“Leave the house!” continued Jorge. “Pay her her wages and let her go! I am tired of it now, and I shall bear it no longer. If I see her here when I come back, I will tear her to pieces! I have been silent long enough! It is my turn now!”
He took up his overcoat, trembling with excitement, and as he was about to go out, turned round to say,—
“Let her go this very instant, do you hear? She shall not stay here an hour longer. She has been sticking in my throat for a fortnight past. Put her in the street!”
Luiza went to her room, scarcely able to support herself. She was lost! A thousand wild and insensate ideas whirled around in her brain, like dead leaves in a storm. She thought of leaving the house, and under cover of the darkness that night throwing herself into the river. She regretted not having accepted the money from Castro. All at once she saw Jorge in imagination opening the letters given to him by Juliana, and reading, “My adored Bazilio.” A panic terror paralyzed her soul. She ran to Juliana’s room to beg her pardon, to ask her to remain in the house, and not to inflict martyrdom upon her. And Jorge? She would tell him that Juliana had wept, that she had knelt to her. She would lie to him; she would cover him with kisses; he loved her, and she would be able to pacify him.
Juliana was not in her room. Luiza went upstairs to the kitchen. She was there, sitting in a chair, her eyes flaming, her arms folded tightly, an expression of mute rage upon her countenance. When she saw Luiza she started from her chair at a bound, and shaking her fist in her mistress’s face, cried in a shrill voice,—
“The next time you speak to me as you have done to-day there is an end to everything!”
“Silence, wretch!” cried Luiza.
“You tell me to be silent? You—” said Juliana, with mingled scorn and rage.
Joanna ran up to her, and gave her a slap with her hand full on the face that took her off her feet.
“No, Joanna!” cried Luiza, catching her by the arms.