re not something called Woodlouse? I
believe. Ugh, horrible! Why is it horrible?"

Alvina quickly undressed the plump, trim little woman. She seemed so
soft. Alvina could not imagine how she could be a dancer on the
stage, strenuous. But Madame's softness could flash into wild
energy, sudden convulsive power, like a cuttle-fish. Alvina brushed
out the long black hair, and plaited it lightly. Then she got Madame
into bed.

"Ah," sighed Madame, "the good bed! The good bed! But cold--it is so
cold. Would you hang up my dress, dear, and fold my stockings?"

Alvina quickly folded and put aside the dainty underclothing. Queer,
dainty woman, was Madame, even to her wonderful threaded
black-and-gold garters.

"My poor boys--no Kishwegin tomorrow! You don't think I need see a
priest, dear? A priest!" said Madame, her teeth chattering.

"Priest! Oh no! You'll be better when we can get you warm. I think
it's only a chill. Mrs. Rollings is warming a blanket--"

Alvina ran downstairs. Max opened the sitting-room door and stood
watching at the sound of footsteps. His rather bony fists were
clenched beneath his loose shirt-cuffs, his eyebrows tragically
lifted.

"Is she much ill?" he asked.

"I don't know. But I don't think so. Do you mind heating the
blanket while Mrs. Rollings makes thin gruel?"

Max and Louis stood heating blankets. Louis' trousers were cut
rather tight at the waist, and gave him a female look. Max was
straight and stiff. Mrs. Rollings asked Geoffrey to fill the
coal-scuttles and carry one upstairs. Geoffrey obediently went out
with a lantern to the coal-shed. Afterwards he was to carry up the
horse-hair arm-chair.

"I must go home for some things," said Alvina to Ciccio. "Will you
come and carry them for me?"

He started up, and with one movement threw away his cigarette. He
did not look at Alvina. His beautiful lashes seemed to screen his
eyes. He was fairly tall, but loosely built for an Italian, with
slightly sloping shoulders. Alvina noticed the brown, slender
Mediterranean hand, as he put his fingers to his lips. It was a hand
such as she did not know, prehensile and tender and dusky. With an
odd graceful slouch he went into the passage and reached for his
coat.

He did not say a word, but held aloof as he walked with Alvina.

"I'm sorry for Madame," said Alvina, as she hurried rather
breathless through the night. "She does think for you men."

But Ciccio vouchsafed no answer, and walked w