rmometer comically protruding
from a corner of her lips. Meanwhile Alvina took her plump white
wrist and felt her pulse.

"We can practise--" began Geoffrey.

"Sh!" said Max, holding up his finger and looking anxiously at
Alvina and Madame, who still leaned back with the stump of the
thermometer jauntily perking up from her pursed mouth, while her
face was rather ghastly.

Max and Louis watched anxiously. Geoffrey sat blowing the smoke down
his nose, while Ciccio callously lit another cigarette, striking a
match on his boot-heel and puffing from under the tip of his rather
long nose. Then he took the cigarette from his mouth, turned his
head, slowly spat on the floor, and rubbed his foot on his spit. Max
flapped his eyelids and looked all disdain, murmuring something
about "ein schmutziges italienisches Volk," whilst Louis, refusing
either to see or to hear, framed the word "chien" on his lips.

Then quick as lightning both turned their attention again to Madame.

Her temperature was a hundred and two.

"You'd better go to bed," said Alvina. "Have you eaten anything?"

"One little mouthful," said Madame plaintively.

Max sat looking pale and stricken, Louis had hurried forward to take
Madame's hand. He kissed it quickly, then turned aside his head
because of the tears in his eyes. Geoffrey gulped beer in large
throatfuls, and Ciccio, with his head bent, was watching from under
his eyebrows.

"I'll run round for the doctor--" said Alvina.

"Don't! Don't do that, my dear! Don't you go and do that! I'm likely
to a temperature--"

"Liable to a temperature," murmured Louis pathetically.

"I'll go to bed," said Madame, obediently rising.

"Wait a bit. I'll see if there's a fire in the bedroom," said
Alvina.

"Oh, my dear, you are too good. Open the door for her, Ciccio--"

Ciccio reached across at the door, but was too late. Max had
hastened to usher Alvina out. Madame sank back in her chair.

"Never for ten years," she was wailing. "Quoi faire, ah, quoi
faire! Que ferez-vous, mes pauvres, sans votre Kishwegin. Que
vais-je faire, mourir dans un tel pays! La bonne demoiselle--la
bonne demoiselle--elle a du coeur. Elle pourrait aussi etre belle,
s'il y avait un peu plus de chair. Max, liebster, schau ich sehr
elend aus? Ach, oh jeh, oh jeh!"

"Ach nein, Madame, ach nein. Nicht so furchtbar elend," said Max.

"Manca il cuore solamente al Ciccio," moaned Madame. "Che natura
povera, senza sentimento--niente