expressed dauntless resolution; his fixed and steadfast eyes, whose
pupils, surrounded by white, resembled stars of jet, darted invisible
rays which pierced the bull like steel darts; unconsciously, he
subjected the brute to that magnetism by which Van Amburgh sends his
trembling tigers crouching to the extremity of their den. Each forward
step made by the man was responded to by a backward one of the ferocious
beast. At this triumph of moral over brute force, the audience, seized
with enthusiasm, burst into frantic applause, shouting and stamping,
yelling out _vivas_, and ringing the species of bells which amateurs
take with them to the bull-fights. Walls and ceilings cracked beneath
this storm of admiration, the paint crumbled off and flew about in
whirlwinds of white dust. The torero, thus applauded, raised his head,
with flashing eyes and joyful heart, to the place where Militona sat, as
if to lay at her feet the admiration of a whole city. The moment was
badly chosen. Militona had dropped her fan, and Don Andres, who had
snatched it up with all the precipitation of a person desirous to
strengthen with an additional thread the slender chain of a new
acquaintance, returned it to her with a happy smile and gallant gesture.
The young girl could not do less than acknowledge the polite attention
by a gracious smile and inclination of her head. Smile and bow were
detected by Juancho; his lips grew pale, his complexion green, the
orbits of his eyes became blood-shot, his hand contracted on his
sword-hilt, and the point of the weapon, which he held low, was thrust,
by a convulsive movement, thrice into the sand. The bull, no longer
under the spell of the fascinating glance, approached his adversary, who
neglected to put himself on guard. The interval between man and beast
was terribly small.

"Master Juancho is not easily frightened," observed some of the more
callous spectators.

"Juancho, have a care!" cried others, more humane; "Juancho _de mi
vida_, Juancho of my heart, Juancho of my soul, the bull is upon you!"

As to Militona, whether it was that the habit of bull-fights had blunted
her sensibility, or that she had entire confidence in the consummate
skill of Juancho, or because she took little interest in the man over
whom she exercised such influence, her face continued as calm as if
nothing unusual was occurring; only a slight flush appeared in the
centre of her cheek, and the lace of her mantilla rose and fell