away, scarcely hearing her choked voice as she said, "I thank you."

Very reverently the orphans opened the box which contained the
posthumous gifts of their beloved father. The baskets were
manufactured with exquisite taste. They were lined with quilled
apple-green satin. Around the outside of one was the name of Rosabella
embroidered in flowers, and an embroidered garland of roses formed the
handle. The other bore the name of Floracita in minute flowers, and
the handle was formed of _Pensées vivaces_. They turned them round
slowly, unable to distinguish the colors through their swimming tears.

"How like Papasito, to be so kind to the poor woman, and so thoughtful
to please us," said Rosabella. "But he was always so."

"And he must have told her what flowers to put on the baskets," said
Floracita. "You know Mamita often called me _Pensée vivace_. O, there
never _was_ such a Papasito!"

Notwithstanding the sadness that invested tokens coming as it were
from the dead, they inspired a consoling consciousness of his
presence; and their work seemed pleasanter all the day for having
their little baskets by them.

The next morning witnessed a private conference between Madame and the
Signor. If any one had seen them without hearing their conversation,
he would certainly have thought they were rehearsing some very
passionate scene in a tragedy.

The fiery Italian rushed up and down the room, plucking his hair;
while the Frenchwoman ever and anon threw up her hands, exclaiming,