“Let there be an end to this anguish and this hatred,” she thought. “Better the end should come at once!”
She felt something like a sense of painful relief at seeing the end of her long martyrdom approach. It had lasted for months; and reflecting on all she had done and suffered, the infamy in which she had been steeped, and the humiliations which she had endured, she felt a loathing for herself and a profound disgust towards life. It seemed to her that she was no longer the same; that she had neither legitimate pride nor a single pure feeling; that her whole being, body and soul, had been trampled in the dust like a rag trodden underfoot by the multitude. It was not worth while to make any struggle for a life so vile. To enter a convent would be to expiate her crime and to die,—above all to expiate her crime. And where was he,—the man who was the cause of all her misfortunes? In Paris, twirling his mustache, jesting, driving his horses, making love to other women, while she was here, stupidly suffering! And when she had written to him, asking him to save her, not even a word in answer, as if he thought her not worth the expense of a postage-stamp. And he had told her that he would dedicate his life to her, that he would live in the shadow of her presence. Traitor! So long as she was free from care and happy, all went well; but when trouble came, when she suffered and wept—ah, no; not that. You are a beautiful animal on whom I depend for pleasure and enjoyment—very well; everything you wish! But you have become an afflicted creature, who has need of consolation and some hundreds of thousands of reis, then good-by; I am going to the steamer that is waiting for me! Ah, what a stupid thing life was! How gladly would she have done with it!
She leaned against the window and looked out; the day was cloudless and mild. The sun shed a reddish light on the walls of the houses and on the pavement. There was a serene softness in the air. Senhor Paula in his carpet slippers was standing at the door of the tobacco-shop. Lulled by the soft winter air, she felt moved to tears. Every one was happy on this beautiful morning,—every one but her, miserable creature that she was; she alone suffered! She remained sunk in melancholy reflections; a tear trembled on her lashes. Suddenly she saw Juliana cross the street, turn the corner, and after a while come back, accompanied by a stout Gallician, carrying a bag on his shoulder.
“She is going!” thought Luiza. “She is about to take away her trunk!” And afterwards? Would she send the letters to Jorge, or would she give them to him at the door, as she had threatened? Good God! She fancied she saw Jorge entering the room, with a pallid countenance, and the letters in his hand. She was seized with a fit of terror. She did not wish to lose her husband, her Jorge, his love, her house, everything! A feeling of rebellion against this state of widowhood took possession of her. To enter a convent at twenty-five! No, impossible! She went to Juliana’s room; her clothing was lying scattered on the bed; boots wrapped in old newspapers were lying on the floor.
“Have you come to see if I am taking anything away with me?” cried Juliana, angrily. “I am leaving a few things here still; see, there is the bundle. And I want my wages.”
“Listen, Juliana,” said Luiza. “Don’t go.” And her voice died away in her throat as she spoke, while the tears sprang to her eyes.
Juliana looked at her, haughty and triumphant, with a boot in either hand.
“If you turn that shameless creature into the street,” she said in her shrill voice, “I will be satisfied.” And she added, shaking the dust from her boots, “Everything shall go on as before, in peace and quietness.” An expression of intense joy lighted up her glance. She had avenged herself; she had made her mistress shed tears, she had turned the other out of the house, and she had lost none of her comforts! “Send that impudent creature away! send her away!” she repeated.
Luiza, with a gesture of despair, went slowly upstairs to the kitchen. The steps seemed to her unending. She dropped on a stool in the kitchen, and wiping her eyes, said,—
“Listen, Joanna; you cannot remain in the house.”