I spent hours writing, tearing up, and rewriting a letter to Monica which Pilar was to try and deliver if she could, and when she could. We lunched and did our best to make careless conversation, as if we were not anxious and excited—Dick and I for our own selfish reasons; the two others in sympathy. We talked of Seville, past and present—once “Sultana of the [pg 237]South,” still beautiful and gay, though her reign is over. “We are very happy even now, among ourselves, we Sevillanos,” said the Cherub. “You should see a tertulia, if you want to know how families can enjoy themselves together. But there's another side of the picture, too. English and American people—there are a few—accuse us of being unsociable. They say we never give invitations to luncheons and dinners as people of other countries do; that a few calls are exchanged, and that is all, in an intercourse, it may be, of many years.”
“Oh, I know what they say!” laughed Pilar. “I heard an American girl give a friend of hers a description of families she knew in Seville. ‘You go to call,’ said she; ‘and if the ladies are at home (they won't be if they can help it), you're shown into a shut-up drawing-room smelling of mustiness. In front of the fireplace, if there is any, or else the brazier-table, a hard yellow or red satin sofa is drawn up, an armchair on each side. All the rest of the furniture's ranged in a straight row round the wall. It's in the afternoon, but you wait till the ladies dress, because if they're in they're sure to be in wrappers, unless it's so late that their carriage is ready for the paseo. After you're nearly gone to sleep, they come, and you talk of any uninteresting things they can think of; never interesting ones, because they're kept for intimate friends' gossip; and the girls simper and stare as if you were a curiosity, because you're allowed to walk in the street without a maid.’ That's being ‘sociable’ in Seville, according to the American girl; and I'm afraid that she's right from a foreigner's point of view.”
All this, to amuse us; but unfortunately it was far from amusing to Dick. He sat looking introspective, and wondering no doubt, if Pilar meant to hint that, so far as the door of her heart was concerned, foreigners might save themselves the trouble of knocking.
Seeing him taciturn, as hostess she felt it her duty to console him, so when luncheon was over an invitation to go and visit Vivillo, the beloved bull, was delivered to all, with an especially beguiling look at Dick. He accepted with suspicious alacrity, [pg 238]and to please her I said yes; while the Cherub, who was evidently longing for a siesta, shrugged his shoulders dutifully. It seemed that we could see the pasture which was Vivillo's drawing-room without trespassing upon Carmona's land, on which I should have been loth to set my foot, even for Pilar; but when, after twenty minutes' walk across meadows, we arrived at the hedge which divided the Duke's ganaderia from Colonel O'Donnel's farm, Dick would not be satisfied with a distant inspection of the grazing bulls. Pilar (denuded of her mantilla, but still in the black brocade, ready for the afternoon in Seville) was going to pay a friendly call upon her darling, and Dick was resolved upon an introduction.
Pilar cried gaily to a herdsman visible in the distance, and joyously obedient to the girl's evidently familiar voice, the young fellow came running towards us, garrocha in hand. Between him and the hedge which separated the two properties, was a deep ditch which no bull, save in a state of fury, would care to jump. But not far away a long plank lay half hidden in rich grass, and the ganadero dragged it nearer, without a question, as if he knew already what was expected of him. Having pushed it across the ditch, to form a bridge at the spot where the hedge was thinnest, he took off his hat, and welcomed the gracious señor and señorita home. Vivillo, said he, was well, but would be the better for a sight of the señorita, who was the one human being he had seemed to love since the day of the tienta which had proved him brave.
Yes, there he was—the “lively one,” well named indeed!—grazing for the moment off there to the south-east. Could not the señorita see his brown back among the grey and black ones, farthest away? But she had only to call. Vivillo knew her voice and would answer to it as to no other. It was really a marvel. And was it true that she had begun negotiating for his purchase? Ah, it was a pity that such a toro bravo would not have his chance to fight in some splendid corrida, where the noblest bulls of Spain must meet the most skilled of the espadas. He—Mateo—had [pg 239]often thought what a grand spectacle it would be to see Fuentes and Vivillo together. But—well, better waste the best bull that ever grazed on these pastures, and please the señorita. For her interests it was a good thing that the Señor Duque seldom or never troubled to come and see los toros, for if his eye once lit upon Vivillo he would never part with him for any money, except for the honour of the corrida.
“Then be sure you don't let the Duke have a hint!” laughed Pilar, happy and fearless as a boy, as she squeezed through the hedge and tripped across the plank, followed by Dick.
“She is perfectly safe,” said the Cherub, in answer to an uneasy look from me. “She's as well known over there almost as the herdsmen who tend the bulls from their birth; besides, she has some curious influence over animals. I have never seen anything like it in another human being, though I have read of such things. Since she was a child, I have no longer had any fear for her over there; and Señor Waring is safe also, while he keeps with her and Mateo, unless he were foolish enough to make some demonstration. But for me, I am no friend of los toros when they are at home.”
Dick and Pilar were in Carmona's pasture now, moving towards a troop of grazing bulls, magnificent creatures whose terrible horns and silken hides (branded with double circles under a crown) glittered in the sun. Scarcely a head was tossed in honour of the new-comers; but as Pilar raised her girlish voice to give a peculiar call, I saw a dark form in the distance separate itself from a group. Then a brown, lean-flanked bull, nobly armed with horns grand as the antlers of a stag, bounded away from his companions, and rushed in so straight a line towards Pilar, that in spite of the Cherub's words, my heart was wrenched.
But I need not have feared. While the young herdsman and Dick stood by passive and admiring, this toro bravo of famous fighting breed reduced his run to a canter, and trotted up to Pilar as tamely as if he had been a belled cabestro.