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The thought of what he had found made him feel almost good-humoured, although he took good care that no one else should benefit by this unusual mood. "You have found yourself a little distraction, hein?" he said, ignoring Arithelli's presence. "We are not up here for amusement all the same. There's nothing done. I supposed you had come down to see to the horses."
"If you are going into hysterics with fright you'll catch anything that is catching. If you behave sensibly you won't." The window was fully open and the green shutters thrown back, and the fierce sunlight streamed into Arithelli's room, which showed more than its normal disorder.
He held it close to the lamp, and smiled with satisfaction. Nothing could be better from his point of view. In the first sentence there was all, even more, than he wanted. He smoothed it out between his pointed fingers, folded it, and bestowed it carefully in an inside pocket. It was just the kind of thing he would have expected from a girl of Arithelli's type, to go about dropping letters.
Arithelli's throat had healed quickly, but the depression and weakness clung to her persistently. She fought it and was ashamed of it, true to her Spartan traditions, but was forced to realise that it was not in her own power to hurry her return to the world and work.
If there was either money or jewellery in Arithelli's possession it was sure to be found in quite a conspicuous place. The varied life of the city surged to and fro beneath the window, the varied noises floated up into the room, and under the faded red brocade curtains, Arithelli turned from side to side and moaned with closed eyes. A seller of fruit passed, crying his wares.
The informer had chosen his time well, and had found the Manager raging over Arithelli's mishap, and ready to dismiss anyone with or without reason. Vardri turned his back on the place whistling defiance, and with his courage fallen below zero. He would have liked to say good-bye to the horses, and to some of the men who were his friends.
Yes, certainly the incapable old landlady would be preferable to a white-capped religeuse, for the latter, though not likely by virtue of her training to be scared by the physical atmosphere, would undoubtedly be appalled by the mental and moral one. Most likely she would take advantage of Arithelli's weakness to persuade her of the danger of her present way of living.
To Arithelli's relief the woman was mistress of a limited amount of French patois, and in answer to a demand for a wardrobe of some kind, said she would send up her son. He was a carpenter and would doubtless arrange something. She gave a curious glance at the girl's witch-like beauty, a mixture of suspicion and barely-admitted pity in her thoughts.
Arithelli's ministering angels left in each other's company. Michael drifted back to his favourite café, while Emile betook himself to the Hippodrome to wage war with that amiable functionary, the Manager. The strife was both noisy and prolonged, and resulted in only a partial victory for Emile.
Arithelli's affairs had to be put straight, and Vardri provided for in some way. He did not in the least know how this was all to be accomplished, and at present the problems of the immediate future seemed likely to prove a little difficult. He was not by nature optimistic, and the events of the last few days had made him even less so than ordinary.