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Updated: May 31, 2025
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.
The man who had lowered Arithelli from the window of the house in the Calle de Pescadores, made his way first to where Arithelli lay and stood beside her. He could only see dimly the outline of a figure which might have been either that of a man or woman. "Bring a light here," Valdez called impatiently. "Which of them is it?"
In the dim circle of light cast by the smoky lamp there was only a truss of hay disordered as if someone had lain upon it, and the manta, and other things belonging to Arithelli. There was one thing more, a sheet of paper covered closely with an untidy scrawl. The lynx eyes flashed, and Sobrenski bent eagerly forward. Bad as the light was it had not taken him long to recognise the writing.
The worship of the goddess Liberty had left with him room also for the adoration of a human being, and in a boyish chivalrous way he had tried to make things easier for Arithelli. He managed to bring her occasional flowers and music out of his starvation wages, and was always jealously careful of the way in which her horses were groomed and turned out.
He exhorted, jeered, encouraged and derided, finally giving Arithelli five minutes in which to make her decision. She did not keep him waiting, though he could scarcely hear the murmured words of assent. Her nerve was broken at last. She would promise anything, do anything if only he would let her go.
And so it came to pass that on the following Sunday Arithelli found herself sitting on the deck of a yacht anchored far out in the harbour, with the shores of Barcelona only a faint outline in the distance. They had come aboard the previous day. Emile had made her no explanations beyond saying that he was going to take her for a sea trip, and after her custom she had asked no questions.
He guessed instinctively that Arithelli needed more air, and he had himself begun to find the temperature almost unbearable, for the building was lofty, and the room they were in near the roof. He rested his folded arms upon the sill and leaned his head and shoulders far out.
"Condemned without a hearing!" the girl flamed out. "Mon Dieu! Your justice! What has he done?" "Have you a right to question the judgment of the Committee?" The voice was like a scourge falling on bare flesh. Arithelli drew her shoulders together involuntarily. "No!" she answered. "Yet you do it! These womanly inconsistencies are a little fatiguing."
They had been silent for some time, and both started when the door was assaulted by a sudden thump, and the scarecrow-like visage of the depressed landlady appeared in the opening. Having delivered herself of a small cardboard box, and a few grumbling comments upon the indecent hours and ways of circus performers, she withdrew, and Arithelli proceeded to cut the string and remove the lid.
Of Arithelli he possessed no tangible likeness, but he would have her always with him, for her image was seared deep upon both heart and brain. The Witch sailed out of Barcelona harbour with the early morning tide.
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