But even this consoling philosophy failed to have a rousing effect.
For the first time in her life Arithelli had fainted.
* * * * * *
When she came to her senses that evening Emile sent the landlady with a message to the Hippodrome, telling the Manager to substitute another turn, and then made Arithelli get into bed. Her dress and boots came off and reposed upon the floor. The rest of her clothes were left on.
These details did not worry Emile. Then he found a book and sat reading till she had drifted into a heavy sleep, the sleep of exhaustion.
In his own way he was sorry for her, and his feelings were by no means as brutal as his words. At the same time he did not believe in a display of sympathy. According to his ideas it was demoralising, and cured no one of complaints, imaginary or otherwise.
Also it was likely to make people hysterical. Therefore when Arithelli woke at six o'clock in the morning, and sat up panting, with a hand at her left side, he elevated both shoulders and eyebrows.
"Qu'est ce-qu vous avez donc? You're all right now."
He knew perfectly well that there was no pretence of illness. The strained eyes, the blue shadows round the mouth told their own tale.
"Oh, Emile, my heart feels so queer! I'm sure it must be all wrong."