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Updated: June 9, 2025
But, even if the latter refused to proceed, Mochales, she knew, would force an acute conclusion. There was nothing to be got from her sister and she slowly returned to her chamber, from which she could hear Orsi's heavy footfalls.
It was clear that he couldn't run a mile; in fact, he admitted that he detested all exercise. How absurd he looked in his tight plaited jacket! It appeared that he was always perspiring; a crime, she felt sure with entire disregard of its fatal consequences that Mochales never committed. "A friend of ours it was Bembo said that he saw you at San Sebastian with your King," Anna Mantegazza put in.
Lavinia was certain that if Gheta had not known of it the Spaniard would have been quickly dropped by the elder. She was suddenly conscious of the perfume he always bore; that, curiously, lent him a strange additional oppression. "Mochales," he said in a species of strained wonderment, "threatened ... thrown into the bay! Mochales the Flower of Spain!
Lavinia's husband cleared his throat sharply; he was clearly impatiently annoyed. "What foolishness!" he cried. "From the first, Lavinia has been scarcely conscious of his existence." Lavinia avoided her sister's mocking gaze, disturbed and angry. "Certainly Signore Mochales must be asked here," she declared. "I suppose it can't be avoided," Orsi muttered.
"No, signora," the Spaniard responded deliberately; "it is not your sister who lies." Cesare Orsi exclaimed angrily. He took a hasty step; but Lavinia, quicker, moved between the two men. "This is impossible," she declared, "and must stop immediately! It is childish!" There was now a metallic ring in Mochales' voice that disturbed her even more than his words.
Lavinia more than ever resembled an orchid, here in a gloom of towering trees curiously suggested by the draperies and space. She went forward with Anna Mantegazza to an amber blur of lamplight, the others following irregularly. Cesare Orsi sat at Lavinia's side, quickly finishing one long black cigar and lighting another; Pier Mantegazza and Mochales smoked cigarettes.
He straightened slowly; the bull whirled about and flung himself forward. Abrego y Mochales now had one of the discarded poles; and, waiting until the horns had almost encircled him, he vaulted lightly and beautifully over the running animal's shoulder. He waited again, avoiding the infuriated charge by a scant step; and, when the bull stopped he had Mochales' hat placed squarely upon his horns.
A feeling of impotence overwhelmed her at the implacable stillness that succeeded her hysterical outburst. She stood with a pounding heart, and clasped straining fingers. Abrego y Mochales could kill Cesare without the slightest shadow of a question.
I should have realized that a girl, charming like yourself, couldn't care for a mound of fat." Her tenderness rose till it choked in her throat, blurred what she had to say. "Cesare," she told him, "Gheta was right; at one time I was in love with Mochales." He turned with a startled exclamation; but she silenced him.
The cart bore Cesare Orsi, and Mochales the bull-fighter, the Flower of Spain. It was a part of Anna Mantegazza's humor that the men, so essentially antagonistic, should arrive together clinging precariously on the high insecure trap. Tea was served at five on the terrace, and Lavinia dressed with minute care.
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