Most of the sufferers looked on at the ruin of their homes, paralysed by horror, unable to help themselves or to mitigate their losses by energetic action of any kind. Dumb and helpless as sheep, they saw their property destroyed, their children’s lives imperilled, and could only thank Providence, and those few brave men who helped them in their helplessness, for escape from a fiery death. Panic and ruin prevailed within a mile eastward of Fareham House, when the boat ground against the edge of the marble landing-stage, and Angela alighted and ran quickly up the stairs, and made her way straight to the house. The door stood wide open, and candles were burning in the vestibule. The servants were at the eastern end of the terrace watching the fire, too much engrossed to see their master and his companion land at the western steps. At the foot of the great staircase Angela heard herself called by a crystalline voice, and, looking up, saw Henriette hanging over the banister rail. “Auntie, where have you been?” “Is your mother with you?” Angela asked. “Mother is locked in her bed-chamber, and mighty sullen. She told me to go to bed. As if anybody could lie quietly in bed with London burning!” added Papillon, her tone implying that a great city in flames was a kind of entertainment that could not be too highly appreciated. She came flying downstairs in her pretty silken deshabille, with her hair streaming, and flung her arm round her aunt’s neck. “Ma chatte, where have you been?” “On the terrace.” “Fi donc, menteuse! I saw you and my father land at the west stairs, five minutes ago.” “We had been looking at the fire.” “And never offered to take me with you! What a greedy pig!” “Indeed, dearest, it is no scene for little girls to look upon.” “And when I am grown up what shall I have to talk about if I miss all the great sights?” “Come to your room, love. You will see only too much from your windows. I am going to your mother.” “Ce n’est pas la peine. She is in one of her tempers, and has locked herself in.” “No matter. She will see me.” “Je m’en doute. She came home in a coach-and-four nearly two hours ago, with Monsieur de Malfort; and I think they must have quarrelled. They bade each other good night so uncivilly; but he was more huffed than mother.” “Where were you that you know so much?” “In the gallery. Did I not tell you I shouldn’t be able to sleep? I went into the gallery for coolness, and then I heard the coach in the courtyard, and the doors opened, and I listened.” “Inquisitive child!”