hat a fine day for pleasure. And the Paseo de la Virgen
del Puerto--there never were such gardens for sport. And all the time
each one looked at Pepita, and lucky indeed was the man with mother and
sisters to help him to make friends. And never had old Jovita met with
such civilities, and encountered such deference. Pepita had the joy of a
young bird in its first flight. The air of gayety enlivening everything,
the people in their holiday clothes, the blue sky, the sunshine, the
cheap simple pleasures of the day, were intoxicating delights to her.
She made friends with the girls and their parents, and was even gracious
to the young men who hung about Jose, and somehow seemed to find his
neighborhood more attractive than any other. It was from one of these
young men (his name was Manuel) she first heard of Sebastiano--the gay,
the wonderful, the renowned Sebastiano. He had asked her, this Manuel,
if she was going to the Plaza de Toros to see the bull-fight the
following week, and when she said she did not know--that she had never
seen a bull-fight--he found a great deal to say. He described the
wonders of the great bull ring, where twelve thousand people could be
accommodated, and where grand and beautiful ladies richly dressed
and surrounded by their lovers and husbands uttered cries of joy and
excitement as the fight became more dangerous, and both bulls and
toreadors showed greater courage and fire; he described the costumes,
the music, the picadors dashing in upon their horses; the banderilleros
with their darts and ribbons; the matador with his reckless daring,
his nerves and muscles of steel, and his lightning leaps. And then he
described Sebastiano. Never before, it appeared from his enthusiasm,
had Madrid known such a matador as Sebastiano. Never one so handsome,
so dashing, so universally adored. When he appeared in the ring, what a
roar of applause went up. When he made his proud bow to the president,
and said, "I go to slay this bull for the honor of the people of Madrid
and the most excellent president of this tourney," and threw his hat
away and moved forward, waving his scarlet cloak, what excitement
there was awakened. Songs were sung about him in the streets, fans were
ornamented with pictures of his daring deeds, there were stories of
great ladies who had wept their eyes out for love of him, and as to the
women of his own class, there was not a girl in Madrid who did not dream
of him.

"Why?" said Pepita