“Better, yes, gentle Louis. And better for thy flowers, chivalric heart.” She put the violets and anemones to her face with both hands, and then gently laid them aside to extend her hand to Geoffrey.
“The good Geoffrey will do his best, while there is no Kishwégin?” she said as he stooped to her salute.
“Bien sûr, Madame.”
“Ciccio, a button off thy shirt-cuff. Where is my needle?” She looked round the room as Ciccio kissed her hand.
“Did you want anything?” said Alvina, who had not followed the French.
“My needle, to sew on this button. It is there, in the silk bag.”
“I will do it,” said Alvina.
“Thank you.”
While Alvina sewed on the button, Madame spoke to her young men, principally to Max. They were to obey Max, she said, for he was their eldest brother. This afternoon they would practise well the scene of the White Prisoner. Very carefully they must practise, and they must find some one who would play the young squaw—for in this scene she had practically nothing to do, the young squaw, but just sit and stand. Miss Houghton—but ah, Miss Houghton must play the piano, she could not take the part of the young squaw. Some other then.
While the interview was going on, Mr. May arrived, full of concern.