“A broad-minded fellow,” was the general verdict; and some admirers added that ideas which in weaker men might seem to lean towards free thought, and even towards Jacobinism, became Mr. Westcote handsomely enough.  He knew how to carry them off, to wear them lightly as flourishes and ornaments of his robust common sense, and might be trusted not to go too far.  Endymion, who had an exquisite flair for the approval of his own class, soon learned to take an honest pride in his liberalism and to enjoy its discreet display.  ’The entertainment at Bayfield’ was nothing—­a private experiment only; the unfamiliar must be handled gently; a good rule to try it on your own household before tackling the world.  As a matter of fact, old Narcissus had enjoyed it.  But if the neighbouring families were really curious, and would promise not to be shocked, they must come to “The Dogs” some Sunday evening:  No, not next Sunday, but in a week or two’s time when the prisoners, as intelligent fellows, would have grasped his notions.’

Sure enough, on the third Sunday he brought a round dozen of guests; and the entrance of the Bayfield party (punctually five minutes late), and their solemn taking of seats in the two front rows, thereafter became a feature of these entertainments.  On the first occasion the musicians stopped, out of respect, in the middle of a motet of Scarlatti’s; but Endymion gave orders that in future this was not to be.

“I have been something of an amateur myself,” he explained, “and know what is due to Art.”

It vexed Dorothea to note that after the first two or three performances some of her best friends among the prisoners absented themselves, General Rochambeau for one.  Indeed, the General had taken to declining all invitations, and rarely appeared abroad.  One March morning, meeting him in the High Street, she made bold to tax him with the change and ask his reasons.

The hour was eleven in the forenoon, the busiest of the day.  In twenty minutes the London coach would be due with the mails, and this always brought the prisoners out into the street.  The largest crowd gathered in front of “The Dogs,” waiting to see the horses changed and the bags unloaded.  But a second hung around the Post Office, where the Commissary received and distributed the prisoners’ letters, while lesser groups shifted and moved about at the tail of the butchers’ carts, and others laden with milk, eggs, and fresh vegetables from the country; for Axcester had now a daily market, and in the few minutes before the mail’s arrival the salesmen drove their best trade.

General Rochambeau tapped his snuffbox meditatively, like a man in two minds.  But he kept a sidelong eye upon Dorothea, as she turned to acknowledge a bow from the Vicomte de Tocqueville.  The Vicomte, with an air of amused contempt, was choosing a steak for his dinner, using his gold-ferruled walking-stick to direct the butcher how to cut it out, while his servant stood ready with a plate.