CHAPTER V.
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SUCH sudden reverses, such overwhelming sorrows, mature
characters with wonderful rapidity. Rosa, though
formed by nature and habit to cling to others, soon began
to form plans for future support. Her inexperienced mind
foresaw few of the difficulties involved in the career her
friends had suggested. She merely expected to study and
work hard; but that seemed a trifle, if she could avoid for
herself and her sister the publicity which their father had
so much dreaded.
Floracita, too, seemed like a tamed bird. She was
sprightly as ever in her motions, and quick in her gestures;
but she would sit patiently at her task of embroidery,
hour after hour, without even looking up to answer
the noisy challenges of the parrot. Sometimes the sisters,
while they worked, sang together the hymns they had
been accustomed to sing with their father on Sundays;
and memory of the missing voice imparted to their tones a
pathos that no mere skill could imitate.
One day, when they were thus occupied, the door-bell
rang, and they heard a voice, which they thought they
recognized, talking with Madame. It was Franz Blumenthal.
“I have come to bring some small articles for the
young ladies,” said he. “A week before my best friend
died, a Frenchwoman came to the store, and wished to
sell some fancy-baskets. She said she was a poor widow;
and Mr. Royal, who was always kind and generous, commissioned
her to make two of her handsomest baskets, and
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embroider the names of his daughters on them. She has
placed them in my hands to-day, and I have brought them
myself in order to explain the circumstances.”
“Are they paid for?” inquired Madame.
“I have paid for them,” replied the young man, blushing
deeply; “but please not to inform the young ladies of that
circumstance. And, Madame, I have a favor to ask of you.
Here are fifty dollars. I want you to use them for the
young ladies without their knowledge; and I should like
to remit to you half my wages every month for the same
purpose. When Mr. Royal was closing business, he wrote
several letters of recommendation for me, and addressed
them to well-established merchants. I feel quite sure of
getting a situation where I can earn more than I need for
myself.”
“Bon garçon!” exclaimed Madame, patting him on the
shoulder. “I will borrow the fifty dollars; but I trust we
shall be able to pay you before many months.”
“It will wound my feelings if you ever offer to repay
me,” replied the young man. “My only regret is, that I
cannot just now do any more for the daughters of my best
friend and benefactor, who did so much for me when I was
a poor, destitute boy. But would it be asking too great a
favor, Madame, to be allowed to see the young ladies, and
place in their hands these presents from their father?”
Madame Guirlande smiled as she thought to herself,
“What is he but a boy now? He grows tall though.”
When she told her protégées that Franz Blumenthal
had a message he wished to deliver to them personally,
Rosa said, “Please go and receive it, Sistita. I had
rather not leave my work.”
Floracita glanced at the mirror, smoothed her hair a
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little, arranged her collar, and went out. The young clerk
was awaiting her appearance with a good deal of trepidation.
He had planned a very nice little speech to make;
but before he had stammered out all the story about
the baskets, he saw an expression in Flora's face which
made him feel that it was indelicate to intrude upon her
emotion; and he hurried away, scarcely hearing her
choked voice as she said, “I thank you.”
Very reverently the orphans opened the box which contained
the posthumous gifts of their beloved father. The
baskets were manufactured with exquisite taste. They
were lined with quilled apple-green satin. Around the
outside of one was the name of Rosabella embroidered in
flowers, and an embroidered garland of roses formed the
handle. The other bore the name of Floracita in minute
flowers, and the handle was formed of Pensees vivaces.
They turned them round slowly, unable to distinguish the
colors through their swimming tears.
“How like Papasito, to be so kind to the poor woman,
and so thoughtful to please us,” said Rosabella. “But he
was always so.”
“And he must have told her what flowers to put on the
baskets,” said Floracita. “You know Mamita often called
me Pensée vivace. O, there never was such a Papasito!”
Notwithstanding the sadness that invested tokens coming
as it were from the dead, they inspired a consoling consciousness
of his presence; and their work seemed pleasanter
all the day for having their little baskets by them.
The next morning witnessed a private conference between
Madame and the Signor. If any one had seen them
without hearing their conversation, he would certainly have
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thought they were rehearsing some very passionate scene
in a tragedy.
The fiery Italian rushed up and down the room, plucking
his hair; while the Frenchwoman ever and anon threw
up her hands, exclaiming, “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!”
When the violence of their emotions had somewhat
abated, Madame said, “Signor, there must be some mistake
about this. It cannot be true. Mr. Royal would
never have left things in such a way.”
“At your request,” replied the Signor, “I went to one
of the creditors, to ask whether Mr. Royal's family could
not be allowed to keep their mother's watch and jewels.
He replied that Mr. Royal left no family; that his daughters
were slaves, and, being property themselves, they
could legally hold no property. I was so sure my friend
Royal would not have left things in such a state, that
I told him he lied, and threatened to knock him down.
He out with his pistol; but when I told him I had left
mine at home, he said I must settle with him some other
time, unless I chose to make an apology. I told him I
would do so whenever I was convinced that his statement
was true. I was never more surprised than when he told
me that Madame Royal was a slave. I knew she was a
quadroon, and I supposed she was a placée, as so many of
the quadroons are. But now it seems that Mr. Royal
bought her of her father; and he, good, easy man, neglected
to manumit her. He of course knew that by law
`the child follows the condition of the mother,' but I suppose
it did not occur to him that the daughters of so rich a
man as he was could ever be slaves. At all events, he
neglected to have manumission papers drawn till it was too
late; for his property had become so much involved that
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he no longer had a legal right to convey any of it away
from creditors.”
Madame swung back and forth in the vehemence of her
agitation, exclaiming, “What is to be done? What is to
be done?”
The Italian strode up and down the room, clenching his
fist, and talking rapidly. “To think of that Rosabella!”
exclaimed he, — “a girl that would grace any throne in
Europe! To think of her on the auction-stand, with a
crowd of low-bred rascals staring at her, and rich libertines,
like that Mr. Bruteman — Pah! I can't endure
to think of it. How like a satyr he looked while he was
talking to me about their being slaves. It seems he got
sight of them when they took an inventory of the furniture.
And that handsome little witch, Floracita, whom
her father loved so tenderly, to think of her being bid off
to some such filthy wretch! But they sha' n't have 'em!
They sha' n't have 'em! I swear I'll shoot any man that
comes to take 'em.” He wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, and rushed round like a tiger in a cage.
“My friend,” replied Madame, “they have the law on
their side; and if you try to resist, you will get yourself
into trouble without doing the girls any good. I'll tell you
what we must do. We must disguise them, and send them
to the North.”
“Send them to the North!” exclaimed the Italian.
“Why, they'd no more know how to get there than a
couple of kittens.”
“Then I must go with them,” replied Madame; “and
they must be got out of this house before another day; for
now that we know of it, we shall be watched.”
The impetuous Italian shook her hand cordially. “You
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have a brave heart, Madame,” said he. “I should rather
march up to the cannon's mouth than tell them such news
as this.”
The bewildered Frenchwoman felt the same dread of the
task before her; but she bravely said, “What must be done,
can be done.”
After some further talk with the Signor concerning
ways and means, she bade him good morning, and sat still
for a moment to collect her thoughts. She then proceeded
to the apartment assigned to the orphans. They were occupied
with a piece of embroidery she had promised to sell
for them. She looked at the work, praised the exactness
of the stitches and the tasteful shading of the flowers; but
while she pointed out the beauties of the pattern, her hand
and voice trembled.
Rosabella noticed it, and, looking up, said, “What
troubles you, dear friend?”
“O, this is a world of trouble,” replied Madame, “and
you have had such a storm beating on your young heads,
that I wonder you keep your senses.”
“I don't know as we could,” said Rosa, “if the good
God had not given us such a friend as you.”
“If any new trouble should come, I trust you will try to
keep up brave hearts, my children,” rejoined Madame.
“I don't know of any new trouble that can come to us
now,” said Rosa, “unless you should be taken from us, as
our father was. It seems as if everything else had happened
that could happen.”
“O, there are worse things than having me die,” replied
Madame.
Floracita had paused with her thread half drawn through
her work, and was looking earnestly at the troubled
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countenance of their friend. “Madame,” exclaimed she, “something
has happened. What is it?”
“I will tell you,” said Madame, “if you will promise not
to scream or faint, and will try to keep your wits collected,
so as to help me think what is best to be done.”
They promised; and, watching her countenance with an
expression of wonder and anxiety, they waited to hear what
she had to communicate. “My dear children,” said she,
“I have heard something that will distress you very much.
Something neither you nor I ever suspected. Your mother
was a slave.”
“Our mother a slave!” exclaimed Rosa, coloring vehemently.
“Whose slave could she be, when she was Papasito's
wife, and he loved her so? It is impossible, Madame.”
“Your father bought her when she was very young, my
dear; but I know very well that no wife was ever loved
better than she was.”
“But she always lived with her own father till she married
papa,” said Floracita. “How then could she be his
slave?”
“Her father got into trouble about money, my dear; and
he sold her.”
“Our Grandpapa Gonsalez sold his daughter!” exclaimed
Rosa. “How incredible! Dear friend, I wonder
you can believe such things.”
“The world is full of strange things, my child,—stranger
than anything you ever read in story-books.”
“If she was only Papasito's slave,” said Flora, “I don't
think Mamito found that any great hardship.”
“She did not, my dear. I don't suppose she ever
thought of it; but a great misfortune has grown out of it.”
“What is it?” they both asked at once.
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Their friend hesitated. “Remember, you have promised
to be calm,” said she. “I presume you don't know that,
by the laws of Louisiana, `the child follows the condition
of the mother.' The consequence is, that you are slaves,
and your father's creditors claim a right to sell you.”
Rosabella turned very pale, and the hand with which she
clutched a chair trembled violently. But she held her
head erect, and her look and tone were very proud, as she
exclaimed, “We become slaves! I will die rather.”
Floracita, unable to comprehend this new misfortune,
looked from one to the other in a bewildered way. Nature
had written mirthfulness in the shape of her beautiful eyes,
which now contrasted strangely with their startled and sad
expression.
The kind-hearted French woman bustled about the room,
moving chairs, and passing her handkerchief over boxes,
while she tried hard to swallow the emotions that choked
her utterance. Having conquered in the struggle, she
turned toward them, and said, almost cheerfully: “There's
no need of dying, my children. Perhaps your old friend
can help you out of this trouble. We must disguise ourselves
as gentlemen, and start for the North this very
evening.”
Floracita looked at her sister, and said, hesitatingly:
“Could n't you write to Mr. Fitzgerald, and ask him to
come here? Perhaps he could help us.”
Rosa's cheeks glowed, as she answered proudly: “Do
you think I would ask him to come? I would n't do such
a thing if we were as rich and happy as we were a little
while ago; and certainly I would n't do it now.”
“There spoke Grandpa Gonsalez!” said Madame. “How
grand the old gentleman used to look, walking about so
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erect, with his gold-headed cane! But we must go to work
in a hurry, my children. Signor Papanti has promised to
send the disguises, and we must select and pack such things
as it is absolutely necessary we should carry. I am sorry
now that Tulee is let out in the city, for we need her help.
“She must go with us,” said Flora. “I can't leave
Tulee.”
“We must do as we can,” replied Madame. “In this
emergency we can't do as we would. We are all white,
and if we can get a few miles from here, we shall have no
further trouble. But if we had a negro with us, it would
lead to questions, perhaps. Besides, we have n't time to
disguise her and instruct her how to perform her part.
The Signor will be a good friend to her; and as soon as we
can earn some money, we will send and buy her.”
“But where can we go when we get to the North?”
asked Rosa.
“I will tell you,” said Floracita. “Don't you remember
that Mr. King from Boston, who came to see us a year
ago? His father was papa's best friend, you know; and
when he went away, he told us if ever we were in trouble,
to apply to him, as if he were our brother.”
“Did he?” said Madame. “That lets in a gleam of
light. I heard your father say he was a very good young
man, and rich.”
“But Papasito said, some months ago, that Mr. King
had gone to Europe with his mother, on account of her
health,” replied Rosa. “Besides, if he were at home, it
would be very disagreeable to go to a young gentleman as
beggars and runaways, when he was introduced to us as
ladies.”
“You must put your pride in your pocket for the
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present, Señorita Gonsalez,” said Madame, playfully touching
her under the chin. “If this Mr. King is absent, I will
write to him. They say there is a man in Boston, named
William Lloyd Garrison, who takes great interest in slaves.
We will tell him our story, and ask him about Mr. King.
I did think of stopping awhile with relatives in New York.
But it would be inconvenient for them, and they might not
like it. This plan pleases me better. To Boston we will
go. The Signor has gone to ask my cousin, Mr. Duroy, to
come here and see to the house. When I have placed you
safely, I will come back slyly to my cousin's house, a few
miles from here, and with his help I will settle up my
affairs. Then I will return to you, and we will all go to
some secure place and live together. I never starved yet,
and I don't believe I ever shall.”
The orphans clung to her, and kissed her hands, as they
said: “How kind you are to us, dear friend! What shall
we ever do to repay you?”
“Your father and mother were generous friends to me,”
replied Madame; “and now their children are in trouble, I
will not forsake them.”
As the good lady was to leave her apartments for an
indefinite time, there was much to be done and thought of,
beside the necessary packing for the journey. The girls
tried their best to help her, but they were continually proposing
to carry something because it was a keepsake from
Mamita or Papasito.
“This is no time for sentiment, my children,” said
Madame. “We must not take anything we can possibly
do without. Bless my soul, there goes the bell! What if
it should be one of those dreadful creditors come here to
peep and pry? Run to your room, my children, and bolt
the door.”
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A moment afterward, she appeared before them smiling,
and said: “There was no occasion for being so frightened,
but I am getting nervous with all this flurry. Come back
again, dears. It is only Franz Blumenthal.”
“What, come again?” asked Rosa. “Please go, Floracita,
and I will come directly, as soon as I have gathered
up these things that we must carry.”
The young German blushed like a girl as he offered two
bouquets, one of heaths and orange-buds, the other of
orange-blossoms and fragrant geraniums; saying as he did
so, “I have taken the liberty to bring some flowers, Miss
Floracita.”
“My name is Miss Royal, sir,” she replied, trying to
increase her stature to the utmost. It was an unusual
caprice in one whose nature was so childlike and playful;
but the recent knowledge that she was a slave had made
her, for the first time, jealous of her dignity. She took it
into her head that he knew the humiliating fact, and presumed
upon it.
But the good lad was as yet unconscious of this new
trouble, and the unexpected rebuke greatly surprised him.
Though her slight figure and juvenile face made her attempt
at majesty somewhat comic, it was quite sufficient to
intimidate the bashful youth; and he answered, very meekly:
“Pardon me, Miss Royal. Floracita is such a very
pretty name, and I have always liked it so much, that I
spoke it before I thought.”
The compliment disarmed her at once; and with one of
her winning smiles, and a quick little courtesy, she said:
“Do you think it's a pretty name? You may call me
Floracita, if you like it so much.”
“I think it is the prettiest name in the world,” replied
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he. “I used to like to hear your mother say it. She said
everything so sweetly! Do you remember she used to call
me Florimond when I was a little boy, because, she said,
my face was so florid? Now I always write my name
Franz Florimond Blumenthal, in memory of her.”
“I will always call you Florimond, just as Mamita did,”
said she.
Their very juvenile tête-à-tête was interrupted by the
entrance of Madame with Rosa, who thanked him graciously
for her portion of the flowers, and told him her
father was so much attached to him that she should always
think of him as a brother.
He blushed crimson as he thanked her, and went away
with a very warm feeling at his heart, thinking Floracita
a prettier name than ever, and happily unconscious that he
was parting from her.
He had not been gone long when the bell rang again,
and the girls again hastened to hide themselves. Half an
hour elapsed without their seeing or hearing anything of
Madame; and they began to be extremely anxious lest
something unpleasant was detaining her. But she came
at last, and said, “My children, the Signor wants to speak to
you.”
They immediately descended to the sitting-room, where
they found the Signor looking down and slowly striking
the ivory head of his cane against his chin, as he was wont
to do when buried in profound thought. He rose as they
entered, and Rosa said with one of her sweetest smiles,
“What is it you wish, dear friend?” He dropped a thin
cloak from his shoulders and removed his hat, which
brought away a grizzled wig with it, and Mr. Fitzgerald
stood smiling before them.
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The glad surprise excited by this sudden realization of a
latent hope put maidenly reserve to flight, and Rosa
dropped on her knees before him, exclaiming, “O Gerald,
save us!”
He raised her tenderly, and, imprinting a kiss on her
forehead, said: “Save you, my precious Rose? To be
sure I will. That's what I came for.”
“And me too,” said Flora, clinging to him, and hiding
her face under his arm.
“Yes, and you too, mischievous fairy,” replied he, giving
her a less ceremonious kiss than he had bestowed on
her sister. “But we must talk fast, for there is a great
deal to be done in a short time. I was unfortunately absent
from home, and did not receive the letter informing me
of your good father's death so soon as I should otherwise
have done. I arrived in the city this morning, but have
been too busy making arrangements for your escape to
come here any earlier. The Signor and I have done the
work of six during the last few hours. The creditors are
not aware of my acquaintance with you, and I have assumed
this disguise to prevent them from discovering it.
The Signor has had a talk with Tulee, and told her to keep
very quiet, and not tell any mortal that she ever saw me at
your father's house. A passage for you and Madame is
engaged on board a vessel bound to Nassau, which will
sail at midnight. Soon after I leave this house, Madame's
cousin, Mr. Duroy, will come with two boys. You and
Madame will assume their dresses, and they will put on
some clothes the Signor has already sent, in such boxes as
Madame is accustomed to receive, full of materials for her
flowers. All, excepting ourselves, will suppose you have
gone North, according to the original plan, in order that
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they may swear to that effect if they are brought to trial.
When I go by the front of the house whistling Ça ira,
you will pass through the garden to the street in the rear,
where you will find my servant with a carriage, which will
convey you three miles, to the house of one of my friends.
I will come there in season to accompany you on board the
ship.”
“O, how thoughtful and how kind you are!” exclaimed
Rosa. “But can't we contrive some way to take poor
Tulee with us?”
“It would be imprudent,” he replied. “The creditors
must be allowed to sell her. She knows it, but she has
my assurance that I will take good care of her. No harm
shall come to Tulee, I promise you. I cannot go with you
to Nassau; because, if I do, the creditors may suspect my
participation in the plot. I shall stay in New Orleans a
week or ten days, then return to Savannah, and take an
early opportunity to sail for Nassau, by the way of New
York. Meanwhile, I will try to manage matters so that
Madame can safely return to her house. Then we will
decide where to make a happy home for ourselves.”
The color forsook Rosa's cheeks, and her whole frame
quivered, as she said, “I thank you, Gerald, for all this
thoughtful care; but I cannot go to Nassau, — indeed I
cannot!”
“Cannot go!” exclaimed he. “Where will you go, then?”
“Before you came, Madame had made ready to take us
to Boston, you know. We will go there with her.”
“Rosa, do you distrust me?” said he reproachfully.
“Do you doubt my love?”
“I do not distrust you,” she replied; but” — she
looked down, and blushed deeply as she added — “but I
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promised my father that I would never leave home with
any gentleman unless I was married to him.”
“But, Rosa dear, your father did not foresee such a
state of things as this. Everything is arranged, and there
is no time to lose. If you knew all that I know, you
would see the necessity of leaving this city before to-morrow.”
“I cannot go with you,” she repeated in tones of the
deepest distress, — “I cannot go with you, for I promised
my dear father the night before he died.”
He looked at her for an instant, and then, drawing her
close to him, he said: “It shall be just as you wish, darling.
I will bring a clergyman to the house of my friend, and
we will be married before you sail.”
Rosa, without venturing to look up, said, in a faltering
tone: “I cannot bear to bring degradation upon you, Gerald.
It seems wrong to take advantage of your generous
forgetfulness of yourself. When you first told me you loved
me, you did not know I was an octoroon, and a — slave.”
“I knew your mother was a quadroon,” he replied; “and
as for the rest, no circumstance can degrade you, my Rose
Royal.”
“But if your plan should not succeed, how ashamed
you would feel to have us seized!” said she.
“It will succeed, dearest. But even if it should not,
you shall never be the property of any man but myself.”
“Property!” she exclaimed in the proud Gonsalez tone,
striving to withdraw herself from his embrace.
He hastened to say: “Forgive me, Rosabella. I am so
intoxicated with happiness that I cannot be careful of my
words. I merely meant to express the joyful feeling that
you would be surely mine, wholly mine.”
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While they were talking thus, Floracita had glided out
of the room to carry the tidings to Madame. The pressure
of misfortune had been so heavy upon her, that, now it was
lifted a little, her elastic spirit rebounded with a sudden
spring, and she felt happier than she had ever thought of
being since her father died. In the lightness of her heart
she began to sing, “Petit blanc, mon bon frère!” but she
stopped at the first line, for she recollected how her father
had checked her in the midst of that frisky little song;
and now that she knew they were octoroons, she partly
comprehended why it had been disagreeable to him. But
the gayety that died out of her voice passed into her steps.
She went hopping and jumping up to Madame, exclaiming:
“What do you think is going to happen now? Rosabella
is going to be married right off. What a pity she can't be
dressed like a bride! She would look so handsome in
white satin and pearls, and a great lace veil! But here
are the flowers Florimond brought so opportunely. I will
put the orange-buds in her hair, and she shall have a bouquet
in her hand.”
“She will look handsome in anything,” rejoined Madame.
“But tell me about it, little one.”
After receiving Flora's answers to a few brief questions,
she stationed herself within sight of the outer door, that
she might ask Fitzgerald for more minute directions concerning
what they were to do. He very soon made his
appearance, again disguised as the Signor.
After a hurried consultation. Madame said: “I do hope
nothing will happen to prevent our getting off safely.
Rosabella has so much Spanish pride, I verily believe she
would stab herself rather than go on the auction-stand.”
“Heavens and earth! don't speak of that!” exclaimed
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he, impetuously. “Do you suppose I would allow my
beautiful rose to be trampled by swine. If we fail, I will
buy them if it costs half my fortune. But we shall not
fail. Don't let the girls go out of the door till you hear
the signal.”
“No danger of that,” she replied. “Their father always
kept them like wax flowers under a glass cover.
They are as timid as hares.” Before she finished the
words, he was gone.
Rosabella remained where he had left her, with her
head bowed on the table. Floracita was nestling by her
side, pouring forth her girlish congratulations. Madame
came in, saying, in her cheerly way: “So you are going to
be married to night! Bless my soul, how the world whirls
round!”
“Is n't God very good to us?” asked Rosa, looking up.
“How noble and kind Mr. Fitzgerald is, to wish to marry
me now that everything is so changed!”
“You are not changed, darling,” she replied; “except
that I think you are a little better, and that seemed unnecessary.
But you must be thinking, my children,
whether everything is in readiness.”
“He told us we were not to go till evening, and it is n't
dark yet,” said Floracita. “Could n't we go into Papasito's
garden one little minute, and take one sip from the
fountain, and just one little walk round the orange-grove?”
“It would n't be safe, my dear. There's no telling
who may be lurking about. Mr. Fitzgerald charged me
not to let you go out of doors. But you can go to my
chamber, and take a last look of the house and garden.”
They went up stairs, and stood, with their arms around
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each other, gazing at their once happy home. “How
many times we have walked in that little grove, hand in
hand with Mamita and Papasito! and now they are both
gone,” sighed Rosa.
“Ah, yes,” said Flora; “and now we are afraid to go
there for a minute. How strangely everything has changed!
We don't hear Mamita's Spanish and papa's English any
more. We have nobody to talk olla podrida to now. It's
all French with Madame, and all Italian with the Signor.”
“But what kind souls they are, to do so much for us!”
responded Rosa. “If such good friends had n't been
raised up for us in these dreadful days, what should we
have done?”
Here Madame came hurrying in to say, “Mr. Duroy and
the boys have come. We must change dresses before the
whistler goes by.”
The disguises were quickly assumed; and the metamorphosis
made Rosa both blush and smile, while her volatile
sister laughed outright. But she checked herself immediately,
saying: “I am a wicked little wretch to laugh, for
you and your friends may get into trouble by doing all this
for us. What shall you tell them about us when you get
back from Nassau?”
“I don't intend to tell them much of anything,” replied
Madame. “I may, perhaps, give them a hint that one of
your father's old friends invited you to come to the North,
and that I did not consider it my business to hinder you.”
“O fie, Madame!” said Floricita; “what a talent you
have for arranging the truth with variations!”
Madame tried to return a small volley of French pleasantry;
but the effort was obviously a forced one. The
pulses of her heart were throbbing with anxiety and fear;
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and they all began to feel suspense increasing to agony,
when at last the whistled tones of Ca ira were heard.
“Now don't act as if you were afraid,” whispered Madame,
as she put her hand on the latch of the door. “Go
out naturally. Remember I am my cousin, and you are
the boys.”
They passed through the garden into the street, feeling
as if some rough hand might at any instant seize them.
But all was still, save the sound of voices in the distance.
When they came in sight of the carriage, the driver began
to bum carelessly to himself, “Who goes there? Stranger,
quickly tell!”
“A friend. Good night,” — sang the disguised Madame,
in the same well-known tune of challenge and reply. The
carriage door was instantly opened, they entered, and the
horses started at a brisk pace. At the house where the
driver stopped, they were received as expected guests.
Their disguises were quickly exchanged for dresses from
their carpet-bags, which had been conveyed out in Madame's
boxes, and smuggled into the carriage by their invisible
protector. Flora, who was intent upon having things
seem a little like a wedding, made a garland of orange-buds
for her sister's hair, and threw over her braids a white gauze
scarf. The marriage ceremony was performed at half past
ten; and at midnight Madame was alone with her protégées
in the cabin of the ship Victoria, dashing through the dark
waves under a star-bright sky.
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Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880 [1867], A romance of the Republic. (Ticknor and Fields, Boston) [word count] [eaf496T].
