“Pacohuila.”
Ciccio gently stooped and raised Alvina to her feet.
“C’est ça!” said Madame, kissing her. “And now, children, unless the Sheffield policeman will knock at our door, we must retire to our wigwams all—”
Ciccio was watching Alvina. Madame made him a secret, imperative gesture that he should accompany the young woman.
“You have your key, Allaye?” she said.
“Did I have a key?” said Alvina.
Madame smiled subtly as she produced a latch-key.
“Kishwégin must open your doors for you all,” she said. Then, with a slight flourish, she presented the key to Ciccio. “I give it to him? Yes?” she added, with her subtle, malicious smile.
Ciccio, smiling slightly, and keeping his head ducked, took the key. Alvina looked brightly, as if bewildered, from one to another.
“Also the light!” said Madame, producing a pocket flash-light, which she triumphantly handed to Ciccio. Alvina watched him. She noticed how he dropped his head forward from his straight, strong shoulders, how beautiful that was, the strong, forward-inclining nape and back of the head. It produced a kind of dazed submission in her, the drugged sense of unknown beauty.