João Viegas went to open the door; it was indeed Calisto, accompanied by an unknown young man, whom he presented to the general gathering: “This is Queirós; he works at the Santa Casa Hospital; no relation of mine whatsoever, although he does look awfully like me—people are always mixing us up . . .” Everyone laughed; it was one of Calisto’s little jokes, for he was as ugly as sin, whereas Queirós was a handsome young man of twenty-six or twenty-seven, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a strikingly slender figure. The young ladies drew back a little. Dona Felismina unfurled her sails.

“We’re playing a parlor game and you two gentlemen are very welcome to join us,” said the lady of the house. “Will you play, Senhor Queirós?”

Queirós said he would be delighted and looked around at the other guests. He knew some of them, and exchanged a few words of greetings. He told João Viegas that he had been wanting to meet him for quite some time, on account of a favor his father owed him from many years before, concerning a legal matter. João Viegas had forgotten all about it, even when Queirós told him what the favor had been, but he enjoyed hearing such things said in public, and basked for a few minutes in quiet, smug contentment.

Queirós threw himself into the game. Within half an hour he had made himself one of the family. He was a lively fellow, who talked easily, and his manners were natural and spontaneous. He charmed the whole gathering with his vast repertoire of penalties, and indeed there was no one better than him at leading the game, rushing from one side to the other with such vivacity and animation, putting groups together, moving chairs, chatting with the young ladies as if they had all been playmates since childhood.

“Dona Joaninha sits here, on this chair; Dona Cesária stands over on that side, and Senhor Camilo comes in through this door . . . No, not that way. Look: like this, and then . . .”