es appealingly.

"Have you seen my papa?" she asked, timidly. "Will he come back soon?"

For a moment I did not answer her. Ferrari took it upon himself to
reply roughly. "Don't talk nonsense, baby! You know your papa has gone
away--you were too naughty for him, and he will never come back again.
He has gone to a place where there are no tiresome little girls to
tease him."

Thoughtless and cruel words! I at once understood the secret grief that
weighed on the child's mind. Whenever she was fretful or petulant, they
evidently impressed it upon her that her father had left her because of
her naughtiness. She had taken this deeply to heart; no doubt she had
brooded upon it in her own vague childish fashion, and had puzzled her
little brain as to what she could possibly have done to displease her
father so greatly that he had actually gone away never to return.
Whatever her thoughts were, she did not on this occasion give vent to
them by tears or words. She only turned her eyes on Ferrari with a look
of intense pride and scorn, strange to see in so little a creature--a
true Romani look, such as I had often noticed in my father's eyes, and
such as I knew must be frequently visible in my own. Ferrari saw it,
and burst out laughing loudly.

"There!" he exclaimed. "Like that she exactly resembles her father! It
is positively ludicrous! Fabio, all over! She only wants one thing to
make the portrait perfect." And approaching her, he snatched one of her
long curls and endeavored to twist it over her mouth in the form of a
mustache. The child struggled angrily, and hid her face against my
coat. The more she tried to defend herself the greater the malice with
which Ferrari tormented her. Her mother did not interfere--she only
laughed. I held the little thing closely sheltered in my embrace, and
steadying down the quiver of indignation in my voice, I said with quiet
firmness:

"Fair play, signor! Fair play! Strength becomes mere bullying when it
is employed against absolute weakness."

Ferrari laughed again, but this time uneasily, and ceasing his
monkeyish pranks, walked to the window. Smoothing Stella's tumbled
hair, I added with a sarcastic smile:

"This little donzella, will have her revenge when she grows up.
Recollecting how one man teased her in childhood, she, in return, will
consider herself justified in teasing all men. Do you not agree with
me, madame?" I said, turning to my wife, who gave me a sweetly
coquettish