Lubito flung out exasperated hands.
"Didn't you hear her father, the old man in the 'reds,' place her in my care?"
"Yes. Well, what has happened?"
"Enough! I saw Madruja carried, by the guards, to one of the rooms in the west wing of the palacio. Very good. I followed, and marked the room. The windows seemed rather old; perhaps the bars could be bent. I did not know. I was in her father's place. It was my duty to see."
Strawbridge's interest picked up, as a man's always does when a woman is introduced into the narrative:
"Yes, I guess you would be very strict about your daughter. Then what?"
"Well, last night I slept in the dressing-room at the bull-ring. That is, I tried to sleep, but I could not. I kept thinking of my daughter Madruja, pining for Esteban. I got up and walked out into the bull-ring, thinking of the lonely little bride. Ah, señor, there were stars! I can never look at stars without thinking of the eyes of brides...." Lubito shivered, reached up and straightened his hair a trifle, then went on: "I said to myself, 'Cá! A man who stumbles goes all the faster if he does not fall.' So I made up my mind. I went back to the dressing-room, in the dark found my guitar, and started for the presidencia. Señor, you will believe it when I tell you I was trembling all the way, like a mimosa leaf. I slipped very quietly around the plaza, past the department of fomento, and so to the window where my little daughter slept. I came up softly and tried the bars with all my strength, but although I am a bull-fighter, señor, they did not budge."
The drummer stood looking at the veins in the bull-fighter's forehead. The fellow went on:
"There was nothing to do, señor, but to sing, to sing a love-song to my little Madruja, and perhaps she would come to the window, or open the door if she could. I touched the chords and began singing 'La Encantadora,' softly, into the window, just for her.