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Mariana dismounted outside the Viseu convent with Simão's letter. At the gatehouse, she asked for the friend she knew as Brito. Beside the door, the chaplain was talking to the prioress about the salvation of souls. They also discussed some small casks of Pinhão wine received that day. The priest had reserved plenty to strengthen the prelate's stomach. On seeing Mariana, he twice exclaimed that she was a fine young woman. He kept one eye on her and the other on the prioress, jealous behind the grille. The prioress returned to the wine and told him to admire the visitor alone.
The prioress withdrew offended, with snuff on her lip. The chaplain gently asked Mariana where she came from. ‘I come from the village,’ she replied. He asked which one, but Mariana said she was not making her confession. The priest replied that she could confess to him. ‘I can see that,’ Mariana replied, giving him no encouragement. The chaplain called her ill-tempered; Mariana replied that she was just as he saw her. The chaplain asked whom she wanted, and Mariana replied that she had already told those inside. At that moment, a voice called Mariana to the parlour.
Mariana gave the chaplain a brief bow and followed the voice. She asked her friend to speak with her in private. The servant went to find a grille where they could talk without witnesses. Mariana had asked for her friend by the name Brito, but now called her Joaquina. The narrative does not establish whether Brito and Joaquina were the same person or whether one of the names had changed in transmission. While she waited, Mariana examined the convent windows one by one. Behind iron bars, she saw a lady who was not wearing a habit. Her heart raced: could that be Teresa? ‘If only I were loved as she is!’ Mariana thought. As she climbed to the grille, she looked back and repeated the wish.
Mariana asked who the very fair young woman at the window was. Joaquina first thought of one of the two beautiful novices. Mariana explained that the lady had not been wearing a nun's habit. The servant then identified Dona Teresa de Albuquerque. Without knowing her, she had thus confirmed her intuition. She said she had come because of the young lady, though she had no dealings with her. She did, however, know someone who loved her deeply. Joaquina guessed that she meant the chief magistrate's son. The servant believed Simão was in Coimbra, and Mariana neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she asked her for a difficult favour.
Mariana wished to speak directly to Teresa, whom the nuns kept under watch. Joaquina revealed that Teresa would leave the following morning. She did not know whether the new convent was in Lisbon or Porto. Her trunks were ready, and Teresa longed to leave that place. Mariana admitted only that she needed to give her a paper. She promised her some chintz for a dress if Joaquina could bring Teresa to her. The servant laughed at Mariana's sudden wealth but refused the offer. As the nuns were in choir, Joaquina promised to try to bring Teresa to the grille without witnesses. She found Teresa absorbed in thought at the place where she had seen Mariana. She asked Teresa to come quickly and closed the door to the grille. If asked, she would say that Teresa was on the viewing terrace. Mariana's voice trembled as she introduced herself as the bearer of a letter. Teresa recognised Simão's handwriting and read the letter twice, agitated.
With neither ink nor inkwell, Teresa could not reply in writing. She sent word that she would leave before dawn for the Monchique convent in Porto. Simão was not to distress himself, because she remained ever constant. ‘Do not come here, because it would be useless and very dangerous,’ Teresa insisted. She asked him to visit her later in Porto, where she would find a way to speak to him. She repeated that he was not to come to Viseu for any reason. Escape was impossible, and she would travel under close guard. Baltasar, his sisters, Tadeu and many baggage and litter servants would accompany her. A roadside rescue would be madness and end badly.
Joaquina warned that the prioress was looking for Teresa inside the convent. Startled, Teresa removed a gold ring and offered it as a token of gratitude. ‘I cannot accept it, madam,’ Mariana replied firmly. She had not yet performed any service deserving payment. Any reward would have to come from the person who had sent her. She took leave of Teresa, wishing her happiness, without taking the ring. Joaquina wanted to know whether the young lady's lover was nearby. Mariana postponed the explanation, thanked her and left. On the swift return, she repeated all Teresa's words. She was distracted only by thoughts of the woman Simão loved. Teresa was not merely noble and rich; she was also more beautiful than any woman Mariana had known. Mariana's heart, bowed by what her conscience told her, wept in silence.
Simão watched through a crack, scanning the road and listening for each hoofbeat. When he spotted Mariana, he went down into the yard without caution, forgetting his wound. It was the eighth day after the shot, and the wound had entered its most dangerous phase. Mariana delivered the message without changing a single word. Simão listened calmly until he heard that Baltasar would accompany Teresa to Porto. ‘Cousin Baltasar! Always him, digging both his grave and mine,’ he murmured with a dark smile. João replied that Baltasar could die, but Simão would live for as long as he was João da Cruz. He advised him to let Teresa go to Porto, as she would be safe in the convent. Simão could wait in Coimbra until Teresa outwitted her unsuspecting father. ‘I shall see her before I leave for Coimbra,’ Simão declared.
Mariana reminded him that Teresa had insisted he must not go to Viseu. ‘Because of her cousin?’ Simão asked ironically. Mariana replied timidly that perhaps it was, and that the visit would be useless. João cried that, if this was what Simão wanted, they could take Teresa from her father on the road. ‘Father, do not involve this gentleman in any more trouble!’ Mariana pleaded. Simão would drag no one into his misfortune: he would struggle alone. With rare gravity, João said that Simão knew nothing of the world and should not face trouble alone. He was a rough man, but experience had taught him, like the owner of donkeys who eventually learns how to treat them. In his opinion, no man should ruin himself over a woman, even if she were a king's daughter. He compared women to frogs in a pond: one went under and four soon appeared at the surface. A wealthy nobleman like Simão could easily find beauty and a dowry impressive enough to turn his head. João swore that he was not speaking from fear: he knew how to bring down two men at once. If Simão attacked the escort, João would return in three hours with four brave men.
Simão fixed his blazing eyes on the farrier, while Mariana clasped her hands over her breast. She again begged her father not to give such advice. João told her to be quiet, unload the mare and give it feed. Seeing her withdraw in distress, Simão asked her not to be upset. He would follow none of the farrier's advice, although he recognised his good intentions. ‘I shall do what honour and my heart advise me to do,’ he concluded.
At nightfall, alone, Simão began a long farewell letter to Teresa. ‘I consider you lost. I may not see tomorrow's sun,’ he wrote. Everything around him seemed to have the colour of death and the chill of the grave. He could not be the man Teresa wished him to be, because his passion could not accept misfortune. She was his life, and only the fear of losing her was killing him. Teresa might endure a slow agony, but Simão believed himself unable to endure it. He could live with an unhappy love; he could not live with unavenged rancour, which seemed like hell to him. He would not give his life away cheaply: Teresa's persecutor would not outlive him. He was jealous of every hour of her life and said that he was her ‘husband in heaven’. He asked her never to turn her inward gaze towards the man who had destroyed their shared hopes. He imagined her reading the letter when he was already in another world, awaiting her prayers. He marvelled at the spark of faith shining in his darkness. Teresa's love had given him religion; he still believed, but felt abandoned by divine providence. He told her to live faithfully devoted to his shade and show the world why she had drawn him into the abyss. He began one final sentence: ‘By the time you read this letter...’ His tears, and then Mariana's entrance, prevented him from continuing. The letter remained unfinished and had not yet been delivered to Teresa.
As she laid the table, Mariana murmured that she was doing so for Simão for the last time. When he asked why, she replied only that her heart told her so. Simão superstitiously accepted the prediction, and his silence confirmed it for Mariana. She returned with the chicken and tears in her eyes. Simão asked whether she was crying because she pitied him. Mariana feared never seeing him again, or seeing him again in such a terrible state that she would rather die first. Simão tried to say that matters might not turn out that way. She then asked him to grant her one request. ‘Do not go out tonight or tomorrow,’ she pleaded. He replied that the request was impossible: he would die if he did not go out. Mariana begged pardon for her boldness and entrusted him to God's protection. She then went to tell her father about the student's intentions.
João hurried in to remind him of the dangers of his wound and tried to stop him leaving. When he failed to dissuade him, he resolved to accompany him. Simão thanked him, but firmly refused his company. João prepared the carbine and gave the mare double feed for any eventuality. To stop him, Simão lied that he had changed his mind and would no longer go to Viseu. He said that he would follow Teresa to Porto after a few days of convalescence. João readily believed him, but Mariana remained doubtful about the change of plan. Trusting what her heart foretold, she asked her father to keep watch over the young nobleman.
At eleven that night, Simão rose and listened to the house. He heard nothing except the mare moving beside the manger. He prepared both pistols with fresh powder. He wrote a note addressed to João and placed it with the unfinished letter for Teresa. He opened the shutters, stepped onto the wooden balcony and jumped down to the road. He had taken only a few steps when a crack opened and he heard Mariana's voice. ‘Farewell, Senhor Simão. I shall pray that Our Lady goes with you.’ Simão believed he heard within himself his guardian angel speaking through Mariana. To him, Mariana had no wisdom other than that of a heart illuminated by love. ‘Give your father an embrace, and farewell, until later, or...’ Simão began. ‘Until the Last Judgement,’ Mariana interrupted. Simão replied that fate would be fulfilled and whatever heaven willed would happen. He then disappeared into the darkness, armed and determined to disobey Teresa's warning. Mariana lit the sanctuary lamp. Then she knelt and prayed with all the fervour of her tears.
At one o'clock, Simão stood outside the convent, watching every window. He saw no light; only the lamp before the Blessed Sacrament shone pale through a church window. He sat on the church steps and remained motionless until he heard four o'clock strike. Among many images, he saw Mariana pleading with him, her hands clasped. He also imagined hearing Teresa groan and beg heaven to save her. The image of Tadeu dragging his daughter to another convent did not increase his thirst for revenge. But whenever he thought of Baltasar, he instinctively checked that he still had his pistols. Soon after four, nature awoke with the light of dawn and the song of birds. The Angelus bells sounded as the red horizon brightened mountains and plains. All that beauty of heaven and earth was unable to hold the young poet's gaze.
At half past four, Simão heard the jingling of approaching litters. He went into a narrow street opposite the convent. The empty litters stopped, and three ladies dressed for travel arrived. They were Baltasar's sisters, with two lads leading the mules. All three went in when the convent's heavy door opened. Tadeu de Albuquerque and Baltasar Coutinho appeared next. Tadeu leaned on his nephew, weary and at times almost strengthless. Baltasar, elegant in Spanish dress, spoke as though his arguments were unanswerable. He comforted his uncle by making light of his pain. ‘No lamenting, Uncle. The misfortune would be to see her married,’ he said. He promised to return Teresa cured within a year: the convent would purge vice from her heart. He blamed Tadeu for not demanding blind obedience from his daughter from childhood. Tadeu sobbed that Teresa was his only daughter. To Baltasar, this worsened her disobedience and demanded punishment.
The gatehouse opened again, and the three ladies came out, followed by Teresa. Tadeu wiped away his tears and stepped towards his daughter, who kept her eyes on the ground. He told her that there was still time for her to be a good daughter. Teresa replied that her conscience did not accuse her of being a bad daughter. Her father asked whether she wished to return home and forget the man who was making them all unhappy. ‘No, Father. My destiny is the convent. I shall not forget him, even after death.’ Teresa admitted to being a disobedient daughter, but refused to become a liar. When she raised her eyes, she saw Baltasar and shuddered. ‘Will your hateful presence not leave me alone even here?’ she asked him. Smiling, Baltasar replied that he would be one of the servants accompanying her. He claimed that a murderer had killed two servants fit to serve her, and therefore offered himself in their place. The accusation against Simão was false: João had killed the attackers. Teresa declined the courtesy, but Baltasar insisted that he would serve her. She observed ironically that cowards hid behind servants who allowed themselves to be killed. Baltasar replied that the final reckoning had not yet been made.
While Tadeu took leave of the prioress and the nuns, the four ladies left the entrance hall with Baltasar. In the street opposite, they found Simão leaning against a corner. Teresa was the first to see and recognise him: ‘Simão!’ Simão did not move, and Baltasar, alarmed, still doubted what he saw. Baltasar called him a villain and a murderer and ordered him to leave. Simão took a few steps forward and calmly asked why he was a villain. He said that he would not argue and turned emotionally to Teresa. He asked her to endure her suffering with resignation, as he was trying to do. She should carry her cross without cursing the violence, hoping for strength from divine mercy. Tadeu indignantly asked what that scoundrel was saying. Baltasar accused Simão of insulting his uncle and comforting Teresa in her disobedience. He threatened to crush him there and called him a low-born wretch.
Simão replied that the wretch was the man who threatened him without daring to take a step forward. Baltasar claimed that he had held back only to avoid lowering himself before the servants. Simão said that Baltasar was such a coward that he would have the first street labourer he found whip him. Enraged, Baltasar hurled himself at Simão and managed to grip his throat with both hands. Simão, armed and already driven by revenge, fired during the attack. The death thus resulted from Simão's earlier decision as well as Baltasar's immediate assault. It was neither a cold-blooded execution nor simple self-defence. By the time the ladies tried to separate the two men, a bullet had already torn open the top of Baltasar's skull. He swayed for a moment and fell at Teresa's feet. Tadeu shouted, and the men of the escort surrounded Simão. Simão kept his finger on the trigger of the second pistol. The servants were preparing to attack him when a man with his face covered ran in from the opposite street. It was João da Cruz, who took his place beside him with his blunderbuss ready to fire. The men stopped.
‘Run, the mare is waiting at the end of the street,’ João ordered. ‘I will not run. Save yourself, and quickly,’ Simão replied. João insisted that a crowd was gathering and the soldiers would soon arrive. Simão refused again, his eyes fixed on Teresa, who had fainted on the church steps. He said that he was already lost and begged his friend to flee for his daughter's sake. João might still be useful to him; for that reason, he must save himself. When doors and windows began to open, the farrier fled and mounted the mare. One of the first neighbours to come out was the chief bailiff. Tadeu shouted for the killer to be arrested. When the chief bailiff asked who it was, Simão identified himself: ‘It was me.’ Astonished to recognise the chief magistrate's son, the bailiff came closer and quietly offered to let him escape. ‘I will not run. I am under arrest. Here are my weapons,’ Simão replied. He voluntarily handed over both pistols. When he recovered from the shock, Tadeu ordered Teresa to be placed in one of the litters. He also ordered two servants to accompany his unconscious daughter to Porto. Baltasar's sisters went with their brother's body to their uncle's house.