“Please do not say Miss at all,” she said, the tears (and how sharp they were, like fire more than water!) coming to her eyes. “I am Helen, and she is little Janey. Will you call us so?” “But it will not be _comme il faut_ to call you Helen the first time we see you, without either Miss or Mademoiselle.” “We don’t say Miss in England,” said Helen stoutly; “no one says it who is _comme il faut_,--only the servants.” The two French girls looked at each other with a little surprise--perhaps they did not like to be supposed ignorant on this point; or perhaps the fervour of Helen’s protest struck them, though they could not tell what it meant. But they were too well bred to make any further difficulty. “Do you like our poor little Latour?” said Cécile. “It is so strange to us to see any new faces here. We shall be so happy to have you all the long winter--that is, if you are going to stay.” It was Cécile who spoke the best English. The younger one was playing with Janey, and chattering in a mixture of languages which amused and suited them both. Cécile and Helen walked on demurely side by side. “We shall stay if--if papa likes it,” she said. “Monsieur your father is not strong?” said Cécile, with a sympathetic look. “I said so when I saw him first. I told mamma that there was something here----” She put her hand to her lips, and the tears filled her eyes. “We lost our dear father all in one moment,” she said; “thus we know what it is to be unquiet. But at least you are warned. You can watch over him, and if there is no _crise_ that goes on for a long time.” “Oh, there is nothing the matter--I mean, papa is not ill,” cried Helen, half alarmed, half amazed. “At least, it is only----” “That is what we said,” said Cécile, gently; “it is only--a little want of breath, a little palpitation. And we might have taken more care perhaps to avoid emotion--to avoid danger; but who can say? _Le bon Dieu_ knows best.” “I assure you,” said Helen, “I am not alarmed at all about papa. We are not so well off as we were, and he wishes to be quiet, that is all. I think he likes Latour, and I like it. Yes, I think we shall stay all the winter. Perhaps we shall stay always. Janey will not remember any other place.” “But you--were you not sorry to leave your home?” “Sorry?” said Helen, meditating. “I ought to have been. I do not quite know, it was so strange. Before I knew that we had left home we were here, or, at all events, at Sainte-Barbe,” she said, with a smile. “Sainte-Barbe? that is a long way off, beyond Dijon. But tell me, is it not very gloomy in England, more gloomy than here? Thérèse was quite right, I am _fiancé_, and I shall live in England. Tell me a little about your home.”