"No," replied the bull-fighter, fixing his deep gaze upon Militona.
"You should bandage it, and apply salt and water," said the old woman, determined not to let the conversation drop.
Juancho made no reply, but addressed himself to Militona.
"Who was the young man who sat beside you at the bull-fight?"
"I do not know him. I never saw him before."
"But you would like to know him?"
"The supposition is polite. Well, and what if I should?"
"I would kill him, the dainty gentleman in polished boots and white gloves."
"You talk like a madman, Juancho. What right have I given you to be jealous of me? You love me, you say—is that my fault? Am I obliged to adore you, because you have taken it into your head to find me pretty?"
"True enough," interposed the old woman, "she is not obliged. Nevertheless, you would make a handsome couple. Prettier hand never rested on more vigorous arm; and if you danced a cachuca together at the garden of the Delicias, people would stand on the chairs to look at you."