Vasconcelos breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door.

“Oh!” cried Augusta.

Vasconcelos bowed to Carlota, and, as soon as she left, he turned to his wife and said:

“I overheard your conversation with that woman.”

“Well, it wasn’t a secret conversation, but what exactly did you hear?”

Vasconcelos smiled and said:

“I heard the reason why you’re afraid. I never realized that love of one’s own beauty could lead to such egotism. The marriage to Gomes won’t now happen, but if Adelaide ever does love someone, I really don’t see how we can withhold our consent.”

“We’ll see,” answered Augusta.

The conversation stopped there, because these two consorts were drifting ever further apart; one was thinking about all the noisy pleasures of youth, while the other was thinking exclusively about herself.

The following day, Gomes received a letter from Vasconcelos:

Dear Gomes,

Something unexpected has happened. Adelaide does not wish to marry. I tried to reason with her, but could not convince her.

Yours, Vasconcelos

Gomes folded up the letter and used it to light a cigar, then began thinking this deep thought:

“Where am I going to find an heiress who’ll want me as a husband?”

If anyone knows of one, do tell him.

Vasconcelos and Gomes still sometimes meet in the street or at the Alcazar; they talk and smoke and take each other’s arm, exactly like the friends they never were or like the rogues they are.

Luís Duarte’s Wedding

LUÍS DUARTE’S WEDDING

ON APRIL 25, a Saturday morning, José Lemos’s house was in total uproar. The dinner service that was only used on special occasions was being brought out, stairs and hallways were being scrubbed, and suckling pigs and turkeys were being stuffed ready to be roasted in the baker’s oven across the road; there was no rest for anyone; something of great importance was about to happen.

José Lemos was in charge of sorting out the parlor. Perched on a bench, the worthy master of the house was attempting to hang the two engravings he had bought the day before from Bernasconi’s; one depicted The Death of Sardanapalus, the other The Execution of Mary Stuart. He and his wife were having a bit of a battle about where to hang the first engraving. Dona Beatriz thought it indecent, all those men embracing a lot of naked women. Besides, such gloomy subjects were hardly suitable for a celebration. José Lemos had been a member of a literary society in his youth, and replied loftily that these were historical paintings, and that history had a place in every family. He might have added that not every family had a place in history, but that little joke was in even poorer taste than the engravings.