"You here, Señora Carmen! That's right!"...
He spoke quietly, as if his habitual vinous somnolence and his natural stupidity prevented anything surprising him.
"Have you seen Juan?" he went on. "He lay down on the ground in front of the bull, under its very nose. No one can do what that Gacho does.... You should go and see him, for to-day he is splendid."
Some one called him from the infirmary door; his companion, the other picador, wished to speak to him before being taken away to the hospital.
"Adio, Seña Carmen. I must go and see what the poor fellow wants. A bad fracture, they say. He will not be able to work again this season."
Carmen took refuge beneath the arcades; she tried to close her eyes, not to see the horrible spectacle in the courtyard, while at the same time she felt fascinated by the crimson pools of blood.
The monos sabios led in the wounded horses, who were dragging their entrails along the ground. As she saw them, the head man in charge of the stables bustled about in a fever of activity.
"Now, my lads, hurry up!" ... he shouted to the stable lads. "Gently!... Gently, there!"
A stable-boy went carefully up to the horse who was rearing with pain, and took the saddle off; then he tied ropes round his four feet, drew them together and threw him.
"Now, my fine fellow!... Gently, gently with him!" he shouted to the man, never ceasing to move his own hands and feet.