“I see how it is,” said the Countess.  “You must live together.  Each feels herself incomplete without the others.  Novella needs somebody to take care of her and somebody to love.  In return, she will give love and endless entertainment.  Reima, too, needs looking after, and some one will watch with a friendly eye the growth of her paintings.  Our two musicians must not become one-sided by thinking only of melody and song.  They must enjoy being clothed by Moina’s kind hands, listening to Novella’s poems, and discussing Reima’s works.  And you must train all your ears to appreciate the talents of these two marvellous creatures who sing and play with such rare, such exquisite harmony.”

“And what shall I do?” cried Delicieuse.

“You shall do a little of everything, dear child.  You shall help Moina to guide the house, and Reima to mix the colors.  You shall take care that the piano is never out of tune, or Novella at a loss for pens and paper.  In a word, you shall be what you always have been, always ready with the oil of gladness, wherever you see friction, the sweetest, the most lovable creature in the world.”

Delicieuse smiled, and ran to embrace all her sisters, hardly knowing which she loved best.

It was not long before those royal maidens, royal only in their virtues and their talents, found themselves in a home in a vine-clad land, where each could live as Nature had designed she should live.

Moina, whose practical skill was not confined to her needle, kept the house with such exquisite care and neatness, that her sisters preferred it to a palace.  She found happiness in forgetting herself, in her pride in them, and in the freedom from petty cares from which she shielded them.  Her calm, serene character was a continual repose to the varying moods of Reima and Novella; a balance-wheel to works that, running fast, often ran irregularly.  Reima studied the old masters with no need for further travel, for her home lay among their works.

Mosella and Papeta composed music, made Delicieuse listen to and admire it when other hearers were wanting, and were satisfied with her criticisms.

Novella wrote books, and had her frenzies.  She had her gentle and her gay moods, also, and made laughter ring through the house at her will.  Not one of these four was conscious of her powers, or asked for fame.  Nor did their aristocratic breeding make them ashamed to work for their bread.  They even fancied that bread thus won, needed less butter to help it down, than that of charity.

As to Delicieuse, she was the bright, the golden link that bound the household together in peace and harmony.  Her smiles, her caresses, the love that flowed forth from her as from a living fountain, made their home glad with perpetual sunshine.  Thank God for the gifts of genius He has scattered abroad with a bountiful hand; but thank Him also that, without such gifts, one may become a joy and a benediction!