and throw me
flowers and rings, but when they see me driving with you in the Paseo de
Gracia, they look the other way, especially if they are with their wives
and families. They like 'ARITHELLI OF THE HIPPODROME' in her proper
place,--the ring. Gas and glare, paint and glitter! That is my life.
And they always hope that I shall fall off. I can feel it. It's the
Roman arena all over again. For a long time before I had that accident I
didn't know how to get through the rehearsals. I nearly fell off two or
three times, but there was no one there to see. The more I practised the
more cold I got, and I used to have horrible shivering fits. It's so
queer. I don't believe I'm made like other people. Estelle gets hot and
scarlet when she practises."

"Poor little child!"

"Why are you so nice to me? You've never said anything like that before."

"Because if when you first came here I had begun to pity you it would
have made you realise your position sooner than need be. You were like
one in a dream. It was not my place to awaken you. I left that for
Life, '_la vie_' that you were so anxious to experience. You made
yourself '_Chateaux en Espagne_.' We all do that at some time or other."

"Nobody really cares what becomes of me except--" she broke off the
sentence and continued steadily. "My people don't mind whether I am here
or not. They won't like it if I come back a failure."

In his heart Emile cursed the Fates. Her awakening had been a complete
one. At first novelty and excitement had served as merciful
anaesthetics, but they could not last for ever.

He was not in love with her, he still told himself, but he would miss
her. Women like the Roumanoff were the women to whom men made passionate
love, but Arithelli was unique. She had become part of his life in
Barcelona. Their lives had touched and mingled till it was impossible to
believe that he had only known her for a few short months. A future
without her would be one without interest. For her he could see no
future. She would have to go to the devil some way or another
eventually, and there would be plenty of people ready and willing to
provide her with an escort.

He threw away his cigarette, and came across the room to her, and his
hands fell heavily upon her shoulders.

"Look here, Fatalite," he said roughly; "we thought you were dying a
little while ago, and I helped to fight for your life, and all the time,
at the back of my brain