“But meaning that you have lost your money? You have not lost all your money,” she said with some vehemence. “You have given--a great deal, to poor Baptiste. We are in no want of anything. You cannot have lost it all--that is not true.” A dull sort of smile came upon his face. “Such things happen every day,” he said. “A man may lose all his money and may yet have what will do to go on with. Besides, it is Janey’s, not mine.” Helen looked at him with such wistful wonder, with such a pained entreaty in her face, that he went on with an embarrassed laugh, “The short and the long of it, if you will know, is this--Ruin means not starvation, as you may suppose, but owing money which you cannot pay.” A hopeful gleam flew across her face. “But then, so long as there is any we can always go on paying. Ah, poor Baptiste! it would be hard to take it from him now; but we could save a great deal, papa; and you shall have mine if you like, and welcome. And perhaps they would take it in instalments, as the poor people used to do at the Fareham Club.” “Hush!” he said; “you don’t understand anything about it. I want no more conversation on this subject.” “But, papa, I do understand: what can be more simple? Take the money we have, and pay as far as it will go, and then we could go home.” “You are a little fool,” Mr Goulburn said. Helen was pained. Did she not understand? and yet it seemed so entirely simple. She did not insist any more, feeling that her father looked ill; that it was unkind to press him for the moment. “If any of the people to whom he owes money should come here,” she said to herself, “I should know what to do.” It was with this feeling that she set out to see his friends. Janey was in the garden with Margot’s children, perfectly happy; her sister was not sorry on this day of emotion to be alone. She walked away quickly to the _château_, and her story about the _tirage_ and those upon whom the bad numbers had fallen, was full of interest for the ladies; they wanted to hear every name, and how the unfortunates had borne it. “Pierre Courvoye! Oh, it will not do any harm to Pierre; and I think a few years’ steady service and discipline will be of use to Jean too.” “But poor old Elisabeth!” cried Cécile. “She will be better without him; at least she will not see him going wrong; and perhaps he will do better in the regiment.” “But Baptiste? it will ruin Baptiste and poor Mère Dupré, and break little Blanchette’s heart,” the girls cried. When they heard that Mr Goulburn had bought him a substitute there were no bounds to their enthusiasm. “Your papa, then, is a saint, he is a benefactor, he has a heart of gold!” they cried. “But, _mon enfant_,” said the Comtesse, “I fear you must have allowed him to be exposed to emotion. Never forget that there must be no emotion; you must avoid it as you would avoid poison.”