“A thousand thanks, your Excellency!”
CHAPTER VIII.
PLAYING WITH FIRE.
ON the following day, at an early hour in the afternoon, Joanna, leaning back in an old willow arm-chair, was already sleeping the siesta. As she rose at five every morning, and sometimes even earlier, she enjoyed to the full this hour of rest. The blinds were closed to exclude the light, the pot on the fire sent forth its drowsy murmur, all the house seemed sunk in a silent stupor by the torrid heat, when Juliana entered the kitchen with an angry air, and throwing a bundle of soiled clothes on the floor, exclaimed,—
“May I be struck dead by lightning if the scandalous behavior in this house does not end by becoming public talk!”
Joanna awoke in terror.
“Whoever wants to have things done to suit them should see to it themselves!” cried Juliana, her eyes bloodshot with passion. “There is no need to be all day in the parlor gossiping with visitors!”
The cook shut the door in alarm.
“What is the matter, Senhora Juliana? What has happened?” she said.
“What has happened? Why, that she has been stung by a wasp! I am ready to burst with anger.”
She spoke in shrill and strident accents.