"How did he die?" said the Sergeant, his tanned visage like a mask, but never removing his eyes from her face.
"By the garrote" she answered, in a hushed whisper. "I saw him die."
"Where?"
"In the great plaza of Salamanca," she said, her eyes fixed in a stare of regretful remembrance. "It was filled from side to side, and the balconies were peopled as for a bull-fight. Ah, he was a man!"
"His name?"
"José Maria, the Gitano, the prince of brigands!" murmured La Giralda.
"Ah," said the Sergeant, coolly, "I have heard of him."