And he remained standing at the door, his eyes fixed on the windows in which the folds of the green rep curtains hung down motionless.
“Senhor Sebastião?” Luiza asked the girl who opened the door for her, as she followed her into the hall.
“He is in the parlor,” returned the girl.
Luiza went upstairs; she could hear him playing the piano. She opened the door quickly, and running to him clasped her hands across her breast, and said in a choking voice, with an expression of anguish on her face,—
“I wrote a letter to a man, and Juliana stole it from me! I am lost!”
Sebastião, pale with astonishment, rose to his feet. Seeing her face bathed in tears, her hat half fallen off, and her agonized glance,—
“What is the matter? What has happened?” he asked.
“I wrote to my cousin,” she returned, her eyes fixed anxiously upon him, “and that woman stole the letter from me! I am lost!”
A deathlike pallor overspread her countenance; her eyes closed.
Sebastião caught her in his arms, and laid her, half-fainting, on the yellow damask sofa; and then, paler than Luiza, remained standing beside her, his hands in the pockets of his blue sack-coat, motionless and stupefied. Suddenly he left the room, came back with a glass of water, and sprinkled some on her face. Luiza opened her eyes, put her hands out blindly before her, gave him a glance of terror, and leaning on the arm of the sofa, her face buried in her hands, burst into a passion of tears. Her hat fell upon the ground. Sebastião took it up, shook out the flowers gently, placed it carefully on the jardinière, and returned to her side with noiseless steps.