“Yes,” she answered, after a pause; “he came to see me occasionally; but he stayed only a short time in Lisbon.” She opened the drawer of the sideboard and began to count the silver spoons and forks. She turned round at last, very red, and shaking the dust from her fingers said, “They are all complete.” And she went and sat down on Jorge’s knee.
“How becoming it is to you!” she repeated, twisting his mustache.
She gazed at him ardently. When she had thrown herself into his arms that morning, she felt her heart open to him, and a sudden influx of affection thrill it with delight. She felt a desire to worship him unceasingly, to throw her arms about him and clasp him tightly to her heart, to anticipate his lightest wishes; it was a complex sensation of infinite sweetness that penetrated to the very depths of her being. She passed her arm around his neck, and murmured in his ear in caressing tones,—
“Are you happy? Do you feel comfortable? Tell me.”
Never had he appeared to her so handsome or so worthy to be loved as now.
“The Senhor Dom Sebastião is here,” said Juliana at the door, addressing Jorge.
Jorge gave a cry of joy, released himself hastily from Luiza’s arms, and went out into the hall, exclaiming,—
“Come to my arms, you rascal!”
One morning, a few days afterwards, when Jorge had gone to the Department, Juliana entered Luiza’s bedroom, and slowly closing the door behind her, said in a pleasant voice,—
“I should like to say something to the senhora.”