"Let me see it!" said the espada anxiously.
And, as the manager made some excuse, pretending to have left it at home, Gallardo implored this comfort.
"Do bring it to me. I long to see her letter, to convince myself that she remembers me."
To avoid further complications in his pretences, Don José invented a correspondence that did not pass through his hands, but was directed to others. Doña Sol had written (according to him) to the Marquis about her money matters, and at the end of every letter she enquired after Gallardo. At other times the letters were to a cousin, in which were the same remembrances of the torero.
Gallardo listened quietly, but at the same time shook his head doubtfully. When would he see her! Should he ever see her again? Ay! what a woman to fly like that without any motive, except the caprices of her strange character.
"What you ought to do," said the manager, "is to forget all about women-kind and attend to business. You are no longer in bed, and you are almost cured. How do you feel as to strength? Say, shall we fight or no? You have all the winter before you to recover strength. Shall we accept contracts, or do you decline to fight this year?"
Gallardo raised his head proudly, as though something dishonouring was being proposed to him. Renounce bull-fighting?... Spend a whole year without being seen in the circus? Could the public resign themselves to such an absence?
"Accept them, Don José. There is plenty of time to get strong between now and the Spring. You may promise for the Easter corrida. I think this leg may still give me some trouble, but, please God, it will soon be as strong as iron."