and turned back. (Dorothea had entertained them both at Bayfield, and
met them at dinner in one or two neighbouring houses.) On the same
days, and on Mondays as well, old Jean Pierre Pichou, ex-boatswain of
the _Didon_ frigate, would come along arm-in-arm with Julien Carales,
alias Frap d'Abord, ex-_marechal des logis_--Pichou, with his wooden
leg, and Frap d'Abord twisting a grey moustache and uttering a steady
torrent of imprecation--or so it sounded. These could be counted on;
but scores of others stopped and turned at the Bayfield elm, and Polly
had names for them all. Moreover, on one memorable day Dorothea had
watched one who did not halt precisely at the elm. A few paces beyond
it, and on the side of the road facing the grounds, straggled an old
orchard, out of which her brother Endymion had been missing, of late,
a quantity of his favourite pippins--by name (but it may have been a
local one) Somerset Warriors. The month was October, the time about
half-past four, the light dusky. Yet Miss Dorothea, lingering by the
gate, saw a young man pass the Bayfield elm and climb the hedge; and
saw and heard him nail against an apple-tree overhanging the road, a
board with white letters on a black ground. When it was fixed, the
artist descended to the road and gazed up admiringly at his work. In
the act of departing he turned, and suddenly stood still again. His
face was toward the Bayfield gate. Dorothea could not tell if he saw
her, but he remained thus, motionless, for almost a minute. Then he
seemed to recollect himself and marched off briskly down the road.
Early next morning she descended and read the inscription, which ran:
"Restaurant pour les Aspirants."

She said nothing about it, and soon after breakfast the board was
removed.