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 upon her bosom with increased rapidity. The cries of the spectators roused Juancho from his stupor: he drew hastily back, and waved the scarlet folds of the _muleta_ before the eyes of the bull. The instinct of self-preservation, the pride of the gladiator, struggled in his breast with the desire to watch Militona; a moment's neglect, a glance on one side, might cost him his life. It was an infernal predicament for a jealous man. To behold, beside the woman he loved, a gay, handsome, and attentive rival, while he, in the middle of a circus, the eyes of twelve thousand spectators riveted upon him, had, within a few inches of his breast, the sharp horns of a ferocious beast which, under pain of dishonour, he could only kill in a certain manner and by a wound in a certain place. The torero, once more master of the _jurisdiction_, as it is said in tauromachian slang, settled himself firmly on his heels, and manoeuvred with the muleta to make the bull lower his head.