Presently there was a prolonged murmur, a name repeated from mouth to mouth.
"Fuentes! It is el Fuentes!"
The elegant torero, tall and graceful, his cape loose over his shoulder, walked up to the Altar, bending his knee with theatrical affectation. The lights were reflected in his gipsy eyes and fell across the fine agile kneeling figure. After he had finished his prayer and crossed himself he rose, walking backwards towards the door, never taking his eyes off the image, like a tenor who retires bowing to his audience.
Gallardo was more simple in his piety. He entered montero in hand, his cape gathered round him, walking no less arrogantly, but when he came opposite the image, he knelt with both knees on the ground, giving himself over entirely to his prayers and taking no notice of the hundreds of eyes fixed on him. His simple Christian soul trembled with fear and remorse. He prayed for protection with the fervour of ignorant men who live in continual danger and who believe in every sort of adverse influence and supernatural protection. For the first time in the whole of that day he thought of his wife and his mother. Poor Carmen down in Seville waiting for his telegram! The Señora Angustias, tranquil with her fowls at the farm of La Rinconada not knowing for certain where her son was fighting!... And he, here, with that terrible presentiment that something would happen that afternoon! Virgin of the Dove! Give a little protection! He would be good, he would forget "the rest," he would live as God commands.
His superstitious spirit being comforted by this empty repentance, he left the chapel still under its influence, with clouded eyes, that did not see the people who obstructed his way.
Outside in the room where the toreros were waiting he was saluted by a clean-shaven gentleman, in black clothes in which he appeared ill at ease.
"Bad luck!" murmured the torero moving on. "As I said before, something will happen to-day!"...
It was the chaplain of the Plaza, an enthusiast in Tauromachia, who had arrived with the Holy Oils concealed beneath his coat. He was priest of the suburb of la Prosperidad and for years past had maintained a heated controversy with another parish priest in the centre of Madrid who claimed a better right to monopolise the religious service of the Plaza. He came to the Plaza accompanied by a neighbour, who served him as sacristan in return for a seat for the corrida.
On these days he chose by turns from amongst his friends and protégés the one whom he wished to favour with the seat reserved for the sacristan. He hired a smart carriage, at the expense of the management, and, carrying under his coat the sacred vessel, started for the Plaza, where two front seats were kept for him close to the entrance for the bulls.
The priest entered the chapel with the air of a proprietor scandalised by the behaviour of the public. All had their heads uncovered, but they were talking loudly, and some even smoking.