The Lost Girl Part 27

"Sh!" said Max, holding up his finger and looking anxiously at Alvina and Madame, who still leaned back with the stump of the thermometer jauntily perking up from her pursed mouth, while her face was rather ghastly.

Max and Louis watched anxiously. Geoffrey sat blowing the smoke down his nose, while Ciccio callously lit another cigarette, striking a match on his boot-heel and puffing from under the tip of his rather long nose. Then he took the cigarette from his mouth, turned his head, slowly spat on the floor, and rubbed his foot on his spit. Max flapped his eyelids and looked all disdain, murmuring something about "ein schmutziges italienisches Volk," whilst Louis, refusing either to see or to hear, framed the word "chien" on his lips.

Then quick as lightning both turned their attention again to Madame.

Her temperature was a hundred and two.

"You'd better go to bed," said Alvina. "Have you eaten anything?"

"One little mouthful," said Madame plaintively.

Max sat looking pale and stricken, Louis had hurried forward to take Madame's hand. He kissed it quickly, then turned aside his head because of the tears in his eyes. Geoffrey gulped beer in large throatfuls, and Ciccio, with his head bent, was watching from under his eyebrows.

"I'll run round for the doctor--" said Alvina.

"Don't! Don't do that, my dear! Don't you go and do that! I'm likely to a temperature--"

"Liable to a temperature," murmured Louis pathetically.

"I'll go to bed," said Madame, obediently rising.

"Wait a bit. I'll see if there's a fire in the bedroom," said Alvina.

"Oh, my dear, you are too good. Open the door for her, Ciccio--"

Ciccio reached across at the door, but was too late. Max had hastened to usher Alvina out. Madame sank back in her chair.

"Never for ten years," she was wailing. "Quoi faire, ah, quoi faire! Que ferez-vous, mes pauvres, sans votre Kishwegin. Que vais-je faire, mourir dans un tel pays! La bonne demoiselle--la bonne demoiselle--elle a du coeur. Elle pourrait aussi etre belle, s'il y avait un peu plus de chair. Max, liebster, schau ich sehr elend aus? Ach, oh jeh, oh jeh!"

"Ach nein, Madame, ach nein. Nicht so furchtbar elend," said Max.

"Manca il cuore solamente al Ciccio," moaned Madame. "Che natura povera, senza sentimento--niente di bello. Ahime, che amico, che ragazzo duro, aspero--"

"Trova?" said Ciccio, with a curl of the lip. He looked, as he dropped his long, beautiful lashes, as if he might weep for all that, if he were not bound to be misbehaving just now.

So Madame moaned in four languages as she posed pallid in her arm-chair. Usually she spoke in French only, with her young men. But this was an extra occasion.

"La pauvre Kishwegin!" murmured Madame. "Elle va finir au monde.

Elle pa.s.se--la pauvre Kishwegin."

Kishwegin was Madame's Red Indian name, the name under which she danced her Squaw's fire-dance.

Now that she knew she was ill, Madame seemed to become more ill. Her breath came in little pants. She had a pain in her side. A feverish flush seemed to mount her cheek. The young men were all extremely uncomfortable. Louis did not conceal his tears. Only Ciccio kept the thin smile on his lips, and added to Madame's annoyance and pain.

Alvina came down to take her to bed. The young men all rose, and kissed Madame's hand as she went out: her poor jewelled hand, that was faintly perfumed with eau de Cologne. She spoke an appropriate good-night, to each of them.

"Good-night, my faithful Max, I trust myself to you. Good-night, Louis, the tender heart. Good-night valiant Geoffrey. Ah Ciccio, do not add to the weight of my heart. Be good _braves_, all, be brothers in one accord. One little prayer for poor Kishwegin.

Good-night!"

After which valediction she slowly climbed the stairs, putting her hand on her knee at each step, with the effort.

"No--no," she said to Max, who would have followed to her a.s.sistance. "Do not come up. No--no!"

Her bedroom was tidy and proper.

"Tonight," she moaned, "I shan't be able to see that the boys'

rooms are well in order. They are not to be trusted, no. They need an overseeing eye: especially Ciccio; especially Ciccio!"

She sank down by the fire and began to undo her dress.

"You must let me help you," said Alvina. "You know I have been a nurse."

"Ah, you are too kind, too kind, dear young lady. I am a lonely old woman. I am not used to attentions. Best leave me."

"Let me help you," said Alvina.

"Alas, ahime! Who would have thought Kishwegin would need help. I danced last night with the boys in the theatre in Leek: and tonight I am put to bed in--what is the name of this place, dear?--It seems I don't remember it."

"Woodhouse," said Alvina.

"Woodhouse! Woodhouse! Is there not something called Woodlouse? I believe. Ugh, horrible! Why is it horrible?"

Alvina quickly undressed the plump, trim little woman. She seemed so soft. Alvina could not imagine how she could be a dancer on the stage, strenuous. But Madame's softness could flash into wild energy, sudden convulsive power, like a cuttle-fish. Alvina brushed out the long black hair, and plaited it lightly. Then she got Madame into bed.

"Ah," sighed Madame, "the good bed! The good bed! But cold--it is so cold. Would you hang up my dress, dear, and fold my stockings?"

Alvina quickly folded and put aside the dainty underclothing. Queer, dainty woman, was Madame, even to her wonderful threaded black-and-gold garters.

"My poor boys--no Kishwegin tomorrow! You don't think I need see a priest, dear? A priest!" said Madame, her teeth chattering.

"Priest! Oh no! You'll be better when we can get you warm. I think it's only a chill. Mrs. Rollings is warming a blanket--"

Alvina ran downstairs. Max opened the sitting-room door and stood watching at the sound of footsteps. His rather bony fists were clenched beneath his loose shirt-cuffs, his eyebrows tragically lifted.

"Is she much ill?" he asked.

"I don't know. But I don't think so. Do you mind heating the blanket while Mrs. Rollings makes thin gruel?"

Max and Louis stood heating blankets. Louis' trousers were cut rather tight at the waist, and gave him a female look. Max was straight and stiff. Mrs. Rollings asked Geoffrey to fill the coal-scuttles and carry one upstairs. Geoffrey obediently went out with a lantern to the coal-shed. Afterwards he was to carry up the horse-hair arm-chair.

"I must go home for some things," said Alvina to Ciccio. "Will you come and carry them for me?"

He started up, and with one movement threw away his cigarette. He did not look at Alvina. His beautiful lashes seemed to screen his eyes. He was fairly tall, but loosely built for an Italian, with slightly sloping shoulders. Alvina noticed the brown, slender Mediterranean hand, as he put his fingers to his lips. It was a hand such as she did not know, prehensile and tender and dusky. With an odd graceful slouch he went into the pa.s.sage and reached for his coat.

He did not say a word, but held aloof as he walked with Alvina.

"I'm sorry for Madame," said Alvina, as she hurried rather breathless through the night. "She does think for you men."

But Ciccio vouchsafed no answer, and walked with his hands in the pockets of his water-proof, wincing from the weather.