“Ah! he has a daughter?” said Torres.
“A charming girl!”
“Going to get married?”
“Yes, to a brave young fellow,” replied Fragoso—“an army surgeon in garrison at Belem, and the wedding is to take place as soon as we get to the end of the voyage.”
“Good!” said the smiling Torres; “it is what you might call a betrothal journey.”
“A voyage of betrothal, of pleasure, and of business!” said Fragoso. “Madame Yaquita and her daughter have never set foot on Brazilian ground; and as for Joam Garral, it is the first time he has crossed the frontier since he went to the farm of old Magalhaës.”
“I suppose,” asked Torres, “that there are some servants with the family?”
“Of course,” replied Fragoso—“old Cybele, on the farm for the last fifty years, and a pretty mulatto, Miss Lina, who is more of a companion than a servant to her mistress. Ah, what an amiable disposition! What a heart, and what eyes! And the ideas she has about everything, particularly about lianas—” Fragoso, started on this subject, would not have been able to stop himself, and Lina would have been the object of a good many enthusiastic declarations, had Torres not quitted the chair for another customer.
“What do I owe you?” asked he of the barber.
“Nothing,” answered Fragoso. “Between compatriots, when they meet on the frontier, there can be no question of that sort.”