t allowed to
insult the sacred liquid. There was a spirit of great liveliness and
conviviality. Madame became paler, her eyes blacker, with the wine
she drank, her voice became a little raucous.

"Tonight," she said, "the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras make their feast of
affiliation. The white daughter has entered the tribe of the
Hirondelles, swallows that pass from land to land, and build their
nests between roof and wall. A new swallow, a new Huron from the
tents of the pale-face, from the lodges of the north, from the tribe
of the Yenghees." Madame's black eyes glared with a kind of wild
triumph down the table at Alvina. "Nameless, without having a name,
comes the maiden with the red jewels, dark-hearted, with the red
beams. Wine from the pale-face shadows, drunken wine for Kishwegin,
strange wine for the _braves_ in their nostrils, Vaali, _a vous_."

Madame lifted her glass.

"Vaali, drink to her--Boire a elle--" She thrust her glass forwards
in the air. The young men thrust their glasses up towards Alvina, in
a cluster. She could see their mouths all smiling, their teeth white
as they cried in their throats: "Vaali! Vaali! Boire a vous."

Ciccio was near to her. Under the table he laid his hand on her
knee. Quickly she put forward her hand to protect herself. He took
her hand, and looked at her along the glass as he drank. She saw his
throat move as the wine went down it. He put down his glass, still
watching her.

"Vaali!" he said, in his throat. Then across the table "He,
Gigi--Viale! Le Petit Chemin! Comment? Me prends-tu? L'allee--"

There came a great burst of laughter from Louis.

"It is good, it is good!" he cried. "Oh Madame! Viale, it is Italian
for the little way, the alley. That is too rich."

Max went off into a high and ribald laugh.

"L'allee italienne!" he said, and shouted with laughter.

"Alley or avenue, what does it matter," cried Madame in French, "so
long as it is a good journey."

Here Geoffrey at last saw the joke. With a strange determined
flourish he filled his glass, cocking up his elbow.

"A toi, Cic'--et bon voyage!" he said, and then he tilted up his
chin and swallowed in great throatfuls.

"Certainly! Certainly!" cried Madame. "To thy good journey, my
Ciccio, for thou art not a great traveller--"

"Na, pour _ca_, y'a plus d'une voie," said Geoffrey.

During this passage in French Alvina sat with very bright eyes
looking from one to another, and not understanding. But she knew