Dona Benedita is talking, as are her visitors; however, she does not speak to all of them, but only to the one seated next to her. Her neighbor is a plump, kindly, cheerful lady, the mother of a twenty-one-year-old graduate, Leandrinho, who is sitting opposite them. Dona Benedita is not merely talking to the plump lady, she is clasping one of her hands, and not only is she clasping the plump lady’s hand, she is also looking at her with vivacious, lovestruck eyes. Note that hers is not a persistent or prolonged gaze, but rather a series of small, restless, momentary glances. In any event, there is much tenderness in that gesture, and even if there weren’t, nothing would be lost, because Dona Benedita repeats with her lips everything that her eyes have already said to Dona Maria dos Anjos: that she is absolutely delighted, that it is wonderful to meet her, that Dona Maria is so very kind, so very dignified, that her eyes are the very windows of her soul, and so on. One of her friends says jokingly to Dona Benedita that she is making her jealous.

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” she replies, laughing.

And, turning back to the other woman:

“Don’t you agree? No one should come between us.”

And she carried on showering her with compliments, courtesies, and smiles, the offers of more of this, more of that, plans to go on a trip together or perhaps to the theater, and promises of many visits, all spoken in such warm, effusive tones that her new companion was visibly throbbing with pleasure and gratitude.

The turkey has been eaten. Dona Maria dos Anjos signals to her son, who stands up and asks them to accompany him in a toast:

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a saying in French: les absents ont tort. Let us resolutely reject this, and drink to someone who is far, far away in terms of space, but close, very close indeed, to the heart of his dear wife. Let us drink to that most illustrious judge, Justice Proença.”

The toast did not receive an enthusiastic response from the assembled guests, and to understand why one need only look at the sad face of their hostess. Her closest friends and relatives whispered to one another that young Leandrinho had been very thoughtless indeed; they drank the toast, but refrained from cheering, so as not, it would seem, to exacerbate Dona Benedita’s suffering. In vain: Dona Benedita, unable to contain herself, burst into tears, got up from the table, and left the room. Dona Maria dos Anjos went with her. There then followed a deathly silence. Eulália begged them all to carry on as normal, saying that her mother would be back shortly.

“Mama is very sensitive,” she said, “and the idea of Papa being so far away . . .”