day, at the races,--with Dare
Devil, his wonderful horse. Dare Devil had beaten Cataplasm, his rival's
colt, and the smash had followed at once: the Bijou closed; a forced sale;
Harrasford had bagged it; and that was one, with more to come!

The artistes were carried away by this daring stroke! Harrasford, a son of
a gun, who could put them all in his pocket! The one-legged artistes
fought a mock duel between France and England, the victor to marry Lily:
what did they think of that? Hurrah!

"Say, boys, which is the quickest way of dropping money?"

"Fast women!"

"No, slow horses!"

It was grand. They drank to everybody's health. They drank to Harrasford;
they drank to the Astrarium! They counted the money on the bar-counter;
the amount of the collection had been greatly exceeded and somebody
suggested that it was a nice thing, upon my word, yes, a very nice thing,
what they were doing: having a good time, while the Bambinis, perhaps,
were going to bed without any supper! The whiskies and sodas had warmed
their hearts: my turn to-day, yours to-morrow, damn it! It might happen to
any of them, to hop the twig and leave Bambinis behind him.

"Lily, the hat!"

And Lily handed round the hat again and collected more than on the day
before, even among those who had had their money back.

"Take that to the Bambinis," they said. "We've been behaving like Dagoes,
damn it! Artistes ought not to act as such!"

"'K you! 'K you!"

And Lily Clifton walked off, very proudly, with her maid, to hand the
money to Nunkie, who was acting as treasurer.

"And, meantime, one's got to live," said Lily to herself, when she was
outside.

After the spurious gaiety of the moment, she seemed to be returning to her
distress, with no work, no money, the Bijou closed, Harrasford taking
possession of the theater. She revolved all this in her head, without
succeeding in connecting the whole: rags of ideas hung in her brain, like
the strips of scenery at the back of the stage. She had not even the
courage to go and take her bike ... to-morrow ... to-morrow. The Hours,
the pink one and the scarlet one, who came out of the bar also, resigned
themselves gaily. Their salary mattered so little. As they explained to
Lily, you're always well paid, when you have rich friends, and, if you
haven't, all you have to do is to look out for them:

"Like Poland, what! A fat lot she cares the old boy's ruined! All she will
do is to find another, change he