His silence troubled Sebastião.
“I have come to you to ask your advice,” he said desperately.
“But, what the deuce do you want? That is her affair—yes, hers,” he repeated in answer to Sebastião’s glance. “She is twenty-five years old, and she has been married nearly four years; she ought to know that one does not receive daily visits from a good-looking young man in a little street, with the whole neighborhood on the watch. If she chooses to do so it is because it suits her.”
“Oh, Julião!” exclaimed Sebastião with severity. “You are wrong, very wrong,” he added, with emotion. And he relapsed into a sorrowful silence.
“Friend Sebastião,” said Julião, rising, “I say what I think; do you what you think right.” And he called the waiter.
“Stop,” said Sebastião. “Leave that to me.”
They were about to go out, when the bald individual, laying down his newspaper, hastened to the door and opened it for them with a bow, at the same time handing Sebastião a folded paper. Sebastião, surprised, read aloud mechanically,—
“The undersigned, a former employee of the State, reduced to poverty—”
“I have been the intimate friend of the noble Duke of Saldanha,” whined the bald individual.
Sebastião colored, bowed, and discreetly handed him five tostões. The bald individual bowed profoundly, and said in a sonorous voice,—