"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.
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