ffectionate
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 frere!
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; an