A Romance of the Republic | Page 2

friend of mine. I have invited him to see you dance. Mr.
King, this is my Floracita."
The fairy dotted a courtesy, quickly and gracefully as a butterfly
touching a flower, and then darted back into the room she had left.
There they were met by a taller young lady, who was introduced as
"My daughter Rosabella." Her beauty was superlative and peculiar. Her
complexion was like a glowing reflection upon ivory from gold in the

sunshine. Her large brown eyes were deeply fringed, and lambent with
interior light. Lustrous dark brown hair shaded her forehead in little
waves, slight as the rippling of water touched by an insect's wing. It
was arranged at the back of her head in circling braids, over which fell
clusters of ringlets, with moss-rose-buds nestling among them. Her full,
red lips were beautifully shaped, and wore a mingled expression of
dignity and sweetness. The line from ear to chin was that perfect oval
which artists love, and the carriage of her head was like one born to a
kingdom.
Floracita, though strikingly handsome, was of a model less superb than
her elder sister. She was a charming little brunette, with laughter
always lurking in ambush within her sparkling black eyes, a mouth like
"Cupid's bow carved in coral," and dimples in her cheeks, that well
deserved their French name, _berceaux d'amour_.
These radiant visions of beauty took Alfred King so much by surprise,
that he was for a moment confused. But he soon recovered
self-possession, and, after the usual salutations, took a seat offered him
near a window overlooking the garden. While the commonplaces of
conversation were interchanged, he could not but notice the floral
appearance of the room. The ample white lace curtains were
surmounted by festoons of artificial roses, caught up by a bird of
paradise. On the ceiling was an exquisitely painted garland, from the
centre of which hung a tasteful basket of natural flowers, with delicate
vine-tresses drooping over its edge. The walls were papered with bright
arabesques of flowers, interspersed with birds and butterflies. In one
corner a statuette of Flora looked down upon a geranium covered with
a profusion of rich blossoms. In the opposite corner, ivy was trained to
form a dark background for Canova's "Dancer in Repose," over whose
arm was thrown a wreath of interwoven vines and orange-blossoms. On
brackets and tables were a variety of natural flowers in vases of Sevres
china, whereon the best artists of France had painted flowers in all
manner of graceful combinations. The ottomans were embroidered with
flowers. Rosabella's white muslin dress was trailed all over with
delicately tinted roses, and the lace around the corsage was fastened in
front with a mosaic basket of flowers. Floracita's black curls fell over

her shoulders mixed with crimson fuchsias, and on each of her little
slippers was embroidered a bouquet.
"This is the Temple of Flora," said Alfred, turning to his host. "Flowers
everywhere! Natural flowers, artificial flowers, painted flowers,
embroidered flowers, and human flowers excelling them all,"--glancing
at the young ladies as he spoke.
Mr. Royal sighed, and in an absent sort of way answered, "Yes, yes."
Then, starting up, he said abruptly, "Excuse me a moment; I wish to
give the servants some directions."
Floracita, who was cutting leaves from the geranium, observed his
quick movement, and, as he left the room, she turned toward their
visitor and said, in a childlike, confidential sort of way: "Our dear
Mamita used to call this room the Temple of Flora. She had a great
passion for flowers. She chose the paper, she made the garlands for the
curtains, she embroidered the ottomans, and painted that table so
prettily. Papasito likes to have things remain as she arranged them, but
sometimes they make him sad; for the angels took Mamita away from
us two years ago."
"Even the names she gave you are flowery," said Alfred, with an
expression of mingled sympathy and admiration.
"Yes; and we had a great many flowery pet-names beside," replied she.
"My name is Flora, but when she was very loving with me she called
me her Floracita, her little flower; and Papasito always calls me so now.
Sometimes Mamita called me _Pensée Vivace_."
"In English we call that bright little flower Jump-up-and-kiss-me,"
rejoined Alfred, smiling as he looked down upon the lively little fairy.
She returned the smile with an arch glance, that seemed to say, "I
sha'n't do it, though." And away she skipped to meet her father, whose
returning steps were heard.
"You see I spoil her," said he, as she led him into the room with a

half-dancing step. "But how can I help it?"
Before there was time to respond to this question, the negress with the
bright turban announced that tea was ready.
"Yes,