"How do you know that, sistita mia?" rejoined the lively little chatterer. "Only think, we have never been to a ball! And when we get to France, Papasito will go everywhere with us. He says he will."
"I should like to hear operas and see ballets in Paris," said
Rosabella; "but I wish we could come back here before long."
Floracita's laughing eyes assumed the arch expression which rendered them peculiarly bewitching, and she began to sing,—
"Petit blanc, mon bon frère!
Ha! ha! petit blanc si doux!
Il n'y a rien sur la terre
De si joli que vous.
"Un petit blanc que j'aime—"
A quick flush mantled her sister's face, and she put her hand over the mischievous mouth, exclaiming, "Don't, Flora! don't!"
The roguish little creature went laughing and capering out of the room, and her voice was still heard singing,—
"Un petit blanc que j'aime."
The arrival of Signor Papanti soon summoned her to rehearse a music lesson. She glanced roguishly at her sister when she began; and as she went on, Rosa could not help smiling at her musical antics. The old teacher bore it patiently for a while, then he stopped trying to accompany her, and, shaking his finger at her, said, "Diavolessa!"
"Did I make a false note?" asked she, demurely.