Sebastião, who had turned very pale, restrained himself with difficulty.
“Go get your hat and send to-morrow for your trunk,” he said; “your master has already dismissed you.”
“He shall know everything!” she screamed. “May the roof fall and crush me if I don’t tell him everything,—the letters she received from him, and when they met—”
“Silence!” cried Sebastião, bringing his hand down upon the table with a force that made the china rattle, and woke up the canaries. And he added, with white lips and trembling voice: “The police have your name written down, thief. At the first word you utter you go to Limoeiro or beyond seas, for you stole not only letters but gowns, linen—”
Juliana endeavored to protest, but he continued with violence,—
“Very well; she gave them to you, then, but under compulsion, for you threatened her. It is a robbery, which means transportation to Africa! You can tell your master now anything you please; the only thing wanting is that he should believe it. It will only end in your getting a good thrashing, you thief!”
Juliana muttered between her teeth. It was amusing! They had everything on their side, the police, the prison, fetters, Africa. And she—nothing.
All her hatred against Luiza burst forth.
“She is no better than a street-walker,” she exclaimed, “and I am an honest woman; no man can boast of ever having laid a hand on me. And that hypocrite!”
Her shawl had fallen from her shoulders, and she felt an uneasy sensation in the throat.