Luiza, standing pensively before the glass, with her hat on, was placing two tea-rose buds between the buttons of her jacket, when Juliana announced the visitor.
“On business!” she repeated with surprise. “It most be something concerning Jorge. Let him come up. What kind of a person is he?”
“A well-dressed gentleman.”
Luiza pulled down her veil, slowly drew on her light Suède gloves, gave a final touch to her lace necktie, and then opened the door of the parlor. But the moment she did so she drew back in surprise, blushing deeply. She had recognized the stranger at once; it was her cousin Bazilio.
They shook hands with dubious cordiality, and without a word. Both remained silent for a moment, she with her face suffused with blushes, he taking in every detail of her appearance with a glance of admiration.
But words soon came, and questions followed one another in quick succession. When did he arrive? Had she recognized him? How did he find out where she lived?
He had arrived the day before in the steamer from Bordeaux, he said, and had sought information concerning her at the Ministry. There they had told him that Jorge was in Alemtejo, and had given him her address.
“Good Heavens! how you have changed!” he added.
“Grown older?”
“No, indeed; grown more beautiful.”