She was silent. These promises, to which the vibrating voice of Bazilio gave a passionate force, produced in her a confusion of the senses like that caused by wine; her breast palpitated.
“When I am at your side,” said Bazilio, “I am so happy; everything pleases me.”
“If all that you say were only true!” sighed Luiza, leaning back among the cushions of the carriage.
Bazilio put his arm around her waist, and swore to her that it should be true. It was his intention to dispose of everything he had, and to live upon his rents. He began to give her the proofs; he had already spoken to an agent, whose name he mentioned,—a dry old man with a sharp nose. And pressing her to his breast with an ardent glance,—
“And if it were true, what would you do?” he said.
“I do not know,” she murmured.
They reached Lumiar, and Bazilio, through considerations of prudence, lowered the carriage-blinds. Luiza raised one of them slightly, and looking out, gazed as they passed them by, at the trees covered with dust, the walls of a villa painted a dirty rose-color, some mean-looking houses, an empty omnibus, some women seated before their doors in the shade, combing their children’s hair, and a youth dressed in white, with a straw hat, who stopped to look fixedly at the drawn blinds of the coupé. She thought to herself that it would be delightful to live here in a villa standing back from the road, a cool little house with climbing plants festooning the windows, vines supported by stone pillars, rose-bushes, walks shaded by trees whose branches formed an arched roof overhead, and a little spring under a lime-tree, to which the servants would go in the morning, singing, to wash the clothes. And in the evening she and Bazilio would walk across the fields under the starry sky, listening in silence to the monotonous croaking of the frogs. She closed her eyes. The slow movement of the carriage, the presence of Bazilio, the contact of his hand with hers, set her blood on fire. She felt a vague desire expand her soul, as the wind expands the sail, and turned pale.
“What are you thinking of?” said Bazilio, in a low voice.
Luiza blushed and remained silent. She was ashamed to utter her thoughts aloud.
Bazilio gently took her hand in his, with respect and tenderness, as if it were something holy and precious, and kissed it softly, with the humility of a slave and the fervor of a devotee. This gentleness, so humble, so touching, moved her, made her nerves vibrate; and she leaned back in a corner of the coupé, unable to restrain her tears.