Dragon's Teeth by Eça de Queirós

MEANTIME Luiza and Bazilio were seated, tranquil and happy, in the parlor within, the half-drawn curtains making a soft obscurity in the room. Luiza wore a fresh white morning-gown that diffused an agreeable odor of lavender.

"I shall present myself thus," she had said, "without ceremony."

She was charming thus; thus he would always like to see her, Bazilio had answered gayly, as if in this morning-gown he beheld a promise of friendlier relations between them. He had entered tranquilly, with the air of a real relative. He did not annoy her by bold words; he spoke to her of the heat, of a farce he had seen the night before, of old friends that he had met; but mentioned to her only _en passant_ that he had been dreaming of her.

And why should he do otherwise? In his dream they were far away, in a distant land, that might be Italy, there were so many statues in the plazas, so many musical fountains falling into marble basins. It was in an antique garden, in the midst of a classic landscape; rare flowers filled the Florentine vase that rested on the stone balustrade; the peacocks spread out their tails proudly, and she herself walked slowly up and down, the train of her blue velvet dress sweeping the mosaic pavement. It was a landscape, he said, resembling that of San Donato, the villa of Prince Demidoff. Bazilio took pleasure in recalling the names of his illustrious acquaintances, and never forgot to place in their proper light the glories of his travels.

"And you, -- did you dream anything?"

Luiza smiled and blushed. No, she had been too much afraid of the storm to sleep. As she spoke, Bazilio noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

"Did you not hear the storm? " she asked.

"I was taking supper at the time in the Gremio."

"Are you in the habit of taking supper?"

Her cousin smiled sadly. Supper? If a tough beefsteak and a bottle of Collares could be called supper, then --

"And all for you, ungrateful one! " he added.

"For me?"

"For whom else, then, if not for you? What brought me to Lisbon? Why did I leave Paris?"

"On account of your affairs."

"Thanks," he said, leaning forward, and looking at her with severity. He puffed out the smoke of his cigarette with violence, and walked up and down the floor of the parlor with long strides. Suddenly he came over to her, and sitting down beside her told her that she was in truth unjust; that if he was in Lisbon, it was solely on her account. And throwing into his voice an expression of tenderness, he asked her if she indeed felt for him the least little bit of love, -- "so much as that, even," showing her the point of his nail.

They both began to laugh.

"That much? Perhaps!"

Luiza's breast heaved with emotion.

Bazilio, taking her hand in his, began to examine her nails, admiring them, and recommended her to use a certain ointment for the purpose of giving them more brilliancy, and kissing the tips of her fingers, he lightly bit the little finger, saying it was very sweet, at the same time putting hastily in its place a stray lock of her hair. With a supplicating glance he said he had a petition to prefer.

"What is it?"