in that distraction which the
personality of a singer creates.

In the illusion of his surroundings the man himself did not exist.

There was only the voice--the singer. Hungarian folk-songs that fired
her blood and made her restless with strange longings; "_La vie est
vaine_," eternally sweet and haunting; then some wickedly witty song of
the _cafes_, and melodies of Gounod full of infinite charm. Last of
all came always "_Le Reve_," in which Emile and Vladimir joined as if
it were some National Anthem, and which left her quivering with
excitement.

CHAPTER VII

"There would no man do for your sake, I think,
What I would have done for the least word said;
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink--
Broken it up for your daily bread."
SWINBURNE.

When the week of dreams and rest was over she went back to the
Hippodrome with somewhat of relief in her feelings.

At least the work prevented her from thinking. Though she was
physically less languid, the sea air had neither succeeded in putting
any more flesh on what the Manager called her "lean flanks," nor had it
made her look much more cheerful. He had the sense to let her take her
place as _equestrienne_ once more, and had announced her reappearance
in flaming posters.

The stablemen and helpers were all delighted to see her again, and in
token of their satisfaction presented her with a hideous and unwieldy
bouquet, in which all colours were arranged together so as to give the
effect of a kaleidoscope. They liked her for her sweet temper and
invariable courtesy, and respected her for her knowledge of horses.

Estelle came and embraced her and was voluble over the failings of her
"_bon ami_," the sardonic manager.

Arithelli received a hearty round of applause as she rode into the ring
on her favourite "Don Juan," whose wavy tail and mane were decorated
with turquoise ribbons that matched her habit.

At least she was happy on horseback, and she loved the animals and they
her.

Even the performing sheep and monkey, and the toothless lion came in
for a share in her affections. She had a new and difficult trick to go
through that night, but this particular sort of danger only made her
feel exhilarated.

Emile's stories of blood and horrors had sickened her, but the chance
of breaking her neck over a high jump held no terrors.

She made her exit, gaily waving her silver-handled whip, and Vardri,
who was standing at t