At midnight every one in the house was asleep. All the lights were extinguished. Without, the sky grew darker, at every moment a flash of lightning illuminated the darkness, followed by a clap of thunder.
Luiza awoke terrified. Large drops of rain began to fall heavily; the tempest sounded from afar; sleep had fled, and with her gaze fixed on the dim light of the night-lamp, a species of vision appeared before her, which resolved itself by degrees into the features of Bazilio.
Sebastião also had slept badly. At six he rose, and descended to the garden in his slippers. A glass door opened from the dining-room into a small corridor, in which were three painted iron chairs and some pots of carnations. From thence four stone steps led down to a small garden, containing several flower-beds, a piece of well-watered turf, some climbing rose-bushes, a well, a fountain under a grape-vine, and a few trees. At the farther end of the garden was another corridor shaded by a lime-tree, with a balcony looking out on a deserted street. In front it was shut in by the whitewashed wall of another garden. In this retired spot, quiet as a village, Sebastião was accustomed to smoke his morning cigar.
Six o’clock had not yet struck. The air was transparent, the sky was of the blue color of certain antique porcelains, with little white clouds softly floating here and there; the trees were of a fresh green, the water of the fountain was clear as crystal, the birds sang joyously as they flew from branch to branch.
Sebastião was looking out into the street, when the sound of a cane striking against the ground, and of steps slowly approaching, broke the silence. It was Cunha Rosado, a neighbor of Jorge; he walked slowly, and with a stooping gait, as if in pain, and was enveloped in a comforter and a chocolate-colored great-coat; his face was seamed with wrinkles, and his gray beard was long and neglected-looking.
“Up already, neighbor?” said Sebastião.
Cunha paused, and raising his head slowly, said, in a voice expressive of fatigue,—
“Ah, is that you, Sebastião? I am taking my pains out to give them an airing, my friend.”
“On foot?”
“Formerly I used to ride on a donkey as far as the city walls; but they say now that a short walk will do me good.” And he shrugged his shoulders with a gesture expressive of mingled doubt, sadness, and anger. He suffered from a disease of the intestines.