“Why?” she said. There was a wan, pathetic look about her, a sort of heroism which Madame detested, but which now she found touching.
“Come!” said Madame, stretching out her plump jewelled hand. “Come, I am an ungrateful woman. Come, they are not good for you, the people, I see it. Come to me.”
Alvina went slowly to Madame, and took the outstretched hand. Madame kissed her hand, then drew her down and kissed her on either cheek, gravely, as the young men had kissed each other.
“You have been good to Kishwégin, and Kishwégin has a heart that remembers. There, Miss Houghton, I shall do what you tell me. Kishwégin obeys you.” And Madame patted Alvina’s hand and nodded her head sagely.
“Shall I take your temperature?” said Alvina.
“Yes, my dear, you shall. You shall bid me, and I shall obey.”
So Madame lay back on her pillow, submissively pursing the thermometer between her lips and watching Alvina with black eyes.
“It’s all right,” said Alvina, as she looked at the thermometer. “Normal.”
“Normal!” re-echoed Madame’s rather guttural voice. “Good! Well, then when shall I dance?”
Alvina turned and looked at her.