When she told her protegees that Franz Blumenthal had a message he wished to deliver to them personally, Rosa said, “Please go and receive it, Sistita.  I had rather not leave my work.”

Floracita glanced at the mirror, smoothed her hair a little, arranged her collar, and went out.  The young clerk was awaiting her appearance with a good deal of trepidation.  He had planned a very nice little speech to make; but before he had stammered out all the story about the baskets, he saw an expression in Flora’s face which made him feel that it was indelicate to intrude upon her emotion; and he hurried away, scarcely hearing her choked voice as she said, “I thank you.”

Very reverently the orphans opened the box which contained the posthumous gifts of their beloved father.  The baskets were manufactured with exquisite taste.  They were lined with quilled apple-green satin.  Around the outside of one was the name of Rosabella embroidered in flowers, and an embroidered garland of roses formed the handle.  The other bore the name of Floracita in minute flowers, and the handle was formed of Pensees vivaces.  They turned them round slowly, unable to distinguish the colors through their swimming tears.

“How like Papasito, to be so kind to the poor woman, and so thoughtful to please us,” said Rosabella.  “But he was always so.”

“And he must have told her what flowers to put on the baskets,” said Floracita.  “You know Mamita often called me Pensee vivace.  O, there never was such a Papasito!”

Notwithstanding the sadness that invested tokens coming as it were from the dead, they inspired a consoling consciousness of his presence; and their work seemed pleasanter all the day for having their little baskets by them.

The next morning witnessed a private conference between Madame and the Signor.  If any one had seen them without hearing their conversation, he would certainly have thought they were rehearsing some very passionate scene in a tragedy.

The fiery Italian rushed up and down the room, plucking his hair; while the Frenchwoman ever and anon threw up her hands, exclaiming, “Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!”

When the violence of their emotions had somewhat abated, Madame said, “Signor, there must be some mistake about this.  It cannot be true.  Mr. Royal would never have left things in such a way.”

“At your request,” replied the Signor, “I went to one of the creditors, to ask whether Mr. Royal’s family could not be allowed to keep their mother’s watch and jewels.  He replied that Mr. Royal left no family; that his daughters were slaves, and, being property themselves, they could legally hold no property.  I was so sure my friend Royal would not have left things in such a state, that I told him he lied, and threatened to knock him down.  He out with his pistol; but when I told him I had left mine at home, he said I must settle with him some other time, unless I chose to