Every evening Juliana shut herself up in her room, and, seated on her matting, the candle on a chair beside her, set herself to remove the marks from the linen, replacing them, while her bosom swelled with pride, with her own initials, “J. C. T.,”—Juliana Conceiro Tavira. There was an end to this at last, for, as she said, she had more than enough under-dosing now.
“If the senhora would help me now with something for the street,” she next began.
Luiza proceeded to dress her. She gave her a gown of garnet silk, and a jacket of black cashmere embroidered with soutache braid. Fearful lest Jorge should recognize them, she effected a transformation in their appearance; she had the gown dyed a chestnut brown, and with her own hands she trimmed the jacket with black velvet. She now worked for that woman! Good Heavens! how was all this to end? she thought.
One day Jorge said with a laugh at the dinner-table, “Juliana looks as fine as a peacock now. Any one can see that things are prospering with her.”
Donna Felicidade noticed the same thing in the evening.
“How chic!” she exclaimed. “Not even a palace servant is as fine!”
“Poor creature!” responded Luiza; “those are old things she has made over for herself.”
Things were in fact prospering with Juliana. She used on her bed only linen sheets. She asked for a new mattress, and a rug for the foot of her bed. The little bags that Luiza had used to perfume her clothes were now used to perfume hers. She had muslin curtains, tied back with blue silk ribbons, at her window, and on her bureau were two gilded vases of Vista Alegra. Finally she went out one feast-day with a neatly arranged chignon instead of her silk net.
Joanna was amazed at all this luxury. She attributed it to the mistress’s generosity, and she complained that she was forgotten. One day, when Juliana used for the first time a new parasol, she said with an air of pique in Luiza’s presence,—
“All for some people; for others nothing.”