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 frere_!" 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.