“Now, Helen, do not torment yourself about nothing,” said Cecilia, who, not being sure whether Beauclerc had heard anything, had not looked at his countenance or remarked his tone; her mind was occupied with what had passed while Helen was looking at the Madonna. Lady Cecilia had tried to make out the meaning of these extraordinary starings and whisperings--Lady Katrine would not tell her any thing distinctly, but said, “Strange reports--so sorry it had got into the papers, those vile libellous papers; of course she did not believe--of Miss Stanley. After all, nothing very bad--a little awkward only--might be hushed up. Better not talk of it to-night; but I will try, Cecilia, in the morning, to find those paragraphs for you.” Lady Cecilia determined to go as early as possible in the morning, and make out the whole; and, had she plainly told this to Helen, it would have been better for all parties: but she continued to talk of the people they had seen, to hide her thoughts from Helen, who all the time felt as in a feverish dream, watching the lights of the carriage flit by like fiery eyes, while she thought only of the strange words she had heard and why they should have made Beauclerc angry with her. At last they were at home. As they went in, Lady Cecilia inquired if the general had come in?--Yes, he had been at home for some time, and was in bed. This was a relief. Helen was glad not to see any one, or to be obliged to say anything more that night. Lady Cecilia bade her “be a good child, and go to sleep.” How much Helen slept may be left to the judgment of those who have any imagination. CHAPTER IV “_Miladi a une migranie affreuse_ this morning,” said Felicie, addressing herself on the stairs to Rose. “_Mille amitiés de sa part_ to your young lady, Miss Rose, and _miladi_ recommend to her to follow a good example, and to take her breakfast in her bed, and then to take one good sleep till you shall hear _midi sonné_.” Miss Stanley, however, was up and dressed at the time when this message was brought to her, and a few minutes afterwards a footman came to the door, to give notice that the general was in the breakfast-room, waiting to know whether Miss Stanley was coming down or not. The idea of a _tête-à-tetê_ breakfast with him was not now quite so agreeable as it would have been to her formerly, but she went down. The general was standing with his back to the fire, newspapers hanging from his hand, his look ominously grave. After “Good mornings” had been exchanged with awful solemnity, Helen ventured to hope that there was no bad public news. “No public news whatever,” said the general. Next, she was sorry to hear that Cecilia had “such a bad headache.” “Tired last night,” said the general. “It was, indeed, a tiresome, disagreeable party,” said Helen, hoping this would lead to how so? or why? but the general drily answered, “Not the London season,” and went on eating his breakfast in silence.