The Hippodrome | Page 2

in acknowledgment.
"Many thanks, Monsieur! I know scarcely any Spanish. Perhaps you
would tell me where one could get lodgings. It seems rather hopeless
for this man and myself to continue arguing in different languages, so if
you would not mind--"
When they were both in the fiacre she did not speak, but leaned back,
her hands in her lap, her feet crossed, looking straight in front of her
with hazel-green eyes, expressionless as those of the Sphinx. Count
Poleski congratulated himself in silence over his discovery. Here was a
woman so unique that she asked no questions, did not volunteer after
the manner of most women a flood of voluble information, apparently
took everything for granted, and was in no way embarrassed by himself
or his company.
In some respects she appeared a young girl, but her composure was
certainly not youthful.

"So you're out from England," he said at last.
"From Paris," she answered him serenely. "I'm Arithelli of the
Hippodrome." There was a girlish pride in her accents, and she looked
at him sideways to observe the effect of her announcement.
"Ma foi! So it's that, is it? Then I've heard something about you. I know
the Manager pretty well. He said you were un peu bizarre."
"Peut être plus qu'un peu," Arithelli retorted quickly. "I see you think
he's right."
Arrived at the lodgings she sat still, waiting in the cab with the same
apparent indifference while Emile wrangled with the landlady. At
length he came back to her: "You had better try these for a week," he
said. "They're forty pesetas. She will want the rent in advance as you
have no recommendation." For the first time Arithelli seemed
disturbed.
"I'm afraid I can't pay it. I'm to have five pounds a week at the
Hippodrome, but of course I can't ask for that in advance. I had a
second-class ticket out here, and now I've only got four-and-sixpence
left."
She held out a small blue satin bag, displaying a few coins. "Perhaps I'd
better go and explain to the Manager." Emile shrugged his shoulders.
Obviously the girl was very young.
"On the whole I think you'd better not," he said. "You know nothing
about either myself or the Manager, and it seems you've got to trust one
of us so it may as well be me."
When he had arranged matters he departed, saying casually, "I'll come
in again to-night about nine o'clock to see how you are getting on.
Don't do anything insane, such as wandering about the streets, because
you feel dull. It won't hurt you to put up with the dulness for a bit.
You'll have plenty of excitement if you're going to live in Barcelona."

"Tiens!" said Arithelli to herself. "What manners and what dirty nails!
C'est un homme épouvantable, but very useful. But for him I should
have been prancing round this place all night, looking for rooms."
She dragged her trunk towards her, and proceeded to unpack the
collection of gaudy dresses that she had bought with so much pride at
the Bon Marché in Paris, and which were all in the worst possible taste.
Perhaps she had been impelled to a choice of lively colours as being
symbolical in their brightness of the new life on which she was about to
embark. There was a green cloth rendered still more hideous by being
inlet with medallions of pink silk, a cornflower blue with much silver
braid already becoming tarnished in the few times it had been worn,
and a mauve and orange adorned with flamboyant Eastern embroidery.
When she had tumbled them all out they showed a vivid patch of
ill-assorted tints. Arithelli shivered as she sat back on her heels on the
floor, and looked round the sordid room. The excitement of her arrival
had worn off, and the element of depression reigned supreme in her
mind. Certainly the apartment, which was supposed to be a
bed-sitting-room, but which was merely a bedroom, was not enlivening
to contemplate. No carpet, dirty boards, a large four-poster bed
canopied with faded draperies against the wall facing the window.
There was a feeble attempt at a washstand in a small alcove on the left,
furnished with the usual doll's house crockery affected on the
Continent,--no wardrobe and no dressing table.
It all looked hopeless, she told herself disgustedly. Surely there were
better rooms to be found in Barcelona for forty pesetas a week! Either
lodgings must be very dear or else Emile Poleski had meant to take a
large commission for his trouble in finding them!
She was stiff and tired after the long journey and want of proper food,
and every trifle took upon itself huge dimensions. She was daintily
fastidious as to cleanliness, and everything seemed to her filthy