“Ha, she doesn’t know if it hers any more! Perhaps the debts cover every bit of it.”
“Don’t say so! Na, that’s a pity, that’s a pity! La pauvre fille—pauvre demoiselle!” lamented Geoffrey.
“Isn’t it a pity! What dost say?”
“A thousand pities! A thousand pities! Look, my boy, love needs no havings, but marriage does. Love is for all, even the grasshoppers. But marriage means a kitchen. That’s how it is. La pauvre demoiselle; c’est malheur pour elle.”
“That’s true,” said Ciccio. “Et aussi pour moi. For me as well.”
“For thee as well, cher! Perhaps—” said Geoffrey, laying his arm on Ciccio’s shoulder, and giving him a sudden hug. They smiled to each other.
“Who knows!” said Ciccio.
“Who knows, truly, my Cic’.”
As they went downstairs to rejoin Alvina, whom they heard playing on the piano in the drawing-room, Geoffrey peeped once more into the big bedroom.
“Tu n’es jamais monté si haut, mon beau. Pour moi, ça serait difficile de m’élever. J’aurais bien peur, moi. Tu te trouves aussi un peu ébahi, hein? n’est-ce pas?”