In this they were all of one mind. They began to talk about the exactions of servants, who, they said, grew more audacious every day,—as soon as they became a little familiar with one. And what morals!
“The mistresses themselves are very often to blame for that,” said Donna Felicidade. “They make confidants of their servants, and these, once they get possession of a secret, make themselves mistresses of the house.”
Luiza’s hands trembled so that she almost spilled her tea, as she said with a forced smile to the counsellor,—
“And how are you off in regard to servants?”
“Very well,” he returned, coughing. “I have a very respectable person, who has a gift for cooking, who is scrupulously exact in her accounts—”
“And not altogether ugly,” interrupted Julião; “or at least so it seemed to me one day I dropped in at Ferregial Street.”
A crimson hue diffused itself over the bald cranium of the counsellor. Donna Felicidade glanced at him uneasily, with shining eyes. Accacio said severely,—
“I am not in the habit of remarking upon the personal attractions of my inferiors, Senhor Zuzarte.”
Julião stood up, putting his hands into his trousers-pockets with an air of amusement.
“It was a great mistake,” he said, “to have abolished slavery.”