But what could Adelaide do? Who could she turn to?

She had only her tears.

As for Vasconcelos, he went up to his study and wrote the following lines to his future son-in-law:

Everything is going well. I give you permission to come and pay court to my daughter, and hope to see you married in a couple of months.

He sealed the letter and sent it off.

Shortly afterward, Augusta and Lourenço returned.

While Augusta disappeared up to her boudoir to change her clothes, Lourenço went looking for Adelaide, who was out in the garden.

Noticing that her eyes were red, he asked her why, but she denied she had been crying.

Lourenço didn’t believe his niece and urged her to tell him what was wrong.

Adelaide trusted her uncle, almost because he was so direct and gruff. After a few minutes, Adelaide told Lourenço all about the scene with her father.

“So that’s why you’re crying, little one.”

“Yes. How can I avoid getting married?”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to. I promise.”

Adelaide felt a shiver of joy.

“Do you promise, Uncle, to persuade Papa?”

“Well, persuade or prevail, one or the other, but you won’t have to get married. Your father is a fool.”

Lourenço went up to see Vasconcelos at precisely the moment when the latter was about to leave.

“Are you going out?” asked Lourenço.

“I am.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Lourenço sat down, and Vasconcelos, who already had his hat on, stood waiting for him to speak.

“Sit down,” said Lourenço.

Vasconcelos sat down.

“Sixteen years ago—”

“You’re going an awfully long way back. If you don’t shave off half a dozen years, I can’t promise to hear you out.”

“Sixteen years ago,” Lourenço went on, “you got married, but the difference between that first day and today is enormous.”

“Of course,” said Vasconcelos. “Tempora mutantur, nos et—”

“At the time,” Lourenço went on, “you said you’d found paradise, a true paradise, and for two or three years you were a model husband. Then you changed completely, and paradise would have become a real hell if your wife were not the cold, indifferent creature she is, thus avoiding some truly terrible domestic scenes.”

“But what has this got to do with you, Lourenço?”

“Nothing, and that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. What I want to do is to stop you sacrificing your daughter on a whim, handing her over to one of your fellow dissolutes.”

Vasconcelos sprang to his feet:

“You must be insane,” he said.

“No, I’m perfectly sane and prudently advising you not to sacrifice your daughter to a libertine.”