"What's that? Not in prison?" she asked. "Well, that's very decent of you, I'm sure," she sneers. "Good-night, gentlemen, I'm off!" she cries, and runs out into the night. Everybody follows her but Zuniga, who knows well enough he cannot trust her. They have no sooner disappeared than Zuniga hears shouts and "hurrahs" outside. He runs to the window and leans out.

"Hello! They are going to have a torch-light procession, eh?" and he leans farther out. "By the great horn spoon," he presently exclaims—or something which is its Spanish equivalent, "it's that bull-fighting fellow, Escamillo, who won that fight in Granada! Hello, out there, old friend! Come in here and have something to drink with me. To your past success and to your future glory!" Motioning to the bull-fighter outside, Zuniga goes toward the door. In he comes, this Escamillo, all covered with the glory of having killed some frisky and dangerous bulls—with all the chances against the bulls, nevertheless. Everybody else enters with Escamillo and all stand ready for refreshments at Zuniga's expense. Carmen comes back, and of course is to be found in the thick of the fun.

"Rah, rah, rah!" everybody yells, calling a toast to the bull-fighter, who is dressed up till he looks as fine as a little wagon. The toast suits him perfectly and he says so. He squares himself and strikes an attitude of grandeur without the least doubt that he is the greatest thing in the world, and while he is singing about it, half the people in the opera house are likely to agree with him. Here he goes:

[[Listen]]

For a toast your own will avail me,
Señors, señors!
For all you men of war,
Like all Toréros, as brother hail me!
In a fight, in a fight we both take delight!
'Tis holiday, the circus full,
The circus full from rim to floor:
The lookers on, beyond control,
The lookers on now begin to murmur and roar!
Some are calling,
And others bawling
And howling too, with might and main!
For they await a sight appalling!
'Tis the day of the brave of Spain!
Come on! make ready!
Come on! Come on! Ah!
Toréador, make ready!
Toréador! Toréador!
And think on her, on her, who all can see:
On a dark eyed lady,
And that love waits for thee, Toréador,
Love waits, love waits for thee!