fountain, the brilliant light and colour, the confused
sounds and movement, the vast size of the bull-ring struck me fiercely
between the eyes, bewildering sight and sense.

Seats were valuable in the _tendidos_ for this great day, when almost
every place meant a royal favour; but we were late, and instead of moving
on to search for my twelve inches of plank or stone, I was thankful to
squeeze in close to the entrance. I did not see Colonel O'Donnel, and
though I was close to the famous _Tendido_ Number 9 (which must have held
every eye till the royalties came), I forgot to look for Pilar in that
white-and-rose garden of Spanish loveliness.

The first act of the great royal bull-fight had begun. Twenty glittering,
spangled _espadas_ marched with elastic steps into the ring, followed by
the yellow-trousered picadors on their sorry horses. The three gala
coaches carrying the distinguished amateur picadors and their ducal
patrons who graced this marriage feast, still circled picturesquely in the
arena, making a pageant of the Middle Ages. The sun blazed on nodding
ostrich plumes, gold embroidered hammercloths, dazzling liveries, powdered
heads, and splendid horses in quaint harness, rich with gold and jewels.
The three Dukes, owners of the coaches, had introduced the cavaliers they
patronized to the King-President; the bride-Queen in her white mantilla
and flowers of Spanish colours stood bowing in the glass frame of the
royal box. Gaily decorated _palcos_, _tendidos_, _grados_, tier upon tier,
half in sun, half in shadow, rose above the huge ring like so many
terraced flower-beds, dazzling with the gold lace of uniforms and the
bright tints of women's dresses softened by white mantillas. Over all was
a fluttering of fans, like thousands of hovering butterflies; and a hum
floated up loud as the humming of a million bees, to the blue dome of sky,
where English and Spanish flags waved together.

Mechanically my eyes took in the splendid scene, as they searched for
Monica; and finding her, for a time saw nothing else.

She was in a box near the royalties, and sat between her mother and the
Duchess, with Carmona and some man whom I did not know, behind them. She
was in a white dress and white mantilla, with pink and white _malmaisons_
in her hair; and her face was pathetically pale in its frame of falling
lace. In her hand was a fan with which to shut out such horrors of the
fight as none but Spanish women born and bred dar