The Lost Girl

by D. H. Lawrence

  CHAPTER VIII

  CICCIO

  Madame did not pick up her spirits, after her cold. For two days shelay in bed, attended by Mrs. Rollings and Alvina and the young men.But she was most careful never to give any room for scandal. Theyoung men might not approach her save in the presence of some thirdparty. And then it was strictly a visit of ceremony or business.

  "Oh, your Woodhouse, how glad I shall be when I have left it," shesaid to Alvina. "I feel it is unlucky for me."

  "Do you?" said Alvina. "But if you'd had this bad cold in someplaces, you might have been much worse, don't you think."

  "Oh my dear!" cried Madame. "Do you think I could confuse you in mydislike of this Woodhouse? Oh no! You are not Woodhouse. On thecontrary, I think it is unkind for you also, this place. Youlook--also--what shall I say--thin, not very happy."

  It was a note of interrogation.

  "I'm sure I dislike Woodhouse much more than you can," repliedAlvina.

  "I am sure. Yes! I am sure. I see it. Why don't you go away? Whydon't you marry?"

  "Nobody wants to marry me," said Alvina.

  Madame looked at her searchingly, with shrewd black eyes under herarched eyebrows.

  "How!" she exclaimed. "How don't they? You are not bad looking, onlya little too thin--too haggard--"

  She watched Alvina. Alvina laughed uncomfortably.

  "Is there _nobody_?" persisted Madame.

  "Not now," said Alvina. "Absolutely nobody." She looked with aconfused laugh into Madame's strict black eyes. "You see I didn'tcare for the Woodhouse young men, either. I _couldn't_."

  Madame nodded slowly up and down. A secret satisfaction came overher pallid, waxy countenance, in which her black eyes were like twinswift extraneous creatures: oddly like two bright little darkanimals in the snow.

  "Sure!" she said, sapient. "Sure! How could you? But there are othermen besides these here--" She waved her hand to the window.

  "I don't meet them, do I?" said Alvina.

  "No, not often. But sometimes! sometimes!"

  There was a silence between the two women, very pregnant.

  "Englishwomen," said Madame, "are so practical. Why are they?"

  "I suppose they can't help it," said Alvina. "But they're not halfso practical and clever as _you_, Madame."

  "Oh la--la! I am practical differently. I am practicalimpractically--" she stumbled over the words. "But your Sue now, inJude the Obscure--is it not an interesting book? And is she notalways too practically practical. If she had been impracticallypractical she could have been quite happy. Do you know what Imean?--no. But she is ridiculous. Sue: so Anna Karenine. Ridiculousboth. Don't you think?"

  "Why?" said Alvina.

  "Why did they both make everybody unhappy, when they had the manthey wanted, and enough money? I think they are both so silly. Ifthey had been beaten, they would have lost all their practical ideasand troubles, merely forgot them, and been happy enough. I am awoman who says it. Such ideas they have are not tragical. No, not atall. They are nonsense, you see, nonsense. That is all. Nonsense.Sue and Anna, they are--non-sensical. That is all. No tragedywhatsoever. Nonsense. I am a woman. I know men also. And I knownonsense when I see it. Englishwomen are all nonsense: the worstwomen in the world for nonsense."

  "Well, I am English," said Alvina.

  "Yes, my dear, you are English. But you are not necessarily sonon-sensical. Why are you at all?"

  "Nonsensical?" laughed Alvina. "But I don't know what you call mynonsense."

  "Ah," said Madame wearily. "They never understand. But I like you,my dear. I am an old woman--"

  "Younger than I," said Alvina.

  "Younger than you, because I am practical from the heart, and notonly from the head. You are not practical from the heart. And yetyou have a heart."

  "But all Englishwomen have good hearts," protested Alvina.

  "No! No!" objected Madame. "They are all ve-ry kind, and ve-rypractical with their kindness. But they have no heart in all theirkindness. It is all head, all head: the kindness of the head."

  "I can't agree with you," said Alvina.

  "No. No. I don't expect it. But I don't mind. You are very kind tome, and I thank you. But it is from the head, you see. And so Ithank you from the head. From the heart--no."

  Madame plucked her white fingers together and laid them on herbreast with a gesture of repudiation. Her black eyes staredspitefully.

  "But Madame," said Alvina, nettled, "I should never be half such agood business woman as you. Isn't that from the head?"

  "Ha! of course! Of course you wouldn't be a good business woman.Because you are kind from the head. I--" she tapped her forehead andshook her head--"I am not kind from the head. From the head I ambusiness-woman, good business-woman. Of course I am a goodbusiness-woman--of course! But--" here she changed her expression,widened her eyes, and laid her hand on her breast--"when the heartspeaks--then I listen with the heart. I do not listen with the head.The heart hears the heart. The head--that is another thing. But youhave blue eyes, you cannot understand. Only dark eyes--" She pausedand mused.

  "And what about yellow eyes?" asked Alvina, laughing.

  Madame darted a look at her, her lips curling with a very faint,fine smile of derision. Yet for the first time her black eyesdilated and became warm.

  "Yellow eyes like Ciccio's?" she said, with her great watchful eyesand her smiling, subtle mouth. "They are the darkest of all." Andshe shook her head roguishly.

  "Are they!" said Alvina confusedly, feeling a blush burning up herthroat into her face.

  "Ha--ha!" laughed Madame. "Ha-ha! I am an old woman, you see. Myheart is old enough to be kind, and my head is old enough to beclever. My heart is kind to few people--very few--especially in thisEngland. My young men know that. But perhaps to you it is kind."

  "Thank you," said Alvina.

  "There! From the head _Thank you_. It is not well done, you see. Yousee!"

  But Alvina ran away in confusion. She felt Madame was having her ona string.

  Mr. May enjoyed himself hugely playing Kishwegin. When Madame camedownstairs Louis, who was a good satirical mimic, imitated him.Alvina happened to come into their sitting-room in the midst oftheir bursts of laughter. They all stopped and looked at hercautiously.

  "Continuez! Continuez!" said Madame to Louis. And to Alvina: "Sitdown, my dear, and see what a good actor we have in our Louis."

  Louis glanced round, laid his head a little on one side and drew inhis chin, with Mr. May's smirk exactly, and wagging his tailslightly, he commenced to play the false Kishwegin. He sidled andbridled and ejaculated with raised hands, and in the dumb show thetall Frenchman made such a ludicrous caricature of Mr. Houghton'smanager that Madame wept again with laughter, whilst Max leaned backagainst the wall and giggled continuously like some potinvoluntarily boiling. Geoffrey spread his shut fists across thetable and shouted with laughter, Ciccio threw back his head andshowed all his teeth in a loud laugh of delighted derision. Alvinalaughed also. But she flushed. There was a certain biting,annihilating quality in Louis' derision of the absentee. And theothers enjoyed it so much. At moments Alvina caught her lip betweenher teeth, it was so screamingly funny, and so annihilating. Shelaughed in spite of herself. In spite of herself she was shaken intoa convulsion of laughter. Louis was masterful--he mastered herpsyche. She laughed till her head lay helpless on the chair, shecould not move. Helpless, inert she lay, in her orgasm of laughter.The end of Mr. May. Yet she was hurt.

  And then Madame wiped her own shrewd black eyes, and nodded slowapproval. Suddenly Louis started and held up a warning finger. Theyall at once covered their smiles and pulled themselves together.Only Alvina lay silently laughing.

  "Oh, good morning, Mrs. Rollings!" they heard Mr. May's voice. "Yourcompany is lively. Is Miss Houghton here? May I go through?"

  They heard his quick little step and his quick little tap.

  "Come in," called Madame.

  The Natcha-Kee-Tawaras all sat with straight faces. O
nly poor Alvinalay back in her chair in a new weak convulsion. Mr. May glancedquickly round, and advanced to Madame.

  "Oh, good-morning, Madame, so glad to see you downstairs," he said,taking her hand and bowing ceremoniously. "Excuse my intruding onyour mirth!" He looked archly round. Alvina was still incompetent.She lay leaning sideways in her chair, and could not even speak tohim.

  "It was evidently a good joke," he said. "May I hear it too?"

  "Oh," said Madame, drawling. "It was no joke. It was only Louismaking a fool of himself, doing a turn."

  "Must have been a good one," said Mr. May. "Can't we put it on?"

  "No," drawled Madame, "it was nothing--just a non-sensical mood ofthe moment. Won't you sit down? You would like a littlewhiskey?--yes?"

  Max poured out whiskey and water for Mr. May.

  Alvina sat with her face averted, quiet, but unable to speak to Mr.May. Max and Louis had become polite. Geoffrey stared with his big,dark-blue eyes stolidly at the newcomer. Ciccio leaned with his armson his knees, looking sideways under his long lashes at the inertAlvina.

  "Well," said Madame, "and are you satisfied with your houses?"

  "Oh yes," said Mr. May. "Quite! The two nights have been excellent.Excellent!"

  "Ah--I am glad. And Miss Houghton tells me I should not dancetomorrow, it is too soon."

  "Miss Houghton _knows_," said Mr. May archly.

  "Of course!" said Madame. "I must do as she tells me."

  "Why yes, since it is for your good, and not hers."

  "Of course! Of course! It is very kind of her."

  "Miss Houghton is _most_ kind--to _every one_," said Mr. May.

  "I am sure," said Madame. "And I am very glad you have been such agood Kishwegin. That is very nice also."

  "Yes," replied Mr. May. "I begin to wonder if I have mistaken myvocation. I should have been _on_ the boards, instead of behindthem."

  "No doubt," said Madame. "But it is a little late--"

  The eyes of the foreigners, watching him, flattered Mr. May.

  "I'm afraid it is," he said. "Yes. Popular taste is a mysteriousthing. How do you feel, now? Do you feel they appreciate your workas much as they did?"

  Madame watched him with her black eyes.

  "No," she replied. "They don't. The pictures are driving us away.Perhaps we shall last for ten years more. And after that, we arefinished."

  "You think so," said Mr. May, looking serious.

  "I am sure," she said, nodding sagely.

  "But why is it?" said Mr. May, angry and petulant.

  "Why is it? I don't know. I don't know. The pictures are cheap, andthey are easy, and they cost the audience nothing, no feeling of theheart, no appreciation of the spirit, cost them nothing of these.And so they like them, and they don't like us, because they must_feel_ the things we do, from the heart, and appreciate them fromthe spirit. There!"

  "And they don't want to appreciate and to feel?" said Mr. May.

  "No. They don't want. They want it all through the eye, andfinished--so! Just curiosity, impertinent curiosity. That's all. Inall countries, the same. And so--in ten years' time--no moreKishwegin at all."

  "No. Then what future have you?" said Mr. May gloomily.

  "I may be dead--who knows. If not, I shall have my little apartmentin Lausanne, or in Bellizona, and I shall be a bourgeoise once more,and the good Catholic which I am."

  "Which I am also," said Mr. May.

  "So! Are you? An American Catholic?"

  "Well--English--Irish--American."

  "So!"

  Mr. May never felt more gloomy in his life than he did that day.Where, finally, was he to rest his troubled head?

  There was not all peace in the Natcha-Kee-Tawara group either. ForThursday, there was to be a change of program--"Kishwegin'sWedding--" (with the white prisoner, be if said)--was to take theplace of the previous scene. Max of course was the director of therehearsal. Madame would not come near the theatre when she herselfwas not to be acting.

  Though very quiet and unobtrusive as a rule, Max could suddenlyassume an air of _hauteur_ and overbearing which was really veryannoying. Geoffrey always fumed under it. But Ciccio it put intounholy, ungovernable tempers. For Max, suddenly, would reveal hiscontempt of the Eyetalian, as he called Ciccio, using the Cockneyword.

  "Bah! quelle tete de veau," said Max, suddenly contemptuous andangry because Ciccio, who really was slow at taking in the thingssaid to him, had once more failed to understand.

  "Comment?" queried Ciccio, in his slow, derisive way.

  "_Comment_!" sneered Max, in echo. "_What?_ _What?_ Why what _did_ Isay? Calf's-head I said. Pig's-head, if that seems more suitable toyou."

  "To whom? To me or to you?" said Ciccio, sidling up.

  "To you, lout of an Italian."

  Max's colour was up, he held himself erect, his brown hair seemed torise erect from his forehead, his blue eyes glared fierce.

  "That is to say, to me, from an uncivilized German pig, ah? ah?"

  All this in French. Alvina, as she sat at the piano, saw Max talland blanched with anger; Ciccio with his neck stuck out, obliviousand convulsed with rage, stretching his neck at Max. All were inordinary dress, but without coats, acting in their shirt-sleeves.Ciccio was clutching a property knife.

  "Now! None of that! None of that!" said Mr. May, peremptory. ButCiccio, stretching forward taut and immobile with rage, was quiteunconscious. His hand was fast on his stage knife.

  "A dirty Eyetalian," said Max, in English, turning to Mr. May. "Theyunderstand nothing."

  But the last word was smothered in Ciccio's spring and stab. Maxhalf started on to his guard, received the blow on his collar-bone,near the pommel of the shoulder, reeled round on top of Mr. May,whilst Ciccio sprang like a cat down from the stage and boundedacross the theatre and out of the door, leaving the knife rattlingon the boards behind him. Max recovered and sprang like a demon,white with rage, straight out into the theatre after him.

  "Stop--stop--!" cried Mr. May.

  "Halte, Max! Max, Max, attends!" cried Louis and Geoffrey, as Louissprang down after his friend. Thud went the boards again, with thespring of a man.

  Alvina, who had been seated waiting at the piano below, started upand overturned her chair as Ciccio rushed past her. Now Max, white,with set blue eyes, was upon her.

  "Don't--!" she cried, lifting her hand to stop his progress. He sawher, swerved, and hesitated, turned to leap over the seats and avoidher, when Louis caught him and flung his arms round him.

  "Max--attends, ami! Laisse le partir. Max, tu sais que je t'aime. Tule sais, ami. Tu le sais. Laisse le partir."

  Max and Louis wrestled together in the gangway, Max looking downwith hate on his friend. But Louis was determined also, he wrestledas fiercely as Max, and at last the latter began to yield. He waspanting and beside himself. Louis still held him by the hand and bythe arm.

  "Let him go, brother, he isn't worth it. What does he understand,Max, dear brother, what does he understand? These fellows from thesouth, they are half children, half animal. They don't know whatthey are doing. Has he hurt you, dear friend? Has he hurt you? Itwas a dummy knife, but it was a heavy blow--the dog of an Italian.Let us see."

  So gradually Max was brought to stand still. From under the edge ofhis waistcoat, on the shoulder, the blood was already staining theshirt.

  "Are you cut, brother, brother?" said Louis. "Let us see."

  Max now moved his arm with pain. They took off his waistcoat andpushed back his shirt. A nasty blackening wound, with the skinbroken.

  "If the bone isn't broken!" said Louis anxiously. "If the bone isn'tbroken! Lift thy arm, frere--lift. It hurts you--so--. No--no--it isnot broken--no--the bone is not broken."

  "There is no bone broken, I know," said Max.

  "The animal. He hasn't done _that_, at least."

  "Where do you imagine he's gone?" asked Mr. May.

  The foreigners shrugged their shoulders, and paid no heed. There wasno more rehearsal.

>   "We had best go home and speak to Madame," said Mr. May, who wasvery frightened for his evening performance.

  They locked up the Endeavour. Alvina was thinking of Ciccio. He wasgone in his shirt sleeves. She had taken his jacket and hat from thedressing-room at the back, and carried them under her rain-coat,which she had on her arm.

  Madame was in a state of perturbation. She had heard some one comein at the back, and go upstairs, and go out again. Mrs. Rollings hadtold her it was the Italian, who had come in in his shirt-sleevesand gone out in his black coat and black hat, taking his bicycle,without saying a word. Poor Madame! She was struggling into hershoes, she had her hat on, when the others arrived.

  "What is it?" she cried.

  She heard a hurried explanation from Louis.

  "Ah, the animal, the animal, he wasn't worth all my pains!" cried poorMadame, sitting with one shoe off and one shoe on. "Why, Max, why didstthou not remain man enough to control that insulting mountain temper ofthine. Have I not said, and said, and said that in the Natcha-Kee-Tawarathere was but one nation, the Red Indian, and but one tribe, the tribeof Kishwe? And now thou hast called him a dirty Italian, or a dog of anItalian, and he has behaved like an animal. Too much, too much of ananimal, too little _esprit_. But thou, Max, art almost as bad. Thytemper is a devil's, which maybe is worse than an animal's. Ah, thisWoodhouse, a curse is on it, I know it is. Would we were away from it.Will the week never pass? We shall have to find Ciccio. Without him thecompany is ruined--until I get a substitute. I must get a substitute.And how?--and where?--in this country?--tell me that. I am tired ofNatcha-Kee-Tawara. There is no true tribe of Kishwe--no, never. I havehad enough of Natcha-Kee-Tawara. Let us break up, let us part, _mesbraves_, let us say adieu here in this _funeste_ Woodhouse."

  "Oh, Madame, dear Madame," said Louis, "let us hope. Let us swear acloser fidelity, dear Madame, our Kishwegin. Let us never part.Max, thou dost not want to part, brother, well-loved? Thou dost notwant to part, brother whom I love? And thou, Geoffrey, thou--"

  Madame burst into tears, Louis wept too, even Max turned aside hisface, with tears. Alvina stole out of the room, followed by Mr. May.

  In a while Madame came out to them.

  "Oh," she said. "You have not gone away! We are wondering which wayCiccio will have gone, on to Knarborough or to Marchay. Geoffreywill go on his bicycle to find him. But shall it be to Knarboroughor to Marchay?"

  "Ask the policeman in the market-place," said Alvina. "He's sure tohave noticed him, because Ciccio's yellow bicycle is so uncommon."

  Mr. May tripped out on this errand, while the others discussed amongthemselves where Ciccio might be.

  Mr. May returned, and said that Ciccio had ridden off down theKnarborough Road. It was raining slightly.

  "Ah!" said Madame. "And now how to find him, in that great town. Iam afraid he will leave us without pity."

  "Surely he will want to speak to Geoffrey before he goes," saidLouis. "They were always good friends."

  They all looked at Geoffrey. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  "Always good friends," he said. "Yes. He will perhaps wait for me athis cousin's in Battersea. In Knarborough, I don't know."

  "How much money had he?" asked Mr. May.

  Madame spread her hands and lifted her shoulders.

  "Who knows?" she said.

  "These Italians," said Louis, turning to Mr. May. "They have alwaysmoney. In another country, they will not spend one sou if they canhelp. They are like this--" And he made the Neapolitan gesturedrawing in the air with his fingers.

  "But would he abandon you all without a word?" cried Mr. May.

  "Yes! Yes!" said Madame, with a sort of stoic pathos. "_He_ would.He alone would do such a thing. But he would do it."

  "And what point would he make for?"

  "What point? You mean where would he go? To Battersea, no doubt, tohis cousin--and then to Italy, if he thinks he has saved enoughmoney to buy land, or whatever it is."

  "And so good-bye to him," said Mr. May bitterly.

  "Geoffrey ought to know," said Madame, looking at Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, and would not give his comradeaway.

  "No," he said. "I don't know. He will leave a message at Battersea,I know. But I don't know if he will go to Italy."

  "And you don't know where to find him in Knarborough?" asked Mr.May, sharply, very much on the spot.

  "No--I don't. Perhaps at the station he will go by train to London."It was evident Geoffrey was not going to help Mr. May.

  "Alors!" said Madame, cutting through this futility. "Go thou toKnarborough, Geoffrey, and see--and be back at the theatre for work.Go now. And if thou can'st find him, bring him again to us. Tell himto come out of kindness to me. Tell him."

  And she waved the young man away. He departed on his nine mile ridethrough the rain to Knarborough.

  "They know," said Madame. "They know each other's places. It is alittle more than a year since we came to Knarborough. But they willremember."

  Geoffrey rode swiftly as possible through the mud. He did not carevery much whether he found his friend or not. He liked the Italian,but he never looked on him as a permanency. He knew Ciccio wasdissatisfied, and wanted a change. He knew that Italy was pullinghim away from the troupe, with which he had been associated now forthree years or more. And the Swiss from Martigny knew that theNeapolitan would go, breaking all ties, one day suddenly back toItaly. It was so, and Geoffrey was philosophical about it.

  He rode into town, and the first thing he did was to seek out themusic-hall artistes at their lodgings. He knew a good many of them.They gave him a welcome and a whiskey--but none of them had seenCiccio. They sent him off to other artistes, other lodging-houses.He went the round of associates known and unknown, of lodgingsstrange and familiar, of third-rate possible public houses. Then hewent to the Italians down in the Marsh--he knew these people alwaysask for one another. And then, hurrying, he dashed to the MidlandStation, and then to the Great Central Station, asking the porterson the London departure platform if they had seen his pal, a manwith a yellow bicycle, and a black bicycle cape. All to no purpose.

  Geoffrey hurriedly lit his lamp and swung off in the dark back toWoodhouse. He was a powerfully built, imperturbable fellow. Hepressed slowly uphill through the streets, then ran downhill intothe darkness of the industrial country. He had continually to crossthe new tram-lines, which were awkward, and he had occasionally tododge the brilliantly-illuminated tram-cars which threaded their wayacross-country through so much darkness. All the time it rained, andhis back wheel slipped under him, in the mud and on the newtram-track.

  As he pressed in the long darkness that lay between Slaters Mill andDurbeyhouses, he saw a light ahead--another cyclist. He moved to hisside of the road. The light approached very fast. It was a strongacetylene flare. He watched it. A flash and a splash and he saw thehumped back of what was probably Ciccio going by at a great pace onthe low racing machine.

  "Hi Cic'--! Ciccio!" he yelled, dropping off his own bicycle.

  "Ha-er-er!" he heard the answering shout, unmistakably Italian, waydown the darkness.

  He turned--saw the other cyclist had stopped. The flare swung round,and Ciccio softly rode up. He dropped off beside Geoffrey.

  "Toi!" said Ciccio.

  "He! Ou vas-tu?"

  "He!" ejaculated Ciccio.

  Their conversation consisted a good deal in noises variouslyejaculated.

  "Coming back?" asked Geoffrey.

  "Where've you been?" retorted Ciccio.

  "Knarborough--looking for thee. Where have you--?"

  "Buckled my front wheel at Durbeyhouses."

  "Come off?"

  "He!"

  "Hurt?"

  "Nothing."

  "Max is all right."

  "Merde!"

  "Come on, come back with me."

  "Nay." Ciccio shook his head.

  "Madame's crying. Wants thee to come back."

  Ciccio shook his head
.

  "Come on, Cic'--" said Geoffrey.

  Ciccio shook his head.

  "Never?" said Geoffrey.

  "Basta--had enough," said Ciccio, with an invisible grimace.

  "Come for a bit, and we'll clear together."

  Ciccio again shook his head.

  "What, is it adieu?"

  Ciccio did not speak.

  "Don't go, comrade," said Geoffrey.

  "Faut," said Ciccio, slightly derisive.

  "Eh alors! I'd like to come with thee. What?"

  "Where?"

  "Doesn't matter. Thou'rt going to Italy?"

  "Who knows!--seems so."

  "I'd like to go back."

  "Eh alors!" Ciccio half veered round.

  "Wait for me a few days," said Geoffrey.

  "Where?"

  "See you tomorrow in Knarborough. Go to Mrs. Pym's, 6 HampdenStreet. Gittiventi is there. Right, eh?"

  "I'll think about it."

  "Eleven o'clock, eh?"

  "I'll think about it."

  "Friends ever--Ciccio--eh?" Geoffrey held out his hand.

  Ciccio slowly took it. The two men leaned to each other and kissedfarewell, on either cheek.

  "Tomorrow, Cic'--"

  "Au revoir, Gigi."

  Ciccio dropped on to his bicycle and was gone in a breath. Geoffreywaited a moment for a tram which was rushing brilliantly up to himin the rain. Then he mounted and rode in the opposite direction. Hewent straight down to Lumley, and Madame had to remain ontenterhooks till ten o'clock.

  She heard the news, and said:

  "Tomorrow I go to fetch him." And with this she went to bed.

  In the morning she was up betimes, sending a note to Alvina. Alvinaappeared at nine o'clock.

  "You will come with me?" said Madame. "Come. Together we will go toKnarborough and bring back the naughty Ciccio. Come with me, becauseI haven't all my strength. Yes, you will? Good! Good! Let us tellthe young men, and we will go now, on the tram-car."

  "But I am not properly dressed," said Alvina.

  "Who will see?" said Madame. "Come, let us go."

  They told Geoffrey they would meet him at the corner of HampdenStreet at five minutes to eleven.

  "You see," said Madame to Alvina, "they are very funny, these youngmen, particularly Italians. You must never let them think you havecaught them. Perhaps he will not let us see him--who knows? Perhapshe will go off to Italy all the same."

  They sat in the bumping tram-car, a long and wearying journey. Andthen they tramped the dreary, hideous streets of the manufacturingtown. At the corner of the street they waited for Geoffrey, who rodeup muddily on his bicycle.

  "Ask Ciccio to come out to us, and we will go and drink coffee atthe Geisha Restaurant--or tea or something," said Madame.

  Again the two women waited wearily at the street-end. At lastGeoffrey returned, shaking his head.

  "He won't come?" cried Madame.

  "No."

  "He says he is going back to Italy?"

  "To London."

  "It is the same. You can never trust them. Is he quite obstinate?"

  Geoffrey lifted his shoulders. Madame could see the beginnings ofdefection in him too. And she was tired and dispirited.

  "We shall have to finish the Natcha-Kee-Tawara, that is all," shesaid fretfully.

  Geoffrey watched her stolidly, impassively.

  "Dost thou want to go with him?" she asked suddenly.

  Geoffrey smiled sheepishly, and his colour deepened. But he did notspeak.

  "Go then--" she said. "Go then! Go with him! But for the sake of myhonour, finish this week at Woodhouse. Can I make Miss Houghton'sfather lose these two nights? Where is your shame? Finish this weekand then go, go--But finish this week. Tell Francesco that. I havefinished with him. But let him finish this engagement. Don't put meto shame, don't destroy my honour, and the honour of theNatcha-Kee-Tawara. Tell him that."

  Geoffrey turned again into the house. Madame, in her chic littleblack hat and spotted veil, and her trim black coat-and-skirt, stoodthere at the street-corner staring before her, shivering a littlewith cold, but saying no word of any sort.

  Again Geoffrey appeared out of the doorway. His face was impassive.

  "He says he doesn't want," he said.

  "Ah!" she cried suddenly in French, "the ungrateful, the animal! Heshall suffer. See if he shall not suffer. The low canaille, withoutfaith or feeling. My Max, thou wert right. Ah, such canaille shouldbe beaten, as dogs are beaten, till they follow at heel. Will no onebeat him for me, no one? Yes. Go back. Tell him before he leavesEngland he shall feel the hand of Kishwegin, and it shall be heavierthan the Black Hand. Tell him that, the coward, that causes awoman's word to be broken against her will. Ah, canaille, canaille!Neither faith nor feeling, neither faith nor feeling. Trust themnot, dogs of the south." She took a few agitated steps down thepavement. Then she raised her veil to wipe away her tears of angerand bitter disappointment.

  "Wait a bit," said Alvina. "I'll go." She was touched.

  "No. Don't you!" cried Madame.

  "Yes I will," she said. The light of battle was in her eyes. "You'llcome with me to the door," she said to Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey started obediently, and led the way up a long narrow stair,covered with yellow-and-brown oil-cloth, rather worn, on to the topof the house.

  "Ciccio," he said, outside the door.

  "Oui!" came the curly voice of Ciccio.

  Geoffrey opened the door. Ciccio was sitting on a narrow bed, in arather poor attic, under the steep slope of the roof.

  "Don't come in," said Alvina to Geoffrey, looking over her shoulderat him as she entered. Then she closed the door behind her, andstood with her back to it, facing the Italian. He sat loose on thebed, a cigarette between his fingers, dropping ash on the bareboards between his feet. He looked up curiously at Alvina. She stoodwatching him with wide, bright blue eyes, smiling slightly, andsaying nothing. He looked up at her steadily, on his guard, fromunder his long black lashes.

  "Won't you come?" she said, smiling and looking into his eyes. Heflicked off the ash of his cigarette with his little finger. Shewondered why he wore the nail of his little finger so long, so verylong. Still she smiled at him, and still he gave no sign.

  "Do come!" she urged, never taking her eyes from him.

  He made not the slightest movement, but sat with his hands droppedbetween his knees, watching her, the cigarette wavering up its bluethread of smoke.

  "Won't you?" she said, as she stood with her back to the door."Won't you come?" She smiled strangely and vividly.

  Suddenly she took a pace forward, stooped, watching his face as iftimidly, caught his brown hand in her own and lifted it towardsherself. His hand started, dropped the cigarette, but was notwithdrawn.

  "You will come, won't you?" she said, smiling gently into hisstrange, watchful yellow eyes, that looked fixedly into hers, thedark pupil opening round and softening. She smiled into hissoftening round eyes, the eyes of some animal which stares in one ofits silent, gentler moments. And suddenly she kissed his hand,kissed it twice, quickly, on the fingers and the back. He wore asilver ring. Even as she kissed his fingers with her lips, thesilver ring seemed to her a symbol of his subjection, inferiority.She drew his hand slightly. And he rose to his feet.

  She turned round and took the door-handle, still holding his fingersin her left hand.

  "You are coming, aren't you?" she said, looking over her shoulderinto his eyes. And taking consent from his unchanging eyes, she letgo his hand and slightly opened the door. He turned slowly, andtaking his coat from a nail, slung it over his shoulders and drew iton. Then he picked up his hat, and put his foot on his half-smokedcigarette, which lay smoking still. He followed her out of the room,walking with his head rather forward, in the half loutish,sensual-subjected way of the Italians.

  As they entered the street, they saw the trim, French figure ofMadame standing alone, as if abandoned. Her face was very whiteunder her spotted veil, her eyes
very black. She watched Cicciofollowing behind Alvina in his dark, hangdog fashion, and she didnot move a muscle until he came to a standstill in front of her. Shewas watching his face.

  "Te voila donc!" she said, without expression. "Allons boire uncafe, he? Let us go and drink some coffee." She had now put aninflection of tenderness into her voice. But her eyes were blackwith anger. Ciccio smiled slowly, the slow, fine, stupid smile, andturned to walk alongside.

  Madame said nothing as they went. Geoffrey passed on his bicycle,calling out that he would go straight to Woodhouse.

  When the three sat with their cups of coffee, Madame pushed up herveil just above her eyes, so that it was a black band above herbrows. Her face was pale and full like a child's, but almost stonilyexpressionless, her eyes were black and inscrutable. She watchedboth Ciccio and Alvina with her black, inscrutable looks.

  "Would you like also biscuits with your coffee, the two of you?" shesaid, with an amiable intonation which her strange black looksbelied.

  "Yes," said Alvina. She was a little flushed, as if defiant, whileCiccio 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 nomore rows?--hein?--aren't we?"

  "_I'm_ awfully glad," said Alvina.

  "Awfully glad--yes--awfully glad! You hear, you Ciccio. And youremember another time. What? Don't you? He?"

  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 allfriends, aren't we, all the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras? He? What you think?What you say?"

  "Yes," said Ciccio, again looking up at her with his yellow,glinting eyes.

  "All right! All right then! It is all right--forgotten--" Madamesounded quite frank and restored. But the sullen watchfulness in hereyes, and the narrowed look in Ciccio's, as he glanced at her,showed another state behind the obviousness of the words. "And MissHoughton is one of us! Yes? She has united us once more, and so shehas become one of us." Madame smiled strangely from her blank, roundwhite face.

  "I should love to be one of the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras," said Alvina.

  "Yes--well--why not? Why not become one? Why not? What you say,Ciccio? You can play the piano, perhaps do other things. Perhapsbetter than Kishwegin. What you say, Ciccio, should she not join us?Is she not one of us?"

  He smiled and showed his teeth but did not answer.

  "Well, what is it? Say then? Shall she not?"

  "Yes," said Ciccio, unwilling to commit himself.

  "Yes, so I say! So I say. Quite a good idea! We will think of it,and speak perhaps to your father, and you shall come! Yes."

  So the two women returned to Woodhouse by the tram-car, while Cicciorode home on his bicycle. It was surprising how little Madame andAlvina found to say to one another.

  Madame effected the reunion of her troupe, and all seemed prettymuch as before. She had decided to dance the next night, theSaturday night. On Sunday the party would leave for Warsall, aboutthirty miles away, to fulfil their next engagement.

  That evening Ciccio, whenever he had a moment to spare, watchedAlvina. She knew it. But she could not make out what his watchingmeant. In the same way he might have watched a serpent, had he foundone gliding in the theatre. He looked at her sideways, furtively,but persistently. And yet he did not want to meet her glance. Heavoided her, and watched her. As she saw him standing, in hisnegligent, muscular, slouching fashion, with his head droppedforward, and his eyes sideways, sometimes she disliked him. Butthere was a sort of _finesse_ about his face. His skin wasdelicately tawny, and slightly lustrous. The eyes were set in sodark, that one expected them to be black and flashing. And then onemet the yellow pupils, sulphureous and remote. It was like meeting alion. His long, fine nose, his rather long, rounded chin and curlinglips seemed refined through ages of forgotten culture. He waswaiting: silent there, with something muscular and remote about hisvery droop, he was waiting. What for? Alvina could not guess. Shewanted to meet his eye, to have an open understanding with him. Buthe would not. When she went up to talk to him, he answered in hisstupid fashion, with a smile of the mouth and no change of the eyes,saying nothing at all. Obstinately he held away from her. When hewas in his war-paint, for one moment she hated his muscular,handsome, downward-drooping torso: so stupid and full. The finesharp uprightness of Max seemed much finer, clearer, more manly.Ciccio's velvety, suave heaviness, the very heave of his muscles, sofull and softly powerful, sickened her.

  She flashed away angrily on her piano. Madame, who was dancingKishwegin on the last evening, cast sharp glances at her. Alvina hadavoided Madame as Ciccio had avoided Alvina--elusive and yetconscious, a distance, and yet a connection.

  Madame danced beautifully. No denying it, she was an artist. Shebecame something quite different: fresh, virginal, pristine, a magiccreature flickering there. She was infinitely delicate andattractive. Her _braves_ became glamorous and heroic at once, andmagically she cast her spell over them. It was all very well forAlvina to bang the piano crossly. She could not put out the glowwhich surrounded Kishwegin and her troupe. Ciccio was handsome now:without war-paint, and roused, fearless and at the same timesuggestive, a dark, mysterious glamour on his face, passionate andremote. A stranger--and so beautiful. Alvina flashed at the piano,almost in tears. She hated his beauty. It shut her apart. She hadnothing to do with it.

  Madame, with her long dark hair hanging in finely-brushed tresses,her cheek burning under its dusky stain, was another creature. Howsoft she was on her feet. How humble and remote she seemed, asacross a chasm from the men. How submissive she was, with aneternity of inaccessible submission. Her hovering dance round thedead bear was exquisite: her dark, secretive curiosity, heradmiration of the massive, male strength of the creature, herquivers of triumph over the dead beast, her cruel exultation, andher fear that he was not really dead. It was a lovely sight,suggesting the world's morning, before Eve had bitten anywhite-fleshed apple, whilst she was still dusky, dark-eyed, andstill. And then her stealthy sympathy with the white prisoner! Nowindeed she was the dusky Eve tempted into knowledge. Her fascinationwas ruthless. She kneeled by the dead _brave_, her husband, as shehad knelt by the bear: in fear and admiration and doubt andexultation. She gave him the least little push with her foot. Deadmeat like the bear! And a flash of delight went over her, thatchanged into a sob of mortal anguish. And then, flickering, wicked,doubtful, she watched Ciccio wrestling with the bear.

  She was the clue to all the action, was Kishwegin. And her dark_braves_ seemed to become darker, more secret, malevolent, burningwith a cruel fire, and at the same time wistful, knowing their end.Ciccio laughed in a strange way, as he wrestled with the bear, as hehad never laughed on the previous evenings. The sound went out intothe audience, a soft, malevolent, derisive sound. And when the bearwas supposed to have crushed him, and he was to have fallen, hereeled out of the bear's arms and said to Madame, in his derisivevoice:

  "Vivo sempre, Madame." And then he fell.

  Madame stopped as if shot, hearing his words: "I am still alive,Madame." She remained suspended motionless, suddenly wilted. Thenall at once her hand went to her mouth with a scream:

  "The Bear!"

  So the scene concluded itself. But instead of the tender,half-wistful triumph of Kishwegin, a triumph electric as it shouldhave been when she took the white man's hand and kissed it, therewas a doubt, a hesitancy, a nullity, and Max did not quite know whatto do.

  After the performance, neither Madame nor Max dared say anything toCiccio about his innova
tion into the play. Louis felt he had tospeak--it was left to him.

  "I say, Cic'--" he said, "why did you change the scene? It mighthave spoiled everything if Madame wasn't such a genius. Why did yousay that?"

  "Why," said Ciccio, answering Louis' French in Italian, "I am tiredof being dead, you see."

  Madame and Max heard in silence.

  When Alvina had played _God Save the King_ she went round behind thestage. But Ciccio and Geoffrey had already packed up the property,and left. Madame was talking to James Houghton. Louis and Max werebusy together. Mr. May came to Alvina.

  "Well," he said. "That closes another week. I think we've done verywell, in face of difficulties, don't you?"

  "Wonderfully," she said.

  But poor Mr. May spoke and looked pathetically. He seemed to feelforlorn. Alvina was not attending to him. Her eye was roving. Shetook no notice of him.

  Madame came up.

  "Well, Miss Houghton," she said, "time to say good-bye, I suppose."

  "How do you feel after dancing?" asked Alvina.

  "Well--not so strong as usual--but not so bad, you know. I shall beall right--thanks to you. I think your father is more ill than I. Tome he looks very ill."

  "Father wears himself away," said Alvina.

  "Yes, and when we are no longer young, there is not so much to wear.Well, I must thank you once more--"

  "What time do you leave in the morning?"

  "By the train at half-past ten. If it doesn't rain, the young menwill cycle--perhaps all of them. Then they will go when they like--"

  "I will come round to say good-bye--" said Alvina.

  "Oh no--don't disturb yourself--"

  "Yes, I want to take home the things--the kettle for the bronchitis,and those things--"

  "Oh thank you very much--but don't trouble yourself. I will sendCiccio with them--or one of the others--"

  "I should like to say good-bye to you all," persisted Alvina.

  Madame glanced round at Max and Louis.

  "Are we not all here? No. The two have gone. No! Well! Well whattime will you come?"

  "About nine?"

  "Very well, and I leave at ten. Very well. Then _au revoir_ till themorning. Good-night."

  "Good-night," said Alvina. Her colour was rather flushed.

  She walked up with Mr. May, and hardly noticed he was there. Aftersupper, when James Houghton had gone up to count his pennies, Alvinasaid to Miss Pinnegar:

  "Don't you think father looks rather seedy, Miss Pinnegar?"

  "I've been thinking so a long time," said Miss Pinnegar tartly.

  "What do you think he ought to do?"

  "He's killing himself down there, in all weathers and freezing inthat box-office, and then the bad atmosphere. He's killing himself,that's all."

  "What can we do?"

  "Nothing so long as there's that place down there. Nothing at all."

  Alvina thought so too. So she went to bed.

  She was up in time, and watching the clock. It was a grey morning,but not raining. At five minutes to nine, she hurried off to Mrs.Rollings. In the back yard the bicycles were out, glittering andmuddy according to their owners. Ciccio was crouching mending atire, crouching balanced on his toes, near the earth. He turned likea quick-eared animal glancing up as she approached, but did notrise.

  "Are you getting ready to go?" she said, looking down at him. Hescrewed his head round to her unwillingly, upside down, his chintilted up at her. She did not know him thus inverted. Her eyesrested on his face, puzzled. His chin seemed so large, aggressive.He was a little bit repellent and brutal, inverted. Yet shecontinued:

  "Would you help me to carry back the things we brought for Madame?"

  He rose to his feet, but did not look at her. He was wearing brokencycling shoes. He stood looking at his bicycle tube.

  "Not just yet," she said. "I want to say good-bye to Madame. Willyou come in half an hour?"

  "Yes, I will come," he said, still watching his bicycle tube, whichsprawled nakedly on the floor. The forward drop of his head wascuriously beautiful to her, the straight, powerful nape of the neck,the delicate shape of the back of the head, the black hair. The waythe neck sprang from the strong, loose shoulders was beautiful.There was something mindless but _intent_ about the forward reach ofhis head. His face seemed colourless, neutral-tinted andexpressionless.

  She went indoors. The young men were moving about makingpreparations.

  "Come upstairs, Miss Houghton!" called Madame's voice from above.Alvina mounted, to find Madame packing.

  "It is an uneasy moment, when we are busy to move," said Madame,looking up at Alvina as if she were a stranger.

  "I'm afraid I'm in the way. But I won't stay a minute."

  "Oh, it is all right. Here are the things you brought--" Madameindicated a little pile--"and thank you _very_ much, _very_ much. Ifeel you saved my life. And now let me give you one little token ofmy gratitude. It is not much, because we are not millionaires in theNatcha-Kee-Tawara. Just a little remembrance of our troublesomevisit to Woodhouse."

  She presented Alvina with a pair of exquisite bead moccasins, wovenin a weird, lovely pattern, with soft deerskin soles and sides.

  "They belong to Kishwegin, so it is Kishwegin who gives them to you,because she is grateful to you for saving her life, or at least froma long illness."

  "Oh--but I don't want to take them--" said Alvina.

  "You don't like them? Why?"

  "I think they're lovely, lovely! But I don't want to take them fromyou--"

  "If I give them, you do not take them from me. You receive them.He?" And Madame pressed back the slippers, opening her plumpjewelled hands in a gesture of finality.

  "But I don't like to take _these_," said Alvina. "I feel they belongto Natcha-Kee-Tawara. And I don't want to rob Natcha-Kee-Tawara, doI? Do take them back."

  "No, I have given them. You cannot rob Natcha-Kee-Tawara in taking apair of shoes--impossible!"

  "And I'm sure they are much too small for me."

  "Ha!" exclaimed Madame. "It is that! Try."

  "I know they are," said Alvina, laughing confusedly.

  She sat down and took off her own shoe. The moccasin was a littletoo short--just a little. But it was charming on the foot, charming.

  "Yes," said Madame. "It is too short. Very well. I must find yousomething else."

  "Please don't," said Alvina. "Please don't find me anything. I don'twant anything. Please!"

  "What?" said Madame, eyeing her closely. "You don't want? Why? Youdon't want anything from Natcha-Kee-Tawara, or from Kishwegin? He?From which?"

  "Don't give me anything, please," said Alvina.

  "All right! All right then. I won't. I won't give you anything. Ican't give you anything you want from Natcha-Kee-Tawara."

  And Madame busied herself again with the packing.

  "I'm awfully sorry you are going," said Alvina.

  "Sorry? Why? Yes, so am I sorry we shan't see you any more. Yes, soI am. But perhaps we shall see you another time--he? I shall sendyou a post-card. Perhaps I shall send one of the young men on hisbicycle, to bring you something which I shall buy for you. Yes?Shall I?"

  "Oh! I should be awfully glad--but don't buy--" Alvina checkedherself in time. "Don't buy anything. Send me a little thing fromNatcha-Kee-Tawara. I _love_ the slippers--"

  "But they are too small," said Madame, who had been watching herwith black eyes that read every motive. Madame too had heravaricious side, and was glad to get back the slippers. "Verywell--very well, I will do that. I will send you some small thingfrom Natcha-Kee-Tawara, and one of the young men shall bring it.Perhaps Ciccio? He?"

  "Thank you _so_ much," said Alvina, holding out her hand. "Good-bye.I'm so sorry you're going."

  "Well--well! We are not going so very far. Not so very far. Perhapswe shall see each other another day. It may be. Good-bye!"

  Madame took Alvina's hand, and smiled at her winsomely all at once,kindly, from her inscrutable black eyes. A sudden unusual
kindness.Alvina flushed with surprise and a desire to cry.

  "Yes. I am sorry you are not with Natcha-Kee-Tawara. But we shallsee. Good-bye. I shall do my packing."

  Alvina carried down the things she had to remove. Then she went tosay good-bye to the young men, who were in various stages of theirtoilet. Max alone was quite presentable.

  Ciccio was just putting on the outer cover of his front tire. Shewatched his brown thumbs press it into place. He was quick and sure,much more capable, and even masterful, than you would have supposed,seeing his tawny Mediterranean hands. He spun the wheel round,patting it lightly.

  "Is it finished?"

  "Yes, I think." He reached his pump and blew up the tire. Shewatched his softly-applied force. What physical, muscular forcethere was in him. Then he swung round the bicycle, and stood itagain on its wheels. After which he quickly folded his tools.

  "Will you come now?" she said.

  He turned, rubbing his hands together, and drying them on an oldcloth. He went into the house, pulled on his coat and his cap, andpicked up the things from the table.

  "Where are you going?" Max asked.

  Ciccio jerked his head towards Alvina.

  "Oh, allow me to carry them, Miss Houghton. He is not fit--" saidMax.

  True, Ciccio had no collar on, and his shoes were burst.

  "I don't mind," said Alvina hastily. "He knows where they go. Hebrought them before."

  "But I will carry them. I am dressed. Allow me--" and he began totake the things. "You get dressed, Ciccio."

  Ciccio looked at Alvina.

  "Do you want?" he said, as if waiting for orders.

  "Do let Ciccio take them," said Alvina to Max. "Thank you _ever_ somuch. But let him take them."

  So Alvina marched off through the Sunday morning streets, with theItalian, who was down at heel and encumbered with an armful ofsick-room apparatus. She did not know what to say, and he saidnothing.

  "We will go in this way," she said, suddenly opening the hall door.She had unlocked it before she went out, for that entrance washardly ever used. So she showed the Italian into the sombredrawing-room, with its high black bookshelves with rows and rows ofcalf-bound volumes, its old red and flowered carpet, its grand pianolittered with music. Ciccio put down the things as she directed, andstood with his cap in his hands, looking aside.

  "Thank you so much," she said, lingering.

  He curled his lips in a faint deprecatory smile.

  "Nothing," he murmured.

  His eye had wandered uncomfortably up to a portrait on the wall.

  "That was my mother," said Alvina.

  He glanced down at her, but did not answer.

  "I am so sorry you're going away," she said nervously. She stoodlooking up at him with wide blue eyes.

  The faint smile grew on the lower part of his face, which he keptaverted. Then he looked at her.

  "We have to move," he said, with his eyes watching her reservedly,his mouth twisting with a half-bashful smile.

  "Do you like continually going away?" she said, her wide blue eyesfixed on his face.

  He nodded slightly.

  "We have to do it. I like it."

  What he said meant nothing to him. He now watched her fixedly, witha slightly mocking look, and a reserve he would not relinquish.

  "Do you think I shall ever see you again?" she said.

  "Should you like--?" he answered, with a sly smile and a faintshrug.

  "I should like awfully--" a flush grew on her cheek. She heard MissPinnegar's scarcely audible step approaching.

  He nodded at her slightly, watching her fixedly, turning up thecorners of his eyes slyly, his nose seeming slyly to sharpen.

  "All right. Next week, eh? In the morning?"

  "Do!" cried Alvina, as Miss Pinnegar came through the door. Heglanced quickly over his shoulder.

  "Oh!" cried Miss Pinnegar. "I couldn't imagine who it was." She eyedthe young fellow sharply.

  "Couldn't you?" said Alvina. "We brought back these things."

  "Oh yes. Well--you'd better come into the other room, to the fire,"said Miss Pinnegar.

  "I shall go along. Good-bye!" said Ciccio, and with a slight bow toAlvina, and a still slighter to Miss Pinnegar, he was out of theroom and out of the front door, as if turning tail.

  "I suppose they're going this morning," said Miss Pinnegar.