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"It has killed him!" "He is gored in the stomach!" they yelled from the seats.
A long time passed. Gallardo was not quite sure he had not been asleep. Suddenly the sound of Do?a Sol's voice woke him from his drowsiness; she was singing in a low voice that trembled with passion.
"My children, I am going.... Mind that you are good ... observe propriety and decency.... My company is waiting for me. What would they say if their Captain failed them?"
Blessed be the mother who bore so brave a son!...
Then, in order to celebrate the stroke, he called on Morito's sprite, who was already creeping out, anticipating the order, to fetch them a bottle of wine. When they knew that the man who accompanied the professor was the celebrated Gallardo, whose portraits they had so often admired on cigarette boxes, their delight knew no bounds, and they clinked glasses of wine to the success of the torero, even Morito taking part in the festival.
One evening, finding her inclined to be confidential, and feeling some curiosity as to her past, he questioned her as to the kings and other great personages, whom report said had crossed her path.
But El Nacional refused the preferred civility. No wine, thanks, he never drank. Wine was the cause of all the working classes being so hopelessly behindhand. All the assembly burst out laughing, as if something amusing had been said which they were expecting, and the banderillero began at once to air his opinions.
Through the great doorway came the noise of the crowd and the sound of music.
Through the open doors came the wail of instruments, the voices of the singers, a sweet and flowing melody,[Pg 246] accompanied by the perfume of the flowers and the smell of wax.
The espada went through a little wicket giving access to the enclosure, which was surrounded on three sides by a wall of masonry, up to the height of a man's shoulders. This wall was strengthened at intervals by strong posts which supported a balcony above. Here and there opened little passages, so narrow that a man could only slip through them sideways. In this courtyard were eight bulls, some quietly lying down, others turning over the piles of grass lying in front of them.
Gallardo's manager, with his aggressive and noisy enthusiasm, rather disturbed the social gravity. They endured it as he was an old friend, and ended by laughing at his flights. But it was impossible for sensible men to discuss the merits of the various toreros quietly with Don Jos. Often when they alluded to Gallardo as "a very brave fellow, but without much art" they would look timorously towards the door.
The bull carried four banderillas instead of six, and those were so feebly planted that it scarcely seemed to feel the discomfort.