"Don't say that, _Papasito querido_!"

He laid a hand on the head of each. His heart was very full. With
solemn tenderness he tried to warn them of the perils of life. But
there was much that he was obliged to refrain from saying, from
reverence for their inexperienced purity. And had he attempted to
describe the manners of a corrupt world, they could have had no
realizing sense of his meaning; for it is impossible for youth to
comprehend the dangers of the road it is to travel.

The long talk at last subsided into serious silence. 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