Flora had long been Mrs. Blumenthal.  At the time of her marriage, Mrs. Delano said she was willing to adopt a son, but not to part with a daughter; consequently, they formed one household.  As years passed on, infant faces and lisping voices came into the domestic circle,—­fresh little flowers in the floral garland of Mamita Lila’s life.  Alfred Royal, the eldest, was a complete reproduction, in person and character, of the grandfather whose name he bore.  Rosa, three years younger, was quite as striking a likeness of her namesake.  Then came two little ones, who soon went to live with the angels.  And, lastly, there was the five-year-old pet, Lila, who inherited her father’s blue eyes, pink cheeks, and flaxen hair.

These children were told that their grandfather was a rich American merchant in New Orleans, and their grandmother a beautiful and accomplished Spanish lady; that their grandfather failed in business and died poor; that his friend Mrs. Delano adopted their mother; and that they had a very handsome Aunt Rosa, who went to Europe with some good friends, and was lost at sea.  It was not deemed wise to inform them of any further particulars, till time and experience had matured their characters and views of life.

Applications to American consuls, in various places, for information concerning Signor and Madame Papanti had proved unavailing, in consequence of the Signor’s change of name; and Rosabella had long ceased to be anything but a very tender memory to her sister, whose heart was now completely filled with new objects of affection.  The bond between her and her adopted mother strengthened with time, because their influence on each other was mutually improving to their characters.  The affection and gayety of the young folks produced a glowing atmosphere in Mrs. Delano’s inner life, as their mother’s tropical taste warmed up the interior aspect of her dwelling.  The fawn-colored damask curtains had given place to crimson; and in lieu of the silvery paper, the walls were covered with bird-of-paradise color, touched with golden gleams.  The centre-table was covered with crimson, embroidered with a gold-colored garland; and the screen of the gas-light was a gorgeous assemblage of bright flowers.  Mrs. Delano’s lovely face was even more placid than it had been in earlier years; but there was a sunset brightness about it, as of one growing old in an atmosphere of love.  The ash-colored hair, which Flora had fancied to be violet-tinged, was of a silky whiteness now, and fell in soft curls about the pale face.

On the day when I again take up the thread of this story, she was seated in her parlor, in a dress of silvery gray silk, which contrasted pleasantly with the crimson chair.  Under her collar of Honiton lace was an amethystine ribbon, fastened with a pearl pin.  Her cap of rich white lace, made in the fashion of Mary Queen of Scots, was very slightly trimmed with ribbon of the same color, and fastened in front with a small amethyst set with pearls.  For fanciful Flora had said:  “Dear Mamita Lila, don’t have everything about your dress cold white or gray.  Do let something violet or lilac peep out from the snow, for the sake of ‘auld lang syne.’”