“I am quite well now,” she replied.
“We have had a delightful walk.”
They reached Rocio, walked to the end of the square, and returned, crossing it diagonally. At the arch of Bandeira they turned into Ouro Street. Luiza looked around her disconsolately, in search of some means of escape, and the counsellor walked beside her, discoursing gravely. Passing by the Theatre of Donna Maria, his discourse mounted into the regions of dramatic art; he thought Ernesto’s play was perhaps a little too strong. And then, he liked only comedies; not because he could not enjoy the beauties of a Frey Luiz de Sousa, but his health did not always permit it. For instance—
An idea suddenly occurred to Luiza.
“Ah, I forgot; I must go in here to Vitry’s to get a tooth filled.”
The counsellor, thus interrupted, glanced at his companion. Luiza gave him her hand, saying hastily,—
“Good-by. Till we meet again.”
And she hurried into the house.
Gathering her skirts in her hand, she ran quickly up the first flight of stairs; here she paused, out of breath, and waited a little; then she went downstairs again slowly, and glanced at the doorway; there before her was the grave and dignified figure of the counsellor. She beckoned to a coupé, and rushing past the counsellor, entered it, giving the driver the direction of the house where Bazilio was waiting for her, and telling him to drive with all possible speed. On arriving there she found that he had gone away half an hour before.
Giving the driver her own address, she threw herself back among the cushions of the coupé, and burst into a fit of hysterical weeping. Then she drew up the curtains, pulled off her veil, and tore her glove, on the impulse of her anger. She was seized with a frantic desire to see Bazilio, and striking the carriage-window violently she called to the driver,—