She threw herself on a tête-à-tête, and broke out into complaints against her husband. He was so coarse, so selfish, she said. “Would you believe that if I do not return at four he sits down to table without waiting for me, dines, and leaves me the remnants?”
She then enlarged on his other defects. He took care of nothing, he spat on the carpet, and so on, and so on. “His room—for you know we have separate rooms—is like a pigsty.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Luiza, gravely. “But for that you too are a little to blame.”
“I?” responded Leopoldina, with flashing eyes, starting to her feet in amazement. “Well, nothing but that was wanting,—that I should concern myself about my husband’s room!”
There was a pause. At last she repeated that she was the most unfortunate woman in the world. Then with a quick and expressive gesture of the hand,—
“The stupid fellow is not even jealous,” she said. Juliana here entered and said, coughing and lowering her eyes,—
“Does the senhora still wish me to iron the white waistcoats?”
“Yes, all of them; I have already told you so,” answered Luiza. “They must be in the valise before we go to bed to-night.”
“What valise? Who is going away?” asked Leopoldina.
“Jorge. He is going to the mines in Alemtejo.” “Then you will be alone. I can come and see you. Bravo!”