“Come, come
To rest, my well-belovèd,—
Beside my heart, thy heart!”
His eyes fixed themselves upon her with an expression of such ardent passion that Luiza’s heart began to beat, her fingers trembled as they ran over the keys, and her countenance displayed an agitation that she hastened to conceal.
The counsellor applauded.
“An admirable voice!” he exclaimed; “admirable!”
Bazilio said that the quality of it was somewhat impaired.
“No, Senhor, no,” protested the counsellor; “you possess an excellent organ. I will even go so far as to say that there is no better voice in Lisbon society.”
Bazilio laughed, and said that since it pleased him he would sing a little Brazilian song of Bahia. He seated himself at the piano, and after a prelude of a few bars of melodious rhythm and tropical movement, sang:—
“Black I am, but in my breast