Luiza walked up and down the room nervously. Her resolution was now fixed, and the sight of Leopoldina strengthened it. The latter amused herself, danced, went to the country, lived, enjoyed herself, without having, like her, a secret torment that sapped and imbittered her existence. No; she would not return home without carrying in her pocket, in ready money, her ransom, her salvation. She was weary of humiliations, of frights, of nights haunted by bad dreams! she wanted to enjoy her life, her affection for Jorge, her meat and drink, without cares, and with a cheerful heart.
“Listen,” said Leopoldina, reading aloud:—
MY DEAR FRIEND,—I wish absolutely to speak to you on an urgent matter. Come as soon as you can, and you may have cause to thank me. I will expect you, at the latest, by three o’clock. Always your friend,
LEOPOLDINA.
“How does it sound to you?”
“Horrible! But no; it is very well. Cross out that ‘you may have cause to thank me;’ it is better.”
Leopoldina copied the letter, and sent Justina with it in a carriage.
The dining-room opened into a small reception-room. The walls were covered with ugly pictures, in which large green blots represented hills, and blue lines lakes. A corner cupboard served as a china closet; the straw chairs were covered with a cheap red stuff, and the table-cloth showed the stains of yesterday’s coffee.
“You may be sure of one thing,” said Leopoldina, drinking her tea in large swallows, “and that is, that Castro is a man capable of keeping a secret. If he gives you the money—and he will give it to you—no word of it will pass his lips.”
They remained silent for some time. Luiza was the first to speak.