“God grant it may continue, Senhora; God grant it may continue,” said the counsellor, rubbing his hands together.
Then he coughed, and made an effort to rise; but Donna Felicidade detained him, saying,—
“I hope the interest you manifest in me is a genuine one.”
Her face turned crimson, and the beatings of her heart might be counted in the rising and falling of her ample silk bodice.
“You know well that I am your sincere friend, Donna Felicidade,” replied the counsellor, seating himself again on the sofa, and resting his hands upon his knees.
“As I am yours, Counsellor,” said Donna Felicidade, raising her eyes to his and fixing a glance upon him that betrayed the depths of her secret passion. Then, breathing a profound sigh, she hid her face behind her fan.
The counsellor rose abruptly, and with crimson countenance, erect head, and hands clasped behind his back, went over to the piano where Luiza was seated; bending towards her, he said,—
“Is that a Tyrolese air you are playing?”
“No,” murmured Ernesto, “it is a waltz of Strauss.”
“Ah, Strauss,” he said; “a famous musician, a great composer!”