e sword. I had
known, of course, that it must be so, and yet until now it had not seemed
a cold certainty. Perhaps I had vaguely hoped that Vivillo would vault the
_barrera_, and refuse to be coaxed back again; but, even if he had, he
could not have saved himself, and might have had to die some death less
glorious than by the _espada's_ blade.

Fuentes was bowing under the royal box, asking the King-President's
gracious permission to kill Vivillo as so noble a bull should be killed.
Then, sword and red _muleta_ in hand, he went to meet Vivillo, an alert
look on his face; for this was no common _res_, but a brave and wary
foeman, most worthy of his steel.

The deep silence of the thirteen thousand spectators was as great a
compliment as could be paid to man or bull, and Fuentes knew it. He knew
that the audience expected such play, before the death stroke, as had not
been seen in Spain for years, and he did not mean to disappoint them.
Still marvellously fresh, considering his doughty feats and loss of blood,
Vivillo showed no distress. But he had become visibly thoughtful, as if
realizing at last that this was no wild sport, but the end of all things.

Fuentes waved off his men--"_fuera gente_," knowing that this sign of
serene courage would thrill thirteen thousand hearts, already warm for
him, and adjusted his red _muleta_ to the small, spiked stick which
secured it. Then, graceful as a wave which rears its crest to
breaking-point, he moved towards the bull, wary yet defiant.

Vivillo, as if to prove the power and fulness of his lungs, bellowed for
the first time since he had entered the arena, as he hurled his dark body
upon the _torero_, his huge head down. The _muleta_ met his horns and
smothered them, to be swept up and away, while Fuentes stood motionless,
smiling. But to the agitation of the audience, instead of following the
_muleta's_ scarlet wave, Vivillo halted with horns lowered to gore, and
charged the man.

Lightly Fuentes stepped aside, tempting the bull again with the _muleta_;
but Vivillo would have none of it. Then came such give and take between
man's skill and brute's ferocious cunning that the audience lost all
self-consciousness in watching.

Nearer and nearer Fuentes and Vivillo drew to the barrier. Now they were
close to _Tendido_ Number 9, and mechanically I lifted my eyes from the
arena to find Pilar. She was no longer to be seen there, and I thought
that she had fled before the death. B