Part 3 (1/2)
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 a.s.sent, 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, ”G.o.d bless you! G.o.d 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 a.s.sociated 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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, _sist.i.ta 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 a.s.sumed the arch expression which rendered them peculiarly bewitching, and she began to sing,--
”Pet.i.t blanc, mon bon frere!
Ha! ha! pet.i.t blanc si doux!
Il n'y a rien sur la terre De si joli que vous.
”Un pet.i.t 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 pet.i.t blanc que j'aime.”
The arrival of Signor Papanti soon summoned her to rehea.r.s.e 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_!”