It was enough to make a coward of even the real Roger de Flor!
"Curse it all! Come along, man," said Gallardo. "I would not fight in Seville for all the gold in the world, were it not to give pleasure to my fellow-townsmen, and to prevent evil speakers from saying I am afraid of the public in my own town."
After rising, the espada had wandered about the house, a cigarette in his mouth, stretching himself to see if his muscular arms still retained their suppleness. He went into the kitchen and drank a glass of Cazalla, where his mother, active in spite of years and stoutness, was superintending the servants, and looking after the proper ordering of the house.
Gallardo went out into the patio, so fresh and bright, the birds were singing gaily in their gilded cages, a flood of sunshine swept over the marble pavement, and on to the fountain surrounded by plants where the gold fish swam in the basin.
The espada saw kneeling on the ground a woman's figure in black, with a pail by her side, washing the marble floor. She raised her head.
"Good-day, Señor Juan," she said, with the affectionate familiarity that all popular heroes inspire, and she fixed on him admiringly the glance of her solitary eye. The other was lost in a multiplicity of deep wrinkles which seemed to meet in the hollow black socket.
The Señor Juan made no reply, but turned away nervously into the kitchen, calling out to his mother:
"Little mother, who is that one-eyed woman who is washing the patio?"
"Who should she be, son? A poor woman with a large family. Our own charwoman is ill, so I called her in."