It is terrible when a great calamity happens in the morning; there is such an endless day to realise it in, to turn it over, to see it in every possible light. Ursule came back almost immediately, following Baptiste, with her head bowed upon her breast. “You have heard, mademoiselle?” she said with a sob. “The _bon Dieu_ has not thought fit to hear our prayers. There has been a want of faith on our part, or some other has prayed more strongly than we. We must not complain, mademoiselle, for if the _bon Dieu_ heard us always, it would be very easy to be Christian. But only for my Blanchette it breaks my heart. Oh! if I were one of the saints in heaven--God forgive me for making so bold--I could not, I would not refuse any one! I would not take a denial! But when you are praying and praying, and there is no answer, heaven seems so far away, mademoiselle.” “And there is nothing more that can be done?” Helen said, dropping a few tears of sympathy. “Yes, mademoiselle, there is my coffee to make,” said old Goudron, who made his appearance just then; “which is their duty, what they are put into this world for, these girls--not to say incantations nor make a fuss about young good-for-nothings like the _conscrit_ yonder. My coffee, _petite hypocrite_!” he cried, pushing before him the little shrinking figure. Helen felt her countenance flame. “You are a wicked, horrible old man,” she cried in English, to relieve her mind, “and I hate you! Come in, M. Goudron,” she added, with an effort; “the coffee is made; come in and take it here.” “Mademoiselle is too good,” said the old man, surprised; but he let Ursule go. Helen had been too late to help in the praying, but perhaps there might be something left which she could do. Mr Goulburn was late. He had not yet come down-stairs; and Margot, though she too had run out to take part in the melancholy excitement, could be brought back more easily than poor little Blanchette. Helen heroically poured out a large basin of coffee for the odious old man, whose sneer made her shiver; and he was so little prepared for this attention that for the moment he was entirely subdued. “Mademoiselle is very good to take so much trouble,” he said. “The coffee is excellent. I have always been told that no one understood how to be comfortable like Messieurs the English. Comfort! it is even an English word!” “We try to be good to each other--that is what makes us comfortable,” said Helen, with youthful severity. The coffee was served in little round basins of thick and heavy white crockery ware, and M. Goudron broke down his bread into it, and ate it with a spoon, which disgusted the English girl much, chiefly because it was not her way of taking the morning meal.