Four o’clock had struck in the office of the notary Vaz Nunes, in Rua do Rosário. The clerks had put the final flourishes to their documents, and wiped their goose quills on the piece of black silk hanging from one of the drawers; then they had closed the drawers, gathered up their papers, tidied away their books and registers, and washed their hands; those who had changed their jackets on arriving took off their work coat and put on their outdoor one, and then they all left. Vaz Nunes remained alone.

This honest notary was one of the most perceptive men of his day. He has since died, so we can praise him all we like. He had eyes like a lancet, cutting and sharp. He could read the characters of the people who came to him to notarize their contracts and agreements; he knew a testator’s soul long before he had finished his will; he could scent secret plots and hidden thoughts. He wore glasses, as do all stage notaries, but, not being nearsighted, he would peer over them when he wanted to see, and through them if he preferred not to be seen. Crafty old fox, said the clerks. He was, in any event, a circumspect fellow. He was fifty years old, a childless widower, and, in the words of some of his fellow notaries, he was quietly nibbling his way through the two hundred contos de réis he had salted away.

“Who’s there?” he asked suddenly, looking up.

Standing in the doorway was a man whom he did not immediately recognize and whom he only barely recognized afterward. Vaz Nunes invited him in; the man entered, greeted him, shook his hand, and sat down on the chair beside the desk. He did not carry himself with the customary awkwardness of a beggar; on the contrary, he gave every impression of having come with the sole purpose of giving the notary some very precious and rare commodity. Vaz Nunes nevertheless shuddered and waited.

“Don’t you remember me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“We were with each other one night a few months ago, in Tijuca. Don’t you remember? In Teodorico’s house, at that magnificent Christmas Eve supper. As a matter of fact, I proposed a toast to you. Surely you remember old Custódio!”

“Ah!”