“Well, then,” he said with another sigh, “Vivillo’s fifth bull in the
royal fight to-day.”
I was shocked, knowing how Pilar loved the noble brown beast, and how she
had counted on possessing him. But, if I had had my wits about me, I might
have guessed last night how matters stood. Dick had told me then that, in
the impromptu scene between Carmona and the O’Donnels, with Seville
railway station for the stage, “the name of Vivillo had unfortunately come
up.” Now, Dick explained that Carmona had caught at the girl’s hasty
words, had written his agent at the _ganadería_ instructing him not to
part with the bull at any price, no matter how far negotiations had gone
with Colonel O’Donnel. A day or two later the agent was directed by
telegram to send Vivillo immediately to Madrid, as the Duke had offered
him as a gift for the great show of the royal bull-fight. This news had
come to Pilar at Granada in an ill-spelled, but well-meaning letter from
Mateo, the _ganadero_.
“It was sheer spite,” went on Dick, “and Pilar was broken-hearted. If she
hadn’t blurted out Vivillo’s name in a temper, the bull might have been
safe. Carmona wouldn’t have interested himself, as he trusts his agent in
all business matters. It’s true several of the grandee owners of
bull-farms have been asked to give each a picked bull for the royal fight,
which is expected to be the grandest affair of the generation; but Carmona
could as well have given another instead of Vivillo.”
“It’s like him,” I said. “Poor Pilar!”
“She’s simply ill. But queerly enough, she hasn’t given up hope yet—or
hadn’t when she wrote, and enclosed an invitation-ticket she’d contrived
to get for me. She begged me to come if I could, and ‘see her through,’
though I haven’t the vaguest notion what she means. All I know is, she and
the Cherub have been doing everything they could till the last minute to
make an exchange of bulls. The dear old chap rushed off to Madrid, as I
said, to stir up the police in your affair; and Pilar hoped she might get
a chance to see Lady Monica, and ask what the dickens she meant by
throwing you over. But any spare time the two had, I guess they’ve put in
for Vivillo. They bought a fine Muira bull, at a tiptop price, and offered
it to the authorities in exchange for Vivillo, who has been at pasture for
the last ten days, recruiting after being boxed up for his long railroad
journey. Whether Carmona had a hand in that part or not, anyhow nothing
could be done.”
“And Pilar is going to see her pet die!” I exclaimed.
“I can’t understand the Cherub allowing that,” said Dick. “I went to a
bull-fight with him the day after I got back to Seville. Jove, it was a
sickener, though there were some fine moments, I admit; and I can
understand how Spaniards, brought up to understand every stroke, every
move, think it fine sport. But it isn’t sport for amateurs, and I haven’t
been able to swallow beef since; feel as if I’d been on visiting terms
with it. Last touch of horror, each bull having a name. Great Scott! how
would it feel to be as intimate as that with sheep and chickens, so you
could speak of frying Lottie for breakfast, or grilling Maud with peas for
lunch? Of course, the royal bull-fight will be wonderful—something only
seen when a Spanish king marries—but I hate the thought of Pilar being
there.”
“Her father’ll be with her,” I tried to console him.
“No, he won’t. His seat’s in a box. Hers has been given in _Tendido_
Number 9, a space set apart for the _senoritas de la aristocracia_ to sit
together, in smart dresses and mantillas, as if they were part of the
show.”
“Perhaps Monica will be there,” I said quickly.
“Not she. The Duke and Duchess of Carmona and the Duke’s fiancée and her
mother will be in a box next the royal bride and bridegroom; Pilar heard
that, and wrote me. You see, they’re in high favour at Court now, and
Carmona’s ambition will be satisfied at last. The new Duchess is to be a
lady-in-waiting, and take up her duties when the King and Queen come back
from their honeymoon.”
“She never will take them up as Duchess of Carmona,” said I.
“Car ready,” announced Ropes, who had made record time in changing an
inner tube, and was panting with his exertions.
But where was San Cristóbal to-day—on this day of all others, when his
services were needed? We had not gone half a mile when there came a whizz,
and a grinding noise which meant a broken chain. Ropes grew pale and bit
his lip. In his overpowering anxiety for me he was losing nerve.
“Never mind mending it here,” I said. “Tighten up the axle, and go on with
one sprocket only. We can get into the town that way, and find a
machine-shop.”
We did find one; but we were kept a full hour in Aranjuez; nor could we
make good going afterwards as we approached the capital. The road was
covered with vehicles, and packed as we neared Madrid; for every soul not
bidden to the great bull-fight wished to see the favoured ones who were,
and to applaud the King and Queen who by their splendid courage two days
before had won double popularity.
It was almost beyond endurance to be caught in the pack, and to know that
there was no way out, except to move with the throng; nevertheless, it had
to be endured. And time went on.
We had hoped to run into some hole or corner as near as might be to the
royal entrance of the Plaza de Toros, before the crowd began to pour in;
but an hour struck as we crept into the great sunlit plaza—four o’clock;
the time appointed for the pageant to begin.