She passed her hand over her stomach.
“And the counsellor! What do you say to that? Truly, I have no luck! To-night when I came here—”
She sighed, and continued with a smile,—
“Your cousin is indeed interesting. And what good manners! A true gentleman! That may be seen at the first glance!”
They had scarcely left the Passeio when she declared she could stand no longer, and that they must take a carriage.
Bazilio thought it would be better to go on foot to the Praça do Loreto. The night was so pleasant! To walk would do Donna Felicidade good.
As they passed Martinho’s, Bazilio proposed that they should go in and take an ice; but Donna Felicidade was afraid of iced drinks, and Luiza had not the courage to consent. Through the open doors of the café could be seen the deserted tables, and the newspapers scattered about the floor. In the street the little ragamuffins were gathering up ends of cigars. In the Praça do Rocio people were strolling about under the trees; on the benches were to be seen a few motionless figures, apparently asleep; here and there through the darkness shone the burning end of a cigar; men were walking up and down, hat in hand, fanning themselves; women with silk handkerchiefs around their shoulders, and trailing after them long white petticoats very stiffly starched, to judge from the noise they made, were crying out on the street corners as they passed, “Water fresh from the Arsenal!” Open carriages were driving slowly around the praza. The heat was suffocating; and in the midst of the surrounding darkness the column that supported the statue of Dom Pedro wore the pallid aspect of a colossal taper.
Bazilio walked silently by Luiza’s side. “What a horrible city!” he thought. “What gloom! what tedium!” He recalled the summer he had spent in Paris: at night, he drove slowly in his phaeton through the Champs Elysées, and hundreds of victorias drove rapidly past him; the lamps of the carriages formed along the whole avenue a moving line of luminous points. Fair and lovely faces of women rested against the cushions, swayed by the movement of their luxurious carriages. The air had a warm and velvet softness; the chestnut-trees diffused around a penetrating odor; and on either side, from among the trees, streamed torrents of light from the concert cafés, filled with the noise of the gay crowd within, and the lively strains of the orchestra; laughter resounded from the restaurants; love and happiness, under their most seductive aspects, reigned everywhere; and farther on, through the windows of palaces and hotels, could be seen the soft and shaded lights that illuminated the treasures within. Ah, if he were only there!
But as they passed under the gas-lamps he glanced at Luiza’s countenance through her white veil; her profile was full of grace; her dress followed perfectly the curves of her figure, and there was an undulating languor in her gait. The thought occurred to him, and he gave utterance to it aloud, that it was a pity there was not in Lisbon a restaurant where they might go and eat the wing of a partridge, moistened with a bottle of champagne frappé.
Luiza did not answer, but she said to herself that that must be delightful.