Suddenly she heard the harsh voice of Juliana in the doorway.
“Well, what have you decided upon?” she asked.
“Joanna is going. What more do you want?”
“Let her go at once,” returned the other, imperiously. “I will get the dinner—for to-day, of course.”
Luiza’s tears were dried by the heat of her anger.
“And now,” continued Juliana, “let the senhora listen to me.”
Juliana’s tone was so insulting that Luiza rose as if cut by the stroke of a whip.
“The senhora must act squarely with me; otherwise I shall speak out,” she ended haughtily, and with a menacing gesture of the finger. And turning on her heel she went away with noisy steps.
Luiza glanced up, dazed, as if a flash of lightning had suddenly passed through the room. But everything was motionless; not a fold of the curtains moved; the two little porcelain shepherds smiled pretentiously as before upon the dressing-table. She took off her wrapper quickly, put on a gown, without waiting to lace herself, then a winter wrap, then her hat, without smoothing her hair, left the house, hurried down the steps, and almost ran through the street, entangling her feet in the folds of her gown.
Senhor Paula walked out to the edge of the sidewalk to follow her with his eyes, saw her enter Sebastião’s house, and then went to say to the tobacconist, “There is something new at the engineer’s.”