“No,” said Alvina. “I have arranged for you—”
“There! You think of everything. But I will come, not Ciccio. He will not trouble you.”
Ciccio looked up at Alvina.
“I should like him to come,” said Alvina simply. But a deep flush began to mount her face. She did not know where it came from, she felt so cold. And she wanted to cry.
Madame watched her closely.
“Siamo di accordo,” came the voice of Ciccio.
Alvina and Madame both looked at him. He sat constrained, with his face averted, his eyes dropped, but smiling.
Madame looked closely at Alvina.
“Is it true what he says?” she asked.
“I don’t understand him,” said Alvina. “I don’t understand what he said.”