ill be en
masse; and then, believe me, I shall come with an army, since I
underrate neither the strength of the fortress nor the feeling of the
country."

"That reminds me," put in a Mr. Saxby, of Yeovil, or near by, "we have
heard of no escape or attempts at escape from Axcester this winter. I
congratulate you, Westcote--if the General will not think it
offensive."

"Reassure yourself, my dear sir." General Rochambeau bowed. "No," he
continued, lifting his eyes for a moment towards Dorothea, "in one way
or another we are rid of our fence-breakers, and the rest must share
the credit with our Commissary."

"And yet the temptation--," began Lady Bateson.

"Is great, Madame, for some temperaments. But the Vicomte, here, and I
have tried to teach our poor compatriots that in resisting it they
fight for France as surely as if they stormed a breach. And, by the
way, I heard a story this morning--if the company would care to hear--"

They begged him to tell it.

"But not if the ladies leave us to our wine." He turned to Dorothea.
"If Miss Westcote will rally and stay her forces, good; for, though it
came to me casually in a letter, it is a tale of the sort which used
to be fashionable in my youth--ah! long before M. le Tocqueville
remembers--and for the telling it demanded an audience of ladies,
which must help me, who am rusty, to recapture the style, if I can."

He pushed back his chair and, crossing his legs, leaned forward and
pushed his fingers across the polished mahogany till they touched the
base of a wine-glass beside his plate. One or two of the guests smiled
at this formal opening. The Vicomte's eyes showed something of
amusement behind their apathy. But all listened.

"My tale, Miss Dorothea, is of a certain M. Benest, who until a few
weeks ago was a prisoner on parole in one of your towns on the south
coast. He had been _chef de hune_ (which, as you know, is chief petty
officer) of the _Embuscade_ frigate, captured by Sir John Warren. In
the action which lost her M. Benest lost a leg, and was placed in an
English hospital, where they gave him a wooden one.

"Now how it came about that on his discharge he was allowed to live in
a town--call it a village, rather--a haven, at any rate--where for
a couple of napoleons he might have found a boat any night of the week
to smuggle him over to Roscoff, is more than I can tell you. It may be
that he had once borne another name than Benest, one to command
privile