“Would you like also biscuits with your coffee, the two of you?” she said, with an amiable intonation which her strange black looks belied.
“Yes,” said Alvina. She was a little flushed, as if defiant, while Ciccio sat sheepishly, turning aside his ducked head, the slow, stupid, yet fine smile on his lips.
“And no more trouble with Max, hein?—you Ciccio?” said Madame, still with the amiable intonation and the same black, watching eyes. “No more of these stupid scenes, hein? What? Do you answer me.”
“No more from me,” he said, looking up at her with a narrow, cat-like look in his derisive eyes.
“Ho? No? No more? Good then! It is good! We are glad, aren’t we, Miss Houghton, that Ciccio has come back and there are to be no more rows?—hein?—aren’t we?”
“I’m awfully glad,” said Alvina.
“Awfully glad—yes—awfully glad! You hear, you Ciccio. And you remember another time. What? Don’t you? Hé?”
He looked up at her, the slow, derisive smile curling his lips.
“Sure,” he said slowly, with subtle intonation.
“Yes. Good! Well then! Well then! We are all friends. We are all friends, aren’t we, all the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras? Hé? What you think? What you say?”