call for Sebas-tiano. "Sebastiano!
Sebastiano!" on every side--even the grand ladies and their cavaliers
clapping their hands and calling also. The beauties in the high places
were always ready to see him come, and to give him a welcome when he
risked his life to amuse them.

He stepped forth in his rich dress and with his gallant bearing, a
more beautiful and gay figure than ever, it seemed the excited people
thought. He had grown finer, without doubt, they said. His face was a
little pale, but that only made more beautiful his long dark eyes, under
their dense, straight, black lashes. It was the women who said this, and
who saw the richness of his dress, the colors of his _devisa_, the
close curl of his crisp hair, the grace of his movement. The men saw his
superb limbs, his firm step, his quick glance, his bright sword.

"Come, little slayer of bulls," they shouted, "and show us what you
would have taught the people of America."

And it appeared they were not to be disappointed in their expectation
of sport. They saw that when he stood before the bull and made a little
mocking bow of salute, he looked into its small, furious eyes with a
smile, as it drew near--a bellowing black mass, snorting and throwing up
the dust. It was as ready to begin as he. It rushed upon him, and he was
gone. He played with it, led it on, defied it, eluded it. The flashing
sword seemed to become a score of glittering blades; the people
shouted--rose in their seats--leaned forward--laughed--mocked the
bull--cried out praises of sword and man and beast--of each leap--each
touch of the steel's point.

"He plays with it as if it were a little lamb," they cried. "Sebastiano!
Sebastiano!"

Of what use to tell what must be seen in all its danger to be
understood? The joy and exultation rose to fierce fever-heat, the cries
swelled higher, faces flushed and eyes sparkled and flamed, while the
brilliant figure darted, leaped, attacked, played with death as it had
done scores of times before.

Only Pepita sat without color or applause--only Pepita's fan was
motionless amidst all the fluttering--though her breast moved up and
down, and the throbbing in her side was like the beating of a hammer.
She was speaking to herself, though her lips were closed; she was
speaking to Sebastiano.

"He will look soon," she was saying. "He will look as he did that first
day. My eyes will make him look. They will force him to it. Listen!
it is Pepita whose eye