“Yes,” returned Luiza, in a low voice; “I suppose so.”
“You suppose so!” repeated Leopoldina. “How innocent! Look at the angel, the hypocrite!”
The organ in the street began to play a waltz. Leopoldina, who was in the humor for dancing, hummed softly, keeping time with her body. Without doubt she was a graceful woman! She approached the window, looked out at the night falling slowly, and suddenly said with emphasis,—
“Is it in truth worth while to pass privations, to lead the life of an owl, and spend one’s days doing penance, in order some day to get a fever, a sunstroke, or the pneumonia, and be carried to the cemetery of S. João? What a piece of stupidity! What do you say?”
Luiza was disturbed by these remarks. She felt herself blush; and the influences of the hour, together with Leopoldina’s words, produced in her a dangerous languor. Notwithstanding this, she pronounced Leopoldina’s ideas immoral.
“But why immoral?” asked Leopoldina.
Luiza spoke vaguely of duty, of religion. But the word “duty” was displeasing to Leopoldina. If there was anything she disliked to hear spoken of, it was duty.
They were silent. Luiza called for coffee. Juliana entered with the tray, and a light. Shortly afterwards they went into the parlor.
“Do you know who spoke of you to me yesterday?” said Leopoldina to Luiza, leaning back on the divan.
“Who?”