"Juanita! Don't run into danger."
Much time was being lost, and part of the audience becoming furious turned towards the presidential box.
"Señor Presidente! How long is this scandal to go on?"
The President made a gesture which silenced the storm, and then made a sign. Soon an alguacil in his feathered hat and fluttering cape was seen running round the barrier to the spot where the bull was standing, then, directing his gesture towards Gallardo he raised one closed fist with the forefinger outstretched. The mob applauded. It was the first warning. If before the third the matador had not killed his bull, it would be taken back to the yard, and the matador would remain under the stigma of the deepest dishonour.
Gallardo, as if awakening suddenly from his somnambulism, crushed by this threat, placed his rapier horizontally and threw himself on the bull. It was only one estocade the more which scarcely penetrated into the bull's body.
The espada let his arms fall, utterly disheartened. Was that brute immortal! The rapier thrusts seemed to do him no harm. It seemed as though he would never die.
The futility of the last stroke infuriated the people. They all rose to their feet, the storm of whistling became absolutely deafening, obliging the women to stop their ears. Oranges, scraps of bread, cushions, any projectile ready to hand, was hurled into the arena at the matador. From the sunny side came stentorian voices, roars like a siren, which it seemed impossible should come from human throats, a horrible din of cow-bells rang out suddenly like a tocsin, while from the benches close to the bulls' box a chorus began to chant the "gori-gori"[110] of the dead.
Many turned towards the President. When would the second warning be given? Gallardo wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief, looking all around him, as if astounded at the injustice of the populace. He turned his eyes towards Doña Sol, but she had turned her back to the circus. Did she feel any pity? Or was she ashamed of her condescensions in the past?
Again he threw himself on the bull to kill, but very few could see what was happening, for the spread capes fluttering incessantly round him concealed everything.... At last the bull fell, a stream of blood rushing from its mouth.
At last!... The public quieted down a little, ceasing to thump, but still continuing shouting and whistling. The animal was finished by the puntilero, he was fastened by his poll to the team of mules, and dragged out of the arena, leaving behind him a broad belt of smoothed sand covered with blood-stains, which the servants obliterated with rakes and baskets of sand.