angel! were the exclamations that followed that
lovely creature as she moved to her seat, leaning upon James
Harrington's arm. No wonder he looked proud of her!

"Mrs. Harrington did not care to see a scene so revolting, and I would
have stayed at home gladly, but they refused to hear of it, reason as I
might. It seems as if they were determined to chain me like a slave to
this girl's chariot wheels. Well, I can endure it. There must have been
thousands of persons present, for the great amphitheatre was full long
before the Infanta appeared with her family and her royal guests. She
was received with exclamations, and took her seat with a slight bow of
recognition and a smile full of eloquent thanks for the popular favor so
pleasantly manifested. Two or three lovely children were in the box,
evidently eager for the fighting to commence. Soon after the Infanta was
seated, a man richly dressed, and of noble presence, strode across the
arena, flung his cap on the ground, and made a profound bow to the royal
party. The Infanta arose, leaned a little forward and cast a golden key
at his feet. This key was to unlock the door which connected the arena
with the compartment outside, in which the wild bulls were kept.

"All this time the man had stood with his back toward us. When he
stooped to pick up the key and turned from the presence, Lucy Eaton
uttered a faint cry, and her mother caught hold of my arm with a grasp
that pained me. 'Oh mercy--oh mercy! It is--it is the Duke,' she
exclaimed, 'What can he be doing there?'

"'I think it is his place,' I answered in a low voice. 'Hush, I would
say nothing about it.'

"I looked at Lucy. She was white as snow, and her eyes dwelt on the man
with a frightened stare.

"'Why is he there?' she whispered, shivering perceptibly. 'Tell me, if
you can, what it means.'

"'What are you inquiring about?' questioned General Harrington, bending
toward us with suave politeness. 'Anything that I can tell you?'

"'Who is that man?' I inquired, observing that Lucy could not speak
without bursting into tears.

"'Which man?'

"'That person in the arena, who was just bowing to the Infanta.'

"'Oh that man? He is the chief matadore. The best bull-fighter in all
Spain.'

"'A matadore, a bull fighter!' almost shrieked Mrs. Eaton, turning upon
her daughter and snatching a moss rose from her bosom where it held the
folds of her muslin dress together. 'Fling it away, child. Pitch it
after him.