The bull staggered, a torrent of blood sprang from its mouth, and then it fell as if struck by lightning!
For a single instant it seemed that the crowd could not realize what had happened, and then, as they saw the bull was really dead, they gave a burst of tempestuous applause, such as had not before been heard that day.
“Beautiful boy! You angel! God bless you! God bless you!”
They were crazed with delight and admiration. Never before had such a thing happened in a Madrid bull ring. It was a marvel.
Frank could scarcely realize that he had accomplished this wonderful feat. With the bloody sword in his hand, he stood looking down at the bull in a dazed way. To the crowd it seemed that he was quite cool, and that he had been quite cool and confident all the time.
Seeing there was no further danger from the bull, he returned to Señorita Zuera.
She was on her feet, gazing at him in a curious, wondering way. He took off his hat and bowed very low to her, saying, in Spanish:
“I trust you are not harmed, señorita?”
“Not at all,” she answered, in a musical tone of voice. “I was stunned for a moment, and I should have been killed but for you.”
He bowed again.