Tulee wondered why her vivacious little pet had all of a sudden become
so sedentary in her habits,--why she never took her customary rambles
except when Mr. Fitzgerald was gone, and even then never without her
sister. The conjecture she formed was not very far amiss, for Chloe's
gossip had made her better acquainted with the character of her master
than were the other inmates of the cottage; but the extraordinary
industry was a mystery to her. One evening, when she found Floracita
alone in her room at dusk, leaning her head on her hand and gazing out
of the window dreamily, she put her hand on the silky head and said,
"Is my little one homesick?"

"I have no home to be sick for," she replied, sadly.

"Is she lovesick then?"

"I have no lover," she replied, in the same desponding tone.

"What is it, then, my pet? Tell Tulee."

"I wish I could go to Madame Guirlande," responded Flora. "She was so
kind to us in our first troubles."

"It would do you good to make her a visit," said Tulee, "and I should
think you might manage to do it somehow."

"No. Gerald said, a good while ago, that it would be dangerous for us
ever to go to New Orleans."

"Does he expect to keep you here always?" asked Tulee. "He might just
as well keep you in a prison, little bird."