The matador--he had had his supreme moment.
"Cogan looked up to the Roca's party. Her father was still wildly
cheering Torellas. Her mother and Guavera were applauding, too, but
their applause did not have the quality of Senor Roca's. Valera's face
was still hidden by her fan. Cogan looked to the matador. He seemed to
be limp, apathetic. 'The reaction,' Cogan thought, and Torellas, being
so young and such a high-strung fellow, maybe it was only natural, and
yet, thinking a moment later, it had come rather soon for an athlete in
his fine condition.
"In the sand lay the sword with which he had killed the bull, and while
the people were cheering, stamping, hurling words of applause,
endearment, love, at Torellas, he picked it up. Already the President of
the Republic was standing up in his box with the cloak and hat of the
master, to hand them back to him with words of appreciation, and to him
and the crowd Torellas was bowing.
"Cogan, with eyes only for Torellas and the Rocas, did not see the
beginning of what happened next. He first heard a cry, then a loud voice
or two, then a hundred, a thousand voices. He turned. The gate which
held the next bull in confinement had been opened or else it had burst
out. The gateman was there, but with despairing hands on high, and
across the ring the fresh bull was coming. Torellas was standing with
his back to the gate, and not twenty feet from it, almost in the spot
where he had killed his bull, and wiping the sword blade in a fold of
Cogan's cape, which he was now holding loosely.
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