“Yes, my children,” replied the good Frenchwoman.  “You had better both go home and stay with me to-night.”

“I cannot go away and leave him alone,” murmured Rosa, in tones almost inaudible.

“Franz Blumenthal is going to remain here,” replied Madame Guirlande,” and Tulipa has offered to sit up all night.  It is much better for you to go with me than to stay here, my children.”

Thus exhorted, they rose and began to make preparations for departure.  But all at once the tender good-night of the preceding evening rushed on Rosa’s memory, and she sank down in a paroxysm of grief.  After weeping bitterly for some minutes, she sobbed out, “O, this is worse than it was when Mamita died.  Papasito was so tender with us then; and now we are all alone.”

“Not all alone,” responded Madame.  “Jesus and the Blessed Virgin are with you.”

“O, I don’t know where they are!” exclaimed Flora, in tones of wild agony.  “I want my Papasito!  I want to die and go to my Papasito.”

Rosabella folded her in her arms, and they mingled their tears together, as she whispered:  “Let us try to be tranquil, Sistita.  We must not be troublesome to our kind friend.  I did wrong to say we were all alone.  We have always a Father in heaven, and he still spares us to love each other.  Perhaps, too, our dear Papasito is watching over us.  You know he used to tell us Mamita had become our guardian angel.”

Floracita kissed her, and pressed her hand in silence.  Then they made preparations to go with their friendly neighbor; all stepping very softly, as if afraid of waking the beloved sleeper.

The sisters had lived in such extreme seclusion, that when sorrow came upon them, like the sudden swoop and swift destruction of a tropical storm, they had no earthly friend to rely upon but Madame Guirlande.  Only the day before, they had been so rich in love, that, had she passed away from the earth, it would have made no distressing change in their existence.  They would have said, “Poor Madame Guirlande!  She was a good soul.  How patient she used to be with us!” and after a day or two, they would have danced and sung the same as ever.  But one day had so beggared them in affection, that they leaned upon her as their only earthly support.

After an almost untasted breakfast, they all went back to the desolated home.  The flowery parlor seemed awfully lonesome.  The piano was closed, the curtains drawn, and their father’s chair was placed against the wall.  The murmur of the fountain sounded as solemn as a dirge, and memories filled the room like a troop of ghosts.  Hand in hand, the bereaved ones went to kiss the lips that would speak to them no more in this world.  They knelt long beside the bed, and poured forth their breaking hearts in prayer.  They rose up soothed and strengthened, with the feeling that their dear father and mother were still near them.  They found a sad consolation in weaving garlands and flowery crosses, which they laid on the coffin with tender reverence.