“The same story as always,” said Julião, lowering his voice. “Cousin Bazilio is right; he is in search of pleasure without responsibility. You know, friend Sebastião, what an influence that has over the feelings. She has a husband who clothes and maintains her; who watches by her when she is sick, and puts up with her when she is nervous; who bears all the burdens, all the annoyances, all the responsibilities of married life,—you know that is the law. Consequently the cousin has only to present himself, and he finds her amiable, attractive, charmingly attired, all at the cost of the husband, and—”
He began to laugh, and rolled a cigarette, with an evident sense of enjoyment in these malicious suggestions. “And he is right,” he added. “All cousins reason thus; Bazilio is her cousin; therefore— You know the syllogism, Sebastião,” he said, slapping him on the thigh.
“A thousand devils!” exclaimed Sebastião, frowning. “So, then, you think an honorable woman—” he added, rebelling against such a supposition.
“I think nothing,” responded Julião.
“Speak lower, for Heaven’s sake!”
“Well, then, I think nothing,” repeated Julião, in a lower voice; “I state her actual position; but, as she is an honorable woman—”
“She is so!” said Sebastião, bringing down his hand with violence on the table.
“Coming, sir!” said the waiter.
The bald old man rose; but seeing that the waiter went back yawning to the counter, and that the two friends continued sipping their sherbet, he rested his elbows on the table, and again taking up the newspaper, fixed his melancholy gaze upon it.
“The question is not of her,” said Sebastião, sorrowfully. “The question is—the neighbors.”