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.