“So, while the mistress goes in search of her pleasure,” he said, “the young fellow settles accounts with the servant!” And he went away slowly.
Luiza at last drove out into the country with Bazilio. She consented to do so only the day before they went, saying it was “simply to take a drive, without getting out of the carriage.”
They had agreed to meet in the Praça da Alegria. She arrived late at the rendezvous, which was for half-past two, hiding her face under her parasol, and looking frightened. Bazilio was waiting for her in a coupé, under the shade of a tree at the right of the Praça, smoking. He opened the door, and Luiza, closing her parasol, entered the carriage; her gown caught on the step, and she pulled it away with violence, tearing the silk flounce. Then she seated herself at his side out of breath and very nervous, her face suffused with blushes, and said in a low voice,—
“What madness!”
The horse set off at a trot.
“How tired you are, my little one!” said Bazilio, softly. He raised her veil; her large eyes shone with excitement, partly the result of fear, partly of the haste with which she had come.
“How warm it is, Bazilio!”
He wished to lower one of the windows of the coupé.
“No, not now; we might be seen,” she said. “When we are outside the city.”
“Where shall we go?”