Castro! The man who would give her as much money as she asked him for. He was going away! And although she had rejected from the first this infamous means of obtaining money, it troubled her, against her will, to know that he was going away. An idea suddenly occurred to her that made her tremble, and rise with pallid countenance to her feet. Good God! What if on the eve of his departure, the very eve, she should ask him for it. No, it was too horrible! No, no; she must not think of it. But her mind continued to dwell upon this thought, and her resolution began to fail, vanquished by the persuasive accents of the tempter in her soul. She would be saved! She would give the six hundred thousand reis to Juliana, and that fiend might go and die far away from her, wherever she wished. And he, this man,—he would take the steamer to-morrow. She would not have to blush before him; her secret would be buried in a foreign land, safe as in a tomb. Besides, if Castro really felt an affection for her, he might lend her the money without putting conditions. Good God! To-morrow she might have in her drawer the bank-notes, the gold. Why not? She felt an intense desire to throw off her chains, to live happy, freed from this anguish, this continued martyrdom.
Returning to her room, she set herself to arrange the dressing-table, stealing a look at Jorge, who was dressing. In his presence she felt a pang of remorse. To go to ask money from a man,—to endure his disrespectful glances, his ambiguous words. How horrible! Then she sought to justify her intentions by sophistical arguments. It was for Jorge’s sake; it was to save him the pain of knowing; to be able to love him freely all her life, without secret fears, without reserve.
During breakfast she did not speak a single word. Jorge’s frank and good-humored countenance was as attractive to her now as that of the other was repellent; she hated him now.
When Jorge left the house she was trembling with nervousness. She went out into the balcony. The sun shone brightly; the street looked inviting. Why should she not go out? The harsh voice of Juliana resounded on the stairs leading to the kitchen, and that hated sound decided her. She dressed herself with care; she was a woman, and she desired to look her best. She reached Leopoldina’s house out of breath just as it was striking twelve in S. Roque.
She found her friend dressed, and about to sit down to breakfast. She took off her hat, and seating herself on the sofa, explained clearly to Leopoldina what she had resolved upon. She wanted the money from Castro,—given or lent; she must have it. She had absolute need of it, and she must avail herself of any means of obtaining it. Jorge wanted to dismiss that woman, and she feared her vengeance. She wanted the money, and she was there to get it.
“But, my dear, so suddenly!” said Leopoldina, wondering at her resolution.
“Castro is going to-morrow to Bordeaux. Something must be done, and soon.”
Leopoldina proposed to write to him.
“Whatever you wish; I am here now.”
Leopoldina seated herself at the table, took a sheet of paper and began to write, her head on one side and her little finger in the air.