“What needles?”
Donna Felicidade, standing close beside Luiza, near the dressing-table, continued with a mysterious air, “The woman makes a waxen heart; she fastens it on the likeness of the counsellor, and for a week sticks into it every night at midnight a needle anointed with a preparation she has, and at the same time recites a prayer.”
“And you gave her money?”
“Eight dollars.”
“Donna Felicidade!”
“Don’t say anything; you see what a change there is already! In a few days more he will declare himself. Ah, may our Lady of Joy grant it! That man turns me crazy. I dream of him every night.” She looked at herself in the glass; she wanted to convince herself that the beauties of her person would lend their aid to the needles of the sorceress, and she smoothed her hair over her forehead. “Don’t you think me thinner?” she said.
“No.”
“Well, I am then, child,” she answered; “I am.” And she drew Luiza’s attention to her waist.
She began to make plans. They would go to spend the honeymoon in Cintra. Her eyes shone with anticipated happiness. “May our Lady of Joy grant it!” she repeated. “I have two candles burning in her honor day and night.”
Suddenly a cry of terror from Joanna resounded through the house.