The next instant she was on her
feet on the ground again and Don Juan had stopped short. Her upward
leap had carried her on to his back, but she had not been able to keep
her balance.
There was dead silence and then the hissing in the audience broke out,
vehement and unrestrained.
That she had pleased them hitherto went for nothing in her favour now.
She had been clumsy, ungraceful, had failed--that was enough.
Arithelli herself scarcely heard the sounds of execration, as she stood
swaying with one hand over her eyes to shut out the horrible glare.
She was conscious only of that and the strident noise of the band, and
the sensation of choking she had felt once before. The instinct of all
animals to hide themselves in the dark when ill, was strong upon her.
The fat little ring-master who alone had the sense to see there was
something wrong, advanced and spoke to her in an agitated whisper. She
gave him her hand and he led her out, leaving her hurriedly to go back
and apologise to the irate spectators, and to claim their indulgence on
the score of her sudden faintness.
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