The joy of pilgrims reaching Mecca could not have been greater than that of the guests when they saw the long table, groaning with roast meats and desserts and fruit and set with china dishes and glasses. They all sat down in their allotted places. For some minutes, there was a silence such as the silence that precedes a battle, and only when this was broken did general conversation begin.

“When I introduced young Duarte to the household a year ago, who would have thought that he would one day be the delightful Dona Carlota’s bridegroom?” said Dr. Valença, wiping his lips on his napkin and glancing benevolently across at the bride.

“Yes, who would have thought it?” said Dona Beatriz.

“It must have been the hand of Fate,” said Dona Margarida.

“It was indeed,” replied Dona Beatriz.

“If it was the hand of Fate,” said the groom, “I thank the heavens for taking such an interest in me.”

Dona Carlota smiled, and José Lemos thought these words in excellent taste and worthy of a son-in-law.

“Fate or chance?” asked Lieutenant Porfírio. “I favor the latter, myself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Vilela, looking up from his plate for the first time. “What you call chance is, in fact, Fate. Weddings and winding sheets are made in heaven.”

“Oh, so you believe in proverbs, do you?”

“They contain the wisdom of the people,” said José Lemos.

“No, they don’t,” said the lieutenant. “For every proverb stating one thing, there’s another stating the opposite. Proverbs lie. I think it was simply a very happy happenstance, or, rather, the law of the attraction of souls that led Senhor Luís Duarte to be drawn to the charming daughter of our very own Amphitryon.”

José Lemos had no idea who Amphitryon was, but confident that, if Porfírio mentioned him, he must be all right, he smiled and thanked Porfírio for what seemed to be a compliment, meanwhile helping himself to some jelly, which Justiniano Vilela assured him was excellent.

The young women were whispering and smiling, the bride and groom were absorbed in an exchange of sweet nothings, while Rodrigo was picking his teeth so loudly that his mother shot him one of those fulminating glances that were her weapon of choice.

“Some jelly, Senhor Calisto?” asked José Lemos, his spoon in the air.

“Yes, just a little,” said the man with the sallow face.

“The jelly is excellent,” Justiniano said for the third time, and his wife was so embarrassed by these words that she could not conceal a grimace of distaste.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Dr. Valença, “I propose a toast to the happy couple.”

“Bravo!” said a voice.

“Is that it?” asked Rodrigo. “We want a longer toast than that.”

“Mama, I want some jelly!” said Antonico.

“I’m not one for making speeches. I am simply raising my glass to the bride and groom.”

Everyone drank.