“Weep! weep! As for me, my sorrow chokes me!”
And passing his arm around the waist of Adelaide, he exclaimed,—
“That will make a sensation, my Adelaide.”
He stood up; he had brought to its close a well-spent day. He had read in the “Diario do Governo” in the morning that the royal family continued in the enjoyment of good health; he had fulfilled one of the duties of friendship, accompanying Luiza to the cemetery of the Prazeres in a hired carriage; he had assured himself, by an examination of the list of deputies, of the continuance of the peace of his country; he had composed a remarkable piece of writing, and his Adelaide loved him. And his thoughts dwelt with delight on all this happiness which contrasted so strongly with the sepulchral images his pen had described, for Adelaide heard him murmur,—
“Life is an inestimable boon;” adding, like a good citizen, “above all in this era of public prosperity.”
At the same hour two men descended from a carriage at the door of the Central Hotel; the one wore an ulster and the other a fur pelisse. A German waiter, who was chatting with the porter, recognized them, and said, taking off his cap,—
“Senhor Dom Bazilio! Senhor Viscount!”
The Viscount Reynaldo, who was stamping his foot on the ground, growled inside his fur pelisse,—
“Here we are once more in this pig-pen!”
“And at what an hour we have arrived!”