Rosa lowered her eyes, and colored deeply, as she answered:  “That subject is very painful to me.  I can never forgive myself for having left Tulee and that poor little baby.”

Flora pressed her sister’s hand in silence for a moment, and then said:  “You told me Madame and the Signor were alive and well.  Where are they?”

“They lived with us in Provence,” replied Rosa.  “But when we concluded to return to America, the Signor expressed a wish to end his days in his native country.  So Mr. King purchased an estate for them near Florence, and settled an annuity upon them.  I had a letter from Madame a few days ago, and she writes that they are as happy as rabbits in clover.  The Signor is getting quite old; and if she survives him, it is agreed that she will come and end her days with us.  How it will delight her heart to hear that you are alive!  What a strange fortune we have had!  It seems that Mr. King always loved me, from the first evening that he spent at our house.  Do you remember how you laughed because he offered to help us if ever we were in trouble?  He knew more about us then than we knew about ourselves; and he afterward did help me out of very great troubles.  I will tell you all about it some time.  But first I want to know about you.  Who is this new Mamita that you speak of?”

“O, it was wonderful how she came to me when I had the greatest need of a friend,” answered Flora.  “You must know that she and Papasito were in love with each other when they were young; and she is in love with his memory now.  I sometimes think his spirit led her to me.  I will show you a picture I have made of Papasito and Mamita as guardian angels, placing a crown of violets and lilies of the valley on the head of my new Mamita.  When I had to run away, she brought me to live with her in Boston; and there I met with an old acquaintance.  Do you remember Florimond Blumenthal?”

“The good German boy that Papasito took such an interest in?” inquired Rosa.  “To be sure I remember him.”

“Well, he’s a good German boy now,” rejoined Flora; “and I’m Mrs. Blumenthal.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Rosa.  “You look so exactly as you did when you were such a merry little elf, that I never thought to inquire whether you were married.  In the joy of this sudden meeting, I forgot how many years had passed since we saw each other.”

“You will realize how long it has been when you see my children,” rejoined Flora.  “My oldest, Alfred Royal, is fitting for college.  He is the image of cher Papa; and you will see how Mamita Lila doats upon him.  She must have loved Papasito very much.  Then I had a daughter that died in a few days; then I had my Rosen Blumen, and you will see who she looks like; then some more came and went to the angels.  Last of all came little Lila, who looks just like her father,—­flaxen hair, pink cheeks, and great German forget-me-nots for eyes.”

“How I shall love them all!” exclaimed Rosa.  “And you will love our Eulalia.  I had a little Alfred and a little Flora.  They came to us in Provence, and we left their pretty little bodies there among the roses.”