A Romance of the Republic

ling you Mr. King, considering the shortness of our acquaintance; but your father and I were like brothers in our youth, and you resemble him so much, I can hardly realize that you are not he

to do with yourse

my good father. My most earnest wish is to resemble him in character as much as I am said to resemble him in person. I have f

tter worth seeing than my daughters, you would perha

mpanion, in a tone of surprise. "I

hing can ever make up her loss to me; but all the joy that remains in life is centred in the daughters she has left me. I should like to introduce them to you; and that is a compliment I never before paid to any y

walk. I like the exercise, and it will give a better opportunity to observe the city, which

ch and English. When they came to the suburbs of the city, the aspect of things became charmingly rural. Houses were scattered here and there among trees and gardens. Mr. Royal pointed out one of them, nestled i

and golden hoops in her ears. Before the gentlemen had disposed of their hats and canes, a light little figure bounded from one of the rooms, clapp

," said her father, f

King, from Boston; my

ine. I have invited hi

s is my F

ection upon ivory from gold in the sunshine. Her large brown eyes were deeply fringed, and lambent with interior light. Lustrous dark brown hair shaded her forehead in little waves, slight as the rippling of water touched by an insect's wing. It was arranged at the back of her head in circling braids, ov

little brunette, with laughter always lurking in ambush within her sparkling black eyes, a mouth like "Cup

nd, from the centre of which hung a tasteful basket of natural flowers, with delicate vine-tresses drooping over its edge. The walls were papered with bright arabesques of flowers, interspersed with birds and butterflies. In one corner a statuette of Flora looked down upon a geranium covered with a profusion of rich blossoms. In the opposite corner, ivy was trained to form a dark background for Canova's "Dancer in Repose," over whose arm was thrown a wreath of interwoven vines and orange-blossoms. On brackets a

here! Natural flowers, artificial flowers, painted flowers, embroidered flowers,

"Yes, yes." Then, starting up, he said abruptly, "Excuse

ay: "Our dear Mamita used to call this room the Temple of Flora. She had a great passion for flowers. She chose the paper, she made the garlands for the curtains, she embroidered the ottom

wery," said Alfred, with an expressi

t many flowery pet-name

when she was very lovin

le flower; and Papasito

ta called me P

Jump-up-and-kiss-me," rejoined Alfred, smiling

to say, "I sha'n't do it, though." And away she skippe

e led him into the room with a half-d

is question, the negress with the brig

we will come,"

ower too?" a

ry little laugh. "We named her so because she always wears

, which, childish as it was, served to enliven the repast. But when she began to throw oranges for

father. "She is used to being my little playt

anger," said Mr. King. "For my own part, I forgot it

r. When they rose from table, he said, "Come here, Mignonne! We won't be afraid of the Boston gentleman, will we?" Floracita sprang to his side. He passed his arm fondly round her, and, waiting for his guest and his elder daugh

blanc, q

lieux e

! c'est

ui! je

nc! mon b

etit blan

n reminded one of an Italian tenor singer, and his manner was a graceful mixture of hauteur and insinuating courtesy. After a brief interchange of sa

o her sister, during his last visit, and, thinking she had discovered an important secret, she was

anc, mon

etit blan

rien su

oli que

a tone of annoyance, "Don't sing that foolish song, Mignonne!" She turned to him quickly with a look of surprise; for she was accustomed only to endearments from him. In answer

Dancing Girl, she seized the wreath that was thrown over its arm, and as she went circling round, it seemed as if the tune had become a visible spirit, and that the garland was a floating accompaniment to its graceful motions. Sometimes it was held aloft by the right hand, sometimes by the left; sometimes it was a whirling semicircle behind her; and sometimes it rested on her shoulders, mingling its white orange buds and blossoms with her shower of black curls and crimson fuchsias. Now it was twined round her head in a flowery crown, and then it gracefully unwound itse

s variations. Now they looked at each other and smiled. "You would make Taglioni jealous," said Mr. Fi

at her side, she lowered her eyes with a perceptibly deepening color. On her peculiar complexion a blush showed like a roseate cloud in a golden atmosphere.

o him with a smile; and Alfred thought the rising of those dark eyelashes surpassed their d

you sing, 'How brightly bre

ever you raise your eyes to mine," replied he

sounding like echoes from the mountains. This was followed by some tender, complaining Russian melodies, novelties which Mr. Fitzgerald had b

e curtains," replied he. "Perhaps yo

replied. "Either Flora or I sing

on the music-stool she looked at her father, and said

at I always love to

, that it seemed the voice of memory floating with softened sadness over the far-off waters of the past. The tune was familiar to Alfred, but it had never sung itself

ng notice a bell in her vo

he voice of a belle,

w, Mr. King, what tricks she can play with her voice. I call her a musical ventriloquist. I

leasure," said Alf

he keys, while some general remarks were passing, she turned to Mr. Fitzgerald, who was leaning on the piano, and said, "What shall I sing for you?" It was a simple questi

ld, "I should like to hear again what you played the last tim

duced the indescribably dreamy effect of the

ed, inspired him with a feeling of poetic deference. Through the partially open window came the lulling sound of a little trickling fountain in the garden, and the air was redolent of jasmine and orange-blossoms. On the pier-table was a little sleeping Cupid, from whose torch rose the fragrant incense of a nea

flame of his torch ever go out," said Mr. F

his daughters, and moved toward the door. But Mr. Fitzgerald paused on

shippers out of the ch

Mozart's beautiful little melody, "Buona Notte, amato bene." The young men lingered near the piazza till the last

on was, "Isn't that

King; "and the younger sister

eemed to think so," r

do you

ng replied that each of the sisters was so perfect

rejoined Fitzgerald. "If I were the Grand

o answered, in a grave, and somewhat cold tone, "I saw nothing in th

ing the impossible, it is not worth while to be scrupulous about details. I am not the Grand Bashaw; and when I pronounced them fit for his harem, I merely meant a compliment to the

song excited my curio

at is it

nch, half Spanish. You doubtless observed the foreign sprinkling in their talk. They told me they never spoke English with their mother. Those who have seen her describe her as a wonderful creature, who danced like

n the French Island

Of course not, for she was a quadroon. But here

's complexion, not golden, but like a faint, luminous reflection of gold, and that slight waviness in the glossy hair, which seemed to him so becoming. He could not make these peculiarities seem less beautiful to his imagination, now that he knew them as signs of her connection with a proscribed race. And that bewitching little Floracita, emerging into womanhood, with the auroral light of childhood still floating round her, she seemed like a beautiful Italian child, whose pro

m, he thought to himself, "My good mother shares the prejudice. How could I introduce them to her?" Then, as if impatient with himself

monotonous occupation would induce slumber. After a while he forgot to count; and as his spirit hovered between the inner and the outer world, Floracita seemed to be dancing on the leaf shadows in manifold graceful evolutions. Then he wa

the limbs a

thing seem

he was a quadroon." Then the plaintive melody of "Toll the bell" resounded in his ears; not afar off, but loud and clear, as if the singer were in the room. He woke with a start, and heard the vibrations of a cathedral bell

dent gaze of Gerald Fitzgerald. Again he thought of his mother, and sighed. At last a