Floracita had accidentally overheard some half-whispered words which
Mr. Fitzgerald had addressed to her sister, during his last visit,
and, thinking she had discovered an important secret, she was disposed
to use her power mischievously. Without waiting for a repetition of
his request, she sang:--

"Petit blanc, mon bon frère!
Ha! ha! petit blanc si doux!
Il n'y a rien sur la terre
De si joli que vous."

While she was singing, she darted roguish glances at her sister, whose
cheeks glowed like the sun-ripened side of a golden apricot. Her
father touched her shoulder, and said in 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 to her look, he added, in a gentler tone, "You know I told
you I wanted my friend to see you dance. Select one of your prettiest,
_ma petite_, and Rosabella will play it for you."

Mr. Fitzgerald assiduously placed the music-stool, and bent over the
portfolio while Miss Royal searched for the music. A servant lighted
the candelabra and drew the curtains. Alfred, glancing at Mr. Royal,
saw he was watching the pair who were busy at the portfolio, and that
the expression of his countenance was troubled. His eyes, however,
soon had pleasanter occupation; for as soon as Rosa touched the piano,
Floracita began to float round the room in a succession of graceful
whirls, as if the music had taken her up and was waltzing her along.
As she passed the marble Dancing Girl, she seized the wreath that was