Bazilio observed her silence. Was she sleepy? he asked.
“Ever since her husband went away,” said Donna Felicidade, smiling, “she has worn this sorrowful countenance.”
“What folly!” responded Luiza, instinctively observing Bazilio. “All these days past I have been very gay.”
“We know, of course,” insisted Donna Felicidade, “that that little heart is in Alemtejo.”
“You wouldn’t want me, I suppose, to begin to dance and shout in a public place,” responded Luiza, in impatient accents, with an abrupt movement of her fan.
“Well, well, don’t get angry,” said Donna Felicidade. “What a temper!” she continued, turning towards Bazilio.
“Cousin Luiza had a terrible temper formerly,” responded Bazilio, laughing. “I don’t know how it may be now.”
“She is a dove, a little dove; is it not so? A dove,” insisted Donna Felicidade, regarding Luiza with a maternal glance.
Meantime the taciturn group at their side had risen silently, and with the air of somnambulists, the daughters in front, the father and mother bringing up the rear, now slowly and sadly withdrew.
Bazilio immediately took the vacant chair beside Luiza, and observing Donna Felicidade glancing around her with abstracted gaze,—