“Good-night, my faithful Max, I trust myself to you. Good-night, Louis, the tender heart. Good-night valiant Geoffrey. Ah Ciccio, do not add to the weight of my heart. Be good braves, all, be brothers in one accord. One little prayer for poor Kishwégin. Good-night!”
After which valediction she slowly climbed the stairs, putting her hand on her knee at each step, with the effort.
“No—no,” she said to Max, who would have followed to her assistance. “Do not come up. No—no!”
Her bedroom was tidy and proper.
“Tonight,” she moaned, “I shan’t be able to see that the boys’ rooms are well in order. They are not to be trusted, no. They need an overseeing eye: especially Ciccio; especially Ciccio!”
She sank down by the fire and began to undo her dress.
“You must let me help you,” said Alvina. “You know I have been a nurse.”
“Ah, you are too kind, too kind, dear young lady. I am a lonely old woman. I am not used to attentions. Best leave me.”
“Let me help you,” said Alvina.
“Alas, ahimé! Who would have thought Kishwégin would need help. I danced last night with the boys in the theatre in Leek: and tonight I am put to bed in—what is the name of this place, dear?—It seems I don’t remember it.”