She turned her pillow, contact with which burned her cheeks, from side to side; she took off her cap, and her long hair fell loose about her. She gathered it up, and fastened it with a hairpin; and lying on her side, leaning her head on her arm, she began to go over bitterly in her mind the romance of the past summer,—the arrival of Bazilio, the excursion to the country, her first secret interview with him. Where was the traitor now? Sleeping tranquilly on the cushions of the railway-car. And she here alone, a prey to anguish! She fell asleep at last just as day was beginning to dawn.
She awoke late, and with a sense of fatigue; but she saw the sun shining in unclouded splendor through the dining-room windows, and this revived her. The canaries were singing in their cages; from the forge near by came the cheerful sound of hammering, and the intense blue of the sky filled the soul with a sense of supreme content. The general cheerfulness inspired her with a sudden courage. She ought not thus to abandon herself to a hopeless despair. No; she would struggle against her fate.
Then she felt a swift influx of hope invade her breast. Sebastião was kind-hearted; Leopoldina had a remedy for everything; other means would occur to her, and perhaps she would be able in the end to get six hundred thousand reis together. She would be saved. Juliana would go away; Jorge would return; and she saw stretch out before her, with a sense of exhilaration, a vista of happy days to come.
Sebastião’s servant called at about twelve o’clock; his master had just arrived from Almada and desired to know how the senhora was. Luiza herself ran to the door; she told the man to beg his master to come and see her as soon as possible.
She would hesitate no longer; her resolution was taken. She would speak to Sebastião. After all, it was the only alternative left her,—either to tell everything to Sebastião or to let Juliana tell everything to her husband. It was impossible to hesitate. And she might gloss over the facts; she might say it was only a platonic attachment. Bazilio’s departure gave the matter the appearance of a past event. And Sebastião was so devoted to her!
At the end of an hour Sebastião arrived. Luiza, from her bedroom, heard him come in, and the very sound of his footsteps in the parlor frightened, almost terrified her. It appeared to her then very terrible and difficult to carry out her project of confessing her situation to him. She framed in her mind phrases and explanations—a vague story of a flirtation, and the interchange of a few letters—as she stood there trembling, with her hand on the knob of the door. He seemed to her taller, more dignified-looking than usual. Never had his glance been more honest nor his countenance more serious than now.
“What is the matter? Can I do anything for you?” he said, after they had exchanged a few commonplace remarks on the news and the weather.
Luiza experienced an inexplicable terror, and answered,—
“It is on Jorge’s account.”
“I wager he has not written.”