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.
Such a constraint and awe came upon her, that she felt it would be taking too great a liberty, in his present mood, to put sugar and cream into his tea, as she was wont in happier times. She set sugar-bowl and cream before him, and whether he understood, or noticed not her feelings, she could not guess. He sugared, and creamed, and drank, and thought, and spoke not. Helen put out of his way a supernumerary cup, to which he had already given a push, and she said, “Mr. Beauclerc does not breakfast with us.”