“Nor I!” said Luiza, terrified.
“But where shall we go, child?” asked Jorge.
To his house, Sebastião answered. There was his mother’s room; there was nothing to do but to arrange the bed.
“Let us go there, Jorge; let us go,” entreated Luiza. “It is the best thing we can do.”
Jorge hesitated; the patrol was passing farther up the street, and on seeing this group standing in the light of the carriage lamp, they stopped. Finally Jorge yielded to persuasion, and consented, but very much against his will.
“The devil of a woman to go take it into her head to die at such an hour!” he exclaimed. “The carriage will take you home, Donna Felicidade,” he added.
“And me,” said Julião. “I am in my slippers.”
Donna Felicidade with Christian piety suggested that some one ought to watch beside the dead woman.
“For Heaven’s sake give up such nonsense!” exclaimed Julião, getting into the carriage and closing the door.
But Donna Felicidade insisted. It was a want of religion; they should light a pair of candles at least, and send for a priest.