“Dead!”
Such was the cry which escaped from the lips of the group of chulos; and which, passing from mouth to mouth throughout the vast amphitheatre, brought mourning to all hearts.
Fifteen days had fled since this fatal bull-fight. In a bedchamber, from which the luxurious furniture had disappeared, on an elegant bed, but whose furniture was soiled and torn, was lying a young woman, pale, meagre, and broken down.
Nobody was near her.
This woman seemed to have awakened from a long sleep; she seated herself on her bed, let her astonished looks ramble around the chamber, and resting her forehead on her hands, sought to collect her ideas.
“Marina,” she called in a voice harsh and feeble.
A woman entered; it was not Marina. It was an old woman bringing in a beverage she had prepared.
The invalid gazed on her attentively.
“I know that face!” she said, surprised.
“It is possible, my sister,” replied the woman with sweetness; “we render our services equally to the rich and to the poor.”