"What have you there, Mademoiselle?" he enquired pathetically. "Never have I seen you like this before. You fear the grand people, is it not so? You have no heart, no courage! But again! Again!"
In the midst of his exhortation the Manager descended suddenly upon the scene. As a matter of fact he had been watching for the last ten minutes from one of the entrances, and he had seen her failure to accomplish her jumps successfully.
"This won't do for to-night," he said angrily. "We want your best work, not your worst. Do you suppose I'm going to stand your laziness?"
Arithelli was sitting at ease upon Don Juan's back as he paced slowly round the ring. She did not look up or answer, which enraged the Manager still further. Her silence was one of the things about her that always annoyed him most? She was the only woman he had never been able to bully into a state of collapse.
He turned on the ring-master, who was grinning to himself.
"Allez-vous en! I'll see to this."
Señor Valdez looked uncomfortable. For an instant he felt almost inclined to expostulate on Arithelli's behalf, but the Manager's rages were well known to his employes, and the little man had no intention of losing his present position. He flung down his long whip, and retired muttering vengeance.
The Manager strode into the centre of the ring, picked up the lash and drew it through his fingers.
He swore at Arithelli, he swore at Don Juan, and he started the rehearsal all over again.
Arithelli clenched her teeth and rode doggedly forward. The arena swam before her, and her limbs felt weak and heavy as those of one who is drugged, and her lacerated hand added to her difficulties. That she should presume to be ill, had not entered into the Manager's calculations. If he had realised the fact he would have said that people who were ill were of no use in a circus, and the sooner she left it the better.