Luiza called the cook to her in a low voice.
“Joanna,” she said, “don’t look for a situation, and come here the day after to-morrow.”
Upstairs, Juliana was singing the “Carta adorada” with shrill gayety.
A short time afterwards she came down to announce stiffly that dinner was on the table.
Luiza did not answer her. She waited until Juliana had gone upstairs again to the kitchen, and then hurried to the dining-room, took some bread, a plate of the dessert, and a knife, went to her own room, shut herself in, and ate her dinner off the jardinière. At six a carriage stopped at the door. It must be Sebastião. She went herself on tiptoe to open the door. It was he, looking animated and fresh-colored, with his hat in his hand He had brought the key of box No. 18.
“And this?” said Luiza, as he put a bouquet into her hand. It was a bunch of red camellias, surrounded by double violets.
“Oh, Sebastião!” she cried, deeply moved.
“Have you a carriage?” he asked.
“No.”
“I will send one. At eight, eh?”