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Updated: June 9, 2025
The sight of the retreating forms apparently enraged the animal, for he charged with astonishing speed and barely missed horning the last man to fall over the barricade of a half door. Mochales smiled; he called familiarly to the bull. Then he stooped and vaulted lightly down into the yard. Lavinia gave a short exclamation; she was cold with fear.
A man got quickly out a lithe figure with a broad-brimmed hat slanted across his eyes. It was, she realized with an involuntary quickening of her blood, Abrego y Mochales. A second man followed, tendered him a curiously shaped object, and stood by the waiting cab while the bull-fighter walked deliberately forward. He stopped under the window and shifted the thing in his hands.
An increasing confusion enveloped her, but she forced herself to gaze directly into Mochales' still black eyes. His face, she saw, was gaunt, the ridges of his skull apparent under the bronzed skin.
"I hope Mochales excuses you because of your greenness." "Youth isn't any longer your crime," Lavinia retorted at last. "That dress it would suit Anna Mantegazza; but you looked only indecent." "Perhaps you're right, Gheta," Lavinia said unexpectedly. "I'm going to bed now, please." Her balance, restored by sleep, was once more normal when she returned to the Lungarno.
He could be cruel, she decided, and shivered a little vicariously. She half heard Bembo's rapid high-pitched excitement over trifles. "You are going to the Guarinis' sale to-morrow afternoon? But, of course, every one is. Well, if I come across Abrego y Mochales before then, and I'm almost certain to, and he'll come, I'll bring him.
She wondered whether her father would buy her a dress by Verlat. "Honestly," Orsi murmured, "more beautiful than your " She stopped him with an impatient gesture, wondering what Mochales was saying to Gheta.
She could see the minute pulsating sparks of cigarettes; heard a direction to the driver. Abrego y Mochales and the other got into the cab and it turned and shambled away. Lavinia Sanviano moved forward mechanically, gazing after the dark vanishing shape on the road. She was shaken, almost appalled, by the feeling that stirred her.
"Your sister is beautiful," he added abruptly. "Everybody thinks so," Lavinia replied in a voice she endeavored to make enthusiastic. "She has had tens of admirers here and at Rome and Lucca." There she knew she should stop; but she continued: "Cesare Orsi is very persistent and tremendously rich." Mochales made a short unintelligible remark in Spanish.
But she knew instinctively that there would be no change in Mochales' attitude. He was in love with Gheta; blind to the rest of the world. She sat lost in a day-dream how different her life would have been, married to the bull-fighter! She would have become a part of the fierce Spanish crowds at the ring, traveled to South America, seen the people heap roses, jewels, upon her idol....
Gheta replied at a sudden tangent: "Mochales has been a great nuisance." Lavinia was gazing through an opening in the leaves at the sparkling blue plane of the bay. She made no movement, aware of her sister's unsparing curiosity turned upon her, and only said: "Really?" "Spaniards are so tempestuous," Gheta continued; "he's been whispering a hundred mad schemes in my ear.
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