“No,” she returned, lowering her veil with a trembling hand; “the fault is mine, and it is I who ought to bear the consequences of it.”
She opened the door. Bazilio ran after her and caught her by the arm.
“Luiza, Luiza, what are you about to do?” he cried. “We cannot part in this way. Listen!”
“Let us fly together then, and you will save me from everything,” she said, eagerly embracing him.
“Again! Have I not told you that is impossible?”
Luiza closed the door behind her, and ran downstairs. The coupé was waiting for her at the door.
“To Rocio,” she said to the driver.
And leaning back in the carriage, she burst into a convulsive fit of weeping.
CHAPTER XV.
THE TELEGRAM.
BAZILIO left the house very much agitated. Luiza’s pretensions, her bourgeois terrors, and the vulgar triviality of the whole affair irritated him to such a degree that for a moment he thought of breaking off with her, and letting things quietly take their course. But she inspired him with pity. Without being in love with her, he admired her; she was so beautiful and so tender. It was, besides, a manner of passing away the time while he remained in Lisbon. What an accursed complication!