“Yes—for that, and to see my sweetheart.”
The Frenchwoman smiled, and her husband said:
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of which?—The bulls, or my sweetheart?”
“Of both!” exclaimed the Frenchman, laughing heartily.
“What a simpleton!” reiterated the countryman, smiling, and looking at him as he would at a child.
“All you have to do with women and bulls to understand them,” said Quentin, with the air of a consummate connoisseur, “is to know them. If the bull attacks you on the right, just step to the left, or vice versa.”
“And if you don’t have time to do that?” questioned the Frenchman rather anxiously.
“Then you may count yourself among the departed, and beg them to say a few masses for the salvation of your soul.”
“It is frightful—And the ladies are very enthusiastic over a good toreador, eh?”