Madame was in a state of perturbation. She had heard some one come in at the back, and go upstairs, and go out again. Mrs. Rollings had told her it was the Italian, who had come in in his shirt-sleeves and gone out in his black coat and black hat, taking his bicycle, without saying a word. Poor Madame! She was struggling into her shoes, she had her hat on, when the others arrived.
“What is it?” she cried.
She heard a hurried explanation from Louis.
“Ah, the animal, the animal, he wasn’t worth all my pains!” cried poor Madame, sitting with one shoe off and one shoe on. “Why, Max, why didst thou not remain man enough to control that insulting mountain temper of thine. Have I not said, and said, and said that in the Natcha-Kee-Tawara there was but one nation, the Red Indian, and but one tribe, the tribe of Kishwe? And now thou hast called him a dirty Italian, or a dog of an Italian, and he has behaved like an animal. Too much, too much of an animal, too little esprit. But thou, Max, art almost as bad. Thy temper is a devil’s, which maybe is worse than an animal’s. Ah, this Woodhouse, a curse is on it, I know it is. Would we were away from it. Will the week never pass? We shall have to find Ciccio. Without him the company is ruined—until I get a substitute. I must get a substitute. And how?—and where?—in this country?—tell me that. I am tired of Natcha-Kee-Tawara. There is no true tribe of Kishwe—no, never. I have had enough of Natcha-Kee-Tawara. Let us break up, let us part, mes braves, let us say adieu here in this funeste Woodhouse.”
“Oh, Madame, dear Madame,” said Louis, “let us hope. Let us swear a closer fidelity, dear Madame, our Kishwégin. Let us never part. Max, thou dost not want to part, brother, well-loved? Thou dost not want to part, brother whom I love? And thou, Geoffrey, thou—”
Madame burst into tears, Louis wept too, even Max turned aside his face, with tears. Alvina stole out of the room, followed by Mr. May.
In a while Madame came out to them.
“Oh,” she said. “You have not gone away! We are wondering which way Ciccio will have gone, on to Knarborough or to Marchay. Geoffrey will go on his bicycle to find him. But shall it be to Knarborough or to Marchay?”
“Ask the policeman in the market-place,” said Alvina. “He’s sure to have noticed him, because Ciccio’s yellow bicycle is so uncommon.”
Mr. May tripped out on this errand, while the others discussed among themselves where Ciccio might be.