“To make some purchases, and afterwards to the dressmaker’s.”
“Come to see me, Sebastião,” she added.
“I will.”
“In the evening I am always alone.”
That same afternoon Sebastião received a letter from Jorge. “Have you seen Luiza?” it said. He was uneasy because he had not heard from her for five days. “And then,” it continued, “she seems to be always very busy, and writes only half a dozen lines, as the mail is just leaving. Go tell the mail to wait. What the deuce! She complains that she is lonely, that she is ennuyée, that all her friends have abandoned her, that she lives in a desert. Go bear her company,” etc.
On the following day, towards evening, Sebastião went to see her. She made her appearance dressed in white, and looking very much flushed, as if she had been crying. She had reached home much tired, and had fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner. And what news was there? she asked. They spoke of the work done at Almada, of the counsellor, of Julião, and then they were silent. There was something that retained the words unspoken on the lips of both.
Luiza then lighted the candles on the piano; she showed Sebastião the new music she was practising,—the “Medjé” of Gounod; there was a phrase in it in which she always found some difficulty. She asked Sebastião to play it over for her; and, standing beside the piano, keeping time with her foot, she accompanied, in a low voice, the music, to which the skilful execution of Sebastião gave a touching charm. She wished to try it after him; but found the same difficulty as before, and she went and sat down on the sofa, saying,—
“I hardly ever play now; my fingers are beginning to grow stiff.”
Sebastião did not venture to ask for her Cousin Bazilio. Luiza did not even mention his name; and Sebastião, seeing in this reserve either a diminution of friendship or a remnant of displeasure on her part, said that he was obliged to go to a meeting of the General Society of Agriculture. He went away very much grieved. Every day that passed brought with it some new annoyance. Sometimes it was Aunt Joanna, who would say to him in the afternoon,—
“Luizinha went out again to-day. With this heat, that is dangerous for her health.”