“Eight days more!” she thought.
At night, she dreamed of backward jerks, of turning the handle-bar, pushing the pedal. Poor Glass-Eye, cowering in a corner of the bed, had terrible nightmares, and, in the morning, after Lily’s kicks, she rose with her ribs smarting and her shins all black and blue. That was all her profit, for Lily had hardly any money left and was not yet drawing a salary.
Lily submitted to all sorts of privation with a proud dignity. She would be beholden to nobody. Soon her whole fortune would consist of her box of lucky halfpence and a franc which she had won by turning a cartwheel, for a bet, among artistes, in the country, to stagger the jossers. And so their little evening meal was a scanty one. A sausage, a little fruit, a cup of tea ... and then to bed. That was better than listening to the owner of the Hours and all those men who propose things to you. Never, never! Her work, her work! Lord, after what she had seen of Poland and the Hours, it was much simpler to work, to be self-reliant. At night, sometimes, Lily would lie awake and think ... where did that three hundred francs of the Bijou come from? Not from the Bijou: Cataplasm’s defeat had swallowed up everything and the theater had long been without a penny; they used to fill the house with paper distributed among the staff, with orders to get rid of it anyhow. They were not far short of inviting soldiers from the barracks. There had never been more than two hundred seats paid for of an evening; it meant flat bankruptcy. And she was the only one who had received anything: why? How? Then it must have been some admirer, but who? Not the architect, surely, that josser! Who then? And why had Jimmy engaged the Bambinis, when she asked him to? He did everything to please her. He was letting her top the bill: why? She made a heap of guesses, without getting at the exact truth ... Jimmy ... Jimmy ... that man, with his coldness, interested her. While so many others were prowling around her, he alone seemed indifferent. She would have liked to see him in love with her ... to make him suffer a little in his turn! All the beauty-shows which Lily had seen, all the exhibitions of painted Hours had not spoiled her good taste: Jimmy pleased her, with that strong face of his. What an endless pity that she had married Trampy! She gave a scornful pout when she thought of it: she married to Trampy! Married to that soaker: she, a woman made for a man, a creature of flesh and blood, who admired fine muscles, rough sport and virile smackings! Gee, if she had been a man, it seemed to her that she would have enjoyed spoiling a little Lily: outside working hours, of course! And, if a little Lily had asked her, “Do you love me, yes or no?” she would never have answered no. To-day, she would have bitten off her own tongue rather than put that question to Jimmy! And yet Jimmy had a dignity about him that pleased her. She could see into the game of the others. The architect, for instance, would give her just a smile in passing, a pleasant word, as one performs a social duty, between two pieces of business. A little amusement, no more: that was all she was to him ... and to all of them. Jimmy seemed different. But, still, if he loved her, why hadn’t he the courage to tell her so? And, besides, when all was said, she was sick and tired of men! Some of them ran after you like dogs; others, damn it, were icicles! A girl could have Marjutti’s figure, Thea’s arms, Nancy’s legs, Lillian’s or Laurence’s face ... and still they would not be satisfied! And thereupon Lily pursed her brows, asked herself how and why and went to sleep like a baby.
And the rehearsals continued every day, without respite. Lily became terrible the nearer she drew to success: her indomitable spirit mounted to her heart. Jimmy had difficulty in holding her in. She made twenty flights, thirty flights ... and the twine no longer broke. From that moment, she was sure of succeeding, always. When you have once succeeded, even if it be but once, you have no right ever to fail again. She had been brought up in those principles, had had them rubbed into her skin. She could not fail now, it was impossible! Even in her flight to the opening up above! She had learned her “times,” she knew how to aim exactly at the right spot. Jimmy hastened to have the roof arranged for the final exit, when the aerobike would disappear before the eyes of the audience, in the star-strewn sky. All that remained was to get everything ready for the final rehearsal: the complete show, with all lights lit, as for a gala night. Lily seemed to see it all beforehand. On the day when she realized that no accident was possible, that it was a trick of which she was certain, she stifled a cry of triumph in her throat. She was afraid to believe in it herself, so greatly did it surpass her dreams. She would have stayed for days on the aerobike to experience the delight of the leap into space. It seemed to her as though she were becoming a bird and about to hover in mid-air and leave them all behind her, in the crowd below ... all, all ... and be a little Lily, flying away on the back-wheel before their noses.
“You’ll make yourself ill,” said Jimmy. “Take a rest; there’s no need to tire yourself; you do it as well as I.”
For Jimmy, of course, had done the thing too, if only to show Lily; besides, it was easy for him, who had had so much practice in London and who knew his machine from end to end. And he appreciated the difficulty all the more. He admired Lily’s incredible pluck, her all-devouring ambition and that splendid determination to get out of her scrape, to be a little Lily earning her bread as she knew how, by her work, even if she had to break her neck in the doing of it! And proud to her finger-tips, in spite of the dog’s life she had led.
“If I had not procured her this delight,” thought Jimmy, “I should never have forgiven myself to the end of my days.”
And, from working with her for hours and hours, from holding her by the waist at the first trials, from feeling that little body quiver under his hand, from seeing Lily rush at danger, Jimmy became madly in love with her again ... if he had ever ceased to be so! Ah, if Trampy...! But Lily was married ... the divorce depended on the husband ... and the husband wouldn’t have it ... at any price: not for a million, he said, by Jove, would he be separated from a little wife whom he adored!
“Poor Lily!” thought Jimmy sadly. “Will she always be doomed to drag that dead weight about with her?”
During the intervals for rest, while Lily wiped the perspiration from her forehead, Jimmy talked to her ... at first, of insignificant things ... the name “Astrarium,” for instance ... a place devoted to planets, to stars: as a palmarium is to palms. Stars ... that was to say, bill-toppers: the Three Graces; the Laurences; the Lillians; the Marjuttis; the Lilies ... yes, the Lilies! Then he pitied her for belonging to Trampy; and what a good little Lily she would have been if she had remained with her family!