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Updated: June 12, 2025
Vardri shrugged expressively, "Ma foi!" "Tell me what made you join the Cause." "Because of a man I believed in. You have heard of Guerchouni who died early in the year? There was a great funeral in Paris. It was in all the papers." Arithelli nodded, "Yes, I heard the men talking about it at one of the meetings. I wasn't interested enough to listen then. Was he ?"
She loved Vardri, or imagined that she did. Emile told himself savagely that he was a fool who deserved no pity, for he had had his own chance and missed it. He had been with her by night and day, and her life had been in his own hands all these months, but he had never made love to her.
Vardri, who had arrived last of all, rode forward to join her, but was curtly ordered to the rear by Sobrenski. They should see enough of each other later on, when it was time. Before they started on their ride he spoke to Arithelli alone, and gave her his final instructions, and saw for himself that the pistol she wore at her belt was properly charged.
Everything seems to be against us now. Sobrenski will have it that there is treachery inside our circle as well as outside. You know whom he suspects?" "No." "Vardri." "That is my fault," Arithelli said quietly. "Sobrenski has felt like that since the night Vardri made a scene about my being lowered down from the window. He just stood up for me because I'm a woman.
"I'm afraid it never will be tuned now that I've been ill and caused so much expense. Emile always says he will go without cigarettes to afford it, and I say I will go without powder, but neither of us keep our heroic resolutions, and the piano gets worse and worse." Vardri shut down the lid with a bang.
She would try and fight him with his own weapon, feign ignorance, tell lies if necessary. "Vardri? What has he done?" The note of surprise in her voice was well assumed and she could control her face, but her hands betrayed her. Sobrenski had seen the blue veins stand out and the knuckles whiten unnaturally with the pressure on the black fan she carried to shield her eyes in the street.
So she could not keep awake even for a lover! The place was dark except for the glimmering light at the far end, and he was obliged to feel his way to avoid the mules, who had an evil trick of lashing out with their heels at anything in the vicinity. At the foot of the steps he trod on a riding whip, which he recognised as one belonging to Vardri.
It had not occurred to her that his speech was a prelude to anything that concerned Vardri. If anyone was implied she imagined it was herself. These men were never happy unless they were suspecting evil of someone. The Anarchist leader found in her incomprehension merely another sign of feminine stupidity.
Emile knew the little weakness of Michael Furness, and as Vardri had not returned it meant that he was still searching. At last the horse-doctor arrived, grunting and ruffling up his crest of curly black hair.
"Vardri, Vardri, I wonder what will be the end of it all?" The walls of the Hippodrome were no longer adorned with gaudy posters whereon flared a travestied portrait of "The beautiful English equestrienne." No longer for Arithelli were showered roses, the tribute of head-lines in the weekly journals, and the welcome of many voices.
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