Lorraine, dotted with temples and small figures in flowing drapery,
with here and there a glimpse of naked limbs. Here were Bacchus and
Ariadne, with a company of dancing revellers; Apollo and Marsyas; the
Rape of Helen; Dido welcoming Aeneas. . . . Dorothea (albeit she had
often glanced into the copy of M. Lempriere's Classical Dictionary in
her brother's library, and, besides, had picked up something of Greek
and Roman mythology in helping Narcissus) did not at once discriminate
the subjects of these panels, but her eyes rested on them with a
pleasant sense of recognition, and were still resting on them when she
heard General Rochambeau say:

"Ah, there is my genius! You must let me present him, Mademoiselle.
He will amuse you. Hi, there! Raoul!"

A young man, standing amid a group of workmen and criticising one of
the panels between the curtains, turned sharply. Almost before Dorothea
was aware, he had doffed his paper cap and the General was introducing
him.

She recognised him at once. He was the young prisoner who had nailed
the board against her brother's apple-tree.

He bowed and began at once to apologise for the state of the room. He
had expected no visitors before Wednesday. The General had played a
surprise upon him. And Miss Westcote, alas! was a critic, especially
of classical subjects.

He had heard of her drawings for her brother's book.

Dorothea blushed.