“Do not forget to iron my embroidered petticoat for to-morrow, Juliana,” she said to her.
“No, Senhorita; it is already starched.” And following her with a ferocious glance, “Yes, sing,” she said; “sing, accursed one; sing, vile woman!”
She herself, seized with a sudden fit of merriment, rapidly giving the floor a few light strokes of the broom, began to sing in shrill accents,—
“Day after to-morrow the campaign begins again,
They say here; if it be not an idle tale.”
And she added with emphatic intonation, “I shall be very happy!”
On the following day, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, Sebastião and Julião were walking in S. Pedro de Alcantara. Sebastião had just given his companion an account of his interview with Luiza, adding that since then his estimation for her had increased. At first, indeed, she had been very angry; but she was excusable for being so. It was a mistake to take her by surprise, as he had done. But when the poor child had had time for reflection she had shown herself very much distressed, very jealous of her honor. She had asked his advice with tears in her eyes.
“I thought afterwards that it would be better to speak to the cousin, and tell him what is going on. What do you think?”
“Yes,” returned Julião, vaguely.
He had been listening to Sebastião abstractedly, biting the end of his cigar. His countenance, of a clay-like pallor, looked still more sombre than usual.