"How much are the brutes to have?" he asked of the Manager. "And what on earth do you give them?"
"Oh, I generally give 'em fish," was the sarcastic answer. "What are you doing here, Poleski? This is the girl's business. I thought she was keen on her horses."
"She is also keen on her bed," Emile answered. "She does her share of work."
The Manager grumbled, but the new arrangement was allowed to stand.
Arithelli did not consort with the other female members of the
Hippodrome.
The one exception was Estelle the dancer, with whom Emile allowed her a slight acquaintance. He neither approved of women in general nor of their friendships. Estelle was the bonne amie of the sardonic Manager, who occasionally beat her, after which ceremony it was her custom to drink absinthe. Sometimes, for this reason, she was unable to appear on the stage. She would come into Arithelli's dressing room and weep, and smoke innumerable cigarettes, and when things had been going well, they made a partie carrée at the Café Colomb.
By way of advertising herself and her performance Arithelli was given a high, smartly painted carriage in which she drove in the fashionable promenade of Barcelona, the Paséo de Gracia, with three of the cream-coloured horses lightly harnessed and jingling with bells.
On these occasions Emile played the part of lady's maid and escort. He selected her dress, fastened it, scolded her for putting her hat on crooked, and laced up her preposterously high boots.
Then he adjusted the battered sombrero, lit a cigarette and drove beside her, scowling as usual.
The appearance of both was sufficiently arresting. Arithelli drove as she rode, recklessly, and yet with science. Her thin wrists and long girlish arms were capable of controlling the most fiery animal.