"How very interesting.... How very original" ... said the beautiful woman.
Turning her eyes from the torero she seemed lost in the contemplation of something invisible.
"The first man in the world!" exclaimed Don José, with rough enthusiasm. "Believe me, Sol, there are not two men like him. And how impervious to wounds!"
As proud of Gallardo's strength as though he were his father, he enumerated the different wounds that Gallardo had received, describing them as if he saw them through his clothes. The lady's eyes followed this anatomical journey with sincere admiration. A real hero, simple, embarrassed, retiring, like all strong men.
The manager spoke of going away; it was seven o'clock and he would be expected at home. But Doña Sol remonstrated with smiling insistence; they really must both of them stay to dinner; it was an unceremonious invitation, but that evening she was not expecting anyone, she would be alone as the Marquis and his family had gone into the country.
"I shall be quite alone.... Not another word, I command it; you must do penance with me."
And as if her commands admitted of no reply, she left the room.
The manager demurred; he really could not stay; he had already come out that afternoon and so his family had hardly seen him; besides he had invited two friends. As far as concerned his matador, it seemed quite correct and natural that he should stay, for really the invitation was for him.
"But you really must stay," said the espada in agony. "Curse it!... You are never going to leave me alone. I should not know what to do, nor what to say."
A quarter of an hour afterwards Doña Sol returned to the room, wearing now one of those creations of Paquin, which were at once the despair and the wonder of her friends and relations.