"I fancy not, but she appears to have the right ideas, and after I have judiciously fanned the flame!—girls of that age are always wildly enthusiastic over something—so she may as well devote her enthusiasm to us."
CHAPTER III
"Out of the uttermost end of things
On the side of life that is seamier,
There lies a land, so its poet sings,
Whose people call it Bohemia.
"It is not old, it is not new,
It is not false, it is not true,
And they will not answer for what they do,
Far away in Bohemia."
"Love in Bohemia," DOLF WYLLARDE.
"I think," Arithelli said with deliberation, "that all your friends are very fatiguing. They have such bad tempers, and do nothing but argue."
"They live for the serious things of life," retorted Emile. "Not to play the fool."
"Thanks! Is this one of the serious things of life, do you suppose?" She stuck the large needle with which she had been awkwardly cobbling a tear in her skirt, into the seat of a chair.
"What are you doing that for?" demanded Emile.
"Oh, pardon, I forgot." She extracted the needle. "I don't think I'm unwomanly but I'm not a good sewer. Emile! don't you think we might have some music? I really am beginning to sing 'Le Rêve' quite well."
Her education in Anarchy had commenced with the teaching of revolutionary songs. Emile, who was himself music-mad, had discovered her to be possessed of a rough contralto voice of a curious mature quality. It would have been an absurd voice for ballads in a drawing-room, but it suited fiery declamations in praise of La Liberté!