"I consider it a compliment to forget that I am a stranger," said Mr.
King. "For my own part, I forgot it entirely before I had been in the
house ten minutes."

Rosabella thanked him with a quiet smile and a slight inclination of
her head. Floracita, notwithstanding this encouragement, paused in her
merriment; and Mr. Royal began to talk over reminiscences connected
with Alfred's father. 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 daughter to precede them, they
returned to the room they had left. They had scarcely entered it, when
Floracita darted to the window, and, peering forth into the twilight,
she looked back roguishly at her sister, and began to sing:--

"Un petit blanc, que j'aime,
En ces lieux est venu.
Oui! oui! c'est lui même!
C'est lui! je l'ai vue!
Petit blanc! mon bon frère!
Ha! ha! petit blanc si doux!"

The progress of her song was checked by the entrance of a gentleman,
who was introduced to Alfred as Mr. Fitzgerald from Savannah. His
handsome person reminded one of an Italian tenor singer, and his
manner was a graceful mixture of _hauteur_ and insinuating courtesy.
After a brief interchange of salutations, he said to Floracita,
"I heard some notes of a lively little French tune, that went so
trippingly I should be delighted to hear more of it."