But he repented immediately of this unpatriotic remark. He said it was only a form of expression that meant nothing. He desired the absolute independence of his country,—neither English nor Spanish interference.
“Ourselves alone—and God!” he added, in reverential tones.
“How beautiful the river is!” said Luiza.
Accacio agreed with her, murmuring in solemn accents,—
“Oh, Tagus!”
He proposed a turn through the Garden; yellow-and-white butterflies fluttered over the flower-beds; the water of the fountain fell with a musical sound; an odor of heliotrope predominated over every other; and from time to time birds alighted on the marble busts among the shrubbery.
Luiza admired the Garden, but the high railings were not to her taste.
“They are on account of the number of suicides that have taken place here,” the counsellor hastened to say. But in his opinion these were diminishing in Lisbon, a fact which he attributed to the severe and praiseworthy manner in which suicide was condemned by the press. “For in Portugal, believe me, Senhora, the press is a power,” he added.
“Shall we walk?” said Luiza.
The counsellor bowed in assent; seeing Luiza was about to pick a flower, he stopped her hastily.