addresses you. Kishwegin does not exist till Thursday, as
the English demoiselle makes it." She held out her hand, faintly
perfumed with eau de Cologne--the whole room smelled of eau de
Cologne--and Max stooped his brittle spine and kissed it. She
touched his cheek gently with her other hand.

"My faithful Max, my support."

Louis came smiling with a bunch of violets and pinky anemones. He
laid them down on the bed before her, and took her hand, bowing and
kissing it reverently.

"You are better, dear Madame?" he said, smiling long at her.

"Better, yes, gentle Louis. And better for thy flowers, chivalric
heart." She put the violets and anemones to her face with both
hands, and then gently laid them aside to extend her hand to
Geoffrey.

"The good Geoffrey will do his best, while there is no Kishwegin?"
she said as he stooped to her salute.

"Bien sur, Madame."

"Ciccio, a button off thy shirt-cuff. Where is my needle?" She
looked round the room as Ciccio kissed her hand.

"Did you want anything?" said Alvina, who had not followed the
French.

"My needle, to sew on this button. It is there, in the silk bag."

"I will do it," said Alvina.

"Thank you."

While Alvina sewed on the button, Madame spoke to her young men,
principally to Max. They were to obey Max, she said, for he was
their eldest brother. This afternoon they would practise well the
scene of the White Prisoner. Very carefully they must practise, and
they must find some one who would play the young squaw--for in this
scene she had practically nothing to do, the young squaw, but just
sit and stand. Miss Houghton--but ah, Miss Houghton must play the
piano, she could not take the part of the young squaw. Some other
then.

While the interview was going on, Mr. May arrived, full of concern.

"Shan't we have the procession!" he cried.

"Ah, the procession!" cried Madame.

The Natcha-Kee-Tawara Troupe upon request would signalize its entry
into any town by a procession. The young men were dressed as Indian
_braves_, and headed by Kishwegin they rode on horseback through the
main streets. Ciccio, who was the crack horseman, having served a
very well-known horsey Marchese in an Italian cavalry regiment, did
a bit of show riding.

Mr. May was very keen on the procession. He had the horses in
readiness. The morning was faintly sunny, after the sleet and bad
weather. And now he arrived to find Madame in bed and the young men
holding council with