Gallardo was fairly astounded at the bandit's address. That man seemed to know every one. He knew who Doña Sol was, and by an excess of respect, extended to her the titles belonging to her family.
The lady, recovering from her surprise, signed to him to sit down and cover himself, but though he obeyed the first, he left the felt hat on a chair close by.
As if he guessed the question in Doña Sol's eyes, which were fixed on him, he added:
"The Señora Marquesa must not be surprised at my knowing her. I have seen her very often with the Marquis and others going to the trial of the calves. I have seen also from afar how the Señora attacked the young bulls with her garrocha. The Señora is very brave and the handsomest woman I have seen on God's earth. It is a pure delight to see her on horseback. And men ought to fight for her heavenly blue eyes!"
The bandit was drawn on quite naturally by his southern warmth to seek fresh expressions of admiration for Doña Sol.
She had grown paler, and her eyes were wide open with half pleased terror; she began to find the bandit decidedly interesting. Had he come to the farm only for her? Did he propose to carry her off to his hiding places in the mountains?...
The torero grew alarmed hearing these expressions of rough admiration. Curse him! In his own house ... before his very face! If he went on like this he would go up and fetch his gun, and even though Plumitas were the other one, they would see which one would carry her off.
The bandit seemed to understand the annoyance his words had caused, and went on most respectfully.
"Your pardon, Señora Marquesa. It is idle talk and nothing more. I have a wife and four children, who weep for me more than the Virgin of Sorrows. I am an unhappy man, who is what he is because bad luck has pursued him."