"What does it matter to you? Are you by any chance jealous?... And if it were true ... what then?"
She remained silent a long while, with a strange look in her eyes, the look of madness, which was always accompanied by extravagant thoughts.
"You must have struck many women," she said, looking at him curiously; "do not deny it, it interests me greatly! No, not your wife, I know she is very good, but all those that toreros mix with; women who love better when they are beaten. No? Say truly, have you never struck any one?"
Gallardo protested with the dignity of a brave man, incapable of hurting those weaker than himself. Doña Sol showed a certain disbelief in his asseverations.
"One day you will have to beat me.... I should like to know what it is" ... she said resolutely....
But her expression darkened, she frowned, and a steely gleam lit up the golden light in her eyes.
"No, my brute, pay no attention to me, and do not attempt it. You would be the loser."
The advice was just, and Gallardo had cause to remember it. One day, in a moment of intimacy, a somewhat rough caress from his fighting hand was enough to rouse this woman's fury, who was attracted by the man, and yet hated him at the same time.
"Take that." And with a fist as hard as a club she gave him a blow on the jaw from below upwards with a precision, which seemed inspired by a knowledge of the rules of boxing.
Gallardo remained bewildered by pain and shame, while the lady, as if she suddenly realized her unprovoked aggression, endeavoured to justify herself with cold hostility.