“I want jelly!” insisted Antonico.

Dona Beatriz felt her inner Medea stirring within her, but respect for her guests prevented any unpleasant scene. The good lady merely said to one of the servants:

“Give this to the young master, will you?”

Antonico received the dish and began eating the way children eat when they’re not really hungry: he would raise a spoonful to his mouth and spend an age rolling the contents of the spoon around between tongue and palate, while the spoon, pushed to one side, formed a slight lump in his right cheek. At the same time, he kept kicking his legs, repeatedly hitting first the chair and then the table.

While this was going on—not that anyone took much notice—the conversation continued. Dr. Valença was discussing with one lady the excellence of the sherry, and Eduardo Valadares was reciting a poem to the young woman sitting next to him.

Suddenly José Lemos stood up.

“Ssshh!” hissed everyone.

José Lemos picked up a glass and said to those around the table:

“I am not prompted to speak by any feeling of pride to be addressing such an illustrious audience. I am responding to the higher duty of courtesy, friendship, and gratitude, that most preeminent, sacred, and immortal of duties.”

The audience would have been cruel indeed not to applaud these words, and their applause did not ruffle the speaker in the least, for the simple reason that he knew the speech by heart.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I bow before that duty, the holiest and most imperious of all duties. I drink to my friends, to those steadfast adherents of the heart, those vestal virgins, both male and female, devotees of the pure flame of friendship! To my friends! To friendship!”

To be honest, the only person who understood the utter nullity of José Lemos’s speech was Dr. Valença, who was himself no intellectual, which is why he rose to propose a toast to their host’s oratorical talents.

These two toasts were followed by the customary silence, until Rodrigo turned to Lieutenant Porfírio and asked if he had perhaps left his muse at home.

“Yes,” said one lady, “we want to hear you. People say you speak really well.”

“Me, senhora?” replied Porfírio with all the modesty of a man who believes himself to be another golden-mouthed Saint John Chrysostom.

Once the champagne had been poured and handed around, Lieutenant Porfírio stood up. Vilela, who was some distance away, cupped one hand behind his right ear, while Calisto, fixing his eyes firmly on the tablecloth, appeared to be counting every thread. José Lemos alerted his wife, who, at that moment, was trying to tempt the implacable Antonico with a sweet chestnut; all other eyes were on the speaker.