First, the three noble amateurs, with their long sharp javelins, must each
in turn play picador with grace to please a queen-bride, and save his
horse's sides from goring horns. Then, when three bulls had died according
to ancient, chivalrous custom (if the cavalier's skill served), without
slaughter of horses, the _corrida_ would go on in ordinary Spanish fashion
of to-day, with all its sensational moments and its tragedies,
until--Vivillo's time came.

As for me, I must sit until the leave-taking of the royalties and royal
guests should empty also the Carmona box. I wondered, as the first bull
rushed into the ring, whether the King and Queen would still be in their
places when the door should open for Vivillo, or whether their departure
would rob Carmona of the spectacle of his mean revenge. I hoped it would,
for I could not bear that he should see the suffering he had inflicted on
Pilar for my sake, and revel in it. Still, when he went I must go too; and
I felt vaguely that I ought to be near Pilar--my loyal sister Pilar--during
the act which would be tragical for her.

As Dick said, there were brilliant moments in the bull-fight; and the
amateurs acquitted themselves in a way to deserve the enthusiasm of the
crowd. The beautiful young Queen threw a jewel to each _torero_ who
finished a bull after the javelins of the cavaliers had done their work;
and when the last of the brave trio had bowed himself out of the ring,
began that phase of the sport which Spaniards know and love. The
blindfolded horses trotted in, ridden by professional picadors with
indifferent, sullen faces; and then a stir of excitement ran from tier to
tier of the audience, as a breeze blows over a wheat-field. The first part
had been but a pretty play; now was coming the real thing, with the best
bulls, and the best _espadas_ of Spain.

The bride in her white mantilla looked down at her fan, and counted the
gilded ivory sticks, when the first bull charged the first horse. She, the
Queen of Spain, must not seem to flinch, though her English eyes had never
seen such crimson sights as these. This was the national sport; she must
learn to understand that when men yelled, and even women cried "_Buena
vara!_" it was not with joy because a horse's side was torn, but because a
picador had made the perfect thrust. She must seem to love what the people
loved, if she wished them to love her; but not far off sat another young
girl in white, who had no such co