Happily they started toward Madrid, unaware of the terrible plan which this jealous torero was beginning to lay.
On they drove through a flat land of many vineyards. They passed small white houses with tiled hats on, and a village cut out of the landscape by a lazy hand and colored carelessly. Soon they entered Madrid.
Madrid is a modern city of tram cars and toots and traffic. In the summer time, Madrid is like a faded, old duchess, who clicks her fan and squats in the sun. She is dressed in handsome plazas, fountains, and parks.
But should you chance to walk into a narrow side street, you might catch Madrid in her alley mood. Then she is a simple peasant.
Madrid is the capital, center, and heart of Spain. Pedro, the torero, had lived there all his life. But little Carmen had only recently arrived in the big city.
Upon the Sunday of Pedro's great bullfight, Carmen awoke early. Her heart pounded with excitement. Today she and her magic castanets were to try to save the life of Pedro's beloved Rey.
But suppose Rey would not listen to her? Suppose he would not come to her when she played? The noisy arena would be far different from the quiet fields where she was accustomed to calling him. He would be frightened, furious, and fierce.
Bullfights do not start until four o'clock in the afternoon. Then the sun is getting ready to go to bed, and Spaniards are getting up from their siestas, or naps.
Carmen drove to the bullfight with Pedro's mother.
As they passed the Prado (prä´d[=o]), Madrid's beautiful art gallery, Carmen thought, "This Prado is a heaven of art, while the corrida, only a few blocks away, is a hades of suffering!"
She began to worry. And what girl would not have worried? For no matter how brave a torero may be, it is never certain that he will come out of the arena alive. Why, even Rey, his own pet, might today take Pedro's life!
[Illustration: _From a Painting by Goya_ DOÑA ISABEL CORBO DE PORCEL]
Trough the many fine streets of Madrid they drove, and at last they reached the bull ring. Crowds were swarming in through the gates of the big, round arena. Carmen and Pedro's mother, silent and sad-faced, made their way to their box.
The old lady wore a tall comb in her hair and a lace mantilla over it. She opened her fan with a click and started to fan herself. Carmen did the same, as, indeed, everyone else was doing. The sun had been very slow about going to bed.