“At the end of the day, he’s just as right as all the others. Take that chump Beatriz: Hasn’t she gone and disappeared off to the country, just because her husband took a dislike to an Englishman who was in the habit of riding past their house every afternoon? Poor Englishman! Naturally, he didn’t even notice she’d gone. We women can live very happily with our husbands, in mutual respect, not frustrating each other’s desires and without resorting to stubborn outbursts or despotism. Look, I get on very well with my Ricardo, perfectly harmoniously. Whatever I ask him to do, he does immediately, even when he doesn’t want to; I only need to frown and he obeys. He wouldn’t give me any trouble over a hat! Certainly not! Where would that lead? No, he’d jolly well get a new hat, whether he wanted to or not.”

Mariana listened enviously to this delightful description of conjugal bliss. The clarion call of Eve’s rebellion reverberated within her, and meeting her friend gave her an irresistible itch for independence and free will. To complete the picture, Sofia was not only very much her own mistress, but also the mistress of everyone else too; she had eyes for all the Englishmen, whether on horseback or afoot. She was an honest woman, but also a flirt; the word is rather crude, but there’s no time now to find a more delicate one. She flirted left, right, and center, out of a necessity of nature, a habit of her maiden days. It was the small change of love, and she distributed it to all the paupers who knocked on her door: a nickel to one, a dime to another, never as much as five mil-réis, still less anything more substantial. These charitable urges now induced her to propose to Mariana that they take a stroll together, see the shops, and admire some fine, dignified hats while they were at it. Mariana accepted; a little demon was firing up within her the furies of revenge. Moreover, her friend had Bonaparte’s powers of persuasion and gave her no time to reflect. Of course she would go; she was tired of living like a prisoner in her own home. She, too, wanted to live a little.

While Sofia went to dress, Mariana remained in the drawing room, restless and rather pleased with herself. She planned out what remained of her week, marking the day and time for each appointment like fixtures on an official journey. She stood up, sat down, went over to the window, while she waited for her friend.

“Has she died or something?” she said to herself from time to time.