The recollection of this friend, who within a few minutes was brought into the conversation for a second time, depressed the bull-fighter.
He sat gazing steadily at the beautiful lady with a tearful melancholy in his Moorish eyes which seemed to implore compassion.
"Doña Sol! Doña Sol!" he murmured with an accent of despair, as if he would reproach her for her cruelty.
"What is it, my friend?" she asked smiling. "What is the matter with you?"
Gallardo kept silence and bowed his head, intimidated by the ironic reflection in those blue eyes, sparkling with their tiny flakes of gold.
After a moment he sat erect as does one who adopts a resolution.
"Where have you been all this time, Doña Sol?"
"Travelling about the world," she answered simply. "I am a bird of passage. In innumerable cities whose very names you do not know."
"And that foreigner who accompanies you now—is—?"
"He is a friend," she said coldly. "A friend who has had the kindness to accompany me, taking advantage of the opportunity to see Spain; a fine man who bears an illustrious name. From here we go to Andalusia when he gets through seeing the museums. What more do you desire to know?"