Three years had passed since Jorge’s marriage. What happy years! He, especially, had improved during that time. He felt that his intelligence had become broader, his disposition livelier, his health sounder. Both were happy. Even those who did not know them said, “They are a charming couple; it is a pleasure only to look at them!” And Jorge, now going over in his mind all the little details of his pleasant and easy existence, sent the smoke curling up from his cigarette, with his legs stretched out before him, his soul expanding, and feeling himself as comfortably sheltered in life as he was in his flannel jacket.
“Ah!” suddenly exclaimed Luiza in accents of joyful surprise.
“What is it?” said Jorge.
“Cousin Bazilio is coming home!”
And she read aloud from the newspaper:—
“Sr. Bazilio de Brito, a distinguished member of our highest society, is soon to arrive at Lisbon, from Bordeaux. As may be remembered, he went, some years since, to Brazil, where it is said that by his indefatigable efforts he has retrieved his ruined fortunes. He has been travelling through Europe since the beginning of last year. His return to our capital will be a real cause of rejoicing to his friends, who are numerous.”
“Very numerous, indeed,” said Luiza, in an accent of conviction.
“So much the better,” replied Jorge, sending out a fresh puff of smoke from his cigarette, and stroking his beard with the palm of his hand. “It would seem, then, that he has made a fortune.”
Luiza cast a glance over the advertisements in the paper, took a sip of tea, and then rose and opened one of the windows.
“Oh, Jorge!” she exclaimed, “how hot it is outside!” The glare of the white and garish light dazzled her eyes.