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In one of his evolutions, the bull fatigued by the muleta, stood motionless. It was a very bad position, but Gallardo had come out of worse corners victorious.

The inhabitants of the suburbs swarmed in disorder round the Virgin, small shopkeepers, with their dishevelled wives, dragging tribes of children along by the hand on this excursion which would last till dawn; young men with their black curls flattened over their ears flourishing sticks as if some one intended to insult la Macarena, and their strong arms would be required for her protection, crowds of men and women flattening themselves between the enormous paso and the walls in the narrow streets. "Ol��! La Macarena!... The first Virgin of the world!"

The brotherhood continued their triumphal march, leaving deserters in every tavern and fallen all along the streets. When the sun rose it found them at the extreme opposite end of Seville from their own parish, and the image and its remaining supporters looked like a dissolute band returning from an orgy.

Gallardo, stupefied at his deed, bent his head beneath the whirlwind of insults and threats. Cursed bad luck! He had entered to kill splendidly, just as in his best days, overcoming the nervous shrinking which made him turn his face away as though he could not endure the sight of the brute coming down on him. But the desire to avoid danger, to get out from between the horns as quickly as possible, had made him ruin his luck by that disgraceful and unskilful stroke.

As proud of Gallardo's strength as though he were his father, he enumerated the different wounds that Gallardo[Pg 142] had received, describing them as if he saw them through his clothes. The lady's eyes followed this anatomical journey with sincere admiration. A real hero, simple, embarrassed, retiring, like all strong men.