She rose and opened the window slightly. The sunlight no longer fell upon it, and a breath of air agitated the heavy folds of the curtain.
“It is as warm here as it is in Brazil,” said Bazilio. “Do you know that you have grown taller?” he added, abruptly.
Luiza was standing by the window. Bazilio’s glance, calm and cold, followed every line of her figure. In more familiar tones, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face turned towards her, he said,—
“Come, tell me frankly, did you think I would come to see you?”
“What a question! If you had not come I should have been very angry. Are you not the only relative I have left in the world? I am only sorry that my husband is not here.”
“It is precisely because I knew he was not here—”
Luiza turned crimson with confusion and emotion. Bazilio, himself somewhat confused, continued, repressing a smile,—
“I mean—perhaps he may know something of what passed between us.”
“Nonsense!” she interrupted; “we were only children then. All that took place so long ago.”
“Children! I was twenty-seven years old,” observed Bazilio, smiling and leaning towards her.