n the long, dark lashes. In obedience to the caution of
her nurses, she deferred any attempt to write till the next week. She
remained very silent during the day, but they knew that her thoughts
were occupied; for they often saw tears oozing through the closed
eyelids.

Meanwhile, her friends in New Orleans were in a state of great
anxiety. Mr. Fitzgerald had again written in a strain very similar to
his first letter, but from Rosa herself nothing had been received.

"I don't know what to make of this," said Madame. "Rosa is not a
girl that would consent to a secondary position where her heart was
concerned."

"You know how common it is for quadroons to accede to such double
arrangements," rejoined the Signor.

"Of course I am well aware of that," she replied; "but they are
educated, from childhood, to accommodate themselves to their
subordinate position, as a necessity that cannot be avoided. It was
far otherwise with Rosa. Moreover, I believe there is too much of
Grandpa Gonsalez in her to submit to anything she deemed dishonorable.
I think, my friend, somebody ought to go to Savannah to inquire into
this business. If you should go, I fear you would get into a duel.
You know dear Floracita used to call you Signor Pimentero. But Mr.
Fitzgerald won't fight _me_, let me say what I will. So I think I had
better go."

"Yes, you had better go. You're a born diplomate, which I am not,"
replied the Signor.

Arrangements were accordingly made for going in a day or two; but they
were arrested by three or four lines from Rosa, stating that she was
getting well, that she had everything for her comfort, and would write
more fully soon. But what surprised them was that she requested them
to address her as Madame Gonsalez, under cover to her mantuamaker in
Savannah, whose address was given.

"That shows plainly enough that she and Fitzgerald have dissolved
partnership," said Madame; "but as she does not ask me to come, I will
wait for her letter of explanation." Meanwhile, however, she wrote
very affectionately in reply to the brief missive, urging Rosa to come
to New Orleans, and enclosing fifty dollars, with the statement that
an old friend of her father's had died and left a legacy for his
daughters. Madame had, as Floracita observed, a talent for arranging
the truth with variations.

The March of the Southern spring returned, wreathed with garlands, and
its pathway strewn with flowers. She gave warm kisses to the firs