They took their candles and trooped off upstairs, each one bowing to Alvina as he passed. Max solemnly, Louis gallant, the other two dumb and sleepy. They occupied the two attic chambers.
Alvina carried up the loose bed from the sofa, and slept on the floor before the fire in Madame’s room.
Madame slept well and long, rousing and stirring and settling off again. It was eight o’clock before she asked her first question. Alvina was already up.
“Oh—alors—Then I am better, I am quite well. I can dance today.”
“I don’t think today,” said Alvina. “But perhaps tomorrow.”
“No, today,” said Madame. “I can dance today, because I am quite well. I am Kishwégin.”
“You are better. But you must lie still today. Yes, really—you will find you are weak when you try to stand.”
Madame watched Alvina’s thin face with sullen eyes.
“You are an Englishwoman, severe and materialist,” she said.
Alvina started and looked round at her with wide blue eyes.