The Hippodrome | Page 9

other female conspirators in their circle.
Sobrenski, the red-haired leader, detested women, and thought them all
fools, who generally added the sin of treachery to their foolishness.
Emile himself had taken no interest in any woman since he had lived in
Barcelona. He too had found them treacherous. Since he had lost his
little childish goddess, Marie Roumanoff, he had had no desire to play
the role of lover. If he wanted companionship he preferred men, for as
companions women bored him.
But Arithelli was not a woman--yet. She appeared able to keep own
counsel, to do as she was told, and to judge by the way she rode, her
courage would be capable of standing a severe test. Also it had
occurred to him that she possessed the art of being a good comrade. It
would amuse him to watch her develop. At present she was full of

illusions about the charm of life in general. Everything for her showed
rose-tinged. Well, it was not his business to dispel illusions. At present
it was all "Le Rêve," but after the dream would come awakening. He
took care to leave her very little alone during the first few days, and
arranged her time according to his own ideas, and escorted her
backwards and forwards from her rehearsals at the Hippodrome.
When she was free he took her for long walks up the hills where they
could look down upon the gorgeous city, which, as far as natural
loveliness went, might have been compared to Paradise rather than to
the Hell to which he invariably likened it.
The beautiful harbour, the dry air, the sunlight and splashes of vivid
colour--everything was intoxicating to her. She said very little, but
Emile felt that she missed nothing, and lacked nothing in appreciation.
For himself the place must be always hateful, for he was in exile. What
was the golden sunlight to him when he longed for the snows and
frozen wastes of Russia, that sombre country so like the hearts of those
by whom it is peopled.
One day he took her for an excursion to Montserrat, three hours'
journey from Barcelona. They left the train at Monistrol, and started to
walk through the vineyards and pine woods towards the famous
mountain that towers up to heaven in grey rugged terraces of rock. All
round, for miles, were undulating waves of green, here and there the
brown towers of some ancient castle, or the buildings of a farmstead;
and below on the plain the glitter of the winding river. They climbed to
the wooded slopes of Olese, where they sat down to rest. Arithelli
threw herself on the short, dry grass, with her arms under her head, and
drew a long breath of pleasure and relief.
"I love all this; it makes me feel so free."
Emile sat with his back against a huge plane tree, and rolled cigarettes,
watching her under his heavy eyebrows. She looked in her proper place
here, he thought. There was something wild and animal-like about the
grace of her attitude.

"So you're out of a convent?" he said, hurling out the remark with his
usual abruptness. "Tiens! It's absurd!"
"But it's true. Convent schools are cheap, you see, that's why we were
sent there. No, I'm not a Catholic. Most of the girls made their
abjurations, but I never did. They told lies there, and they spied. I hated
that. The nuns spied on the children of Mary, and the children of Mary
spied on the ones who were not the children of Mary, and--" she
stopped.
Emile told her to continue. "I should like to hear more about your--your
religious experiences," he said. "Besides, it will do you more good to
talk than to go to sleep."
Arithelli complied at once, with unruffled good nature. "Oh, of course
I'll tell you if you like," she said amiably. "I stopped because I thought
you would probably be bored, ennuyé, you know."
She described the nuns mumbling their prayers, and punctuating them
with irate commands to the children; the many and various rules, the
Mére Supérieure, the food, the clothes, the eccentricities of Monsieur le
Directeur. She had the rare and unwomanlike art of witty description,
though it assorted badly with her tragic face and unsmiling eyes. As she
talked her voice rippled and broke into suppressed laughter.
"It was all rather dull, n'est-ce-pas?" said Emile, who felt more
amusement than he had any intention of showing. "You'll find the
Cause more exciting."
Before any practical steps were taken to make her a member of the
band it was necessary to stimulate her enthusiasm, her imagination. He
knew that for all her outward calmness she had no lack of fire. The
coldest countries sometimes produced the most raging volcanoes.
"It's