What were you thinking, O strict and cautious mother, that you did not come and tear from the hands and lips of your daughter so subtle and mortal a venom? Standing at her window, Dona Benedita was gazing up at the night sky, amid the stars and gas lamps, with a roving, restless imagination, and filled with gnawing regrets and desires. Nothing had gone right for her since morning. Dona Benedita confessed, in the sweet intimacy of her own soul, that the dinner at Dona Maria dos Anjos’s had been dreadful, and that her friend probably wasn’t at her best, either. She felt certain regrets—although for what, she wasn’t entirely sure—and certain desires, but for quite what, she didn’t know. From time to time she gave a long, lazy yawn, like someone about to fall asleep; but if she felt anything at all it was boredom—boredom, impatience, and curiosity. Dona Benedita seriously wondered about going to join her husband; and no sooner had the thought of her husband entered her head than her heart was filled with longings and remorse, and her blood pulsed in her veins; so great was her desire to go and see the eminent judge that if her luggage had been packed and the northbound steamer had been waiting at the corner of the street, she would have embarked that very minute. No matter; there was sure to be another steamer in a week or ten days, and there was plenty of time to arrange her luggage. Since she would only be going for three months, she would not need to take very much.

It would be a relief to get away from Rio, from the sameness of the days, the lack of novelties, the same faces, even the unchanging fashions—something that always troubled her: “Why should any fashion last for more than two weeks?”

“I’ll go; there’s nothing more to be said. I’ll go to Pará,” she said softly.

Indeed, the following morning, the first thing she did was to communicate this decision to her daughter, who took the news calmly. Dona Benedita checked how many trunks she already had, wondered if she needed one more, calculated the size, and decided to buy another. In a sudden moment of inspiration, Eulália said:

“But Mama, we’re only going for three months, aren’t we?”

“Yes, three . . . or possibly two.”

“Well, then, it isn’t worth it. Two trunks will suffice.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Well, if they aren’t enough, we can always buy another one just before we leave. And you should go and choose it yourself—that would be much better than sending someone who knows nothing about trunks.”