We made peace just as we had made war—quickly. If I was seeking my own glory in this book, I would say that I began the negotiations; but no, it was she who started them. Some moments later, as I sat there hanging my head, she lowered her head too, but turned her eyes up so that she could look into mine. I played hard to get; then I made as if to get up and go away, but I didn’t get up, nor do I know if I had the strength to go. Capitu looked at me with such tender eyes, and her position itself made them so supplicating, that I let myself be, put my arm around her waist, she took hold of my fingertips, and …
Once more, Dona Fortunata appeared in the doorway; I don’t know what for: she didn’t even give me time to pull my arm away, and disappeared immediately. She may only have been doing her duty by her conscience, carrying out a ceremony, like obligatory prayers said in a hurry, with no real devotion; unless it was to ascertain with her own eyes the reality that her heart told her was there …
Whatever it was, my arm continued holding her daughter’s waist, and that was how we made up. Best of all was that each of us now wanted to take the blame for what had been said, and we begged forgiveness of each other. Capitu put the blame on her insomnia, on her headache, her low spirits, and finally, “on the sulks.” I, who was very prone to tears in those days, felt my eyes go moist … It was pure love, it was the effect of my darling’s sufferings, it was the tenderness of reconciliation.