Admiral, for one. I'm sure he never ought to be out of bed, with his
rheumatics. It's enough to give him his death. Sam Zeally says that
General Rochambeau is looking after him, as tender as a mother with a
babby."

Polly mimicked Sam's pronunciation, and laughed. She was Somerset-born
herself, but had seen service in Bath.

"Where is Mr. Endymion?"

"I heard him let himself in just as I was going upstairs after
undressing you. That would be about one, or a quarter past. But he was
up again at six, called for Mrs. Morrish to heat his shaving water,
and had a cup of coffee in his room. He and Mr. Narcissus have gone out
to see the roll called, and get the volunteers and prisoners to clear
the streets. Leastways, that's what Mr. Narcissus is doing. I heard
Mr. Endymion say something about riding off to see what the roads are
like."

By this time the fire was lit and crackling. Polly loitered awhile,
arranging the cinders. She had given up asking with whom her mistress
had danced; but Dorothea usually described the more striking gowns,
and how this or that lady had worn her hair.

"Tired, Miss?"

"Well, yes, Polly; a little, but not uncomfortably. I danced several
times last night."

Polly pursed her mouth into an O; but her face was turned to the fire,
and Dorothea did not see it.

"I hope, Miss, you'll tell me about it later on. But Mrs. Morrish is
downstairs declaring that no hen will lay an egg in this weather, to
have it snowed up the next moment. 'Not that I blame mun,' she says,
'for I wouldn't do it myself,'"--here Polly giggled. "What to find
for breakfast she don't know, and never will until I go and help her."

Polly departed, leaving her mistress cosy in bed and strangely
reluctant to rise and part company with her waking thoughts.

Yes; Dorothea had danced twice again with M. Raoul since her discovery
of his boldness. He had seen her draw the orange curtain over his
offence, had sought her again and apologised for, it. He had done it
(he had pleaded) on a sudden impulse--to be a reminder of one kind
glance which had brightened his exile. 'No one but she was in the
least likely to recognise the trinket; in any case he would paint it
out at the first opportunity. And Dorothea had forgiven him. She
herself had a great capacity for gratitude, and understood the feeling
far too thoroughly to believe for an instant that M. Raoul could be
mightily grateful for anything she had said or done. No; whatever