The roguish little creature went laughing and capering out of the room, and her voice was still heard singing,—­

    “Un petit blanc que j’aime.”

The arrival of Signor Papanti soon summoned her to rehearse a music lesson.  She glanced roguishly at her sister when she began; and as she went on, Rosa could not help smiling at her musical antics.  The old teacher bore it patiently for a while, then he stopped trying to accompany her, and, shaking his finger at her, said, “Diavolessa!”

“Did I make a false note?” asked she, demurely.

“No, you little witch, you can’t make a false note.  But how do you suppose I can keep hold of the tail of the Air, if you send me chasing after it through so many capricious variations?  Now begin again, da capo”

The lesson was recommenced, but soon ran riot again.  The Signor became red in the face, shut the music-book with a slam, and poured forth a volley of wrath in Italian, When she saw that he was really angry, she apologized, and promised to do better.  The third time of trying, she acquitted herself so well that her teacher praised her; and when she bade him good morning, with a comic little courtesy, he smiled good-naturedly, as he said, “Ah, Malizietta!”

“I knew I should make Signor Pimentero sprinkle some pepper,” exclaimed she, laughing, as she saw him walk away.

“You are too fond of sobriquets,” said Rosa.  “If you are not careful, you will call him Signor Pimentero to his face, some day.”

“What did you tell me that for?” asked the little rogue.  “It will just make me do it.  Now I am going to pester Madame’s parrot.”

She caught up her large straw hat, with flying ribbons, and ran to the house of their next neighbor, Madame Guirlande.  She was a French lady, who had given the girls lessons in embroidery, the manufacture of artificial flowers, and other fancy-work.  Before long, Floracita returned through the garden, skipping over a jumping-rope.  “This is a day of compliments,” said she, as she entered the parlor, “Signor Pimentero called me Diavolessa; Madame Guirlande called me Joli petit diable; and the parrot took it up, and screamed it after me, as I came away.”

“I don’t wonder at it,” replied Rosa.  “I think I never saw even you so full of mischief.”

Her frolicsome mood remained through the day.  One moment she assumed the dignified manner of Rosabella, and, stretching herself to the utmost, she stood very erect, giving sage advice.  The next, she was impersonating a negro preacher, one of Tulipa’s friends.  Hearing a mocking-bird in the garden, she went to the window and taxed his powers to the utmost, by running up and down difficult roulades, interspersed with the talk of parrots, the shrill fanfare of trumpets, and the deep growl of a contra-fagotto.  The bird produced a grotesque fantasia in his efforts to imitate her.  The peacock, as he strutted up and down the piazza, trailing his gorgeous plumage in the sunshine, ever and anon turned his glossy neck, and held up his ear to listen, occasionally performing his part in the charivari by uttering a harsh scream.  The mirthfulness of the little madcap was contagious, and not unfrequently the giggle of Tulipa and the low musical laugh of Rosabella mingled with the concert.