“What matter?” asked Luiza in astonishment.
“They begin to notice already. The neighbors are the worst of all, my dear friend. They see everything. They begin to gossip already; the professor’s servant,—Senhor Paula. These rumors have even reached the ears of Aunt Joanna; and as Jorge is not here,—as these people are ignorant of your relationship, and Bazilio comes to see you every day—”
“So that,” said Luiza, rising abruptly, and pale to the lips, “I cannot receive my relatives without being insulted!”
Sebastião had risen at the same time. This sudden burst of anger from a woman so sweet-tempered as Luiza frightened him as a tempest from the serene sky of summer might have done.
“But, my dear friend,” he said hesitatingly, “I speak of this because the neighbors have done so; I do not say that. It is on account of the neighbors.”
“But what can they say?” asked Luiza, in a voice trembling with passion, and clasping her hands together. “It is in truth strange! I have but one relative in the world, with whom I was brought up, and whom I have not seen for years; he comes to see me a few times, stays each time a few moments, and people begin to gossip about it already!”
She spoke as if she really believed what she said, forgetful of Bazilio’s words, of his kisses, of the coupé. Sebastião stroked his hat with a trembling hand.
“I thought it right to warn you,” he said; “Julião too—”
“Julião!” she exclaimed. “What has he to do with the matter? By what right does he meddle with what takes place in my house?”
The intervention of Julião seemed to her another insult. She threw herself into a chair, pressing her hands to her heart and raising her eyes to heaven.