At first, the conversation between the new friends was carried on in the imperfect English used by both; but, very soon, Giovanni, noticing the facility with which the child adopted an occasional word of Italian, set himself to teach her the language, and succeeded beyond his expectations.  Indeed it seemed to him that the soft and liquid accents of the beloved tongue had never sounded to him so sweet beneath Italian skies as now, when they fell from the rosy lips and pure tones of the charming child whom he, with all who approached her, was learning to love with the best love of his nature.

Besides the Italian lessons, Giovanni taught his little pupil to sing several of the popular songs of his native city of Naples, and to perform several of his national dances; watching with an ever-new delight the grace and ease of her movements, and the quickness with which she caught at his every hint and gesture.

Occasionally, Cherry insisted upon making Pantalon join in the dance; and the somewhat sombre face of the Italian would ripple all over with laughter as he watched her efforts to subdue the creature’s motions to grace and harmony, and to cultivate in his bestial brain her own innate love of those divine gifts.

“You will never make him dance as if of heaven, as you do, picciola,” said he one day; and Cherry suddenly stood still, and, dropping the monkey’s paws, came to her teacher’s side, asking eagerly,—­

“Have you been to heaven too? and did you see me dance there?”

“Padre Johannes says we all came from heaven; so I suppose I did, and perhaps Pantalon also,” said the Italian with a comical grimace:  “but, if so, I have long forgotten what I saw there.  Do you remember heaven, picciola?”

“Yes; I don’t now,” slowly replied the child with the weary and puzzled look she so often wore.  “Sometimes I do.  I used to dance; and mamma-that wasn’t mammy-was there:  but there was a naughty lady that slapped me; and there was a little man-why, it was Pantalon, wasn’t it?  Did Pantalon eat some cake that I-no, that some one gave him?  Oh!  I don’t know; and I am so tired!  I guess I’ll go see mammy now, and lie down on the bed.”

Giovanni did not try to detain the child, but, after closing the door behind her, remained looking at it as if he still saw the object of his thoughts, while an expression of perplexity and doubt clouded the careless good-humor of his face.  Presently, however, it cleared; and, with a significant gesture of the head, he muttered,—­

“What then?  Is it my business or my fault?  Come, Pantalon:  we shall sup.”

When Cherry appeared the next day in Giovanni’s room, it was with as gay and untroubled a face as if no haunting memories had ever vexed her; and Giovanni, who liked her sunny mood much the best, was careful not to awaken any other.  He played for her to dance; he sang with her; he told her stories of Italy, and the merry life he had lived there with his wife and child.