As for Floracita, she felt compensated for the increased stillness by the privilege of having Rosa all to herself.
One day in January, when he had been gone from home several days, she invited Rosa to a walk, and, finding her desirous to finish a letter to Madame Guirlande, she threw on her straw hat, and went out half dancing, as she was wont to do.

The fresh air was exhilarating, the birds were singing, and the woods were already beautified with every shade of glossy green, enlivened by vivid buds and leaflets of reddish brown.

She gathered here and there a pretty sprig, sometimes placing them in her hair, sometimes in her little black silk apron, coquettishly decorated with cherry-colored ribbons.

She stopped before a luxuriant wild myrtle, pulling at the branches, while she sang, "When the little hollow drum beats to bed, When the little fifer hangs his head, When is mute the Moorish flute--" Her song was suddenly interrupted by a clasp round the waist, and a warm kiss on the lips.
"O Gerald, you've come back!" she exclaimed.

"How glad Rosa will be!" "And nobody else will be glad, I suppose ?" rejoined he.