“Does the senhora weep? I, too, have wept a great deal. I wish you no ill; no, Senhora, amuse yourself, enjoy yourself, but I must have my money. I want it all, or these letters shall be heard about. May the roof fall down and crush me if I do not show the letters to your husband, to your friends, to every one in the neighborhood, till you axe ready to drag yourself on your knees through the streets for the shame of it!”
She paused, out of breath, and then continued in a fatigued voice,—
“Let the senhora give me my money, my darling money, and she shall have her letters; and may a thunderbolt strike me dead this instant if ever I open my lips after receiving it.”
And she clapped her hand to her mouth.
Luiza rose, very pale.
“Very well,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I will get you this money. Wait a few days.”
A silence ensued that, after the previous noise, appeared all the more profound. Even the furniture of the room seemed more motionless than before. The only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock; the candles on the dressing-table burned with a reddish light.
Juliana took up her parasol, put on her shawl, and after looking for a moment at Luiza, said curtly,—
“Very well, Senhora.”
And turning on her heel she left the room.