uring these
months in Spain? Was she still that same "Arithelli of the Hippodrome"
who had come gaily into Barcelona with her ridiculous dresses and her
belief in herself and her career? She had known an hour of love and
passion, and that had been worth all the rest Emile had always told her
that people were not meant to be happy long _ici-bas_. She must pay
now for her hour. The gods were angry and must have a sacrifice.

After she had been out in Barcelona only a week, Emile had taken her to
one of the gambling-hells of the place, where the lights and mirrors
and gilding hurt her tired eyes, and the croupiers called incessantly
through the strained silence, "_Le jeu est fait_. _Rien ne vas plus_!"

It was like that with her now, "_Le jeu est fait_." How that sentence
heat in her brain! She wondered if she were becoming delirious. Then
she was on her feet, and her hand went to the Browning pistol at her
belt. Sobrenski's figure had appeared at the top of the ladder. He
was shading his eyes with his hand, and peering forward into the gloom.
Only one of them there! The girl or Vardri, which was it?

Then the whole place was in darkness, for Arithelli had overturned and
extinguished the solitary lamp. The excited whinny of a horse mingled
with the sound of two shots fired in rapid succession, a rustling noise
among the hay, a groan, and silence. Before he set foot on the ladder
Sobrenski shouted to the rest of the conspirators to bring a light. He
did not wait to look at the prone figure, but made straight for the
door. His business it was first to see whether his quarry were still
in sight.

All the other men were hustling each other in a hasty descent. "_Que
diable_!" one of them said. "What is it now? A spy?"

The man who had lowered Arithelli from the window of the house in the
Calle de Pescadores, made his way first to where Arithelli lay and
stood beside her. He could only see dimly the outline of a figure
which might have been either that of a man or woman. "Bring a light
here," Valdez called impatiently. "Which of them is it?" Though he
was a revolutionist he was still a human being, and he had always been
as sorry for her as he had dared allow himself to be, and he hoped it
was not the girl. Another man came up carrying a lantern, and flashed
the light on what rested motionless at their feet. Arithelli lay on
her face as she had fallen. Her hair streamed over her shoulders and
mingle