His modesty, which was "only fastened with pins," was quickly lost. The servant, seeing the ill-effect of his criticism, was anxious to amend it.
"No; but certainly it was a superior skirmish; and it makes no difference whether it was done quick or slow."
"No matter at all; we have talked enough, and I don't care to hear any more such nonsense...."
And Enrique opened the door to let him out, and slammed it behind him, muttering:—
"The devil take the stupid fellow! Ricardito must have given him that idea about hurrying.... That rascal had better be ashamed of himself, and not let Felipe Gómez hold his bull by the leg."
And fully persuaded that the stain on his rival's honor could not be wiped out by all the perfumes of Arabia, he remained tolerably calm. The reading of the journals, and the presence of the bloody ear, mute witness of his courage, finally restored him to complete tranquillity.
But one thing afterwards occurred to disturb his peace of mind, and that was the way of preserving his trophy. If it were left in its present state, it would soon become offensive. Should he put it in alcohol? Then the hair would come off, and it would be turned into a piece of ugly gristle. Should he have it mounted? He would have to go out and make inquiries. He made up his mind to go immediately after dinner to Severini, the great taxidermist of San Jeronimo Avenue.
At dinner the talk turned on the bull-fight. Don Bernardo had already been informed by the newspapers of his son's prowess; and though secretly, at the bottom of his heart, he was flattered by the applause that he had won, he did not fail to appear stern, and to chide him, although not as severely as sometimes.
"Come now, Enrique, let this be the last time that you make a public exhibition of yourself in this way. You know that I do not like to have a son of mine play the rôle of torero, even though he do it well."
Enrique understood well that his father was not really angry, and was assured of the truth of the old adage, "Success pardons all dubious steps."