Madame intervened to save her.
“What, serenade before breakfast! You have strong stomachs, I say. Eggs and ham are more the question, hein? Come, you smell them, don’t you?”
A flicker of contempt and derision went over Ciccio’s face as he broke off and looked aside.
“I prefer the serenade,” said Alvina. “I’ve had ham and eggs before.”
“You do, hein? Well—always, you won’t. And now you must eat the ham and eggs, however. Yes? Isn’t it so?”
Ciccio rose to his feet, and looked at Alvina: as he would have looked at Gigi, had Gigi been there. His eyes said unspeakable things about Madame. Alvina flashed a laugh, suddenly. And a good-humoured, half-mocking smile came over his face too.
They turned to follow Madame into the house. And as Alvina went before him, she felt his fingers stroke the nape of her neck, and pass in a soft touch right down her back. She started as if some unseen creature had stroked her with its paw, and she glanced swiftly round, to see the face of Ciccio mischievous behind her shoulder.
“Now I think,” said Madame, “that today we all take the same train. We go by the Great Central as far as the junction, together. Then you, Allaye, go on to Knarborough, and we leave you until tomorrow. And now there is not much time.”
“I am going to Woodhouse,” said Ciccio in French.
“You also! By the train, or the bicycle?”