CHAPTER XVI.A REPRIEVE.

WHAT a night of anguish Luiza spent! No sooner did she fall asleep than she awoke again in terror. She opened her eyes in the half-obscurity of the room, ever conscious of the same sharp anxiety that rankled like a dagger-thrust in her soul. What was she to do? How should she find the money? Six hundred thousandreis! Her jewels, at the utmost, were worth some two hundred thousand; and besides, what would Jorge say if he found she had parted with them? She had some plate, but the same thing was true of that.

The night was warm, and she felt restless and suffocating. At times, through fatigue, she fell into a light sleep, haunted by dreams. She saw before her mountains of gold, and bundles of bank-notes flying around her in the air. She sat up in bed to seize them, and the coins rolled away from her on the floor, and the bank-notes flew away with a mocking sound of wings. Again it was a man who entered her room, and bending before her respectfully, took off his hat and drew from it pounds and pieces of five thousandreiswithout number, heaping them in her lap. Who it was she did not know; he wore a red cloak and had an insolent air. Could it be the Devil? And what if it were? Shewould have the money; she would be saved. Then she began to call to Juliana, running after her along a road without end, that grew narrower and narrower, until at last it became a cleft through which she dragged herself, out of breath, clasping to her breast the money, which struck a chill to her heart. She awoke in terror; and the contrast of her actual need with those imaginary riches augmented the bitterness of her situation. On whom could she call for help? On Sebastião. Sebastião was rich and kind-hearted. But to send for him and say to him,—she, Jorge’s wife,—“Lend me six hundred thousandreis!” “What for?” “To redeem some letters I wrote to a lover.” Was it possible to say this to him? No; she was irretrievably lost, and nothing remained for her but a convent.

She turned her pillow, contact with which burned her cheeks, from side to side; she took off her cap, and her long hair fell loose about her. She gathered it up, and fastened it with a hairpin; and lying on her side, leaning her head on her arm, she began to go over bitterly in her mind the romance of the past summer,—the arrival of Bazilio, the excursion to the country, her first secret interview with him. Where was the traitor now? Sleeping tranquilly on the cushions of the railway-car. And she here alone, a prey to anguish! She fell asleep at last just as day was beginning to dawn.

She awoke late, and with a sense of fatigue; but she saw the sun shining in unclouded splendor through the dining-room windows, and this revived her. The canaries were singing in their cages; from the forgenear by came the cheerful sound of hammering, and the intense blue of the sky filled the soul with a sense of supreme content. The general cheerfulness inspired her with a sudden courage. She ought not thus to abandon herself to a hopeless despair. No; she would struggle against her fate.

Then she felt a swift influx of hope invade her breast. Sebastião was kind-hearted; Leopoldina had a remedy for everything; other means would occur to her, and perhaps she would be able in the end to get six hundred thousandreistogether. She would be saved. Juliana would go away; Jorge would return; and she saw stretch out before her, with a sense of exhilaration, a vista of happy days to come.

Sebastião’s servant called at about twelve o’clock; his master had just arrived from Almada and desired to know how the senhora was. Luiza herself ran to the door; she told the man to beg his master to come and see her as soon as possible.

She would hesitate no longer; her resolution was taken. She would speak to Sebastião. After all, it was the only alternative left her,—either to tell everything to Sebastião or to let Juliana tell everything to her husband. It was impossible to hesitate. And she might gloss over the facts; she might say it was only a platonic attachment. Bazilio’s departure gave the matter the appearance of a past event. And Sebastião was so devoted to her!

At the end of an hour Sebastião arrived. Luiza, from her bedroom, heard him come in, and the very sound of his footsteps in the parlor frightened, almost terrified her. It appeared to her then very terrible and difficult to carry out her project of confessing hersituation to him. She framed in her mind phrases and explanations—a vague story of a flirtation, and the interchange of a few letters—as she stood there trembling, with her hand on the knob of the door. He seemed to her taller, more dignified-looking than usual. Never had his glance been more honest nor his countenance more serious than now.

“What is the matter? Can I do anything for you?” he said, after they had exchanged a few commonplace remarks on the news and the weather.

Luiza experienced an inexplicable terror, and answered,—

“It is on Jorge’s account.”

“I wager he has not written.”

“No.”

“He had not written to me either for a long time past,” said Sebastião. “But to-day,” he added with a smile, “I received two letters from him together.”

He looked for them among several papers which he took from his breast-pocket. Luiza sat down on the sofa; she watched him with a beating heart, digging her nails into the cushion of the seat.

“Yes,” said Sebastião, turning over the papers, “I received two together, in which he says he is bored to death in Alemtejo, and speaks of coming home.” And, handing a letter to Luiza, “See—” he said.

Luiza unfolded the letter, and was about to read it, when Sebastião hastily interposed,—

“I beg your pardon; that is not the one.”

“No, but let me see it.”

“No, it is nothing—business—”

“No matter; I want to see it.”

Sebastião, seated on the edge of his chair, scratched his beard, looking at Luiza with a vexed expression.

“What is this?” she cried, frowning, with surprise depicted on her countenance. “Truly this is—”

“Follies, follies,” said Sebastião, turning crimson. Luiza proceeded to read aloud slowly:—

“Know, then, friend Sebastião, that I have made a conquest here. She is not what might be called a princess,—being neither more nor less than the wife of the village shopkeeper. She seems to be desperately in love with your humble servant. God forgive me, but I believe she asks me only a vintem for cigars that are worth a pataco, doing her worthy husband Carlos the double injury of seeking to ruin him in his happiness and in his business.”

“How witty!” she muttered, furious. She went on reading:—

“I am not altogether certain that the Biblical story of the wife of Potiphar will be repeated in my case. I assure you there is some virtue in resisting her, for, shopkeeper as she is, she is extremely pretty, and I sometimes fear that my weak virtue may suffer shipwreck in the end.”

Luiza paused, casting a terrible glance at Sebastião.

“It is only a jest,” he said.

She continued reading:—

“If Luiza were to know of it! And my adventures do not end here. The wife of the delegate throws terrible glances at me. She is from Lisbon,—one of the Camargos who live near Belem. Do you know them? They affect to be dying of weariness in this provincial solitude. She gave an entertainment in my honor, and in my honor, as I believe, she wentdécoletée. She has a beautiful neck—”

Luiza turned crimson. It was a diabolical jest.

“He has lost his senses!” she said.

“So here you have your friend transformed into a Don Juan, and leaving a wake of amorous flames behind him throughout the province. Pimental charges me—”

Luiza read a few lines farther, in a low voice, and then, rising abruptly, gave the letter back to Sebastião.

“He seems to be amusing himself very well,” she said, in angry accents.

“You should not take it so seriously.”

“Seriously?” she repeated. “On the contrary, I find it quite natural.”

She sat down, and began to talk volubly of other matters,—of Donna Felicidade, of Julião.

“He is working very hard now for the examination,” said Sebastião; “the person I never see is the counsellor.”

“But who are those Camargos of Belem?” asked Luiza.

Sebastião shrugged his shoulders, and said, almost reprovingly,—

“But is it possible that you take this seriously?”

Luiza interrupted him.

“Ah, by the bye, did you know that my Cousin Bazilio has left Lisbon?” she said.

“Indeed!” returned Sebastião, joyfully.

“He has gone to Paris, and I do not think he will return.” And she added, after a pause, as if she had forgotten all about Jorge and his letter, “In Paris he will be able to live more according to his tastes; he had been wanting to go for some time.” Then, lightly patting thefolds of her gown, “He ought to marry—” she said.

“So that he might settle down,” said Sebastião, finishing the sentence for her.

But Luiza was afraid that a man who was so fond of travelling, of horses, and of adventures, would never make a good husband.

Sebastião was of opinion that such men often changed, and made good heads of families.

“They have more experience,” he added.

“But a bad foundation to begin upon,” she observed.

Then they were silent, both somewhat embarrassed.

“To speak frankly,” said Luiza at last, “I am very glad of his departure—on account of that nonsense of the neighbors. Lately I scarcely saw anything of him. He surprised me by a visit yesterday,—to say good-by.”

She felt that she was making her story of a platonic affection and an interchange of letters impossible; but a sentiment stronger than herself impelled her to make her relations with Bazilio appear as slight as possible; and she added,—

“We are friends, it is true, but our natures are very different; Bazilio is cold and selfish. Besides, our friendship was never a very intimate one.”

She paused abruptly; she felt that she was getting beyond her depth.

Sebastião remembered having heard her say that they were brought up together; but, after all, the way in which she spoke now of her cousin was the best possible proof that there had never been anythingbetween them. He almost reproached himself for the unjust doubts he had entertained.

“And he is not coming back, you say?”

“He did not say so, but I do not think he is. When he finds himself in Paris—”

And suddenly remembering the letter she had just read, “So you are Jorge’s confidant,” she said.

“Senhora, can you believe—” began Sebastião, smiling.

“Because he always writes to me,” she interrupted, “that he is bored to death, that he is lonely, and that he cannot bear Alemtejo.” Then, seeing Sebastião look at his watch, “What!” she cried, “are you going already? You have been here only a few moments.”

He was obliged to be down town at three, he answered.

Luiza wanted to detain him, without knowing why. She felt her resolution failing her. She began to speak of the work at Almada.

Sebastião had begun the work, thinking that two or three hundred thousand reis would suffice for the alterations he contemplated making. But one thing led to another, and it was a bottomless gulf, he declared, that swallowed up his money.

“When one is rich—” responded Luiza, with a forced laugh.

“It seems as if it were nothing,” continued Sebastião; “but the painting of a door, a new window, the papering of a room, a brick pavement,—what with one thing and another, eight hundred thousandreishave gone.”

He rose to take his leave, saying,—

“I think that chatterbox will soon return to us now.”

“If the shopkeeper’s wife will let him,” said Luiza.

When Sebastião was gone, she began to walk up and down the room, preoccupied by this idea. To allow himself to be made love to by the shopkeeper’s wife, the wife of the delegate, and who could tell how many others! She had confidence in him, of course, but after all, he was a man. And suddenly she pictured him to herself in the embrace of the shopkeeper’s wife, or imprinting a kiss on the neck of the wife of the delegate; and imaginary instances of Jorge’s faithlessness thronged tumultuously to her mind. It was two months since he had left home; he was weary of his loneliness, he met a pretty woman, and he flirted with her as an innocent and agreeable pastime. Traitor! She resolved to write to him a severe and dignified letter,—“he must return at once, or she would go join him.” She went to her room in a state of great excitement. The likeness of Jorge, that she had taken the day before from the satchel, was on her dressing-table. She took it up and looked at it. She was not surprised that they should fall in love with him. He was amiable and handsome. She felt a wave of jealousy sweep over her that darkened her vision; if he should deceive her,—if she discovered the slightest proof of his faithlessness, she would leave him, she would retire to a convent, she would die, she would kill him!

“Here is a letter, Senhora,” said Joanna from the doorway; “the person who brought it is waiting for an answer.”

What a fright! It was from Juliana. It was written on ruled paper, in a large hand, and was full of orthographical errors. It ran as follows:—

SENHORA,—I know very well that I was too hasty, but the senhora must attribute my conduct to my poor health and my misfortunes, for these sometimes make one ill-tempered. If the senhora wishes me to return, and resume my former position (to which I do not think she will object), I shall be very glad to make myself agreeable to her, and I am confident nothing unpleasant will ever occur, always provided that the senhora fulfils her promise. I, on my side, will promise to perform my duties faithfully, and I hope the senhora will accept, for the good of every one concerned. What I said was on the spur of the moment, for every one has occasional fits of ill-temper; and, without troubling her further, I remain the senhora’s humble servant,JULIANA CONCEIRO TAVIRA.

JULIANA CONCEIRO TAVIRA.

Luiza stood for a moment with the letter in her hand, unable to decide upon an answer. Her first impulse was to say no. To take her back that she might see her again continually before her, with her hideous countenance, to know that she had her letters in her pocket, and to call her to render her services, to be waited upon by her! No! But she reflected that if she refused and the other were to get angry, Heaven only knew what she might do. Her fate was in her own hands; she must endure everything; this was her punishment. She hesitated a moment longer, and then said to Joanna,—

“Say yes; that she may come back!”

Juliana, in effect, returned to the house at eight o’clock that evening. She went up to the top story, pausing on each step, put on her working-dress and her slippers, and then went to the laundry, whereJoanna was sewing by the light of a candle.

Joanna, full of curiosity, immediately began to overwhelm her with questions. Where had she been? What had happened to her? Why had she sent no word of herself?

Juliana answered that she had gone to see a friend who lived in the Avenue Marquez d’Abrantes, and that while there she was seized with a sudden attack of flatulency and pain. She had not sent word, because she expected soon to be well enough to return; but she had spent half a day in bed.

She wanted to know, in her turn, what the senhora had been doing, if she had gone out, if any one had called.

“The senhora has not been very well,” answered Joanna.

“The weather,” returned Juliana, taking up her work.

They spent the rest of the evening in silence.

At ten o’clock Luiza heard a light knock at her door. It was she, without doubt.

“Come in,” she answered.

“The tea is on the table,” said Juliana, in her usual tone of voice.

Luiza waited awhile after Juliana had gone, hesitating to go into the parlor, through fear of encountering her. Then she rose, took a few steps, stopped, and at last entered the room, trembling.

Juliana was in the dining-room. She drew back against the wall, and said in a respectful tone,—

“Do you want me to bring the lamp, Senhora?”

Luiza nodded affirmatively, without looking at her. When she returned to her room, Juliana was filling the water-pitcher on the wash-stand. After arranging the bed and closing the doors, she said quietly,—

“Does the senhora wish anything else?”

“No.”

“Good-night, Senhora.”

And no further word was exchanged between them.

“It seems a dream!” said Luiza to herself, as she undressed sorrowfully. “That woman here in my house, with my letters in her possession, to torture me and rob me!”

What had brought about this state of affairs? She did not know, events had followed each other so rapidly, with the furious haste of a tempest. She had no time to think and to defend herself; she was carried along, and she found herself in her own house in the power of her servant. Ah, if she had only spoken to Sebastião! He, no doubt, had money. With what eagerness she would take it, pay Juliana’s demand, and send her away, and her trunks with her, her rags, everything! She determined to go speak to Sebastião and tell him everything, there in his own house, in order to make the stronger impression upon him. After a while, worn out by the agitations of the day, she fell asleep, and dreamed that she saw a large black bird, with the wings of a bat, flying through her room, creating a current of air as it passed; it was Juliana. She ran in terror into the study, calling on Jorge; but she saw there neither books, nor bookcase, nor table,—nothing but a pyramid of bundles of cigars, and in the balcony Jorge caressing awoman magnificently formed, who was seated on his knee, and who said to him, with languid voice and eyes full of passion, “Brejeiros or Xabregas cigars?” Then she thought she fled from her house, and after a series of confused events found herself beside Bazilio, in a street without end, in which the façades of the palaces had a cathedral-like aspect, and through which carriages rolled on majestically. She told Bazilio, with tears in her eyes, of Jorge’s treachery; and her cousin hovered around her, making love to her while he sang, accompanying himself on the violin,—

“I sent a letter to CupidTo ask if the duty laidBy the Court of Love be bindingOn a heart that has been betrayed.”

“I sent a letter to Cupid

To ask if the duty laid

By the Court of Love be binding

On a heart that has been betrayed.”

Then suddenly everything grew dark, while Juliana continued her flight around and around the room with her bat’s wings.

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