“Drive on, coachman,” growled Julião, impatiently.
The carriage turned the corner. Donna Felicidade, putting her head through the window, notwithstanding Julião’s efforts to pull her back by the dress, cried out, “It is a mortal sin, a sacrilege! At least a pair of candles!”
Luiza had some scruples in the matter. It was true, she said, they ought to send for some one.
Jorge grew angry. Whom should they send for at such an hour? What hypocrisy! Was she not dead? Well, then, there was an end of it; they would bury her. To watch beside that good-for-nothing! And why not put her a chapelle ardente as well? Perhaps Luiza herself would like to watch beside her.
“Come Jorge, come,” murmured Sebastião.
“Yes, it is just as I have said; nothing but a love of excitement.”
Luiza bent her head in silence, and while Jorge was closing the door of the house, she went down the street leaning on Sebastião’s arm.
“She expired in a fit of rage,” he said to her in a low voice.
During the whole of the way Jorge continued to grumble. What an idea to go sleep out of the house! That was making too much of the matter.
“It seems as if you wanted to add to my suffering,” said Luiza, “and I feel very ill already.”