When he first set eyes on Lola he had guessed that it would pay to invest money in her. The success of the ballet proved that Kowlaski was right as usual, and he smiled his oily smile when he saw the crowded houses and looked over the receipts. The ballet would run for more than a year. He was sure of that, and set about some other business now that the music-hall was flourishing. It was at this point that Lola demanded a week's holiday. Kowlaski whimpered. He usually did so to make people think he was weak. But under his apparent weakness he was possessed of an iron strength.
Having great experience of women he thought to control Lola, but she, being gifted with a superlative temper, laughed in his face. All his cleverness could not make her swerve from the point. "I want a week to myself," she said doggedly. They were talking in French, as Kowlaski could swear more easily in that tongue and wanted freedom of speech.
"But, my dear child--" Kowlaski was always paternal--"it will not do. You are the draw, and if you go out of the bill the people will not come to my house."
"I don't care. I want a week, and a week I will have."
"Why do you wish for this week?"
"That's my business."
Kowlaski tried temper. "If you go, you leave my theater once and for all the time."
"Pschutt!" said Lola, snapping her fingers in his dismayed face. "I draw, and you are in no hurry to get rid of me."
Kowlaski tried reproaches. "If you were a grateful woman----"
"Ah, bah! What of gratitude? You wanted me or would you have seen me die in the gutter."