, impassively.

"Dost thou want to go with him?" she asked suddenly.

Geoffrey smiled sheepishly, and his colour deepened. But he did not
speak.

"Go then--" she said. "Go then! Go with him! But for the sake of my
honour, finish this week at Woodhouse. Can I make Miss Houghton's
father lose these two nights? Where is your shame? Finish this week
and then go, go--But finish this week. Tell Francesco that. I have
finished with him. But let him finish this engagement. Don't put me
to shame, don't destroy my honour, and the honour of the
Natcha-Kee-Tawara. Tell him that."

Geoffrey turned again into the house. Madame, in her chic little
black hat and spotted veil, and her trim black coat-and-skirt, stood
there at the street-corner staring before her, shivering a little
with cold, but saying no word of any sort.

Again Geoffrey appeared out of the doorway. His face was impassive.

"He says he doesn't want," he said.

"Ah!" she cried suddenly in French, "the ungrateful, the animal! He
shall suffer. See if he shall not suffer. The low canaille, without
faith or feeling. My Max, thou wert right. Ah, such canaille should
be beaten, as dogs are beaten, till they follow at heel. Will no one
beat him for me, no one? Yes. Go back. Tell him before he leaves
England he shall feel the hand of Kishwegin, and it shall be heavier
than the Black Hand. Tell him that, the coward, that causes a
woman's word to be broken against her will. Ah, canaille, canaille!
Neither faith nor feeling, neither faith nor feeling. Trust them
not, dogs of the south." She took a few agitated steps down the
pavement. Then she raised her veil to wipe away her tears of anger
and bitter disappointment.

"Wait a bit," said Alvina. "I'll go." She was touched.

"No. Don't you!" cried Madame.

"Yes I will," she said. The light of battle was in her eyes. "You'll
come with me to the door," she said to Geoffrey.

Geoffrey started obediently, and led the way up a long narrow stair,
covered with yellow-and-brown oil-cloth, rather worn, on to the top
of the house.

"Ciccio," he said, outside the door.

"Oui!" came the curly voice of Ciccio.

Geoffrey opened the door. Ciccio was sitting on a narrow bed, in a
rather poor attic, under the steep slope of the roof.

"Don't come in," said Alvina to Geoffrey, looking over her shoulder
at him as she entered. Then she closed the door behind her, and
stood with her back to it, facing the Italian. He sat loose on th