“I had forgotten to say something to you, Jorge. You must not neglect to pay a visit to the civil authorities, either in Evora or in Beja; it is an attention you owe them, as the highest functionaries of the province, and they may be of great service to you in your scientific excursions. Al rivedere, as the Italians say,” he ended, bowing to the ground.
Sebastião remained behind. Luiza opened the windows to dispel the odor of the tobacco-smoke. The night was cool and serene. The moon cast a pallid light on the fronts of the houses opposite. Sebastião seated himself at the piano, and with bent head allowed his fingers to run over the keys. He played admirably, and with a great deal of musical skill. He had composed a Revery, two waltzes, and a ballad; but they were all the products of much research, full of reminiscences, and without the least originality of style. Thus it was that he himself often said, with much good-humor, that he had never written anything original. But with his hands on the piano it was a different matter.
He began to play a nocturne of Chopin. Jorge sat down on the sofa beside Luiza.
“Will you not take a lunch-basket with you for the journey?” she asked.
“No; a few biscuits will be enough. What I will take, however, is a little bottle of Cognac.”
“Will you send me a telegram as soon as you arrive?”
“Of course.”
“You will be back in a couple of weeks, will you not?”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah,” she said, with a gesture of annoyance, “if you stay away longer, I shall go in search of you. How lonely I shall be!” she continued, glancing around. Suddenly she exclaimed,—