Gallardo replied by a nod. He knew that foreigner—he had seen him with her.
There was a long silence between the two, neither knowing what to say. Doña Sol was the first to break it.
She thought the torero looking very well: she remembered vaguely having heard something about an accident, indeed she was almost sure that she had sent a telegram to enquire. But, really, with the life she led, with constant changes of country and new friendships, her memory was in such a state of confusion!... She thought he looked just the same as ever, and at the corrida he had seemed proud and strong, although rather unfortunate. But she did not understand much about bulls.
"That 'cogida' was not really much?"
Gallardo felt irritated at the indifferent tone in which that woman made the enquiry. And he! all the time he was hovering between life and death he had thought only of her!... With a roughness born of indignation he told her about his "cogida" and his long convalescence, which had lasted the whole winter.
She listened with feigned interest, while her eyes betrayed utter indifference. What did the misfortune of that bull-fighter signify to her.... They were accidents of his profession, and as such could be interesting to himself only.
As Gallardo spoke of his convalescence at the Grange, his memory recalled the image of the man who had seen Doña Sol and himself there together.
"And Plumitas? Do you remember the poor fellow? They killed him. I do not know if you heard of it."
Doña Sol also remembered this vaguely. She had probably read about it in one of the Parisian papers, which spoke of the bandit as a most interesting type of picturesque Spain.