He rose with a resigned and melancholy gesture.
“Good-by,” he repeated sorrowfully, smoothing his silk hat with his hand.
“Good-by,” responded Luiza.
“Are you angry with me?” asked Bazilio, with tenderness.
“No.”
His glance brightened.
“Listen to me,” he murmured, approaching her.
Luiza stamped her foot upon the floor.
“Oh, what a man!” she cried. “Leave me. To-morrow! Good-by! go away—till to-morrow.”
“Till to-morrow,” said Bazilio tenderly, and left her.