The matador again repeated his stroke, and once again drove in the rapier, the only result being to make the brute shiver.
"Two!" sang out from the gods in derision.
A fresh attempt only succeeded like the others in drawing a low bellow from the tortured animal.
"Three!"... But to this ironical chorus the masses now joined whistles and cries of protest. When would that matador finish it?
On the fourth attempt he succeeded in severing the spinal cord, and the bull fell instantaneously, lying on his side with his legs rigid.
The espada wiped the perspiration from his face and walked slowly round, almost gasping for breath, to salute the president. At last he was free from that animal. He thought he never would have finished it. On his way the mob either greeted him sarcastically or with contemptuous silence. No one applauded. He saluted the president amid the general indifference, and then took refuge behind the barrier, like a school boy ashamed of his misdeeds. While Garabato offered him a glass of water his eyes ran round the boxes, meeting those of Doña Sol, which had followed him to his refuge. What would that woman think of him? How she would laugh with her travelling companion, seeing him ridiculed by the public! What an unlucky idea of hers to come to that corrida!
He remained between the barriers, trying to avoid further fatigue, till the last bull he had to kill should come out. His broken leg pained him greatly from having run so much. He was no longer the same—he was obliged to recognize it. All his confidence, all his resolutions of throwing himself on the bull were useless. His legs were neither as light nor as steady as formerly, neither had his right arm that daring which made it throw itself out without fear, anxious to reach the neck of the bull as soon as possible. Now it drew itself in against his will, with the cautious instinct of certain animals who think if they hide their faces they can in this way avoid danger.
His old superstitious terrors suddenly reappeared, crushing, overwhelming.
"I am in bad luck," thought Gallardo. "My heart tells me the fifth bull will catch me. He will catch me, nothing can be done!"