When the day of the funeral came, Madame Guirlande kept them very near her, holding a hand of each.  She had provided them with long veils, which she requested them not to remove; for she remembered how anxiously their father had screened their beauty from the public gaze.  A number of merchants, who had known and respected Mr. Royal, followed his remains to the grave.  Most of them had heard of his quadroon connection, and some supposed that the veiled mourners might be his daughters; but such things were too common to excite remark, or to awaken much interest.  The girls passed almost unnoticed; having, out of respect to the wishes of their friend, stifled their sobs till they were alone in the carriage with her and their old music-teacher.

The conviction that he was not destined to long life, which Mr. Royal had expressed to Alfred King, was founded on the opinion of physicians that his heart was diseased.  This furnished an additional motive for closing his business as soon as possible, and taking his children to France.  But the failure of several houses with which he was connected brought unexpected entanglements.  Month by month, these became more complicated, and necessarily delayed the intended emigration.  His anxiety concerning his daughters increased to an oppressive degree, and aggravated the symptoms of his disease.  With his habitual desire to screen them from everything unpleasant, he unwisely concealed from them both his illness and his pecuniary difficulties.  He knew he could no longer be a rich man; but he still had hope of saving enough of his fortune to live in a moderate way in some cheap district of France.  But on the day when he bade his daughters good morning so cheerfully, he received a letter informing him of another extensive failure, which involved him deeply.  He was alone in his counting-room when he read it; and there Franz Blumenthal found him dead, with the letter in his hand.  His sudden exit of course aroused the vigilance of creditors, and their examination into the state of his affairs proved anything but satisfactory.

The sisters, unconscious of all this, were undisturbed by any anxiety concerning future support.  The necessity of living without their father’s love and counsel weighed heavily on their spirits; but concerning his money they took no thought.  Hitherto they had lived as the birds do, and it did not occur to them that it could ever be otherwise.  The garden and the flowery parlor, which their mother had created and their father had so dearly loved, seemed almost as much a portion of themselves as their own persons.  It had been hard to think of leaving them, even for the attractions of Paris; and now that dream was over, it seemed a necessity of their existence to live on in the atmosphere of beauty to which they had always been accustomed.  But now that the sunshine of love had vanished from it, they felt lonely and unprotected there.  They invited Madame Guirlande