These regular lines of variegated culture, seen from such a height, seemed like handsome striped calico, which earth had put on for her working-days, mindful that the richly wooded hills were looking down upon her picturesque attire.  There was something peculiarly congenial to the thoughtful soul of the cultured lady in the quiet pastoral beauty of the extensive scene; and still more in the sense of serene elevation above the whole, seeing it all dwindle into small proportions, as the wisdom of age calmly surveys the remote panorama of life.

These riding parties attracted great attention as they passed through the streets; for all had heard the rumor of their wealth, and all were struck by the unusual amount of personal beauty, and the distinguished style of dress.  At that time, the Empress Eugenie had issued her imperial decree that all the world should shine in “barbaric gold,”—­a fashion by no means distasteful to the splendor-loving sisters.  Long sprays of Scotch laburnum mingled their golden bells with the dark tresses of Eulalia and Rosen Blumen; a cluster of golden wheat mixed its shining threads with Flora’s black curls; and a long, soft feather, like “the raven down of darkness,” dusted with gold, drooped over the edge of Mrs. King’s riding-cap, fastened to its band by a golden star.  Even Mrs. Fitzgerald so far changed her livery of the moon as to wear golden buds mixed with cerulean flowers.  Mrs. Delano looked cool as evening among them in her small gray bonnet, with a few violets half hidden in silver leaves.  Old Mr. Bell not unfrequently joined in these excursions.  His white hair, and long silky white beard, formed a picturesque variety in the group; while all recognized at a glance the thoroughbred aristocrat in his haughty bearing, his stern mouth, his cold, turquoise eyes, and the clenching expression of his hand.  Mrs. King seemed to have produced upon him the effect Gerald had predicted.  No youthful gallant could have been more assiduous at her bridle-rein, and he seemed to envy his grandson every smile he obtained from her beautiful lips.

Both he and Mrs. Fitzgerald viewed with obvious satisfaction the growing intimacy between that young gentleman and Eulalia.  “Capital match for Gerald, eh?” said Mr. Bell to his daughter.  “They say King’s good for three millions at least,—­some say four.”

“And Eulalia is such a lovely, gentle girl!” rejoined Mrs. Fitzgerald.  “I’m very fond of her, and she seems fond of me; though of course that’s on account of my handsome son.”

“Yes, she’s a lovely girl,” replied the old gentleman; “and Gerald will be a lucky dog if he wins her.  But her beauty isn’t to be compared to her mother’s.  If I were Emperor of France, and she were a widow, I know who would have a chance to become Empress.”

But though Mrs. King lived in such an atmosphere of love, and was the object of so much admiration, with ample means for indulging her benevolence and her tastes, she was evidently far from being happy.  Flora observed it, and often queried with her husband what could be the reason.  One day she spoke to Mr. King of the entire absence of gayety in her sister, and he said he feared young Mr. Fitzgerald painfully reminded her of her lost son.