He went towards her slowly, with a step that made the boards tremble, caught her by the hair as if she were a weed he was about to uproot from the ground, and held back her head. He raised his dagger with a tragic gesture, pointed it at her heart, and bending forward plunged it in her breast.
“Excellent!” cried a voice; “a charming piece of acting!”
It was the voice of Bazilio, who was gracefully driving his phaeton into the pit. Erect in the drivers seat, his hat on one side and a rose in his buttonhole, he managed his English horses with admirable skill. Beside him, clad in his sacerdotal vestments, was the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Jorge now drew out his crimsoned dagger; the drops of blood ran along the blade towards the point, fell on the floor with a crystalline sound, and rolled along the boards like red glass beads. She fell, expiring, against the pine-tree whose summit wore the likeness of Sebastião. The tree interposed its spreading roots, soft as a cushion of down, between her body and the hard ground, and protected her from the sun with its foliage, like a tent, letting drip from its leaves upon her parched lips drops of wine. Terrified, she beheld the blood gushing from the wound in her breast, making little pools here and winding rivulets there; and she heard the cry from the pit,—
“The author! the author!”
At this, Ernesto, his hair carefully curled, and with a placid expression on his countenance, made his appearance. He bowed to the audience with a sigh of pleasure, and each time he made his bow he jumped to one side and another, that he might not stain his patent-leather slippers with Cousin Luiza’s blood. She felt herself expiring, when suddenly she heard confusedly a voice saying,—
“Hello! How is every one here?”
It sounded like Jorge’s voice. Whence did it come? From the sky? From the pit? From the hall? She heard a noise as of luggage being thrown on the floor, and she sat up in bed.
“Very well, leave it there,” she heard Jorge’s voice saying.
She jumped out of bed and threw on her wrapper. He entered the room, and they remained clasped in each other’s arms in a long and close embrace, while their lips met in a silent kiss.
The clock in the bedroom struck seven.