"Say! Have you never killed a man?"
Gallardo started, and in his astonishment disengaged himself from Doña Sol. Who! He?... Never. He had been a good fellow who had followed his profession without doing harm to anyone. He had scarcely even fought with his companions at the "capeas," when they held on to the peace because they were the strongest. He had exchanged a few blows with others of his profession, or fought a round in a café, but the life of a man inspired him with deep respect. Bulls were another affair.
"So that you have never felt the slightest wish to kill a man?... And I who thought that toreros...."
The sun had set, and the landscape, which before had seemed so brilliant, now looked dull and grey; even the river had disappeared, and Doña Sol spurred on her horse without saying another word, or even appearing to notice if the espada were following her.
Before the Holy Week holidays Gallardo's family returned to Seville. The espada was to fight at the Easter corrida. It was the first time he would kill in Doña Sol's presence since he had come to know her, and it made him doubtful of his powers.
Besides, he never could fight in Seville without a certain disquietude. He could accept an unlucky mischance in any other Plaza in Spain, thinking he would probably not return there for some time. But in his own native town, where his greatest enemies lived!...
"We must see you distinguish yourself," said Don José. "Think of those who will be watching you. I expect you to remain the first man in the world."
On the Saturday of "Gloria,"[88] during the small hours of the night, the enclosing of the cattle for the following day's corrida was to take place, and Doña Sol wished to assist as picqeur at the operation, which presented the further delight of taking place in the dark. The bulls had to be brought from the pastures of Tablada to the enclosures at the Plaza.
In spite of Gallardo's wish to accompany Doña Sol he was unable to do so; his manager opposed it, alleging the necessity of his keeping himself fresh and vigorous for the following afternoon. At midnight the road leading from the pastures to the Plaza was as lively as a fair. In the country villas the windows were lighted up, and shadows passed before them, dancing to the sound of pianos. In the little inns, whose open doors threw broad streaks of light across the road, the tinkling of guitars, the clinking of glasses, and shouts and laughter let it be known that wine was circulating freely.
About one in the morning a rider passed along the road at a slow trot. He was "el aviso,"[89] a rough shepherd, who stopped before the taverns and gay country houses, warning them that the herd would pass in less than a quarter of an hour, so that lights might be extinguished and everything be quiet.