Part 20 (2/2)
”Books? _Ma foi_, no! I liked them well enough at one time, when I hadn't studied _la vie_. Now they're _fade_.”
Arith.e.l.li was silent for a little while. She knew only too well that Emile had spoken the truth, had put into blunt words what to herself was only a vague, half-formed idea. Her illness had been Vardri's golden harvest time, for it had given him the chance of being often alone with her. He had read to her, waited upon her, served her with the utmost chivalry and devotion. He had made of her a Madonna, a G.o.ddess, she who was fair game for all other men in Barcelona.
Emile's voice broke in upon her meditations.
”You shouldn't worry, Fatalite. It's not becoming. Have a cigarette to make yourself a little distraction.”
She shook her head.
”No, thank you, Emile. I never wanted to smoke, and any way it would not give me a distraction to-night.”
”Then what are you worrying about?”
”I've only been wondering what will be the end of me.”
”What has made you suddenly become so anxious about your end?” Emile looked at her keenly.
The wide eyes raised to his were tragedy incarnate. The long nervous fingers were tightly locked together.
”I'm a coward to-night,” the soft hoa.r.s.e voice went on. ”I've never grumbled before, have I, Emile? I seem to have suddenly realised how hopeless everything looks for me in the future. I've had time enough to think it all out since I've been lying in bed. When I first came here I thought I was going to do all sorts of wonderful things, but now I see that this life leads to nothing, and I may go on being just a circus rider for years. When I get well and finish out this contract I shall have to try and get another engagement in Paris or Vienna. The English Consul and all the other men wait to see me come out, 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 'ARITh.e.l.lI 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 s.h.i.+vering 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.”
”n.o.body 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 pa.s.sionate love, but Arith.e.l.li 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 I wished you were dead. Yes, you needn't look so horrified.” He gave her a fierce shake. ”I hoped to see you in your coffin. Can't you understand, Fatalite? No, of course you can't, and you think me a brute. One of these days perhaps you will think differently. Probably you imagine I don't care for you, but if I didn't should I mind whether you were alive or dead? You've always been saying that you feel something is going to happen. It seems you are right.
There have been several unexpected developments during the last few days.
It is most likely that I may be chosen to go back to Russia with despatches to one of the secret societies there. Here I cannot be arrested, there I can. Of course it means Siberia--eventually. That's only what we all expect.”
”Then I shall be here alone.”
”Yes, and there's no future for a woman in this vile place. You know the proverb they have, 'Can any good thing come out of Barcelona?' Your looks are against you too.”
”There's always the river.”
”Then when the time comes choose that--if you still have the courage.
You've been _bonne camarade_ to me, Fatalite. The men you will meet later on may not want that.”
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