The lieutenant belonged to that happy class of men who are apparently ageless; some thought he was thirty, others thirty-five, and others forty; some even went as high as forty-five, and they could all have been right, for the lieutenant’s face and brown side-whiskers fitted all these hypotheses. He was thin, of medium height, and dressed rather stylishly; indeed, there was really very little to distinguish him from any other dandy. The one thing that jarred slightly was his way of walking; Lieutenant Porfírio’s feet were so widely splayed that you could almost draw a straight line between right foot and left. However, everything has its compensations, and in his case, these were the flat patent-leather shoes he wore, revealing a fine pair of woolen socks whose surface was smoother than a billiard ball.

He entered with a grace that was peculiar to him. To greet the bride and groom, he bent his right arm so that the hand holding his hat was behind his back, then bowed very low, and remained in that posture, so that (from a distance) he resembled one of those old-fashioned lampposts.

Porfírio had been a lieutenant in the army before being discharged, which suited him perfectly, because he had then gone into the furniture business and made quite a sum of money. He was not particularly good-looking, but, despite this, some ladies said he was more dangerous than a can of dynamite. This was clearly not because of the way he spoke, because he had a particularly sibilant s, saying, for example: At your ssservisss, sssenhora . . .

When Porfírio had finished greeting everyone, José Lemos said to him:

“We’re expecting great things from you tonight!”

“Ah,” Porfírio responded with exemplary modesty. “Who would dare to speak in the presence of such erudition?”

He said these words, meanwhile thrusting four fingers of his left hand into his vest pocket, a gesture he cultivated because he did not know what to do with that awkward arm, which is always such a trial to novice actors.

“But why are you so late?” asked Dona Beatriz.

“Reproach me if you must, dear lady, but spare me the embarrassment of having to explain a delay for which there is no excuse in the code of friendship and good manners.”

José Lemos smiled and glanced around at the others as if the lieutenant’s words bestowed on him some kind of reflected glory. Despite the pastries he had eaten, Justiniano Vilela still felt ineluctably drawn toward the supper table and exclaimed rather vulgarly:

“Well, at least you arrived in time for supper!”

“Yes, let’s all go in, shall we?” said José Lemos, offering an arm each to Dona Margarida and to Dona Virgínia, while the other guests followed behind.