Their rustle and movement has a wonderful charm, Senorita Isabel; no one can imagine it.
"Oh, I assure you, Senor, I can see and feel it. But to be there! That, indeed, would make me perfectly happy."
"Had you been there to-day you would have admired, above all things, the feat of the matadore Jarocho. It was upon the great bull Sandoval--a very monster, I assure you. He came bellowing at Jarocho, as if he meant his instant death. His eyeballs were living fire; his nostrils steamed with fury; well, then, at the precise moment, Jarocho put his slippered feet between his horns, and vaulted, light as a bird flies, over his back. Then Sandoval turned to him again. Well, he calmly waited for his approach, and his long sword met him between the horns. As lightly as a lady touches her cavalier, he seemed to touch Sandoval; but the brute fell like a stone at his feet. What a storm of vivas! What clapping of hands and shouts of `valiente!' And the ladies flung their flowers, and the men flung their hats into the arena, and Jarocho stepped proudly enough on them, I can tell you, though he was watching the door for the next bull."
"Ah, Senor, why will men fight each other, when it is so much more grand and interesting to fight bulls?"
"Senorita Isabel, if you could only convince them of that! But then, it is not always interesting to the matadore; for instance, it is only by the mercy of God and the skill of an Americano that Jarocho is at this moment out of purgatory."
The Senora raised herself from among the satin pillows of her sofa, and asked, excitedly; "Was there then some accident, Senor? Is Jarocho wounded? Poor Jarocho!"
"Not a hair of his head is hurt, Senora. I will tell you.
Saint Jago, who followed Sandoval, was a little devil. He was light and quick, and had intelligence. You could see by the gleam in his eyes that he took in the whole scene, and considered not only the people in the ring, but the people in the amphitheatre also, to be his tormentors. Perhaps in that reflection he was not mistaken. He meant mischief from the beginning; and he pressed Jarocho so close that he leaped the barrier for safety. As he leaped, Saint Jago leaped also.
Imagine now the terror of the spectators! The screams! The rush! The lowered horns within an inch of Jarocho, and Fray Joseph Maria running with the consecrated wafer to the doomed man! At that precise moment there was a rifle-shot, and the bellowing brute rolled backward into the arena--dead."
"Oh, Maria Purissima! How grand! In such moments one really lives, Senor. And but for this absurd rebellion I and my daughters could have had the emotion. It is indeed cruel."
"You said the shot was fired by an American?"
