their side; and if
you try to resist, you will get yourself into trouble without doing
the girls any good. I'll tell you what we must do. We must disguise
them, and send them to the North."
"Send them to the North!" exclaimed the Italian. "Why, they'd no more
know how to get there than a couple of kittens."
"Then I must go with them," replied Madame; "and they must be got out
of this house before another day; for now that we know of it, we shall
be watched."
The impetuous Italian shook her hand cordially. "You have a brave
heart, Madame," said he. "I should rather march up to the cannon's
mouth than tell them such news as this."
The bewildered Frenchwoman felt the same dread of the task before her;
but she bravely said, "What _must_ be done, _can_ be done."
After some further talk with the Signor concerning ways and means,
she bade him good morning, and sat still for a moment to collect her
thoughts. She then proceeded to the apartment assigned to the orphans.
They were occupied with a piece of embroidery she had promised to
sell for them. She looked at the work, praised the exactness of the
stitches and the tasteful shading of the flowers; but while she
pointed out the beauties of the pattern, her hand and voice trembled.
Rosabella noticed it, and, looking up, said, "What troubles you, dear
friend?"
"O, this is a world of trouble," replied Madame, "and you have had
such a storm beating on your young heads, that I wonder you keep your
senses."
"I don't know as we could," said Rosa, "if the good God had not given
us such a friend as you."
"If any _new_ trouble should come, I trust you will try to keep up
brave hearts, my children," rejoined Madame.
"I don't know of any new trouble that _can_ come to us now," said
Rosa, "unless you should be taken from us, as our father was. It seems
as if everything else had happened that _could_ happen."
"O, there are worse things than having _me_ die," replied Madame.
Floracita had paused with her thread half drawn through her work, and
was looking earnestly at the troubled countenance of their friend.
"Madame," exclaimed she, "something has happened. What is it?"
"I will tell you," said Madame, "if you will promise not to scream
or faint, and will try to keep your wits collected, so as to help me
think what is best to be done."
They promised; and, watching her countenance with an expression of
wonder and anxiety, they waited to hear what she had to communicate.
"My dear children," said she, "I have heard something that will
distress you very much. Something neither you nor I ever suspected.
Your mother was a slave."
"_Our_ mother a slave!" exclaimed Rosa, coloring vehemently. "_Whose_
slave could she be, when she was Papasito's wife, and he loved her so?
It is impossible, Madame."
"Your father bought her when she was very young, my dear; but I know
very well that no wife was ever loved better than she was."
"But she always lived with her own father till she married papa," said
Floracita. "How then _could_ she be his slave?"
"Her father got into trouble about money, my dear; and he sold her."
"Our Grandpapa Gonsalez sold his daughter!" exclaimed Rosa. "How
incredible! Dear friend, I wonder you can believe such things."
"The world is full of strange things, my child,--stranger than
anything you ever read in story-books."
"If she was only Papasito's slave," said Flora, "I don't think Mamita
found _that_ any great hardship."
"She did not, my dear. I don't suppose she ever thought of it; but a
great misfortune has grown out of it."
"What is it?" they both asked at once.
Their friend hesitated. "Remember, you have promised to be calm," said
she. "I presume you don't know that, by the laws of Louisiana, 'the
child follows the condition of the mother.' The consequence is, that
_you_ are slaves, and your father's creditors claim a right to sell
you."
Rosabella turned very pale, and the hand with which she clutched a
chair trembled violently. But she held her head erect, and her look
and tone were very proud, as she exclaimed, "_We_ become slaves! I
will die rather."
Floracita, unable to comprehend this new misfortune, looked from one
to the other in a bewildered way. Nature had written mirthfulness in
the shape of her beautiful eyes, which now contrasted strangely with
their startled and sad expression.
The kind-hearted Frenchwoman bustled about the room, moving chairs,
and passing her handkerchief over boxes, while she tried hard to
swallow the emotions that choked her utterance. Having conquered in
the struggle, she turned toward them, and said, almost cheerfully:
"There's no need of dying, my children. Perhaps your old friend can
help you out of this trouble. We must disguise ourselves as gentlemen,
and start for the North this very evening."
Floracita looked at her sister, and said, hesitatingly: "Couldn't you
write to Mr. Fitzgerald, and ask _him_ to come here? Perhaps he could
help us."
Rosa's cheeks glowed, as she answered proudly: "Do you think I would
_ask_ him to come? I wouldn't do such a thing if we were as rich and
happy as we were a little while ago; and certainly I wouldn't do it
now."
"There spoke Grandpa Gonsalez!" said Madame. "How grand the old
gentleman used to look, walking about so erect, with his gold-headed
cane! But we must go to work in a hurry, my children. Signor Papanti
has promised to send the disguises, and we must select and pack such
things as it is absolutely necessary we should carry. I am sorry now
that Tulee is let out in the city, for we need her help.
"She must go with us," said Flora. "I can't leave Tulee."
"We must do as we can," replied Madame. "In this emergency we can't do
as we would. _We_ are all white, and if we can get a few miles from
here, we shall have no further trouble. But if we had a negro with
us, it would lead to questions, perhaps. Besides, we haven't time to
disguise her and instruct her how to perform her part. The Signor will
be a good friend to her; and as soon as we can earn some money, we
will send and buy her."
"But where can we go when we get to the North?" asked Rosa.
"I will tell you," said Floracita. "Don't you remember that Mr. King
from Boston, who came to see us a year ago? His father was papa's best
friend, you know; and when he went away, he told us if ever we were in
trouble, to apply to him, as if he were our brother."
"Did he?" said Madame. "That lets in a gleam of light. I heard your
father say he was a very good young man, and rich."
"But Papasito said, some months ago, that Mr. King had gone to Europe
with his mother, on account of her health," replied Rosa. "Besides,
if he were at home, it would be very disagreeable to go to a young
gentleman as beggars and runaways, when he was introduced to us as
ladies."
"You must put your pride in your pocket for the present, Señorita
Gonsalez," said Madame, playfully touching her under the chin. "If
this Mr. King is absent, I will write to him. They say there is a man
in Boston, named William Lloyd Garrison, who takes great interest in
slaves. We will tell him our story, and ask him about Mr. King. I did
think of stopping awhile with relatives in New York. But it would be
inconvenient for them, and they might not like it. This plan pleases
me better. To Boston we will go. The Signor has gone to ask my cousin,
Mr. Duroy, to come here and see to the house. When I have placed you
safely, I will come back slyly to my cousin's house, a few miles from
here, and with his help I will settle up my affairs. Then I will
return to you, and we will all go to some secure place and live
together. I never starved yet, and I don't believe I ever shall."
The orphans clung to her, and kissed her hands, as they said: "How
kind you are to us, dear friend! What shall we ever do to repay you?"
"Your father and mother were generous friends to me," replied Madame;
"and now their children are in trouble, I will not forsake them."
As the good lady was to leave her apartments for an indefinite time,
there was much to be done and thought of, beside the necessary packing
for the journey. The girls tried their best to help her, but they were
continually proposing to carry something because it was a keepsake
from Mamita or Papasito.
"This is no time for sentiment, my children," said Madame. "We must
not take anything we can possibly do without. Bless my soul, there
goes the bell! What if it should be one of those dreadful creditors
come here to peep and pry? Run to your room, my children, and bolt the
door."
A moment afterward, she appeared before them smiling, and said: "There
was no occasion for being so frightened, but I am getting nervous with
all this flurry. Come back again, dears. It is only Franz Blumenthal."
"What, come again?" asked Rosa. "Please go, Floracita, and I will come
directly, as soon as I have gathered up these things that we must
carry."
The young German blushed like a girl as he offered two bouquets, one
of heaths and orange-buds, the other of orange-blossoms and fragrant
geraniums; saying as he did so, "I have taken the liberty to bring
some flowers, Miss Floracita."
"My name is Miss Royal, sir," she replied, trying to increase her
stature to the utmost. It was an unusual caprice in one whose nature
was so childlike and playful; but the recent knowledge that she was a
slave had made her, for the first time, jealous of her dignity. She
took it into her head that he knew the humiliating fact, and presumed
upon it.
But the good lad was as yet unconscious of this new trouble, and the
unexpected rebuke greatly surprised him. Though her slight figure and
juvenile face made her attempt at majesty somewhat comic, it was quite
sufficient to intimidate the bashful youth; and he answered, very
meekly: "Pardon me, Miss Royal. Floracita is such a very pretty name,
and I have always liked it so much, that I spoke it before I thought."
The compliment disarmed her at once; and with one of her winning
smiles, and a quick little courtesy, she said: "Do you think it's a
pretty name? You _may_ call me Floracita, if you like it so much."
"I think it is the prettiest name in the world," replied he. "I used
to like to hear your mother say it. She said everything so sweetly! Do
you remember she used to call me Florimond when I was a little boy,
because, she said, my face was so florid? Now I always write my name
Franz Florimond Blumenthal, in memory of her."
"I will always call you Florimond, just as Mamita did," said she.
Their very juvenile _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the entrance of
Madame with Rosa, who thanked him graciously for her portion of the
flowers, and told him her father was so much attached to him that she
should always think of him as a brother.
He blushed crimson as he thanked her, and went away with a very warm
feeling at his heart, thinking Floracita a prettier name than ever,
and happily unconscious that he was parting from her.
He had not been gone long when the bell rang again, and the girls
again hastened to hide themselves. Half an hour elapsed without their
seeing or hearing anything of Madame; and they began to be extremely
anxious lest something unpleasant was detaining her. But she came at
last, and said, "My children, the Signor wants to speak to you."
They immediately descended to the sitting-room, where they found the
Signor looking down and slowly striking the ivory head of his cane
against his chin, as he was wont to do when buried in profound
thought. He rose as they entered, and Rosa said, with one of her
sweetest smiles, "What is it you wish, dear friend?" He dropped a thin
cloak from his shoulders and removed his hat, which brought away a
grizzled wig with it, and Mr. Fitzgerald stood smiling before them.
The glad surprise excited by this sudden realization of a latent hope
put maidenly reserve to flight, and Rosa dropped on her knees before
him, exclaiming, "O Gerald, save us!"
He raised her tenderly, and, imprinting a kiss on her forehead, said:
"Save you, my precious Rose? To be sure I will. That's what I came
for."
"And me too," said Flora, clinging to him, and hiding her face under
his arm.
"Yes, and you too, mischievous fairy," replied he, giving her a less
ceremonious kiss than he had bestowed on her sister. "But we must talk
fast, for there is a great deal to be done in a short time. I was
unfortunately absent from home, and did not receive the letter
informing me of your good father's death so soon as I should otherwise
have done. I arrived in the city this morning, but have been too busy
making arrangements for your escape to come here any earlier. The
Signor and I have done the work of six during the last few hours.
The creditors are not aware of my acquaintance with you, and I have
assumed this disguise to prevent them from discovering it. The Signor
has had a talk with Tulee, and told her to keep very quiet, and not
tell any mortal that she ever saw me at your father's house. A passage
for you and Madame is engaged on board a vessel bound to Nassau,
which will sail at midnight. Soon, after I leave this house, Madame's
cousin, Mr. Duroy, will come with two boys. You and Madame will assume
their dresses, and they will put on some clothes the Signor has
already sent, in such boxes as Madame is accustomed to receive, full
of materials for her flowers. All, excepting ourselves, will suppose
you have gone North, according to the original plan, in order that
they may swear to that effect if they are brought to trial. When I go
by the front of the house whistling _Ça ira_, you will pass through
the garden to the street in the rear, where you will find my servant
with a carriage, which will convey you three miles, to the house of
one of my friends. I will come there in season to accompany you on
board the ship."
"O, how thoughtful and how kind you are!" exclaimed Rosa. "But can't
we contrive some way to take poor Tulee with us?"
"It would be imprudent," he replied. "The creditors must be allowed to
sell her. She knows it, but she has my assurance that I will take good
care of her. No harm shall come to Tulee, I promise you. I cannot go
with you to Nassau; because, if I do, the creditors may suspect my
participation in the plot. I shall stay in New Orleans a week or ten
days, then return to Savannah, and take an early opportunity to sail
for Nassau, by the way of New York. Meanwhile, I will try to manage
matters so that Madame can safely return to her house. Then we will
decide where to make a happy home for ourselves."
The color forsook Rosa's cheeks, and her whole frame quivered, as she
said, "I thank you, Gerald, for all this thoughtful care; but I cannot
go to Nassau,--indeed I cannot!"
"Cannot go!" exclaimed he. "Where _will_ you go, then?"
"Before you came, Madame had made ready to take us to Boston, you
know. We will go there with her."
"Rosa, do you distrust me?" said he reproachfully. "Do you doubt my
love?"
"I do not distrust you," she replied; "but"--she looked down, and
blushed deeply as she added--"but I promised my father that I would
never leave home with any gentleman unless I was married to him."
"But, Rosa dear, your father did not foresee such a state of things
as this. Everything is arranged, and there is no time to lose. If you
knew all that I know, you would see the necessity of leaving this city
before to-morrow."
"I cannot go with you," she repeated in tones of the deepest
distress,--"I _cannot_ go with you, for I promised my dear father the
night before he died."
He looked at her for an instant, and then, drawing her close to him,
he said: "It shall be just as you wish, darling. I will bring a
clergyman to the house of my friend, and we will be married before you
sail."
Rosa, without venturing to look up, said, in a faltering tone: "I
cannot bear to bring degradation upon you, Gerald. It seems wrong to
take advantage of your generous forgetfulness of yourself. When you
first told me you loved me, you did not know I was an octoroon, and
a--slave."
"I knew your mother was a quadroon," he replied; "and as for the rest,
no circumstance can degrade _you_, my Rose Royal."
"But if your plan should not succeed, how ashamed you would feel to
have us seized!" said she.
"It _will_ succeed, dearest. But even if it should not, you shall
never be the property of any man but myself."
"_Property_!"! she exclaimed in the proud Gonsalez tone, striving to
withdraw herself from his embrace.
He hastened to say: "Forgive me, Rosabella. I am so intoxicated with
happiness that I cannot be careful of my words. I merely meant to
express the joyful feeling that you would be surely mine, wholly
mine."
While they were talking thus, Floracita had glided out of the room to
carry the tidings to Madame. The pressure of misfortune had been so
heavy upon her, that, now it was lifted a little, her elastic spirit
rebounded with a sudden spring, and she felt happier than she had ever
thought of being since her father died. In the lightness of her heart
she began to sing, "_Petit blanc, mon bon frère_!" but she stopped at
the first line, for she recollected how her father had checked her in
the midst of that frisky little song; and now that she knew they were
octoroons, she partly comprehended why it had been disagreeable to
him. But the gayety that died out of her voice passed into her steps.
She went hopping and jumping up to Madame, exclaiming: "What do you
think is going to happen now? Rosabella is going to be married right
off. What a pity she can't be dressed like a bride! She would look so
handsome in white satin and pearls, and a great lace veil! But here
are the flowers Florimond brought so opportunely. I will put the
orange-buds in her hair, and she shall have a bouquet in her hand."
"She will look handsome in anything," rejoined Madame. "But tell me
about it, little one."
After receiving Flora's answers to a few brief questions, she
stationed herself within sight of the outer door, that she might ask
Fitzgerald for more minute directions concerning what they were to do.
He very soon made his appearance, again disguised as the Signor.
After a hurried consultation, Madame said: "I do hope nothing will
happen to prevent our getting off safely. Rosabella has so much
Spanish pride, I verily believe she would stab herself rather than go
on the auction-stand."
"Heavens and earth! don't speak of that!" exclaimed he, impetuously.
"Do you suppose I would allow my beautiful rose to be trampled by
swine. If we fail, I will buy them if it costs half my fortune. But we
shall _not_ fail. Don't let the girls go out of the door till you hear
the signal."
"No danger of that," she replied. "Their father always kept them like
wax flowers under a glass cover. They are as timid as hares." Before
she finished the words, he was gone.
Rosabella remained where he had left her, with her head bowed on the
table. Floracita was nestling by her side, pouring forth her girlish
congratulations. Madame came in, saying, in her cheerly way: "So you
are going to be married to night! Bless my soul, how the world whirls
round!"
"Isn't God _very_ good to us?" asked Rosa, looking up. "How noble and
kind Mr. Fitzgerald is, to wish to marry me now that everything is so
changed!"
"_You_ are not changed, darling," she replied; "except that I think
you are a little better, and that seemed unnecessary. But you must be
thinking, my children, whether everything is in readiness."
"He told us we were not to go till evening, and it isn't dark yet,"
said Floracita. "Couldn't we go into Papasito's garden one little
minute, and take one sip from the fountain, and just one little walk
round the orange-grove?"
"It wouldn't be safe, my dear. There's no telling who may be lurking
about. Mr. Fitzgerald charged me not to let you go out of doors.
But you can go to my chamber, and take a last look of the house and
garden."
They went up stairs, and stood, with their arms around each other,
gazing at their once happy home. "How many times we have walked in
that little grove, hand in hand with Mamita and Papasito! and now they
are both gone," sighed Rosa.
"Ah, yes," said Flora; "and now we are afraid to go there for a
minute. How strangely everything has changed! We don't hear Mamita's
Spanish and papa's English any more. We have nobody to talk _olla
podrida_ to now. It's all French with Madame, and all Italian with the
Signor."
"But what kind souls they are, to do so much for us!" responded Rosa.
"If such good friends hadn't been raised up for us in these dreadful
days, what _should_ we have done?"
Here Madame came hurrying in to say, "Mr. Duroy and the boys have
come. We must change dresses before the whistler goes by."
The disguises were quickly assumed; and the metamorphosis made Rosa
both blush and smile, while her volatile sister laughed outright. But
she checked herself immediately, saying: "I am a wicked little wretch
to laugh, for you and your friends may get into trouble by doing all
this for us. What shall you tell them about us when you get back from
Nassau?"
"I don't intend to tell them much of anything," replied Madame. "I
may, perhaps, give them a hint that one of your father's old friends
invited you to come to the North, and that I did not consider it my
business to hinder you."
"O fie, Madame!" said Floracita; "what a talent you have for
arranging the truth with variations!"
Madame tried to return a small volley of French pleasantry; but the
effort was obviously a forced one. The pulses of her heart were
throbbing with anxiety and fear; and they all began to feel suspense
increasing to agony, when at last the whistled tones of _Ça ira_ were
heard.
"Now don't act as if you were afraid," whispered Madame, as she put
her hand on the latch of the door. "Go out naturally. Remember I am my
cousin, and you are the boys."
They passed through the garden into the street, feeling as if some
rough hand might at any instant seize them. But all was still, save
the sound of voices in the distance. When they came in sight of the
carriage, the driver began to bum carelessly to himself, "Who goes
there? Stranger, quickly tell!"
"A friend. Good night,"--sang the disguised Madame, in the same
well-known tune of challenge and reply. The carriage door was
instantly opened, they entered, and the horses started at a brisk
pace. At the house where the driver stopped, they were received as
expected guests. Their disguises were quickly exchanged for dresses
from their carpet-bags, which had been conveyed out in Madame's boxes,
and smuggled into the carriage by their invisible protector. Flora,
who was intent upon having things seem a little like a wedding, made
a garland of orange-buds for her sister's hair, and threw over her
braids a white gauze scarf. The marriage ceremony was performed at
half past ten; and at midnight Madame was alone with _her protégées_
in the cabin of the ship Victoria, dashing through the dark waves
under a star-bright sky.