"Is this for me?" said the bandit surprised and wondering. "For me, Señora Marquesa?"
As she nodded her head, he took the flower shyly, handling it awkwardly, as if its weight were overpowering, not knowing where to place it, till at last he passed it through a button-hole in his jacket, between the two ends of the red handkerchief he wore tied round his neck.
"This is good, indeed!" his broad face expanding into a smile. "Nothing of the sort has ever happened to me before in my life."
The rough rider seemed moved and troubled by the womanliness of the gift. Roses for him!...
He gathered up his reins.
"Good-bye to you all, caballeros. Till we meet again.... Good-bye, my fine fellows. Some time or other I will throw you a cigar if you plant a good lance."
He gave a rough clasp of the hand to the picador, who replied by a thump on the thigh which made the bandit's vigorous muscles jump. That Plumitas, how "simpatico" he was! Potaje, in his drunken tenderness, would have liked to go with him to the mountain.
"Adio! Adio!"
And spurring his horse, he rode out of the courtyard.
Gallardo seemed relieved on seeing him depart. He turned towards Doña Sol; she was standing motionless, following the rider with her eyes as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance.