musically chasing "Figaro here! Figaro
there! Figaro everywhere!"

Seven months passed without other material changes than the changing
seasons. When the flowers faded, and the leafless cypress-trees were
hung with their pretty pendulous seed-vessels, Gerald began to make
longer visits to Savannah. He was, however, rarely gone more than a
week; and, though Rosa's songs grew plaintive in his absence, her
spirits rose at once when he came to tell how homesick he had been. As
for Floracita, she felt compensated for the increased stillness by the
privilege of having Rosa all to herself.

One day in January, when he had been gone from home several days, she
invited Rosa to a walk, and, finding her desirous to finish a letter
to Madame Guirlande, she threw on her straw hat, and went out half
dancing, as she was wont to do. The fresh air was exhilarating, the
birds were singing, and the woods were already beautified with every
shade of glossy green, enlivened by vivid buds and leaflets of reddish
brown. She gathered here and there a pretty sprig, sometimes
placing them in her hair, sometimes in her little black silk apron,
coquettishly decorated with cherry-colored ribbons. She stopped before
a luxuriant wild myrtle, pulling at the branches, while she sang,

"When the little hollow drum beats to bed,
When the little fifer hangs his head,
When is mute the Moorish flute--"

Her song was suddenly interrupted by a clasp round the waist, and a
warm kiss on the lips.

"O Gerald, you've come back!" she exclaimed. "How glad Rosa will be!"

"And nobody else will be glad, I suppose?" rejoined he. "Won't you
give me back my kiss, when I've been gone a whole week?"

"Certainly, _mon bon frere_," she replied; and as he inclined his face
toward her, she imprinted a slight kiss on his cheek.

"That's not giving me back _my_ kiss," said he. "I kissed your mouth,
and you must kiss mine."

"I will if you wish it," she replied, suiting the action to the
word. "But you needn't hold me so tight," she added, as she tried
to extricate herself. Finding he did not release her, she looked up
wonderingly in his face, then lowered her eyes, blushing crimson. No
one had ever looked at her so before.

"Come, don't be coy, _ma petite_," said he.

She slipped from him with sudden agility, and said somewhat sharply:
"Gerald, I don't want to be always called _petite_; and I don't want
to be treated as if I were a child. I am no longer a chi