“Not I! I don’t know why I said it. The fact is we _are_ birds of passage. What have we to do here? I am very comfortable; I don’t want to change; but as a matter of fact, things might happen----” “Papa, perhaps I ought to have told you; they are expecting visitors--English visitors--at the _château_.” She looked at him after a moment, and gave a sudden cry of alarm. He had become not pale, which is one thing, but white to the very lips. “Do you know who they are?” he said. “Only their Christian names: one is John and the other Monsieur Charles, who has been in India.” She said this with an uneasy feeling once more that M. Charles who had been in India could be but one person, and looked up with some anxiety to see if her father would take the same view. “That does not tell very much,” he said with a laugh; “most men who are not called John are called Charles. Are they brothers? It is annoying. I daresay you wonder why I should care; but the fact is, Helen,” he said, with an uneasy attempt at a careless manner, “I don’t want to come in contact with Englishmen. Take care not to mention my name at all; ignore me, that is the best thing to do. I won’t meet any Englishman. I’d rather, a great deal rather, notwithstanding that things suit me very well here, go away at once than have English visitors prying upon me.” “I am afraid you are not well, papa.” “It is that old Comtesse that has put it into my head. There never was anything so absurd. I have been quite breathless and queer ever since she told me I ought to be so. It is the most droll sympathetic sensation--nothing more. I know I am not ill, not a bit ill--but I feel it; in the face of my own reason and all the facts of the case. Never mind, that will all blow over. And Helen, recollect what I say: be on your guard if you see any Englishmen. Stop; if it should by any chance be some one we know----” “That is so unlikely, papa,” said Helen, forcing herself to smile. But she did not think it was improbable, in her heart. “It is very improbable; still we must be prepared for all that can happen. Should it be any one we know, say that we have come here--for a day or two. Say that we are--just leaving--or better, say that you are alone, and that where I am you do not know.” It was Helen’s turn now to be pale. “Papa, how can I say all these things?” she cried. “If I could, if the truth did not matter, the Vieux-bois would know I was lying. And, papa! oh, if you would but tell me! If it was only that you were ruined, why should you be afraid of English visitors? I think I could bear it better if you would tell me the truth. Is it only--what you call ruin, papa? meaning that you have lost your money?” she said. “It is only--ruin. That is a tolerably big word. I don’t know what you could wish more.”