“‘But, Juan,’ asks Ferrero when the coffee came, ’a few months ago we thought—­’

“’Exactly—­we all thought.  It is the senora.  Listen, Mr. Cogan.  You have the warm heart, the friendly eye, you, too, shall know.  Torellas and my niece they have regard for each other, and she, the senora, sees no harm until this Guavera, the politician, comes.  Oh, a great man—­he is to be in the next cabinet—­possibly.  I repeat—­possibly.  The senora waits for a chance to terminate with Torellas.  Very well.  Torellas receives many letters from foolish girls.  So do I, and Ferrero.  Pir-r-h—­what torero of fame does not?  And the senora, she points to me—­as an example.  It is true that I am a weak man and I have no wife—­no family—­’

“Ferrero began to laugh.  ’Mr. Cogan, there was a lady’—­begins Ferrero.

“’T-t-t, Ferrero allow me.  If we shall have old woman’s gossip, allow it also to be the truth.  I was riding, senor, one fine, splendid Argentine horse—­such a horse!—­when a carriage approached and a lady—­such a lady!—­veiled, you understand, stands before me and a voice says—­“Is this not Senor Juan Roca?” It is true that I had received a note that day—­and why not, senor?  What heart would not beat—­but that is nothing.  I had no more than kissed the tips of her fingers this beautiful evening, when a giant of a man leaps out.  I did not even know that she had a husband.  I do not know yet that he is her husband.  I did not even know who she was, and he—­he was as one sweeping down from a balloon, an aeroplane; but, senor, I who can be gentle, as you can without doubt understand, I can also be as the sea storm which wrecks great ships.  I beat this interloper—­ah-h—­beau-tifully—­’

“’The whole city knew of it—­such a scandal’—­concluded Ferrero for him.

“’Ferrero, enough.  I am no destroyer of homes.  But the senora, Mr. Cogan, takes occasion to point the finger at me.  “There is your mounted capeador, your brave toreador,” she says to Luis, “and they are all alike.”  But Torellas is not so.  My heart withers for him.  You must understand, senor’—­Juan turned anew to Cogan—­’that Torellas is as my own son.  He tells me all.  I have seen him burn in one day ten letters—­yes, his own heart burning for love, you understand.  Such a boy!  He should be a Seminarian.  But her mother, she says it is scandalous!  As if he could stop them from writing!  He must give up bull-fighting!  Torellas give up bull-fighting!  Our matador, the nation’s hero, give up—­pir-r-h—­if I were Torellas—­No matter, I tell him to come to the house as before.  Luis favors him.  I favor him.  Old Tina favors him, and, I think—­I think—­Valera herself—­but she is too proud to say.  She, also, considers it—­beseeched him to give up bull-fighting!  That was the senora’s influence.  If he were an ordinary matador—­but the great Torellas!  Pir-r-h—­but a moment.’  Juan whirled to the waiter, ‘Pedro, mas cafe!’