“Good Villasca! Brave Villasca! Look at him! He did not even turn pale! He will kill the bull with the first stroke! Bravo! bravo!”
Like a cat, the bull whirled, furious at being tricked in such a manner. In a twinkling, the animal charged again, and this time Villasca made a greater exertion in getting out of the way, but escaped unharmed again.
However, he had planted his sword, and the bull recovered after passing, turning about with marvelous adroitness. Like a panther, the creature rushed again.
This time, with a hasty aim, Villasca struck with his gleaming sword.
He failed!
Planting his sword awkwardly, he simply succeeded in wounding the bull. The sword fell from his hand, and he barely saved himself by a great leap.
What a howl of rage went up from the spectators. It seemed that the laughing, applauding multitude had been turned, in a twinkling, into one vast body of furious animals. Everybody seemed to stand up, screaming and hurling abuse at the man they had applauded a few moments before. Every one forgot that Villasca had killed a score of savage bulls in other fights. He had failed now; and he failed awkwardly. That was enough.
“Assassin! Impostor! Go hide yourself! Let yourself be killed!”
They reviled him, they spat at him, they threw orange peel and stubs of cigars at him. It seemed that they would have torn him limb from limb if they could have placed their hands on him.
But the bull did not hesitate. Once more he charged after the discomfited espada.