A queenly presence, curves that would drive anyone mad, and such a figure....
But the torero frowned. Enough of these jests if you please. Eh? And the less you all talk of Carmen the better.
One night, as he was talking with her through the iron grating of her window, and looking at her Moorish face framed among the pots of flowers, the waiter from a neighbouring tavern came bearing a tray on which stood two glasses of Manzanilla. It was the messenger come to "Cobrar el piso,"[65] the traditional Sevillian custom, which allows of this offering to fiancés as they talk at the grating.
The torero drank a glass, offering the other to Carmen, and then said to the boy:
"Thank these gentlemen very much from me, and say I will look in presently; ... tell Montañes also that he is not to take any payment from them, for Juan Gallardo will pay for everything."
And as soon as his interview with his lady-love was ended, he walked across to the tavern where those who had offered the civility were waiting for him, some of them friends, others strangers, but all anxious to drink a glass at the espada's expense.
On his return from his first tour as recognized matador, he spent his nights standing by the iron grating of Carmen's window, wrapped in his elegant and luxurious cape of a greenish cloth embroidered with sprays and arabesques in black silk.
"They tell me you drink a great deal," sighed Carmen, pressing her face against the iron grating.
"What nonsense!... Only the civilities of my friends that I am obliged to return, nothing more. And besides, you see, a torero is ... a torero, and he cannot live like a brother of 'the Mercy.'"