Jorge bit his cigar with anger, and was silent. Sebastião, in order to satisfy Luiza, proposed that Aunt Vicenta, the negress, should go watch beside Juliana.
“That would be best,” she murmured.
They had by this time reached Sebastião’s door.
The rustle of Luiza’s silk skirt in his house moved Sebastião profoundly; his hand trembled as he lighted the candles in the parlor. He wakened Aunt Vicenta to make them some tea; he himself saw to the arrangement of their room, happy in being able to extend to them his hospitality. When he returned to the parlor Luiza was alone, seated on the edge of the sofa.
“And Jorge?” he asked.
“In the study, writing to the parish priest about the burial. Have you got them?” she added, with glittering eyes and trembling voice.
Sebastião took Juliana’s pocket-book out of his pocket. Luiza caught it from him eagerly, and, taking his hand in hers with an abrupt movement, pressed her lips upon it.
Jorge entered, smiling.
“Are you more tranquil now, child?” he asked.
“Entirely so,” she answered, with a sigh of relief.