“That was my father’s reason for being unwilling I should reside in New Orleans,” replied Alfred.  “He said it was impossible to exaggerate the importance of social institutions.  He often used to speak of having met a number of Turkish women when he was in the environs of Constantinople.  They were wrapped up like bales of cloth, with two small openings for their eyes, mounted on camels, and escorted by the overseer of the harem.  The animal sound of their chatter and giggling, as they passed him, affected him painfully; for it forced upon him the idea what different beings those women would have been if they had been brought up amid the free churches and free schools of New England.  He always expounded history to me in the light of that conviction; and he mourned that temporary difficulties should prevent lawgivers from checking the growth of evils that must have a blighting influence on the souls of many generations.  He considered slavery a cumulative poison in the veins of this Republic, and predicted that it would some day act all at once with deadly power.”

“Your father was a wise man,” replied Mr. Royal, “and I agree with him.  But it would be unsafe to announce it here; for slavery is a tabooed subject, except to talk in favor of it.”

“I am well aware of that,” rejoined Alfred.  “And now I must bid you good morning.  You know my mother is an invalid, and I may find letters at the post-office that will render immediate return necessary.  But I will see you again; and hereafter our acquaintance may perhaps be renewed in France.”

“That is a delightful hope,” rejoined the merchant, cordially returning the friendly pressure of his hand.  As he looked after the young man, he thought how pleasant it would be to have such a son; and he sighed deeply over the vision of a union that might have been, under other circumstances, between his family and that of his old friend.  Alfred, as he walked away, was conscious of that latent, unspoken wish.  Again the query began to revolve through his mind whether the impediments were really insurmountable.  There floated before him a vision of that enchanting room, where the whole of life seemed to be composed of beauty and gracefulness, music and flowers.  But a shadow of Fitzgerald fell across it, and the recollection of Boston relatives rose up like an iceberg between him and fairy-land.

A letter informing him of his mother’s increasing illness excited a feeling of remorse that new acquaintances had temporarily nearly driven her from his thoughts.  He resolved to depart that evening; but the desire to see Rosabella again could not be suppressed.  Failing to find Mr. Royal at his counting-room or his hotel, he proceeded to his suburban residence.  When Tulipa informed him that “massa” had not returned from the city, he inquired for the young ladies, and was again shown into that parlor every feature of which was so indelibly impressed upon his memory.  Portions of the music of Cenerentola