“He has lost his senses!” she said.
“So here you have your friend transformed into a Don Juan, and leaving a wake of amorous flames behind him throughout the province. Pimental charges me—”
Luiza read a few lines farther, in a low voice, and then, rising abruptly, gave the letter back to Sebastião.
“He seems to be amusing himself very well,” she said, in angry accents.
“You should not take it so seriously.”
“Seriously?” she repeated. “On the contrary, I find it quite natural.”
She sat down, and began to talk volubly of other matters,—of Donna Felicidade, of Julião.
“He is working very hard now for the examination,” said Sebastião; “the person I never see is the counsellor.”
“But who are those Camargos of Belem?” asked Luiza.
Sebastião shrugged his shoulders, and said, almost reprovingly,—