he coffee.

"Basta! Basta!" said Ciccio. But Giovanni blew on, his eyes
sparkling, looking to Alvina. He was making the fire beautiful for
her.

There was one cup, one enamelled mug, one little bowl. This was the
coffee-service. Pancrazio noisily ground the coffee. He seemed to do
everything, old, stooping as he was.

At last Giovanni took his leave--the kettle which hung on the hook
over the fire was boiling over. Ciccio burnt his hand lifting it
off. And at last, at last Alvina could go to bed.

Pancrazio went first with the candle--then Ciccio with the black
kettle--then Alvina. The men still had their hats on. Their boots
tramped noisily on the bare stairs.

The bedroom was very cold. It was a fair-sized room with a concrete
floor and white walls, and window-door opening on a little balcony.
There were two high white beds on opposite sides of the room. The
wash-stand was a little tripod thing.

The air was very cold, freezing, the stone floor was dead cold to
the feet. Ciccio sat down on a chair and began to take off his
boots. She went to the window. The moon had risen. There was a flood
of light on dazzling white snow tops, glimmering and marvellous in
the evanescent night. She went out for a moment on to the balcony.
It was a wonder-world: the moon over the snow heights, the pallid
valley-bed away below; the river hoarse, and round about her,
scrubby, blue-dark foothills with twiggy trees. Magical it all
was--but so cold.

"You had better shut the door," said Ciccio.

She came indoors. She was dead tired, and stunned with cold, and
hopelessly dirty after that journey. Ciccio had gone to bed without
washing.

"Why does the bed rustle?" she asked him.

It was stuffed with dry maize-leaves, the dry sheathes from the
cobs--stuffed enormously high. He rustled like a snake among dead
foliage.

Alvina washed her hands. There was nothing to do with the water but
throw it out of the door. Then she washed her face, thoroughly, in
good hot water. What a blessed relief! She sighed as she dried
herself.

"It does one good!" she sighed.

Ciccio watched her as she quickly brushed her hair. She was almost
stupefied with weariness and the cold, bruising air. Blindly she
crept into the high, rustling bed. But it was made high in the
middle. And it was icy cold. It shocked her almost as if she had
fallen into water. She shuddered, and became semi-conscious with
fatigue. The blankets were heavy, heavy. She was da