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Moreira César had a ready answer. “They bring with them the machines, the technology, and the money that Brazil needs in order to progress. Because progress means industry, work, capital, as the United States has demonstrated.” His cold little eyes blinked as he added: “That is something that slaveowners will never understand, Baron.”

In the silence that fell after these words, spoons were heard stirring cups, and sips that sounded like gargles as the journalist downed his tea.

“It wasn’t the Republic that abolished slavery. It was the monarchy,” the baroness recalled, smiling as though the remark were charmingly witty repartee as she offered her guest sweet biscuits. “By the way, did you know that on my husband’s haciendas the slaves were freed five years before the emancipation decree?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” the colonel replied. “A praiseworthy act, certainly.”

He gave a forced smile and took a sip of tea. The atmosphere was tense now, despite the baroness’s smiles and Dr. Souza Ferreiro’s sudden interest in the butterfly collection and Captain Olímpio de Castro’s story of a Rio barrister who had been murdered by his wife.

The tension mounted further as Souza Ferreiro offered the baron a polite compliment. “The landowners in these parts are abandoning their estates because the jagunços are setting fire to them,” he said. “You, however, are setting an example by returning to Calumbi.”

“I returned so as to place the hacienda at the disposal of the Seventh Regiment,” the baron replied. “I regret that my aid has not been accepted.”

“Seeing the peace that reigns here, no one would ever suspect that a war is being waged so close at hand,” Colonel Moreira César murmured. “The jagunços haven’t touched you. You’re a lucky man.”

“Appearances are deceiving,” the baron answered, his tone of voice still calm. “Many families at Calumbi have left and the land under cultivation has been reduced by half. Moreover, Canudos is land that belongs to me, is that not so? I’ve had my share of sacrifices forced upon me—more than anyone else in the region.”

The baron was managing to hide the wrath that the colonel’s words no doubt aroused in him, but the baroness had turned into another person when she spoke up again. “I trust you don’t believe all that slander about my husband’s having supposedly handed Canudos over to the jagunços,” she said, her eyes narrowing in indignation.

The colonel took another sip of tea, neither confirming nor denying her statement.

“So they’ve persuaded you that that infamous lie is true,” the baron murmured. “Do you really believe I help mad heretics, arsonists, and thieves who steal haciendas?”

Moreira César sat his cup down on the table. He looked at the baron with an icy gaze and ran his tongue rapidly over his lips. “Those madmen kill soldiers with explosive bullets,” he said very slowly and deliberately, as though fearing that someone might miss a syllable. “Those arsonists have very modern rifles. Those thieves receive aid from English agents. Who besides the monarchists would be conspiring to stir up an insurrection against the Republic?” He had turned pale and the little cup began to tremble in his hands. Everyone except the journalist looked down at the floor.

“Those people don’t steal or murder or set fires when they feel that order reigns, when they see that the world is organized, because nobody has more respect for hierarchy than they,” the baron said in a firm voice. “But the Republic destroyed our system through unrealistic laws, substituting unwarranted enthusiasms for the principle of obedience. An error of Marshal Floriano’s, Colonel, for the social ideal is rooted in tranquillity, not enthusiasm.”

“Are you feeling ill, sir?” Dr. Souza Ferreiro interrupted him, rising to his feet.

But a look from Moreira César made him keep his distance. The colonel was livid now, his forehead beaded with sweat, his lips purplish, as though he had bitten them. He rose from his chair and addressed