One night in the soft twilight of Doña Sol's bedroom, Gallardo felt something very like fear, hearing her speak, and watching her eyes.
"I should like to run on all fours. I should like to be a bull, and that you should stand before me rapier in hand. Fine gorings I would give you! Here ... and here!"
And with her clenched fist, to which her excitement gave fresh strength, she planted several blows on the matador's chest only covered by his thin silk vest. Gallardo drew back, not wishing to admit that a woman could possibly hurt him.
"No, not a bull. I should like to be a dog ... a shepherd's dog ... one of those with long fangs, to come out and bark at you. Do you see that fine fellow who kills bulls, and who the public say is so brave? Well, I shall bite him. I shall bite him like this! Aaaam!"
And with hysterical delight she fixed her teeth in the matador's arm, punishing his swelling biceps. Exasperated by the pain the matador swore a big oath, shaking the beautiful half-dressed woman from him, whose snake-like golden hair stood up round her head like that of a drunken bacchante.
Doña Sol seemed suddenly to awake.
"Poor fellow! I have hurt you. And it was I!... I who am sometimes mad! Let me kiss the bite to cure it. Let me kiss all your glorious scars. My poor little brute, it made you cry out!"
And the beautiful fury suddenly became tender and gentle, purring round the torero like a kitten.
One evening, finding her inclined to be confidential, and feeling some curiosity as to her past, he questioned her as to the kings and other great personages, whom report said had crossed her path.
With a cold stare in her eyes she replied to his curiosity: