Tawaras: she followed them to Stockport: and back to
Chinley: and there she was stuck for the night. Next day she dashed
back almost to Woodhouse, and swerved round to Sheffield. There, in
that black town, thank heaven, she saw their announcement on the
wall. She took a taxi to their theatre, and then on to their
lodgings. The first thing she saw was Louis, in his shirt sleeves,
on the landing above.

She laughed with excitement and pleasure. She seemed another woman.
Madame looked up, almost annoyed, when she entered.

"I couldn't keep away from you, Madame," she cried.

"Evidently," said Madame.

Madame was darning socks for the young men. She was a wonderful
mother for them, sewed for them, cooked for them, looked after them
most carefully. Not many minutes was Madame idle.

"Do you mind?" said Alvina.

Madame darned for some moments without answering.

"And how is everything at Woodhouse?" she asked.

"I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't bear it. So I collected
all the money I could, and ran away. Nobody knows where I am."

Madame looked up with bright, black, censorious eyes, at the flushed
girl opposite. Alvina had a certain strangeness and brightness,
which Madame did not know, and a frankness which the Frenchwoman
mistrusted, but found disarming.

"And all the business, the will and all?" said Madame.

"They're still fussing about it."

"And there is some money?"

"I have got a hundred pounds here," laughed Alvina. "What there will
be when everything is settled, I don't know. But not very much, I'm
sure of that."

"How much do you think? A thousand pounds?"

"Oh, it's just possible, you know. But it's just as likely there
won't be another penny--"

Madame nodded slowly, as always when she did her calculations.

"And if there is nothing, what do you intend?" said Madame.

"I don't know," said Alvina brightly.

"And if there is something?"

"I don't know either. But I thought, if you would let me play for
you, I could keep myself for some time with my own money. You said
perhaps I might be with the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras. I wish you would let
me."

Madame bent her head so that nothing showed but the bright black
folds of her hair. Then she looked up, with a slow, subtle, rather
jeering smile.

"Ciccio didn't come to see you, hein?"

"No," said Alvina. "Yet he promised."

Again Madame smiled sardonically.

"Do you call it a promise?" she said. "You are easy to be satisfied
with