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THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.......................................................................................................................1

BARONESS ORCZY..............................................................................................................................1

A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they

seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate. The

hour, some little time before sunset, and the place, the West Barricade, at the very spot where, a decade later,

a proud tyrant raised an undying monument to the nation's glory and his own vanity.

During the greater part of the day the guillotine had been kept busy at its ghastly work: all that France had

boasted of in the past centuries, of ancient names, and blue blood, had paid toll to her desire for liberty and

for fraternity. The carnage had only ceased at this late hour of the day because there were other more

interesting sights for the people to witness, a little while before the final closing of the barricades for the

And so the crowd rushed away from the Place de la Greve and made for the various barricades in order to

It was to be seen every day, for those aristos were such fools! They were traitors to the people of course, all

of them, men, women, and children, who happened to be descendants of the great men who since the

Crusades had made the glory of France: her old NOBLESSE. Their ancestors had oppressed the people, had

crushed them under the scarlet heels of their dainty buckled shoes, and now the people had become the rulers

of France and crushed their former mastersnot beneath their heel, for they went shoeless mostly in these

And daily, hourly, the hideous instrument of torture claimed its many victimsold men, young women, tiny

children until the day when it would finally demand the head of a King and of a beautiful young Queen.

But this was as it should be: were not the people now the rulers of France? Every aristocrat was a traitor, as

his ancestors had been before him: for two hundred years now the people had sweated, and toiled, and

starved, to keep a lustful court in lavish extravagance; now the descendants of those who had helped to make

those courts brilliant had to hide for their livesto fly, if they wished to avoid the tardy vengeance of the

And they did try to hide, and tried to fly: that was just the fun of the whole thing. Every afternoon before the

gates closed and the market carts went out in procession by the various barricades, some fool of an aristo

endeavoured to evade the clutches of the Committee of Public Safety. In various disguises, under various

pretexts, they tried to slip through the barriers, which were so well guarded by citizen soldiers of the

Republic. Men in women's clothes, women in male attire, children disguised in beggars' rags: there were

some of all sorts: CIDEVANT counts, marquises, even dukes, who wanted to fly from France, reach

England or some other equally accursed country, and there try to rouse foreign feelings against the glorious

Revolution, or to raise an army in order to liberate the wretched prisoners in the Temple, who had once called

But they were nearly always caught at the barricades, Sergeant Bibot especially at the West Gate had a

wonderful nose for scenting an aristo in the most perfect disguise. Then, of course, the fun began. Bibot

would look at his prey as a cat looks upon the mouse, play with him, sometimes for quite a quarter of an

hour, pretend to be hoodwinked by the disguise, by the wigs and other bits of theatrical makeup which hid

Oh! Bibot had a keen sense of humour, and it was well worth hanging round that West Barricade, in order to

see him catch an aristo in the very act of trying to flee from the vengeance of the people.

Sometimes Bibot would let his prey actually out by the gates, allowing him to think for the space of two

minutes at least that he really had escaped out of Paris, and might even manage to reach the coast of England

in safety, but Bibot would let the unfortunate wretch walk about ten metres towards the open country, then he

Oh! that was extremely funny, for as often as not the fugitive would prove to be a woman, some proud

marchioness, who looked terribly comical when she found herself in Bibot's clutches after all, and knew that

a summary trial would await her the next day and after that, the fond embrace of Madame la Guillotine.

No wonder that on this fine afternoon in September the crowd round Bibot's gate was eager and excited. The

lust of blood grows with its satisfaction, there is no satiety: the crowd had seen a hundred noble heads fall

beneath the guillotine today, it wanted to make sure that it would see another hundred fall on the morrow.

Bibot was sitting on an overturned and empty cask close by the gate of the barricade; a small detachment of

citoyen soldiers was under his command. The work had been very hot lately. Those cursed aristos were

becoming terrified and tried their hardest to slip out of Paris: men, women and children, whose ancestors,

even in remote ages, had served those traitorous Bourbons, were all traitors themselves and right food for the

guillotine. Every day Bibot had had the satisfaction of unmasking some fugitive royalists and sending them

back to be tried by the Committee of Public Safety, presided over by that good patriot, Citoyen

Robespierre and Danton both had commended Bibot for his zeal and Bibot was proud of the fact that he on

But today all the sergeants in command at the various barricades had had special orders. Recently a very

great number of aristos had succeeded in escaping out of France and in reaching England safely. There were

curious rumours about these escapes; they had become very frequent and singularly daring; the people's

minds were becoming strangely excited about it all. Sergeant Grospierre had been sent to the guillotine for

allowing a whole family of aristos to slip out of the North Gate under his very nose.

It was asserted that these escapes were organised by a band of Englishmen, whose daring seemed to be

unparalleled, and who, from sheer desire to meddle in what did not concern them, spent their spare time in

snatching away lawful victims destined for Madame la Guillotine. These rumours soon grew in extravagance;

there was no doubt that this band of meddlesome Englishmen did exist; moreover, they seemed to be under

the leadership of a man whose pluck and audacity were almost fabulous. Strange stories were afloat of how

he and those aristos whom he rescued became suddenly invisible as they reached the barricades and escaped

No one had seen these mysterious Englishmen; as for their leader, he was never spoken of, save with a

superstitious shudder. Citoyen FoucquierTinville would in the course of the day receive a scrap of paper

from some mysterious source; sometimes he would find it in the pocket of his coat, at others it would be

handed to him by someone in the crowd, whilst he was on his way to the sitting of the Committee of Public

Safety. The paper always contained a brief notice that the band of meddlesome Englishmen were at work, and

it was always signed with a device drawn in reda little starshaped flower, which we in England call the

Scarlet Pimpernel. Within a few hours of the receipt of this impudent notice, the citoyens of the Committee of

Public Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats had succeeded in reaching the coast, and were

The guards at the gates had been doubled, the sergeants in command had been threatened with death, whilst

liberal rewards were offered for the capture of these daring and impudent Englishmen. There was a sum of

five thousand francs promised to the man who laid hands on the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel.

Everyone felt that Bibot would be that man, and Bibot allowed that belief to take firm root in everybody's

mind; and so, day after day, people came to watch him at the West Gate, so as to be present when he laid

hands on any fugitive aristo who perhaps might be accompanied by that mysterious Englishman.

"Bah!" he said to his trusted corporal, "Citoyen Grospierre was a fool! Had it been me now, at that North

Citoyen Bibot spat on the ground to express his contempt for his comrade's stupidity.

"Grospierre was at the gate, keeping good watch," began Bibot, pompously, as the crowd closed in round

him, listening eagerly to his narrative. "We've all heard of this meddlesome Englishman, this accursed Scarlet

Pimpernel. He won't get through MY gate, MORBLEU! unless he be the devil himself. But Grospierre was a

fool. The market carts were going through the gates; there was one laden with casks, and driven by an old

man, with a boy beside him. Grospierre was a bit drunk, but he thought himself very clever; he looked into

the casksmost of them, at leastand saw they were empty, and let the cart go through."

A murmur of wrath and contempt went round the group of illclad wretches, who crowded round Citoyen

"Half an hour later," continued the sergeant, "up comes a captain of the guard with a squad of some dozen

soldiers with him. `Has a car gone through?' he asks of Grospierre, breathlessly. `Yes,' says Grospierre, `not

half an hour ago.' `And you have let them escape,' shouts the captain furiously. `You'll go to the guillotine for

this, citoyen sergeant! that cart held concealed the CIDEVANT Duc de Chalis and all his family!' `What!'

thunders Grospierre, aghast. `Aye! and the driver was none other than that cursed Englishman, the Scarlet

A howl of execration greeted this tale. Citoyen Grospierre had paid for his blunder on the guillotine, but what

Bibot was laughing so much at his own tale that it was some time before he could continue.

"`After them, my men,' shouts the captain," he said after a while, "`remember the reward; after them, they

cannot have gone far!' And with that he rushes through the gate followed by his dozen soldiers."

But these sallies seemed to amuse Citoyen Bibot exceedingly; he laughed until his sides ached, and the tears

"Nay, nay!" he said at last, "those aristos weren't in the cart; the driver was not the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

"No! The captain of the guard was that damned Englishman in disguise, and everyone of his soldiers aristos!"

The crowd this time said nothing: the story certainly savoured of the supernatural, and though the Republic

had abolished God, it had not quite succeeded in killing the fear of the supernatural in the hearts of the

The sun was sinking low down in the west. Bibot prepared himself to close the gates.

Some dozen covered carts were drawn up in a row, ready to leave town, in order to fetch the produce from

the country close by, for market the next morning. They were mostly well known to Bibot, as they went

through his gate twice every day on their way to and from the town. He spoke to one or two of their

"You never know," he would say, "and I'm not going to be caught like that fool Grospierre."

The women who drove the carts usually spent their day on the Place de la Greve, beneath the platform of the

guillotine, knitting and gossiping, whilst they watched the rows of tumbrils arriving with the victims the

Reign of Terror claimed every day. It was great fun to see the aristos arriving for the reception of Madame la

Guillotine, and the places close by the platform were very much sought after. Bibot, during the day, had been

on duty on the Place. He recognized most of the old hats, "tricotteuses," as they were called, who sat there

and knitted, whilst head after head fell beneath the knife, and they themselves got quite bespattered with the

"He! la mere!" said Bibot to one of these horrible hags, "what have you got there?"

He had seen her earlier in the day, with her knitting and the whip of her cart close beside her. Now she had

fastened a row of curly locks to the whip handle, all colours, from gold to silver, fair to dark, and she stroked

"I made friends with Madame Guillotine's lover," she said with a coarse laugh, "he cut these off for me from

the heads as they rolled down. He has promised me some more tomorrow, but I don't know if I shall be at

"Ah! how is that, la mere?" asked Bibot, who, hardened soldier that he was, could not help shuddering at the

awful loathsomeness of this semblance of a woman, with her ghastly trophy on the handle of her whip.

"My grandson has got the smallpox," she said with a jerk of her thumb towards the inside of her cart, "some

say it's the plague! If it is, I sha'n't be allowed to come into Paris tomorrow." At the first mention of the

word smallpox, Bibot had stepped hastily backwards, and when the old hag spoke of the plague, he retreated

"Curse you!" he muttered, whilst the whole crowd hastily avoided the cart, leaving it standing all alone in the

"Curse you, citoyen, for being a coward," she said. "Bah! what a man to be afraid of sickness."

Everyone was awestruck and silent, filled with horror for the loathsome malady, the one thing which still

had the power to arouse terror and disgust in these savage, brutalised creatures.

And with another rough laugh and coarse jest, the old hag whipped up her lean nag and drove her cart out of

This incident had spoilt the afternoon. The people were terrified of these two horrible curses, the two

maladies which nothing could cure, and which were the precursors of an awful and lonely death. They hung

about the barricades, silent and sullen for a while, eyeing one another suspiciously, avoiding each other as if

by instinct, lest the plague lurked already in their midst. Presently, as in the case of Grospierre, a captain of

the guard appeared suddenly. But he was known to Bibot, and there was no fear of his turning out to be a sly

"The cart contained the CIDEVANT Comtesse de Tourney and her two children, all of them traitors and

condemned to death." "And their driver?" muttered Bibot, as a superstitious shudder ran down his spine.

"SACRE TONNERRE," said the captain, "but it is feared that it was that accursed Englishman himselfthe

In the kitchen Sally was extremely busysaucepans and fryingpans were standing in rows on the gigantic

hearth, the huge stockpot stood in a corner, and the jack turned with slow deliberation, and presented

alternately to the glow every side of a noble sirloin of beef. The two little kitchenmaids bustled around,

eager to help, hot and panting, with cotton sleeves well tucked up above the dimpled elbows, and giggling

over some private jokes of their own, whenever Miss Sally's back was turned for a moment. And old Jemima,

stolid in temper and solid in bulk, kept up a long and subdued grumble, while she stirred the stockpot

"What ho! Sally!" came in cheerful if none too melodious accents from the coffeeroom close by.

"Lud bless my soul!" exclaimed Sally, with a goodhumoured laugh, "what be they all wanting now, I

"Beer, of course," grumbled Jemima, "you don't `xpect Jimmy Pitkin to `ave done with one tankard, do ye?"

"Mr. `Arry, `e looked uncommon thirsty too," simpered Martha, one of the little kitchenmaids; and her

beady black eyes twinkled as they met those of her companion, whereupon both started on a round of short

Sally looked cross for a moment, and thoughtfully rubbed her hands against her shapely hips; her palms were

itching, evidently, to come in contact with Martha's rosy cheeksbut inherent goodhumour prevailed, and

with a pout and a shrug of the shoulders, she turned her attention to the fried potatoes.

And a chorus of pewter mugs, tapped with impatient hands against the oak tables of the coffeeroom,

"Sally!" shouted a more persistent voice, "are ye goin' to be all night with that there beer?"

"I do think father might get the beer for them," muttered Sally, as Jemima, stolidly and without further

comment, took a couple of foamcrowned jugs from the shelf, and began filling a number of pewter tankards

with some of that homebrewed ale for which "The Fisherman's Rest" had been famous since that days of

"Your father is too busy discussing politics with Mr. `Empseed to worry 'isself about you and the kitchen,"

Sally had gone to the small mirror which hung in a corner of the kitchen, and was hastily smoothing her hair

and setting her frilled cap at its most becoming angle over her dark curls; then she took up the tankards by

their handles, three in each strong, brown hand, and laughing, grumbling, blushing, carried them through into

There, there was certainly no sign of that bustle and activity which kept four women busy and hot in the

The coffeeroom of "The Fisherman's Rest" is a show place now at the beginning of the twentieth century.

At the end of the eighteenth, in the year of grace 1792, it had not yet gained the notoriety and importance

which a hundred additional years and the craze of the age have since bestowed upon it. Yet it was an old

place, even then, for the oak rafters and beams were already black with ageas were the panelled seats, with

their tall backs, and the long polished tables between, on which innumerable pewter tankards had left

fantastic patterns of manysized rings. In the leaded window, high up, a row of pots of scarlet geraniums and

blue larkspur gave the bright note of colour against the dull background of the oak.

That Mr. Jellyband, landlord of "The Fisherman's Reef" at Dover, was a prosperous man, was of course clear

to the most casual observer. The pewter on the fine old dressers, the brass above the gigantic hearth, shone

like silver and goldthe redtiled floor was as brilliant as the scarlet geranium on the window sillthis

meant that his servants were good and plentiful, that the custom was constant, and of that order which

necessitated the keeping up of the coffeeroom to a high standard of elegance and order.

As Sally came in, laughing through her frowns, and displaying a row of dazzling white teeth, she was greeted

"I thought you'd grown deaf in that kitchen of yours," muttered Jimmy Pitkin, as he passed the back of his

"All ri'! all ri'!" laughed Sally, as she deposited the freshlyfilled tankards upon the tables, "why, what a `urry

to be sure! And is your gran'mother adyin' an' you wantin' to see the pore soul afore she'm gone! I never

see'd such a mighty rushin'" A chorus of goodhumoured laughter greeted this witticism, which gave the

company there present food for many jokes, for some considerable time. Sally now seemed in less of a hurry

to get back to her pots and pans. A young man with fair curly hair, and eager, bright blue eyes, was engaging

most of her attention and the whole of her time, whilst broad witticisms anent Jimmy Pitkin's fictitious

grandmother flew from mouth to mouth, mixed with heavy puffs of pungent tobacco smoke.

Facing the hearth, his legs wide apart, a long clay pipe in his mouth, stood mine host himself, worthy Mr.

Jellyband, landlord of "The Fisherman's Rest," as his father had before him, aye, and his grandfather and

greatgrandfather too, for that matter. Portly in build, jovial in countenance and somewhat bald of pate, Mr.

Jellyband was indeed a typical rural John Bull of those daysthe days when our prejudiced insularity was at

its height, when to an Englishman, be he lord, yeoman, or peasant, the whole of the continent of Europe was a

den of immorality and the rest of the world an unexploited land of savages and cannibals.

There he stood, mine worthy host, firm and well set up on his limbs, smoking his long churchwarden and

caring nothing for nobody at home, and despising everybody abroad. He wore the typical scarlet waistcoat,

with shiny brass buttons, the corduroy breeches, and grey worsted stockings and smart buckled shoes, that

characterised every selfrespecting innkeeper in Great Britain in these daysand while pretty, motherless

Sally had need of four pairs of brown hands to do all the work that fell on her shapely shoulders, worthy

The coffeeroom indeed, lighted by two wellpolished lamps, which hung from the raftered ceiling, looked

cheerful and cosy in the extreme. Through the dense clouds of tobacco smoke that hung about in every

corner, the faces of Mr. Jellyband's customers appeared red and pleasant to look at, and on good terms with

themselves, their host and all the world; from every side of the room loud guffaws accompanied pleasant, if

not highly intellectual, conversationwhile Sally's repeated giggles testified to the good use Mr. Harry

They were mostly fisherfolk who patronised Mr. Jellyband's coffeeroom, but fishermen are known to be

very thirsty people; the salt which they breathe in, when they are on the sea, accounts for their parched throats

when on shore. but "The Fisherman's Rest" was something more than a rendezvous for these humble folk.

The London and Dover coach started from the hostel daily, and passengers who had come across the

Channel, and those who started for the "grand tour," all became acquainted with Mr. Jellyband, his French

It was towards the close of September, 1792, and the weather which had been brilliant and hot throughout the

month had suddenly broken up; for two days torrents of rain had deluged the south of England, doing its level

best to ruin what chances the apples and pears and late plums had of becoming really fine, selfrespecting

fruit. Even now it was beating against the leaded windows, and tumbling down the chimney, making the

"Lud! did you ever see such a wet September, Mr. Jellyband?" asked Mr. Hempseed.

He sat in one of the seats inside the hearth, did Mr. Hempseed, for he was an authority and important

personage not only at "The Fisherman's Rest," where Mr. Jellyband always made a special selection of him as

a foil for political arguments, but throughout the neighborhood, where his learning and notably his

knowledge of the Scriptures was held in the most profound awe and respect. With one hand buried in the

capacious pockets of his corduroys underneath his elaboratelyworked, wellworn smock, the other holding

his long clay pipe, Mr. Hempseed sat there looking dejectedly across the room at the rivulets of moisture

"No," replied Mr. Jellyband, sententiously, "I dunno, Mr. 'Empseed, as I ever did. An' I've been in these parts

"Aye! you wouldn't rec'llect the first three years of them sixty, Mr. Jellyband," quietly interposed Mr.

Hempseed. "I dunno as I ever see'd an infant take much note of the weather, leastways not in these parts, an'

The superiority of this wisdom was so incontestable that for the moment Mr. Jellyband was not ready with

"It do seem more like April than September, don't it?" continued Mr. Hempseed, dolefully, as a shower of

"Aye! that it do," assented the worth host, "but then what can you `xpect, Mr. `Empseed, I says, with sich a

Mr. Hempseed shook his head with an infinity of wisdom, tempered by deeplyrooted mistrust of the British

"I don't `xpect nothing, Mr. Jellyband," he said. "Pore folks like us is of no account up there in Lunnon, I

knows that, and it's not often as I do complain. But when it comes to sich wet weather in September, and all

me fruit arottin' and adying' like the `Guptian mother's first born, and doin' no more good than they did,

pore dears, save a lot more Jews, pedlars and sich, with their oranges and sich like foreign ungodly fruit,

which nobody'd buy if English apples and pears was nicely swelled. As the Scriptures say"

"That's quite right, Mr. `Empseed," retorted Jellyband, "and as I says, what can you `xpect? There's all them

Frenchy devils over the Channel yonder amurderin' their king and nobility, and Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox and

Mr. Burke afightin' and awranglin' between them, if we Englishmen should `low them to go on in their

"And let `em murder, says I, and be demmed to `em." said Mr. Hempseed, emphatically, for he had but little

liking for his friend Jellyband's political arguments, wherein he always got out of his depth, and had but little

chance for displaying those pearls of wisdom which had earned for him so high a reputation in the

"Let `em murder," he repeated again, "but don't lets `ave sich rain in September, for that is agin the law and

It was unfortunate for Sally and her flirtation that this remark of hers should have occurred at the precise

moment when Mr. Hempseed was collecting his breath, in order to deliver himself one of those Scriptural

utterances which made him famous, for it brought down upon her pretty head the full flood of her father's

"Now then, Sally, me girl, now then!" he said, trying to force a frown upon his goodhumoured face, "stop

But Mr. Jellyband was peremptory. He had other views for his buxom daughter, his only child, who would in

God's good time become the owner of "The Fisherman's Rest," than to see her married to one of these young

"Did ye hear me speak, me girl?" he said in that quiet tone, which no one inside the inn dared to disobey.

"Get on with my Lord Tony's supper, for, if it ain't the best we can do, and `e not satisfied, see what you'll

"Is you `xpecting special guests then tonight, Mr. Jellyband?" asked Jimmy Pitkin, in a loyal attempt to

divert his host's attention from the circumstances connected with Sally's exit from the room.

"Aye! that I be," replied Jellyband, "friends of my Lord Tony hisself. Dukes and duchesses from over the

water yonder, whom the young lord and his friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and other young noblemen have

"Lud!" he said, "what do they do that for, I wonder? I don't 'old not with interferin' in other folks' ways. As

"Maybe, Mr. `Empseed," interrupted Jellyband, with biting sarcasm, "as you're a personal friend of Mr. Pitt,

"Pardon me, Mr. Jellyband," febbly protested Mr. Hempseed, "I dunno as I ever did."

But Mr. Jellyband had at last succeeded in getting upon his favourite hobbyhorse, and had no intention of

"Or maybe you've made friends with some of them French chaps 'oo they do say have come over here o'

"All _I_ know is," loudly asserted mine host, "that there was my friend Peppercorn, `oo owns the

`BlueFaced Boar,' an' as true and loyal an Englishman as you'd see in the land. And now look at 'im!'E

made friends with some o' them frogeaters, `obnobbed with them just as if they was Englishmen, and not

just a lot of immoral, Godforsaking furrin' spies. Well! and what happened? Peppercorn `e now ups and talks

of revolutions, and liberty, and down with the aristocrats, just like Mr. `Empseed over `ere!"

"Pardon me, Mr. Jellyband," again interposed Mr. Hempseed feebly, "I dunno as I ever did"

Mr. Jellyband had appealed to the company in general, who were listening awestruck and openmouthed at

the recital of Mr. Peppercorn's defalcations. At one table two customersgentlemen apparently by their

clotheshad pushed aside their halffinished game of dominoes, and had been listening for some time, and

evidently with much amusement at Mr. Jellyband's international opinions. One of them now, with a quiet,

sarcastic smile still lurking round the corners of his mobile mouth, turned towards the centre of the room

"You seem to think, mine honest friend," he said quietly, "that these Frenchmen,spies I think you called

themare mighty clever fellows to have made mincemeat so to speak of your friend Mr. Peppercorn's

"Lud! sir, I suppose they talked `im over. Those Frenchies, I've `eard it said, `ave got the gift of gaband

Mr. `Empseed `ere will tell you `ow it is that they just twist some people round their little finger like."

"Nay, sir!" replied Mr. Hempseed, much irritated, "I dunno as I can give you the information you require."

"Faith, then," said the stranger, "let us hope, my worthy host, that these clever spies will not succeed in

But this was too much for Mr. Jellyband's pleasant equanimity. He burst into an uproarious fit of laughter,

"Hahaha! hohoho! hehehe!" He laughed in every key, did my worthy host, and laughed until his sided ached,

and his eyes streamed. "At me! hark at that! Did ye `ear `im say that they'd be upsettin' my

"Well, Mr. Jellyband," said Mr. Hempseed, sententiously, "you know what the Scriptures say: `Let `im `oo

"But then hark'ee Mr. `Empseed," retorted Jellyband, still holding his sides with laughter, "the Scriptures

didn't know me. Why, I wouldn't so much as drink a glass of ale with one o' them murderin' Frenchmen, and

nothin' `d make me change my opinions. Why! I've `eard it said that them frogeaters can't even speak the

King's English, so, of course, if any of `em tried to speak their Godforsaken lingo to me, why, I should spot

"Aye! my honest friend," assented the stranger cheerfully, "I see that you are much too sharp, and a match for

any twenty Frenchmen, and here's to your very good health, my worthy host, if you'll do me the honour to

"I am sure you're very polite, sir," said Mr. Jellyband, wiping his eyes which were still streaming with the

The stranger poured out a couple of tankards full of wine, and having offered one to mine host, he took the

"Loyal Englishmen as we all are," he said, whilst the same humorous smile played round the corners of his

thin lips"loyal as we are, we must admit that this at least is one good thing which comes to us from

"And here's to the best landlord in England, our worthy host, Mr. Jellyband," said the stranger in a loud tone

"Hi, hip, hurrah!" retorted the whole company present. Then there was a loud clapping of hands, and mugs

and tankards made a rattling music upon the tables to the accompaniment of loud laughter at nothing in

"Just fancy ME bein' talked over by any Godforsaken furriner!What?Lud love you, sir, but you do say

To which obvious fact the stranger heartily assented. It was certainly a preposterous suggestion that anyone

could ever upset Mr. Jellyband's firmlyrooted opinions anent the utter worthlessness of the inhabitants of the

Feeling in every part of England certainly ran very high at this time against the French and their doings.

Smugglers and legitimate traders between the French and the English coasts brought snatches of news from

over the water, which made every honest Englishman's blood boil, and made him long to have "a good go" at

those murderers, who had imprisoned their king and all his family, subjected the queen and the royal children

to every species of indignity, and were even now loudly demanding the blood of the whole Bourbon family

The execution of the Princesse de Lamballe, Marie Antoinette's young and charming friend, had filled every

one in England with unspeakable horror, the daily execution of scores of royalists of good family, whose only

sin was their aristocratic name, seemed to cry for vengeance to the whole of civilised Europe.

Yet, with all that, no one dared to interfere. Burke had exhausted all his eloquence in trying to induce the

British Government to fight the revolutionary government of France, but Mr. Pitt, with characteristic

prudence, did not feel that this country was fit yet to embark on another arduous and costly war. It was for

Austria to take the initiative; Austria, whose fairest daughter was even now a dethroned queen, imprisoned

and insulted by a howling mob; surely 'twas notso argued Mr. Foxfor the whole of England to take up

As for Mr. Jellyband and his fellow John Bulls, though they looked upon all foreigners with withering

contempt, they were royalist and antirevolutionists to a man, and at this present moment were furious with

Pitt for his caution and moderation, although they naturally understood nothing of the diplomatic reasons

By now Sally came running back, very excited and very eager. The joyous company in the coffeeroom had

heard nothing of the noise outside, but she had spied a dripping horse and rider who had stopped at the door

of "The Fisherman's Rest," and while the stable boy ran forward to take charge of the horse, pretty Miss Sally

went to the front door to greet the welcome visitor. "I think I see'd my Lord Antony's horse out in the yard,

But already the door had been thrown open from outside, and the next moment an arm, covered in drab cloth

and dripping with the heavy rain, was round pretty Sally's waist, while a hearty voice echoed along the

"Aye, and bless your brown eyes for being so sharp, my pretty Sally," said the man who had just entered,

whilst worthy Mr. Jellyband came bustling forward, eager, alert and fussy, as became the advent of one of the

"Lud, I protest, Sally," added Lord Antony, as he deposited a kiss on Miss Sally's blooming cheeks, "but you

are growing prettier and prettier every time I see youand my honest friend, Jellyband here, have hard work

Mr. Waitetorn between his respect for my lord and his dislike of that particular type of jokeonly replied

Lord Antony Dewhurst, one of the sons of the Duke of Exeter, was in those days a very perfect type of a

young English gentlementall, well setup, broad of shoulders and merry of face, his laughter rang loudly

whereever he went. A good sportsman, a lively companion, a courteous, wellbred man of the world, with

not too much brains to spoil his temper, he was a universal favourite in London drawingrooms or in the

coffeerooms of village inns. At "The Fisherman's Rest" everyone knew himfor he was fond of a trip

across to France, and always spent a night under worthy Mr. Jellyband's roof on his way there or back.

He nodded to Waite, Pitkin and the others as he at last released Sally's waist, and crossed over to the hearth to

warm and dry himself: as he did so, he cast a quick, somewhat suspicious glance at the two strangers, who

had quietly resumed their game of dominoes, and for a moment a look of deep earnestness, even of anxiety,

But only for a moment; the next he turned to Mr. Hempseed, who was respectfully touching his forelock.

"Badly, my lord, badly," replied Mr. Hempseed, dolefully, "but what can you `xpect with this `ere

government favourin' them rascals over in France, who would murder their king and all their nobility."

"Odd's life!" retorted Lord Antony; "so they would, honest Hempseed,at least those they can get hold of,

worse luck! But we have got some friends coming here tonight, who at any rate have evaded their clutches."

It almost seemed, when the young man said these words, as if he threw a defiant look towards the quiet

"Thanks to you, my lord, and to your friends, so I've heard it said," said Mr. Jellyband.

"Hush!" he said peremptorily, and instinctively once again looked towards the strangers.

"Oh! Lud love you, they are all right, my lord," retorted Jellyband; "don't you be afraid. I wouldn't have

spoken, only I knew we were among friends. That gentleman over there is as true and loyal a subject of King

George as you are yourself, my lord saving your presence. He is but lately arrived in Dover, and is setting

"In business? Faith, then, it must be as an undertaker, for I vow I never beheld a more rueful countenance."

"Nay, my lord, I believe that the gentleman is a widower, which no doubt would account for the melancholy

of his bearingbut he is a friend, nevertheless, I'll vouch for thatand you will own, my lord, that who

"Oh, that's all right, then, if we are among friends," said Lord Antony, who evidently did not care to discuss

the subject with his host. "But, tell me, you have no one else staying here, have you?"

"Well, my lord, Sir Percy Blakeney and his lady will be here presently, but they ain't agoin' to stay"

"Aye, my lord. Sir Percy's skipper was here just now. He says that my lady's brother is crossing over to

France today in the DAY DREAM, which is Sir Percy's yacht, and Sir Percy and my lady will come with

him as far as here to see the last of him. It don't put you out, do it, my lord?"

"No, no, it doesn't put me out, friend; nothing will put me out, unless that supper is not the very best which

"You need have no fear of that, my lord," said Sally, who all this while had been busy setting the table for

supper. And very gay and inviting it looked, with a large bunch of brilliantly coloured dahlias in the centre,

"Five places, pretty Sally, but let the supper be enough for ten at leastour friends will be tired, and, I hope,

"Here they are, I do believe," said Sally excitedly, as a distant clatter of horses and wheels could now be

There was a general commotion in the coffeeroom. Everyone was curious to see my Lord Antony's swell

friends from over the water. Miss Sally cast one or two quick glances at the little bit of mirror which hung on

the wall, and worthy Mr. Jellyband bustled out in order to give the first welcome himself to his distinguished

guests. Only the two strangers in the corner did not participate in the general excitement. They were calmly

"Straight ahead, Comtesse, the door on your right," said a pleasant voice outside.

"Aye! there they are, all right enough." said Lord Antony, joyfully; "off with you, my pretty Sally, and see

The door was thrown wide open, and, preceded by Mr. Jellyband, who was profuse in his bows and

"Welcome! Welcome to old England!" said Lord Antony, effusively, as he came eagerly forward with both

"Ah, you are Lord Antony Dewhurst, I think," said one of the ladies, speaking with a strong foreign accent.

"At your service, Madame," he replied, as he ceremoniously kissed the hands of both the ladies, then turned

Sally was already helping the ladies to take off their traveling cloaks, and both turned, with a shiver, towards

There was a general movement among the company in the coffeeroom. Sally had bustled off to her kitchen

whilst Jellyband, still profuse with his respectful salutations, arranged one or two chairs around the fire. Mr.

Hempseed, touching his forelock, was quietly vacating the seat in the hearth. Everyone was staring curiously,

"Ah, Messieurs! what can I say?" said the elder of the two ladies, as she stretched a pair of fine, aristocratic

hands to the warmth of the blaze, and looked with unspeakable gratitude first at Lord Antony, then at one of

the young men who had accompanied her party, and who was busy divesting himself of his heavy, caped

"Only that you are glad to be in England, Comtesse," replied Lord Antony, "and that you have not suffered

"Indeed, indeed, we are glad to be in England," she said, while her eyes filled with tears, "and we have

Her voice was musical and low, and there was a great deal of calm dignity and of many sufferings nobly

endured marked in the handsome, aristocratic face, with its wealth of snowywhite hair dressed high above

"I hope my friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, proved an entertaining travelling companion, madame?"

"Ah, indeed, Sir Andrew was kindness itself. How could my children and I ever show enough gratitude to

Her companion, a dainty, girlish figure, childlike and pathetic in its look of fatigue and of sorrow, had said

nothing as yet, but her eyes, large, brown, and full of tears, looked up from the fire and sought those of Sir

Andrew Ffoulkes, who had drawn near to the hearth and to her; then, as they met his, which were fixed with

unconcealed admiration upon the sweet face before him, a thought of warmer colour rushed up to her pale

"So this is England," she said, as she looked round with childlike curiosity at the great hearth, the oak rafters,

and the yokels with their elaborate smocks and jovial, rubicund, British countenances.

"A bit of it, Mademoiselle," replied Sir Andrew, smiling, "but all of it, at your service."

The young girl blushed again, but this time a bright smile, fleet and sweet, illumined her dainty face. She said

nothing, and Sir Andrew too was silent, yet those two young people understood one another, as young people

"But, I say, supper!" here broke in Lord Antony's jovial voice, "supper, honest Jellyband. Where is that pretty

wench of yours and the dish of soup? Zooks, man, while you stand there gaping at the ladies, they will faint

"One moment! one moment, my lord," said Jellyband, as he threw open the door that led to the kitchen and

Sally was ready, and the next moment she appeared in the doorway carrying a gigantic tureen, from which

"Odd's life, supper at last!" ejaculated Lord Antony, merrily, as he gallantly offered his arm to the Comtesse.

"May I have the honour?" he added ceremoniously, as he led her towards the supper table.

There was a general bustle in the coffeeroom: Mr. Hempseed and most of the yokels and fisherfolk had

gone to make way for "the quality," and to finish smoking their pipes elsewhere. Only the two strangers

stayed on, quietly and unconcernedly playing their game of dominoes and sipping their wine; whilst at

another table Harry Waite, who was fast losing his temper, watched pretty Sally bustling round the table.

She looked a very dainty picture of English rural life, and no wonder that the susceptible young Frenchman

could scarce take his eyes off her pretty face. The Vicomte de Tournay was scarce nineteen, a beardless boy,

on whom terrible tragedies which were being enacted in his own country had made but little impression. He

was elegantly and even foppishly dressed, and once safely landed in England he was evidently ready to forget

"Pardi, if zis is England," he said as he continued to ogle Sally with marked satisfaction, "I am of it satisfied."

It would be impossible at this point to record the exact exclamation which escaped through Mr. Harry Waite's

clenched teeth. Only respect for "the quality," and notably for my Lord Antony, kept his marked disapproval

"Nay, but this IS England, you abandoned young reprobate," interposed Lord Antony with a laugh, "and do

Lord Antony had already sat down at the head of the table with the Comtesse on his right. Jellyband was

bustling round, filling glasses and putting chairs straight. Sally waited, ready to hand round the soup. Mr.

Harry Waite's friends had at last succeeded in taking him out of the room, for his temper was growing more

Suzanne blushed again; she had lost count of time and of place whilst she had stood beside the fire, allowing

the handsome young Englishman's eyes to dwell upon her sweet face, and his hand, as if unconsciously, to

rest upon hers. Her mother's voice brought her back to reality once more, and with a submissive "Yes,

They all looked a merry, even a happy party, as they sat round the table; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord

Antony Dewhurst, two typical goodlooking, wellborn and wellbred Englishmen of that year of grace

1792, and the aristocratic French comtesse with her two children, who had just escaped from such dire perils,

In the corner the two strangers had apparently finished their game; one of them arose, and standing with his

back to the merry company at the table, he adjusted with much with much deliberation his large triple caped

coat. As he did so, he gave one quick glance all around him. Everyone was busy laughing and chatting, and

he murmured the words "All safe!": his companion then, with the alertness borne of long practice, slipped on

to his knees in a moment, and the next had crept noiselessly under the oak bench. The stranger then, with a

Not one of those at the supper table had noticed this curious and silent ! Mammanoeuvre, but when the

stranger finally closed the door of the coffeeroom behind him, they all instinctively sighed a sigh of relief.

Then the young Vicomte de Tournay rose, glass in hand, and with the graceful affection peculiar to the times,

"To His Majesty George Three of England. God bless him for his hospitality to us all, poor exiles from

"His Majesty the King!" echoed Lord Antony and Sir Andrew as they drank loyally to the toast.

"To His Majesty King Louis of France," added Sir Andrew, with solemnity. "May God protect him, and give

Everyone rose and drank this toast in silence. The fate of the unfortunate King of France, then a prisoner of

his own people, seemed to cast a gloom even over Mr. Jellyband's pleasant countenance.

"And to M. le Comte de Tournay de Basserive," said Lord Antony, merrily. "May we welcome him in

"Ah, Monsieur," said the Comtesse, as with a slightly trembling hand she conveyed her glass to her lips, "I

But already Lord Antony had served out the soup, and for the next few moments all conversation ceased,

"Faith, Madame!" said Lord Antony, after a while, "mine was no idle toast; seeing yourself, Mademoiselle

Suzanne and my friend the Vicomte safely in England now, surely you must feel reasurred as to the fate of

"Ah, Monsieur," replied the Comtesse, with a heavy sigh, "I trust in GodI can but prayand hope. . ."

"Aye, Madame!" here interposed Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, "trust in God by all means, but believe also a little in

your English friends, who have sworn to bring the Count safely across the Channel, even as they have

"Indeed, indeed, Monsieur," she replied, "I have the fullest confidence in you and your friends. Your fame, I

assure you, has spread throughout the whole of France. The way some of my own friends have escaped from

the clutches of that awful revolutionary tribunal was nothing short of a miracleand all done by you and

"But my husband, Monsieur," said the Comtesse, whilst unshed tears seemed to veil her voice, "he is in such

deadly perilI would never have left him, only. . .there were my children. . .I was torn between my duty to

him, and to them. They refused to go without me. . .and you and your friends assured me so solemnly that my

husband would be safe. But, oh! now that I am hereamongst you allin this beautiful, free EnglandI

think of him, flying for his life, hunted like a poor beast. . .in such peril. . .Ah! I should not have left him. . .I

The poor woman had completely broken down; fatigue, sorrow and emotion had overmastered her rigid,

aristocratic bearing. She was crying gently to herself, whilst Suzanne ran up to her and tried to kiss away her

Lord Antony and Sir Andrew had said nothing to interrupt the Comtesse whilst she was speaking. There was

no doubt that they felt deeply for her; their very silence testified to thatbut in every century, and ever since

England has been what it is, an Englishman has always felt somewhat ashamed of his own emotion and of his

own sympathy. And so the two young men said nothing, and busied themselves in trying to hide their

"As for me, Monsieur," said Suzanne, suddenly, as she looked through a wealth of brown curls across at Sir

Andrew, "I trust you absolutely, and I KNOW that you will bring my dear father safely to England, just as

This was said with so much confidence, such unuttered hope and belief, that it seemed as if by magic to dry

"Nay! You shame me, Mademoiselle," replied Sir Andrew; "though my life is at your service, I have been but

a humble tool in the hands of our great leader, who organised and effected your escape."

He had spoken with so much warmth and vehemence that Suzanne's eyes fastened upon him in undisguised

"Your leader, Monsieur?" said the Comtesse, eagerly. "Ah! of course, you must have a leader. And I did not

think of that before! But tell me where is he? I must go to him at once, and I and my children must throw

"Because the Scarlet Pimpernel works in the dark, and his identity is only known under the solemn oath of

"The Scarlet Pimpernel?" said Suzanne, with a merry laugh. "Why! what a droll name! What is the Scarlet

She looked at Sir Andrew with eager curiosity. The young man's face had become almost transfigured. His

eyes shone with enthusiasm; heroworship, love, admiration for his leader seemed literally to glow upon his

face. "The Scarlet Pimpernel, Mademoiselle," he said at last "is the name of a humble English wayside

flower; but it is also the name chosen to hide the identity of the best and bravest man in all the world, so that

he may better succeed in accomplishing the noble task he has set himself to do."

"Ah, yes," here interposed the young Vicomte, "I have heard speak of this Scarlet Pimpernel. A little

flowerred?yes! They say in Paris that every time a royalist escapes to England that devil,

FoucquierTinville, the Public Prosecutor, receives a paper with that little flower dessinated in red upon it. . .

"Oh! I wonder what he will say!" said Suzanne, merrily. "I have heard that the picture of that little red flower

"Faith, then," said Sir Andrew, "he will have many more opportunities of studying the shape of that small

"Ah, monsieur," sighed the Comtesse, "it all sounds like a romance, and I cannot understand it all."

"But, tell me, why should your leaderwhy should you allspend your money and risk your livesfor it is

your lives you risk, Messieurs, when you set foot in Franceand all for us French men and women, who are

"Sport, Madame la Comtesse, sport," asserted Lord Antony, with his jovial, loud and pleasant voice; "we are

a nation of sportsmen, you know, and just now it is the fashion to pull the hare from between the teeth of the

"Ah, no, no, not sport only, Monsieur. . .you have a more noble motive, I am sure for the good work you do."

"Faith, Madame, I would like you to find it then. . .as for me, I vow, I love the game, for this is the finest

sport I have yet encountered.Hairbreath escapes. . .the devil's own risks!Tally ho!and away we go!"

But the Comtesse shook her head, still incredulously. To her it seemed preposterous that these young men

and their great leader, all of them rich, probably wellborn, and young, should for no other motive than sport,

run the terrible risks, which she knew they were constantly doing. Their nationality, once they had set foot in

France, would be no safeguard to them. Anyone found harbouring or assisting suspected royalists would be

ruthlessly condemned and summarily executed, whatever his nationality might be. And this band of young

Englishmen had, to her own knowledge, bearded the implacable and bloodthirsty tribunal of the Revolution,

within the very walls of Paris itself, and had snatched away condemned victims, almost from the very foot of

the guillotine. With a shudder, she recalled the events of the last few days, her escape from Paris with her two

children, all three of them hidden beneath the hood of a rickety cart, and lying amidst a heap of turnips and

cabbages, not daring to breathe, whilst the mob howled, "A la lanterne les aristos!" at the awful West

It had all occurred in such a miraculous way; she and her husband had understood that they had been placed

on the list of "suspected persons," which meant that their trial and death were but a matter of daysof hours,

Then came the hope of salvation; the mysterious epistle, signed with the enigmatical scarlet device; the clear,

peremptory directions; the parting from the Comte de Tournay, which had torn the poor wife's heart in two;

the hope of reunion; the flight with her two children; the covered cart; that awful hag driving it, who looked

The Comtesse looked round at the quaint, oldfashioned English inn, the peace of this land of civil and

religious liberty, and she closed her eyes to shut out the haunting vision of that West Barricade, and of the

Every moment under that cart she expected recognition, arrest, herself and her children tried and condemned,

and these young Englishmen, under the guidance of their brave and mysterious leader, had risked their lives

And all only for sport? Impossible! Suzanne's eyes as she sought those of Sir Andrew plainly told him that

she thought that HE at any rate rescued his fellowmen from terrible and unmerited death, through a higher

"Twenty all told, Mademoiselle," he replied, "one to command, and nineteen to obey. All of us Englishmen,

and all pledged to the same causeto obey our leader and to rescue the innocent."

"It is wonderful to me, wonderful!That you should all be so brave, so devoted to your fellowmenyet you

are English!and in France treachery is rifeall in the name of liberty and fraternity."

"The women even, in France, have been more bitter against us aristocrats than the men," said the Vicomte,

"Ah, yes," added the Comtesse, while a look of haughty disdain and intense bitterness shot through her

melancholy eyes, "There was that woman, Marguerite St. Just for instance. She denounced the Marquis de St.

"Marguerite St. Just?" said Lord Antony, as he shot a quick and apprehensive glance across at Sir Andrew.

"Yes!" replied the Comtesse, "surely you know her. She was a leading actress of the Comedie Francaise, and

"Know her?" said Lord Antony. "Know Lady Blakeneythe most fashionable woman in Londonthe wife

"She was a schoolfellow of mine at the convent in Paris," interposed Suzanne, "and we came over to

England together to learn your language. I was very fond of Marguerite, and I cannot believe that she ever did

"It certainly seems incredible," said Sir Andrew. "You say that she actually denounced the Marquis de St.

"No mistake is possible, Monsieur," rejoined the Comtesse, coldly. "Marguerite St. Just's brother is a noted

republican. There was some talk of a family feud between him and my cousin, the Marquis de St. Cyr. The

St. Justs' are quite plebeian, and the republican government employs many spies. I assure you there is no

"Faith, Madame, I did hear some vague rumours of it, but in England no one would credit it. . . . Sir Percy

Blakeney, her husband, is a very wealthy man, of high social position, the intimate friend of the Prince of

"That may be, Monsieur, and we shall, of course, lead a very quiet life in England, but I pray god that while I

The proverbial wetblanket seemed to have fallen over the merry little company gathered round the table.

Suzanne looked sad and silent; Sir Andrew fidgeted uneasily with his fork, whilst the Comtesse, encased in

the platearmour of her aristocratic prejudices, sat, rigid and unbending, in her straightbacked chair. As for

Lord Antony, he looked extremely uncomfortable, and glanced once or twice apprehensively towards

"At what time do you expect Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney?" he contrived to whisper unobserved, to mine

Even as he spoke, a distant clatter was heard of an approaching coach; louder and louder it grew, one or two

shouts became distinguishable, then the rattle of horses' hoofs on the uneven cobble stones, and the next

moment a stable boy had thrown open the coffeeroom door and rushed in excitedly.

"Sir Percy Blakeney and my lady," he shouted at the top of his voice, "they're just arriving."

And with more shouting, jingling of harness, and iron hoofs upon the stones, a magnificent coach, drawn by

In a moment the pleasant oakraftered coffeeroom of the inn became the scene of hopeless confusion and

discomfort. At the first announcement made by the stable boy, Lord Antony, with a fashionable oath, had

jumped up from his seat and was now giving many and confused directions to poor bewildered Jellyband,

"For goodness' sake, man," admonished his lordship, "try to keep Lady Blakeney talking outside for a

moment while the ladies withdraw. Zounds!" he added, with another more emphatic oath, "this is most

"Quick Sally! the candles!" shouted Jellyband, as hopping about from one leg to another, he ran hither and

The Comtesse, too, had risen to her feet: rigid and erect, trying to hide her excitement beneath more

Outside, the excitement attendant upon the arrival of very important guests grew apace.

"Goodday, Sir Percy!Goodday to your ladyship! Your servant, Sir Percy!"was heard in one long,

continued chorus, with alternate more feeble tones of"Remember the poor blind man! of your charity, lady

The voice was low and musical, with a slight singsong in it, and a faint SOUPCON of foreign intonation in

Everyone in the coffeeroom heard it and paused instinctively, listening to it for a moment. Sally was

holding the candles by the opposite door, which led to the bedrooms upstairs, and the Comtesse was in the act

of beating a hasty retreat before that enemy who owned such a sweet musical voice; Suzanne reluctantly was

preparing to follow her mother, while casting regretful glances towards the door, where she hoped still to see

Then Jellyband threw open the door, still stupidly and blindly hoping to avert the catastrophe, which he felt

was in the air, and the same low, musical voice said, with a merry laugh and mock consternation,

"Brrrr! I am as wet as a herring! DIEU! has anyone ever seen such a contemptible climate?"

"My lady. . .er. . .h'm!. . .my lady!. . ." came in feeble accents from Jellyband, who stood clumsily trying to

"PARDIEU, my good man," said Lady Blakeney, with some impatience, "what are you standing in my way

for, dancing about like a turkey with a sore foot? Let me get to the fire, I am perished with the cold."

And the next moment Lady Blakeney, gently pushing mine host on one side, had swept into the coffeeroom.

There are many portraits and miniatures extant of Marguerite St. JustLady Blakeney as she was thenbut

it is doubtful if any of these really do her singular beauty justice. Tall, above the average, with magnificent

presence and regal figure, it is small wonder that even the Comtesse paused for a moment in involuntary

Marguerite Blakeney was then scarcely fiveandtwenty, and her beauty was at its most dazzling stage. The

large hat, with its undulating and waving plumes, threw a soft shadow across the classic brow with the

auerole of auburn hairfree at the moment from any powder; the sweet, almost childlike mouth, the straight

chiselled nose, round chin, and delicate throat, all seemed set off by the picturesque costume of the period.

The rich blue velvet robe moulded in its every line the graceful contour of the figure, whilst one tiny hand

held, with a dignity all its own, the tall stick adorned with a large bunch of ribbons which fashionable ladies

With a quick glance all around the room, Marguerite Blakeney had taken stock of every one there. She

nodded pleasantly to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, whilst extending a hand to Lord Antony.

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and faced the Comtesse and Suzanne. Her whole face lighted up

with additional brightness, as she stretched out both arms towards the young girl.

"Why! if that isn't my little Suzanne over there. PARDIEU, little citizeness, how came you to be in England?

She went up effusive to them both, with not a single touch of embarrassment in her manner or in her smile.

Lord Tony and Sir Andrew watched the little scene with eager apprehension. English though they were, they

had often been in France, and had mixed sufficiently with the French to realise the unbending hauteur, the

bitter hatred with which the old NOBLESSE of France viewed all those who had helped to contribute to their

downfall. Armand St. Just, the brother of beautiful Lady Blakeneythough known to hold moderate and

conciliatory viewswas an ardent republican; his feud with the ancient family of St. Cyrthe rights and

wrongs of which no outsider ever knewhad culminated in the downfall, the almost total extinction of the

latter. In France, St. Just and his party had triumphed, and here in England, face to face with these three

refugees driven from their country, flying for their lives, bereft of all which centuries of luxury had given

them, there stood a fair scion of those same republican families which had hurled down a throne, and

uprooted an aristocracy whose origin was lost in the dim and distant vista of bygone centuries.

She stood there before them, in all the unconscious insolence of beauty, and stretched out her dainty hand to

them, as if she would, by that one act, bridge over the conflict and bloodshed of the past decade.

"Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to that woman," said the Comtesse, sternly, as she placed a restraining hand

She had spoken in English, so that all might hear and understand; the two young English gentlemen was as

well as the common innkeeper and his daughter. The latter literally gasped with horror at this foreign

insolence, this impudence before her ladyshipwho was English, now that she was Sir Percy's wife, and a

As for Lord Antony and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, their very hearts seemed to stand still with horror at this

gratuitous insult. One of them uttered an exclamation of appeal, the other one of warning, and instinctively

both glanced hurriedly towards the door, whence a slow, drawly, not unpleasant voice had already been

Alone among those present Marguerite Blakeney and these Comtesse de Tournay had remained seemingly

unmoved. The latter, rigid, erect and defiant, with one hand still upon her daughter's arm, seemed the very

personification of unbending pride. For the moment Marguerite's sweet face had become as white as the soft

fichu which swathed her throat, and a very keen observer might have noted that the hand which held the tall,

But this was only momentary; the next instant the delicate eyebrows were raised slightly, the lips curved

sarcastically upwards, the clear blue eyes looked straight at the rigid Comtesse, and with a slight shrug of the

"We are in England now, Madame," rejoined the Comtesse, coldly, "and I am at liberty to forbid my daughter

She beckoned to her daughter, and without another look at Marguerite Blakeney, but with a deep,

oldfashioned curtsey to the two young men, she sailed majestically out of the room.

There was silence in the old inn parlour for a moment, as the rustle of the Comtesse's skirts died away down

the passage. Marguerite, rigid as a statue followed with hard, set eyes the upright figure, as it disappeared

through the doorwaybut as little Suzanne, humble and obedient, was about to follow her mother, the hard,

set expression suddenly vanished, and a wistful, almost pathetic and childlike look stole into Lady Blakeney's

Little Suzanne caught that look; the child's sweet nature went out to the beautiful woman, scarcely older than

herself; filial obedience vanished before girlish sympathy; at the door she turned, ran back to Marguerite, and

putting her arms round her, kissed her effusively; then only did she follow her mother, Sally bringing up the

Suzanne's sweet and dainty impulse had relieved the unpleasant tension. Sir Andrew's eyes followed the

pretty little figure, until it had quite disappeared, then they met Lady Blakeney's with unassumed merriment.

Marguerite, with dainty affection, had kissed her hand to the ladies, as they disappeared through the door,

"So that's it, is it?" she said gaily. "La! Sir Andrew, did you ever see such an unpleasant person? I hope when

She gathered up her skirts and assuming a majestic gait, stalked towards the fireplace.

"Suzanne," she said, mimicking the Comtesse's voice, "I forbid you to speak to that woman!"

The laugh which accompanied this sally sounded perhaps a trifled forced and hard, but neither Sir Andrew

nor Lord Tony were very keen observers. The mimicry was so perfect, the tone of the voice so accurately

"Ah! Lady Blakeney!" added Lord Tony, "how they must miss you at the Comedie Francaise, and how the

"Lud, man," rejoined Marguerite, with a shrug of her graceful shoulders, "`tis impossible to hate Sir Percy for

The young Vicomte, who had not elected to follow his mother in her dignified exit, now made a step forward,

ready to champion the Comtesse should Lady Blakeney aim any further shafts at her. But before he could

utter a preliminary word of protest, a pleasant though distinctly inane laugh, was heard from outside, and the

next moment an unusually tall and very richly dressed figure appeared in the doorway.

Sir Percy Blakeney, as the chronicles of the time inform us, was in this year of grace 1792, still a year or two

on the right side of thirty. Tall, above the average, even for an Englishman, broadshouldered and massively

built, he would have been called unusually goodlooking, but for a certain lazy expression in his deepset

blue eyes, and that perpetual inane laugh which seemed to disfigure his strong, clearlycut mouth.

It was nearly a year ago now that Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., one of the richest men in England, leader of all

the fashions, and intimate friend of the Prince of Wales, had astonished fashionable society in London and

Bath by bringing home, from one of his journeys abroad, a beautiful, fascinating, clever, French wife. He, the

sleepiest, dullest, most British Britisher that had ever set a pretty woman yawning, had secured a brilliant

matrimonial prize for which, as all chroniclers aver, there had been many competitors.

Marguerite St. Just had first made her DEBUT in artistic Parisian circles, at the very moment when the

greatest social upheaval the world has ever known was taking place within its very walls. Scarcely eighteen,

lavishly gifted with beauty and talent, chaperoned only by a young and devoted brother, she had soon

gathered round her, in her charming apartment in the Rue Richelieu, a coterie which was as brilliant as it was

exclusiveexclusive, that is to say, only from one point of view. Marguerite St. Just was from principle and

by conviction a republicanequality of birth was her mottoinequality of fortune was in her eyes a mere

untoward accident, but the only inequality she admitted was that of talent. "Money and titles may be

hereditary," she would say, "but brains are not," and thus her charming salon was reserved for originality and

intellect, for brilliance and wit, for clever men and talented women, and the entrance into it was soon looked

upon in the world of intellectwhich even in those days and in those troublous times found its pivot in

Clever men, distinguished men, and even men of exalted station formed a perpetual and brilliant court round

the fascinating young actress of the Comedie Francaise, and she glided through republican, revolutionary,

bloodthirsty Paris like a shining comet with a trail behind her of all that was most distinguished, most

Then the climax came. Some smiled indulgently and called it an artistic eccentricity, others looked upon it as

a wise provision, in view of the many events which were crowding thick and fast in Paris just then, but to all,

the real motive of that climax remained a puzzle and a mystery. Anyway, Marguerite St. Just married Sir

Percy Blakeney one fine day, just like that, without any warning to her friends, without a SOIREE DE

CONTRAT or DINER DE FIANCAILLES or other appurtenances of a fashionable French wedding.

How that stupid, dull Englishman ever came to be admitted within the intellectual circle which revolved

round "the cleverest woman in Europe," as her friends unanimously called her, no one ventured to

guessgolden key is said to open every door, asserted the more malignantly inclined.

Enough, she married him, and "the cleverest woman in Europe" had linked her fate to that "demmed idiot"

Blakeney, and not even her most intimate friends could assign to this strange step any other motive than that

of supreme eccentricity. Those friends who knew, laughed to scorn the idea that Marguerite St. Just had

married a fool for the sake of the worldly advantages with which he might endow her. They knew, as a matter

of fact, that Marguerite St. Just cared nothing about money, and still less about a title; moreover, there were at

least half a dozen other men in the cosmopolitan world equally wellborn, if not so wealthy as Blakeney,

who would have been only too happy to give Marguerite St. Just any position she might choose to covet.

As for Sir Percy himself, he was universally voted to be totally unqualified for the onerous post he had taken

upon himself. His chief qualifications for it seemed to consist in his blind adoration for her, his great wealth

and the high favour in which he stood at the English court; but London society thought that, taking into

consideration his own intellectual limitations, it would have been wiser on his part had he bestowed those

Although lately he had been so prominent a figure in fashionable English society, he had spent most of his

early life abroad. His father, the late Sir Algernon Blakeney, had had the terrible misfortune of seeing an

idolized young wife become hopelessly insane after two years of happy married life. Percy had just been born

when the late Lady Blakeney fell prey to the terrible malady which in those days was looked upon as

hopelessly incurable and nothing short of a curse of God upon the entire family. Sir Algernon took his

afflicted young wife abroad, and there presumably Percy was educated, and grew up between an imbecile

mother and a distracted father, until he attained his majority. The death of his parents following close upon

one another left him a free man, and as Sir Algernon had led a forcibly simple and retired life, the large

Sir Percy Blakeney had travelled a great deal abroad, before he brought home his beautiful, young, French

wife. The fashionable circles of the time were ready to receive them both with open arms; Sir Percy was rich,

his wife was accomplished, the Prince of Wales took a very great liking to them both. Within six months they

were the acknowledged leaders of fashion and of style. Sir Percy's coats were the talk of the town, his

inanities were quoted, his foolish laugh copied by the gilded youth at Almack's or the Mall. Everyone knew

that he was hopelessly stupid, but then that was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that all the Blakeneys for

Thus society accepted him, petted him, made much of him, since his horses were the finest in the country, his

FETES and wines the most sought after. As for his marriage with "the cleverest woman in Europe," well! the

inevitable came with sure and rapid footsteps. No one pitied him, since his fate was of his own making. There

were plenty of young ladies in England, of high birth and good looks, who would have been quite willing to

help him to spend the Blakeney fortune, whilst smiling indulgently at his inanities and his goodhumoured

foolishness. Moreover, Sir Percy got no pity, because he seemed to require nonehe seemed very proud of

his clever wife, and to care little that she took no pains to disguise that goodnatured contempt which she

evidently felt for him, and that she even amused herself by sharpening her ready wits at his expense.

But then Blakeney was really too stupid to notice the ridicule with which his wife covered him, and if his

matrimonial relations with the fascinating Parisienne had not turned out all that his hopes and his doglike

devotion for her had pictured, society could never do more than vaguely guess at it.

In his beautiful house at Richmond he played second fiddle to his clever wife with imperturbable

BONHOMIE; he lavished jewels and luxuries of all kinds upon her, which she took with inimitable grace,

dispensing the hospitality of his superb mansion with the same graciousness with which she had welcomed

Physically, Sir Percy Blakeney was undeniably handsomealways excepting the lazy, bored look which was

habitual to him. He was always irreproachable dressed, and wore the exaggerated "Incroyable" fashions,

which had just crept across from Paris to England, with the perfect good taste innate in an English gentleman.

On this special afternoon in September, in spite of the long journey by coach, in spite of rain and mud, his

coat set irreproachably across his fine shoulders, his hands looked almost femininely white, as they emerged

through billowy frills of finest Mechline lace: the extravagantly shortwaisted satin coat, widelapelled

waistcoat, and tightfitting striped breeches, set off his massive figure to perfection, and in repose one might

have admired so fine a specimen of English manhood, until the foppish ways, the affected movements, the

perpetual inane laugh, brought one's admiration of Sir Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.

He had lolled into the oldfashioned inn parlour, shaking the wet off his fine overcoat; then putting up a

goldrimmed eyeglass to his lazy blue eye, he surveyed the company, upon whom an embarrassed silence

"How do, Tony? How do, Ffoulkes?" he said, recognizing the two young men and shaking them by the hand.

"Zounds, my dear fellow," he added, smothering a slight yawn, "did you ever see such a beastly day?

With a quaint little laugh, half of embarrassment and half of sarcasm, Marguerite had turned towards her

husband, and was surveying him from head to foot, with an amused little twinkle in her merry blue eyes.

"La!" said Sir Percy, after a moment or two's silence, as no one offered any comment, "how sheepish you all

"Oh, nothing, Sir Percy," replied Marguerite, with a certain amount of gaiety, which, however, sounded

somewhat forced, "nothing to disturb your equanimityonly an insult to your wife."

The laugh which accompanied this remark was evidently intended to reassure Sir Percy as to the gravity of

the incident. It apparently succeeded in that, for echoing the laugh, he rejoined placidly

"La, m'dear! you don't say so. Begad! who was the bold man who dared to tackle youeh?"

Lord Tony tried to interpose, but had no time to do so, for the young Vicomte had already quickly stepped

"Monsieur," he said, prefixing his little speech with an elaborate bow, and speaking in broken English, "my

mother, the Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive, has offenced Madame, who, I see, is your wife. I cannot ask

your pardon for my mother; what she does is right in my eyes. But I am ready to offer you the usual

The young man drew up his slim stature to its full height and looked very enthusiastic, very proud, and very

hot as he gazed at six foot odd of gorgeousness, as represented by Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart.

"Lud, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite, with one of her merry infectious laughs, "look on that pretty

The simile was quite perfect, and the English turkey looked down with complete bewilderment upon the

"La! sir," said Sir Percy at last, putting up his eye glass and surveying the young Frenchman with undisguised

"Monsieur!" protested the Vicomte, somewhat abashed at the way his warlike attitude had been taken by the

"I protest `tis marvellous!" continued Sir Percy, imperturbably, "demmed marvellous! Don't you think so,

"Nay, I'll vouch for that!" rejoined Marguerite, "Sir Percy has a British accent you could cut with a knife."

"Monsieur," interposed the Vicomte earnestly, and in still more broken English, "I fear you have not

"My sword, Monsieur," replied the Vicomte, who, though still bewildered, was beginning to lose his temper.

"You are a sportsman, Lord Tony," said Marguerite, merrily; "ten to one on the little bantam."

But Sir Percy was staring sleepily at the Vicomte for a moment or two, through his partly closed heavy lids,

then he smothered another yawn, stretched his long limbs, and turned leisurely away.

"Lud love you, sir," he muttered goodhumouredly. "demmit, young man, what's the good of your sword to

What the Vicomte thought and felt at that moment, when that longlimbed Englishman treated him with such

marked insolence, might fill volumes of sound reflections. . . . What he said resolved itself into a single

articulate word, for all the others were choked in his throat by his surging wrath

Once more Blakeney turned, and from his high altitude looked down on the choleric little man before him;

but not even for a second did he seem to lose his own imperturbable goodhumour. He laughed his own

pleasant and inane laugh, and burying his slender, long hands into the capacious pockets of his overcoat, he

said leisurelya bloodthirsty young ruffian, Do you want to make a hole in a lawabiding man?. . .As for

me, sir, I never fight duels," he added, as he placidly sat down and stretched his long, lazy legs out before

Now the Vicomte had no doubt vaguely heard that in England the fashion of duelling amongst gentlemen had

been surpressed by the law with a very stern hand; still to him, a Frenchman, whose notions of bravery and

honour were based upon a code that had centuries of tradition to back it, the spectacle of a gentleman actually

refusing to fight a duel was a little short of an enormity. In his mind he vaguely pondered whether he should

strike that longlegged Englishman in the face and call him a coward, or whether such conduct in a lady's

"I pray you, Lord Tony," she said in that gentle, sweet, musical voice of hers, "I pray you play the

peacemaker. The child is bursting with rage, and," she added with a SOUPCON of dry sarcasm, "might do

Sir Percy an injury." She laughed a mocking little laugh, which, however, did not in the least disturb her

husband's placid equanimity. "The British turkey has had the day," she said. "Sir Percy would provoke all the

But already Blakeney, goodhumoured as ever, had joined in the laugh against himself.

"Demmed smart that now, wasn't it?" he said, turning pleasantly to the Vicomte. "Clever woman my wife, sir.

"Sir Percy is right, Vicomte," here interposed Lord Antony, laying a friendly hand on the young Frenchman's

shoulder. "It would hardly be fitting that you should commence your career in England by provoking him to a

For a moment longer the Vicomte hesitated, then with a slight shrug of the shoulders directed against the

extraordinary code of honour prevailing in this fogridden island, he said with becoming dignity,

"Ah, well! if Monsieur is satisfied, I have no griefs. You mi'lor', are our protector. If I have done wrong, I

"Aye, do!" rejoined Blakeney, with a long sigh of satisfaction, "withdraw yourself over there. Demmed

excitable little puppy," he added under his breath, "Faith, Ffoulkes, if that's a specimen of the goods you and

your friends bring over from France, my advice to you is, drop `em `mid Channel, my friend, or I shall have

to see old Pitt about it, get him to clap on a prohibitive tariff, and put you in the stocks an you smuggle."

"La, Sir Percy, your chivalry misguides you," said Marguerite, coquettishly, "you forget that you yourself

Blakeney slowly rose to his feet, and, making a deep and elaborate bow before his wife, he said with

"Odd's life, m'dear! be reasonable! Do you think I am going to allow my body to be made a pincushion of, by

"Lud, Sir Percy!" laughed Lady Blakeney as she bobbed him a quaint and pretty curtsey, "you need not be

"Afraid be demmed! Do you impugn my bravery, Madame? I don't patronise the ring for nothing, do I, Tony?

I've put up the fists with Red Sam before now, andand he didn't get it all his own way either"

"S'faith, Sir Percy," said Marguerite, with a long and merry laugh, that went enchoing along the old oak

rafters of the parlour, "I would I had seen you then. . .ha! ha! ha! ha!you must have looked a pretty picture.

"Ha! ha! ha! he! he! he!" echoed Sir Percy, goodhumouredly. "La, Madame, you honour me! Zooks!

Ffoulkes, mark ye that! I have made my wife laugh!The cleverest woman in Europe!. . .Odd's fish, we

must have a bowl on that!" and he tapped vigorously on the table near him. "Hey! Jelly! Quick, man! Here,

Harmony was once more restored. Mr. Jellyband, with a mighty effort, recovered himself from the many

emotions he had experienced within the last half hour. "A bowl of punch, Jelly, hot and strong, eh?" said Sir

Percy. "The wits that have just made a clever woman laugh must be whetted! Ha! ha! ha! Hasten, my good

"Nay, there is no time, Sir Percy," interposed Marguerite. "The skipper will be here directly and my brother

"Time, m'dear? There is plenty of time for any gentleman to get drunk and get on board before the turn of the

"I think, your ladyship," said Jellyband, respectfully, "that the young gentleman is coming along now with Sir

"That's right," said Blakeney, "then Armand can join us in the merry bowl. Think you, Tony," he added,

turning towards the Vicomte, "that the jackanapes of yours will join us in a glass? Tell him that we drink in

"In fact you are all such merry company," said Marguerite, "that I trust you will forgive me if I bid my

It would have been bad form to protest. Both Lord Antony and Sir Andrew felt that Lady Blakeney could not

altogether be in tune with them at the moment. Her love for her brother, Armand St. Just, was deep and

touching in the extreme. He had just spent a few weeks with her in her English home, and was going back to

serve his country, at the moment when death was the usual reward for the most enduring devotion.

Sir Percy also made no attempt to detain his wife. With that perfect, somewhat affected gallantry which

characterised his every movement, he opened the coffeeroom door for her, and made her the most approved

and elaborate bow, which the fashion of the time dictated, as she sailed out of the room without bestowing on

him more than a passing, slightly contemptuous glance. Only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, whose every thought

since he had met Suzanne de Tournay seemed keener, more gentle, more innately sympathetic, noted the

curious look of intense longing, of deep and hopeless passion, with which the inane and flippant Sir Percy

Once outside the noisy coffeeroom, along in the dimlylighted passage, Marguerite Blakeney seemed to

breathe more freely. She heaved a deep sigh, like one who had long been oppressed with the heavy weight of

constant selfcontrol, and she allowed a few tears to fall unheeded down her cheeks.

Outside the rain had ceased, and through the swiftly passing clouds, the pale rays of an afterstorm sun shone

upon the beautiful white coast of Kent and the quaint, irregular houses that clustered round the Admiralty

Pier. Marguerite Blakeney stepped on to the porch and looked out to sea. Silhouetted against the

everchanging sky, a graceful schooner, with white sails set, was gently dancing in the breeze. The DAY

DREAM it was, Sir Percy Blakeney's yacht, which was ready to take Armand St. Just back to France into the

very midst of that seething, bloody Revolution which was overthrowing a monarchy, attacking a religion,

destroying a society, in order to try and rebuild upon the ashes of tradition a new Utopia, of which a few men

In the distance two figures were approaching "The Fisherman's Rest": one, an oldish man, with a curious

fringe of grey hairs round a rotund and massive chin, and who walked with that peculiar rolling gait which

invariably betrays the seafaring man: the other, a young, slight figure, neatly and becomingly dressed in a

dark, many caped overcoat; he was cleanshaved, and his dark hair was taken well back over a clear and

"Armand!" said Marguerite Blakeney, as soon as she saw him approaching from the distance, and a happy

A minute or two later brother and sister were locked in each other's arms, while the old skipper stood

"How much time have we got, Briggs?" asked Lady Blakeney, "before M. St. Just need go on board?"

"We ought to weigh anchor before half an hour, your ladyship," replied the old man, pulling at his grey

"Half an hour," she said, looking wistfully out to sea, "half an hour more and you'll be far from me, Armand!

Oh! I can't believe that you are going, dear! These last few dayswhilst Percy has been away, and I've had

"I am not going far, sweet one," said the young man gently, "a narrow channel to crossa few miles of

They had reached the edge of the cliff. The gentle seabreeze blew Marguerite's hair about her face, and sent

the ends of her soft lace fichu waving round her, like a white and supple snake. She tried to pierce the

distance far away, beyond which lay the shores of France: that relentless and stern France which was exacting

"Our own beautiful country, Marguerite," said Armand, who seemed to have divined her thoughts.

"They are going too far, Armand," she said vehemently. "You are a republican, so am I. . .we have the same

thoughts, the same enthusiasm for liberty and equality. . .but even YOU must think that they are going too

"Hush!" said Armand, instinctively, as he threw a quick, apprehensive glance around him.

"Ah! you see: you don't think yourself that it is safe even to speak of these thingshere in England!" She

clung to him suddenly with strong, almost motherly, passion: "Don't go, Armand!" she begged; "don't go

Her voice was choked in sobs, her eyes, tender, blue and loving, gazed appealingly at the young man, who in

"You would in any case be my own brave sister," he said gently, "who would remember that, when France is

Even as he spoke, that sweet childlike smile crept back into her face, pathetic in the extreme, for it seemed

"Oh! Armand!" she said quaintly, "I sometimes wish you had not so many lofty virtues. . . . I assure you little

sins are far less dangerous and uncomfortable. But you WILL be prudent?" she added earnestly.

"There, there, dear, don't distress yourself on my account. Percy is very good. . ."

"Nay!" he interrupted energetically, "I will distress myself on your account, my Margot. Listen, dear, I have

not spoken of these things to you before; something always seemed to stop me when I wished to question

you. But, somehow, I feel as if I could not go away and leave you now without asking you one question. . . .

You need not answer it if you do not wish," he added, as he noted a sudden hard look, almost of

"Does Sir Percy Blakeney know that. . .I mean, does he know the part you played in the arrest of the Marquis

She laugheda mirthless, bitter, contemptuous laugh, which was like a jarring chord in the music of her

"That I denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr, you mean, to the tribunal that ultimately sent him and all his

family to the guillotine? Yes, he does know. . . . . I told him after I married him. . . ."

"You told him all the circumstanceswhich so completely exonerated you from any blame?"

"It was too late to talk of `circumstances'; he heard the story from other sources; my confession came too

tardily, it seems. I could no longer plead extenuating circumstances: I could not demean myself by trying to

"And now I have the satisfaction, Armand, of knowing that the biggest fool in England has the most complete

She spoke with vehement bitterness this time, and Armand St. Just, who loved her so dearly, felt that he had

"Loved me?Well, Armand, I thought at one time that he did, or I should not have married him. I daresay,"

she added, speaking very rapidly, as if she were about to lay down a heavy burden, which had oppressed her

for months, "I daresay that even you thoughtas everybody else didthat I married Sir Percy because of his

wealthbut I assure you, dear, that it was not so. He seemed to worship me with a curious intensity of

concentrated passion, which went straight to my heart. I had never loved any one before, as you know, and I

was fourandtwenty thenso I naturally thought that it was not in my nature to love. But it has always

seemed to me that it MUST be HEAVENLY to be loved blindly, passionately, wholly. . . worshipped, in

factand the very fact that Percy was slow and stupid was an attraction for me, as I thought he would love

me all the more. A clever man would naturally have other interests, an ambitious man other hopes. . . . I

thought that a fool would worship, and think of nothing else. And I was ready to respond, Armand; I would

have allowed myself to be worshipped, and given infinite tenderness in return. . . ."

She sighedand there was a world of disillusionment in that sigh. Armand St. Just had allowed her to speak

on without interruption: he listened to her, whilst allowing his own thoughts to run riot. It was terrible to see a

young and beautiful womana girl in all but namestill standing almost at the threshold of her life, yet

bereft of hope, bereft of illusions, bereft of all those golden and fantastic dreams, which should have made

Yet perhapsthough he loved his sister dearlyperhaps he understood: he had studied men in many

countries, men of all ages, men of every grade of social and intellectual status, and inwardly he understood

what Marguerite had left unsaid. Granted that Percy Blakeney was dullwitted, but in his slowgoing mind,

there would still be room for that ineradicable pride of a descendant of a long line of English gentlemen. A

Blakeney had died on Bosworth field, another had sacrified life and fortune for the sake of a treacherous

Stuart: and that same pridefoolish and prejudiced as the republican Armand would call itmust have been

stung to the quick on hearing of the sin which lay at Lady Blakeney's door. She had been young, misguided,

illadvised perhaps. Armand knew that: her impulses and imprudence, knew it still better; but Blakeney was

slowwitted, he would not listen to "circumstances," he only clung to facts, and these had shown him Lady

Blakeney denouncing a fellow man to a tribunal that knew no pardon: and the contempt he would feel for the

deed she had done, however unwittingly, would kill that same love in him, in which sympathy and

Yet even now, his own sister puzzled him. Life and love have such strange vagaries. Could it be that with the

waning of her husband's love, Marguerite's heart had awakened with love for him? Strange extremes meet in

love's pathway: this woman, who had had half intellectual Europe at her feet, might perhaps have set her

affections on a fool. Marguerite was gazing out towards the sunset. Armand could not see her face, but

presently it seemed to him that something which glittered for a moment in the golden evening light, fell from

But he could not broach that subject with her. He knew her strange, passionate nature so well, and knew that

The had always been together, these two, for their parents had died when Armand was still a youth, and

Marguerite but a child. He, some eight years her senior, had watched over her until her marriage; had

chaperoned her during those brilliant years spent in the flat of the Rue de Richelieu, and had seen her enter

upon this new life of hers, here in England, with much sorrow and some foreboding.

This was his first visit to England since her marriage, and the few months of separation had already seemed

to have built up a slight, thin partition between brother and sister; the same deep, intense love was still there,

on both sides, but each now seemed to have a secret orchard, into which the other dared not penetrate.

There was much Armand St. Just could not tell his sister; the political aspect of the revolution in France was

changing almost every day; she might not understand how his own views and sympathies might become

modified, even as the excesses, committed by those who had been his friends, grew in horror and in intensity.

And Marguerite could not speak to her brother about the secrets of her heart; she hardly understood them

herself, she only knew that, in the midst of luxury, she felt lonely and unhappy.

And now Armand was going away; she feared for his safety, she longed for his presence. She would not spoil

these last few sadlysweet moments by speaking about herself. She led him gently along the cliffs, then

down to the beach; their arms linked in one another's, they had still so much to say that lay just outside that

The afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close; and a long, chilly English summer's evening was throwing a

The DAY DREAM had set sail, and Marguerite Blakeney stood alone on the edge of the cliff over an hour,

watching those white sails, which bore so swiftly away from her the only being who really cared for her,

Some little distance away to her left the lights from the coffeeroom of "The Fisherman's Rest" glittered

yellow in the gathering mist; from time to time it seemed to her aching nerves as if she could catch from

thence the sound of merrymaking and of jovial talk, or even that perpetual, senseless laugh of her husband's,

Sir Percy had had the delicacy to leave her severely alone. She supposed that, in his own stupid,

goodnatured way, he may have understood that she would wish to remain alone, while those white sails

disappeared into the vague horizon, so many miles away. He, whose notions of propriety and decorum were

supersensitive, had not suggested even that an attendant should remain within call. Marguerite was grateful to

her husband for all this; she always tried to be grateful to him for his thoughtfulness, which was constant, and

for his generosity, which really was boundless. She tried even at times to curb the sarcastic, bitter thoughts of

him, which made herin spite of herselfsay cruel, insulting things, which she vaguely hoped would

Yes! she often wished to wound him, to make him feel that she too held him in contempt, that she too had

forgotten that she had almost loved him. Loved that inane fop! whose thoughts seemed unable to soar beyond

the tying of a cravat or the new cut of a coat. Bah! And yet!. . .vague memories, that were sweet and ardent

and attuned to this calm summer's evening, came wafted back to her memory, on the invisible wings of the

light seabreeze: the tie when first he worshipped her; he seemed so devoteda very slaveand there was a

Then suddenly that love, that devotion, which throughout his courtship she had looked upon as the slavish

fidelity of a dog, seemed to vanish completely. Twentyfour hours after the simple little ceremony at old St.

Roch, she had told him the story of how, inadvertently, she had spoken of certain matters connected with the

Marquis de St. Cyr before some menher friendswho had used this information against the unfortunate

She hated the Marquis. Years ago, Armand, her dear brother, loved Angele de St. Cyr, but St. Just was a

plebeian, and the Marquis full of the pride and arrogant prejudices of his caste. One day Armand, the

respectful, timid lover, ventured on sending a small poementhusiastic, ardent, passionateto the idol of

his dreams. The next night he was waylaid just outside Paris by the valets of Marquis de St. Cyr, and

ignominiously thrashedthrashed like a dog within an inch of his lifebecause he had dared to raise his

eyes to the daughter of the aristocrat. The incident was one which, in those days, some two years before the

great Revolution, was of almost daily occurrence in France; incidents of that type, in fact, led to bloody

reprisals, which a few years later sent most of those haughty heads to the guillotine.

Marguerite remembered it all: what her brother must have suffered in his manhood and his pride must have

been appalling; what she suffered through him and with him she never attempted even to analyse.

Then the day of retribution came. St. Cyr and his kin had found their masters, in those same plebeians whom

they had despised. Armand and Marguerite, both intellectual, thinking beings, adopted with the enthusiasm of

their years the Utopian doctrines of the Revolution, while the Marquis de St. Cyr and his family fought inch

by inch for the retention of those privileges which had placed them socially above their fellowmen.

Marguerite, impulsive, thoughtless, not calculating the purport of her words, still smarting under the terrible

insult her brother had suffered at the Marquis' hands, happened to hearamongst her own coteriethat the

St. Cyrs were in treasonable correspondence with Austria, hoping to obtain the Emperor's support to quell the

In those days one denunciation was sufficient: Marguerite's few thoughtless words anent the Marquis de St.

Cyr bore fruit within twentyfour hours. He was arrested. His papers were searched: letters from the Austrian

Emperor, promising to send troops against the Paris populace, were found in his desk. He was arraigned for

treason against the nation, and sent to the guillotine, whilst his family, his wife and his sons, shared in this

Marguerite, horrified at the terrible consequences of her own thoughtlessness, was powerless to save the

Marquis: his own coterie, the leaders of the revolutionary movement, all proclaimed her as a heroine: and

when she married Sir Percy Blakeney, she did not perhaps altogether realise how severely he would look

upon the sin, which she had so inadvertently committed, and which still lay heavily upon her soul. She made

full confession of it to her husband, trusting his blind love for her, her boundless power over him, to soon

Certainly at the moment he seemed to take it very quietly; hardly, in fact, did he appear to understand the

meaning of all she said; but what was more certain still, was that never after that could she detect the slightest

sign of that love, which she once believed had been wholly hers. Now they had drifted quite apart, and Sir

Percy seemed to have laid aside his love for her, as he would an illfitting glove. She tried to rouse him by

sharpening her ready wit against his dull intellect; endeavouring to excite his jealousy, if she could not rouse

his love; tried to goad him to selfassertion, but all in vain. He remained the same, always passive, drawling,

sleepy, always courteous, invariably a gentleman: she had all that the world and a wealthy husband can give

to a pretty woman, yet on this beautiful summer's evening, with the white sails of the DAY DREAM finally

hidden by the evening shadows, she felt more lonely than that poor tramp who plodded his way wearily along

With another heavy sigh, Marguerite Blakeney turned her back upon the sea and cliffs, and walked slowly

back towards "The Fisherman's Rest." As she drew near, the sound of revelry, of gay, jovial laughter, grew

louder and more distinct. She could distinguish Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' pleasant voice, Lord Tony's boisterous

guffaws, her husband's occasional, drawly, sleepy comments; then realising the loneliness of the road and the

fast gathering gloom round her, she quickened her steps. . .the next moment she perceived a stranger coming

rapidly towards her. Marguerite did not look up: she was not the least nervous, and "The Fisherman's Rest"

The stranger paused when he saw Marguerite coming quickly towards him, and just as she was about to slip

Marguerite uttered a little cry of astonishment, at thus hearing her own familiar maiden name uttered so close

to her. She looked up at the stranger, and this time, with a cry of unfeigned pleasure, she put out both her

"Himself, citoyenne, at your service," said the stranger, gallantly kissing the tips of her fingers.

Marguerite said nothing for a moment or two, as she surveyed with obvious delight the not very

prepossessing little figure before her. Chauvelin was then nearer forty than thirtya clever, shrewdlooking

personality, with a curious foxlike expression in the deep, sunken eyes. He was the same stranger who an

"Chauvelin. . .my friend. . ." said Marguerite, with a pretty little sigh of satisfaction. "I am mightily pleased to

No doubt poor Marguerite St. Just, lonely in the midst of her grandeur, and of her starchy friends, was happy

to see a face that brought back memories of that happy time in Paris, when she reigneda queenover the

intellectual coterie of the Rue de Richelieu. She did not notice the sarcastic little smile, however, that hovered

"But tell me," she added merrily, "what in the world, or whom in the world, are you doing here in England?"

"Oh, I?" she said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Je m'ennuie, mon ami, that is all."

They had reached the porch of "The Fisherman's Rest," but Marguerite seemed loth to go within. The evening

air was lovely after the storm, and she had found a friend who exhaled the breath of Paris, who knew Armand

well, who could talk of all the merry, brilliant friends whom she had left behind. So she lingered on under the

pretty porch, while through the gailylighted dormerwindow of the coffeeroom sounds of laughter, of calls

for "Sally" and for beer, of tapping of mugs, and clinking of dice, mingled with Sir Percy Blakeney's inane

and mirthless laugh. Chauvelin stood beside her, his shrewd, pale, yellow eyes fixed on the pretty face, which

"Do I now?" she retorted gaily. "Faith, my little Chauvelin, I should have thought that, with your penetration,

you would have guessed that an atmosphere composed of fogs and virtues would never suit Marguerite St.

"Strange! Now, I thought that a pretty woman would have found English country life peculiarly attractive."

"Yes! so did I," she said with a sigh, "Pretty women," she added meditatively, "ought to have a good time in

England, since all the pleasant things are forbidden themthe very things they do every day."

"You'll hardly believe it, my little Chauvelin," she said earnestly, "but I often pass a whole daya whole

"No wonder," retorted Chauvelin, gallantly, "that the cleverest woman in Europe is troubled with ENNUI."

"It must be pretty bad, mustn't it?" she asked archly, "or I should not have been so pleased to see you."

"And this within a year of a romantic love match. . .that's just the difficulty. . ."

"Ah!. . .that idyllic folly," said Chauvelin, with quiet sarcasm, "did not then survive the lapse of. . .weeks?"

"Idyllic follies never last, my little Chauvelin. . .They come upon us like the measles. . .and are as easily

Chauvelin took another pinch of snuff: he seemed very much addicted to that pernicious habit, so prevalent in

those days; perhaps, too, he found the taking of snuff a convenient veil for disguising the quick, shrewd

glances with which he strove to read the very souls of those with whom he came in contact.

"No wonder," he repeated, with the same gallantry, "that the most active brain in Europe is troubled with

"I was in hopes that you had a prescription against the malady, my little Chauvelin."

"How can I hope to succeed in that which Sir Percy Blakeney has failed to accomplish?"

"Shall we leave Sir Percy out of the question for the present, my dear friend? she said drily.

"Ah! my dear lady, pardon me, but that is just what we cannot very well do," said Chauvelin, whilst once

again his eyes, keen as those of a fox on the alert, darted a quick glance at Marguerite. "I have a most perfect

prescription against the worst form of ENNUI, which I would have been happy to submit to you, but"

"Quite a good deal, I am afraid. The prescription I would offer, fair lady, is called by a very plebeian name:

Chauvelin looked at Marguerite long and scrutinisingly. It seemed as if those keen, pale eyes of his were

reading every one of her thoughts. They were alone together; the evening air was quite still, and their soft

whispers were drowned in the noise which came from the coffeeroom. Still, Chauvelin took as step or two

from under the porch, looked quickly and keenly all round him, then seeing that indeed no one was within

"Will you render France a small service, citoyenne?" he asked, with a sudden change of manner, which lent

"La, man!" she replied flippantly, "how serious you look all of a sudden. . . . Indeed I do not know if I

WOULD render France a small serviceat any rate, it depends upon the kind of service sheor

"Have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Citoyenne St. Just?" asked Chauvelin, abruptly.

"Heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?" she retorted with a long and merry laugh, "Faith man! we talk of nothing

else. . . . We have hats 'a la Scarlet Pimpernel'; our horses are called `Scarlet Pimpernel'; at the Prince of

Wales' supper party the other night we had a `souffle a la Scarlet Pimpernel.'. . .Lud!" she added gaily, "the

other day I ordered at my milliner's a blue dress trimmed with green, and bless me, if she did not call that `a

Chauvelin had not moved while she prattled merrily along; he did not even attempt to stop her when her

musical voice and her childlike laugh went echoing through the still evening air. But he remained serious and

earnest whilst she laughed, and his voice, clear, incisive, and hard, was not raised above his breath as he

"Then, as you have heard of that enigmatical personage, citoyenne, you must also have guessed, and know,

that the man who hides his identity under that strange pseudonym, is the most bitter enemy of our republic, of

France. . .of men like Armand St. Just." "La!.." she said, with a quaint little sigh, "I dare swear he is. . . .

"But you, citoyenne, are a daughter of France, and should be ready to help her in a moment of deadly peril."

"My brother Armand devotes his life to France," she retorted proudly; "as for me, I can do nothing. . .here in

"Yes, you. . ." he urged still more earnestly, whilst his thin foxlike face seemed suddenly to have grown

impressive and full of dignity, "here, in England, citoyenne. . .you alone can help us. . . . Listen!I have

been sent over here by the Republican Government as its representative: I present my credentials to Mr. Pitt

in London tomorrow. One of my duties here is to find out all about this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel,

which has become a standing menace to France, since it is pledged to help our cursed aristocratstraitors to

their country, and enemies of the peopleto escape from the just punishment which they deserve. You know

as well as I do, citoyenne, that once they are over here, those French EMIGRES try to rouse public feeling

against the Republic. . .They are ready to join issue with any enemy bold enough to attack France. . .Now,

within the last month scores of these EMIGRES, some only suspected of treason, others actually condemned

by the Tribunal of Public Safety, have succeeded in crossing the Channel. Their escape in each instance was

planned, organized and effected by this society of young English jackanapes, headed by a man whose brain

seems as resourceful as his identity is mysterious. All the most strenuous efforts on the part of my spies have

failed to discover who he is; whilst the others are the hands, he is the head, who beneath this strange

anonymity calmly works at the destruction of France. I mean to strike at that head, and for this I want your

helpthrough him afterwards I can reach the rest of the gang: he is a young buck in English society, of that I

Marguerite had listened to Chauvelin's impassioned speech without uttering a word, scarce making a

movement, hardly daring to breathe. She had told him before that this mysterious hero of romance was the

talk of the smart set to which she belonged; already, before this, her heart and her imagination had stirred by

the thought of the brave man, who, unknown to fame, had rescued hundreds of lives from a terrible, often an

unmerciful fate. She had but little real sympathy with those haughty French aristocrats, insolent in their pride

of caste, of whom the Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive was so typical an example; but republican and

liberalminded though she was from principle, she hated and loathed the methods which the young Republic

had chosen for establishing itself. She had not been in Paris for some months; the horrors and bloodshed of

the Reign of Terror, culminating in the September massacres, had only come across the Channel to her as a

faint echo. Robespierre, Danton, Marat, she had not known in their new guise of bloody judiciaries, merciless

wielders of the guillotine. Her very soul recoiled in horror from these excesses, to which she feared her

Then, when first she heard of this band of young English enthusiasts, who, for sheer love of their fellowmen,

dragged women and children, old and young men, from a horrible death, her heart had glowed with pride for

them, and now, as Chauvelin spoke, her very soul went out to the gallant and mysterious leader of the

reckless little band, who risked his life daily, who gave it freely and without ostentation, for the sake of

Her eyes were moist when Chauvelin had finished speaking, the lace at her bosom rose and fell with her

quick, excited breathing; she no longer heard the noise of drinking from the inn, she did not heed her

husband's voice or his inane laugh, her thoughts had gone wandering in search of the mysterious hero! Ah!

there was a man she might have loved, had he come her way: everything in him appealed to her romantic

imagination; his personality, his strength, his bravery, the loyalty of those who served under him in that same

noble cause, and, above all, that anonymity which crowned him, as if with a halo of romantic glory.

Chauvelin's voice close to her ear roused her from her dreams. The mysterious hero had vanished, and, not

twenty yards away from her, a man was drinking and laughing, to whom she had sworn faith and loyalty.

"La! man," she said with a return of her assumed flippancy, "you are astonishing. Where in the world am I to

"You go everywhere, citoyenne," whispered Chauvelin, insinuatingly, "Lady Blakeney is the pivot of social

"Easy, my friend," retorted Marguerite, drawing, herself up to her full height and looking down, with a slight

thought of contempt on the small, thin figure before her. "Easy! you seem to forget that there are six feet of

Sir Percy Blakeney, and a long line of ancestors to stand between Lady Blakeney and such a thing as you

"Tush, man, you talk nonsense anyway; for even if you did know who this Scarlet Pimpernel is, you could do

"I'd take my chance of that," said Chauvelin, with a dry, rasping little laugh. "At any rate we could send him

to the guillotine first to cool his ardour, then, when there is a diplomatic fuss about it, we can

apologisehumblyto the British Government, and, if necessary, pay compensation to the bereaved

"What you propose is horrible, Chauvelin," she said, drawing away from him as from some noisome insect.

"Whoever the man may be, he is brave and noble, and neverdo you hear me?never would I lend a hand

"You prefer to be insulted by every French aristocrat who comes to this country?"

Chauvelin had taken sure aim when he shot this tiny shaft. Marguerite's fresh young cheeks became a thought

more pale and she bit her under lip, for she would not let him see that the shaft had struck home.

"That is beside the question," she said at last with indifference. "I can defend myself, but I refuse to do any

dirty work for youor for France. You have other means at your disposal; you must use them, my friend."

And without another look at Chauvelin, Marguerite Blakeney turned her back on him and walked straight into

"That is not your last word, citoyenne," said Chauvelin, as a flood of light from the passage illumined her

"We meet in London," she said, speaking over her shoulder at him, "but that is my last word."

She threw open the coffeeroom door and disappeared from his view, but he remained under the porch for a

moment or two, taking a pinch of snuff. He had received a rebuke and a snub, but his shrewd, foxlike face

looked neither abashed nor disappointed; on the contrary, a curious smile, half sarcastic and wholly satisfied,

A beautiful starlit night had followed on the day of incessant rain: a cool, balmy, late summer's night,

essentially English in its suggestion of moisture and scent of wet earth and dripping leaves.

The magnificent coach, drawn by four of the finest thoroughbreds in England, had driven off along the

London road, with Sir Percy Blakeney on the box, holding the reins in his slender feminine hands, and beside

him Lady Blakeney wrapped in costly furs. A fiftymile drive on a starlit summer's night! Marguerite had

hailed the notion of it with delight. . . . Sir Percy was an enthusiastic whip; his four thoroughbreds, which had

been sent down to Dover a couple of days before, were just sufficiently fresh and restive to add zest to the

expedition and Marguerite revelled in anticipation of the few hours of solitude, with the soft night breeze

fanning her cheeks, her thoughts wandering, whither away? She knew from old experience that Sir Percy

would speak little, if at all: he had often driven her on his beautiful coach for hours at night, from point to

point, without making more than one or two casual remarks upon the weather or the state of the roads. He

was very fond of driving by night, and she had very quickly adopted his fancy: as she sat next to him hour

after hour, admiring the dexterous, certain way in which he handled the reins, she often wondered what went

on in that slowgoing head of his. He never told her, and she had never cared to ask.

At "The Fisherman's Rest" Mr. Jellyband was going the round, putting out the lights. His bar customers had

all gone, but upstairs in the snug little bedrooms, Mr. Jellyband had quite a few important guests: the

Comtesse de Tournay, with Suzannne, and the Vicomte, and there were two more bedrooms ready for Sir

Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst, if the two young men should elect to honour the ancient

For the moment these two young gallants were comfortably installed in the coffeeroom, before the huge

logfire, which, in spite of the mildness of the evening, had been allowed to burn merrily.

"I say, Jelly, has everyone gone?" asked Lord Tony, as the worthy landlord still busied himself clearing away

"All except the boy on duty in the bar, and," added Mr. Jellyband with a laugh, "I expect he'll be asleep afore

"At your service, my lord. . . . I'll leave your candles on the dresser. . .and your rooms are quite ready. . .I

sleep at the top of the house myself, but if your lordship'll only call loudly enough, I daresay I shall hear."

"All right, Jelly. . .and. . .I say, put the lamp outthe fire'll give us all the light we needand we don't want

Mr. Jellyband did as he was bidhe turned out the quaint old lamp that hung from the raftered ceiling and

Jellyband went off to fetch the wine. The room now was quite dark, save for the circle of ruddy and fitful

"Is that all, gentlemen?" asked Jellyband, as he returned with a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, which

The two young men listened, whilst the heavy tread of Mr. Jellyband was heard echoing along the passage

and staircase. Presently even that sound died out, and the whole of "The Fisherman's Rest" seemed wrapt in

For a while no sound was heard, even in the coffeeroom, save the ticking of the old grandfather's clock and

Sir Andrew had been dreaming evidently, gazing into the fire, and seeing therein, no doubt, a pretty, piquant

face, with large brown eyes and a wealth of dark curls round a childish forehead.

"Then here's to her very good health," said jovial Lord Tony. "She's a bonnie lass, though she IS a French

He drained his glass to the last drop, then joined his friend beside the hearth.

"Well! you'll be doing the journey next, Tony, I expect," said Sir Andrew, rousing himself from his

meditations, "you and Hastings, certainly; and I hope you may have as pleasant a task as I had, and as

"No! I haven't," interrupted his friend pleasantly, "but I'll take your word for it. And now," he added, whilst a

sudden earnestness crept over his jovial young face, "how about business?" The two young men drew their

chairs closer together, and instinctively, though they were alone, their voices sank to a whisper.

"I saw the Scarlet Pimpernel alone, for a few moments in Calais," said Sir Andrew, "a day or two ago. He

crossed over to England two days before we did. He had escorted the party all the way from Paris,

dressedyou'll never credit it!as an old market woman, and drivinguntil they were safely out of the

citythe covered cart, under which the Comtesse de Tournay, Mlle. Suzanne, and the Vicomte lay

concealed among the turnips and cabbages. They, themselves, of course, never suspected who their driver

was. He drove them right through a line of soldiery and a yelling mob, who were screaming, `A bas les

aristos!' But the market cart got through along with some others, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, in shawl,

petticoat and hood, yelled `A bas les aristos!' louder than anybody. Faith!" added the young man, as his eyes

glowed with enthusiasm for the beloved leader, "that man's a marvel! His cheek is preposterous, I vow!and

Lord Antony, whose vocabulary was more limited than that of his friend, could only find an oath or two with

"He wants you and Hastings to meet him at Calais," said Sir Andrew, more quietly, "on the 2nd of next

"It is, of course, the case of the Comte de Tournay, this time; a dangerous task, for the Comte, whose escape

from his chateau, after he had been declared a `suspect' by the Committee of Public Safety, was a masterpiece

of the Scarlet Pimpernel's ingenuity, is now under sentence of death. It will be rare sport to get HIM out of

France, and you will have a narrow escape, if you get through at all. St. Just has actually gone to meet

himof course, no one suspects St. Just as yet; but after that. . .to get them both out of the country! I'faith,

`twill be a tough job, and tax even the ingenuity of our chief. I hope I may yet have orders to be of the party."

"Yes! rather more precise ones than usual. It appears that the Republican Government have sent an accredited

agent over to England, a man named Chauvelin, who is said to be terribly bitter against our league, and

determined to discover the identity of our leader, so that he may have him kidnapped, the next time he

attempts to set foot in France. This Chauvelin has brought a whole army of spies with him, and until the chief

has sampled the lot, he thinks we should meet as seldom as possible on the business of the league, and on no

account should talk to each other in public places for a time. When he wants to speak to us, he will contrive

The two young men were both bending over the fire for the blaze had died down, and only a red glow from

the dying embers cast a lurid light on a narrow semicircle in front of the hearth. The rest of the room lay

buried in complete gloom; Sir Andrew had taken a pocketbook from his pocket, and drawn therefrom a

paper, which he unfolded, and together they tried to read it by the dim red firelight. So intent were they upon

this, so wrapt up in the cause, the business they had so much at heart, so precious was this document which

came from the very hand of their adored leader, that they had eyes and ears only for that. They lost count of

the sounds around them, of the dropping of the crisp ash from the grate, of the monotonous ticking of the

clock, of the soft, almost imperceptible rustle of something on the floor close beside them. A figure had

emerged from under one of the benches; with snakelike, noiseless movements it crept closer and closer to

the two young men, not breathing, only gliding along the floor, in the inky blackness of the room.

"You are to read these instructions and commit them to memory," said Sir Andrew, "then destroy them."

He was about to replace the lettercase into his pocket, when a tiny slip of paper fluttered from it and fell on

"It dropped out of your pocket just now. It certainly does not seem to be with the other paper."

"Strange!I wonder when it got there? It is from the chief," he added, glancing at the paper.

Both stooped to try and decipher this last tiny scrap of paper on which a few words had been hastily scrawled,

when suddenly a slight noise atrracted their attention, which seemed to come from the passage beyond.

"What's that?" said both instinctively. Lord Antony crossed the room towards the door, which he threw open

quickly and suddenly; at that very moment he received a stunning blow between the eyes, which threw him

back violently into the room. Simultaneously the crouching, snakelike figure in the gloom had jumped up

and hurled itself from behind upon the unsuspecting Sir Andrew, felling him to the ground.

All this occurred within the short space of two or three seconds, and before either Lord Antony or Sir Andrew

had time or chance to utter a cry or to make the faintest struggle. They were each seized by two men, a

muffler was quickly tied round the mouth of each, and they were pinioned to one another back to back, their

One man had in the meanwhile quietly shut the door; he wore a mask and now stood motionless while the

"All safe, citoyen!" said one of the men, as he took a final survey of the bonds which secured the two young

"Good!" replied the man at the door; "now search their pockets and give me all the papers you find."

This was promptly and quietly done. The masked man having taken possession of all the papers, listened for

a moment or two if there were any sound within "The Fisherman's Rest." Evidently satisfied that this

dastardly outrage had remained unheard, he once more opened the door and pointed peremptorily down the

passage. The four men lifted Sir Andrew and Lord Antony from the ground, and as quietly, as noiselessly as

they had come, they bore the two pinioned young gallants out of the inn and along the Dover Road into the

In the coffeeroom the masked leader of this daring attempt was quickly glancing through the stolen papers.

"Not a bad day's work on the whole," he muttered, as he quietly took off his mask, and his pale, foxlike eyes

He opened one or two letters from Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' pocketbook, noted the tiny scrap of paper which

the two young men had only just had time to read; but one letter specially, signed Armand St. Just, seemed to

"Armand St. Just a traitor after all," he murmured. "Now, fair Marguerite Blakeney," he added viciously

between his clenched teeth, "I think that you will help me to find the Scarlet Pimpernel."

It was one of the gala nights at Covent Garden Theatre, the first of the autumn season in this memorable year

The house was packed, both in the smart orchestra boxes and in the pit, as well as in the more plebeian

balconies and galleries above. Gluck's ORPHEUS made a strong appeal to the more intellectual portions of

the house, whilst the fashionable women, the gailydressed and brilliant throng, spoke to the eye of those

Selina Storace had been duly applauded after her grand ARIA by her numerous admirers; Benjamin Incledon,

the acknowledged favourite of the ladies, had received special gracious recognition from the royal box; and

now the curtain came down after the glorious finale to the second act, and the audience, which had hung

spellbound on the magic strains of the great maestro, seemed collectively to breathe a long sigh of

satisfaction, previous to letting loose its hundreds of waggish and frivolous tongues. In the smart orchestra

boxes many wellknown faces were to be seen. Mr. Pitt, overweighted with cares of state, was finding brief

relaxation in tonight's musical treat; the Prince of Wales, jovial, rotund, somewhat coarse and commonplace

in appearance, moved about from box to box, spending brief quarters of an hour with those of his more

In Lord Grenville's box, too, a curious, interesting personality attracted everyone's attention; a thin, small

figure with shrewd, sarcastic face and deepset eyes, attentive to the music, keenly critical of the audience,

dressed in immaculate black, with dark hair free from any powder. Lord GrenvilleForeign Secretary of

Here and there, dotted about among distinctly English types of beauty, one or two foreign faces stood out in

marked contrast: the haughty aristocratic cast of countenance of the many French royalist EMIGRES who,

persecuted by the relentless, revolutionary faction of their country, had found a peaceful refuge in England.

On these faces sorrow and care were deeply writ; the women especially paid but little heed, either to the

music or to the brilliant audience; no doubt their thoughts were far away with husband, brother, son maybe,

Among these the Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive, but lately arrived from France, was a most conspicuous

figure: dressed in deep, heavy black silk, with only a white lace kerchief to relieve the aspect of mourning

about her person, she sat beside Lady Portarles, who was vainly trying by witty sallies and somewhat broad

jokes, to bring a smile to the Comtesse's sad mouth. Behind her sat little Suzanne and the Vicomte, both silent

and somewhat shy among so many strangers. Suzanne's eyes seemed wistful; when she first entered the

crowded house, she had looked eagerly all around, scanning every face, scrutinised every box. Evidently the

one face she wished to see was not there, for she settled herself quietly behind her mother, listened

apathetically to the music, and took no further interest in the audience itself.

"Ah, Lord Grenville," said Lady Portarles, as following a discreet knock, the clever, interesting head of the

Secretary of State appeared in the doorway of the box, "you could not arrive more _A_ PROPOS. Here is

Madame la Comtesse de Tournay positively dying to hear the latest news from France."

The distinguished diplomat had come forward and was shaking hands with the ladies.

"Alas!" he said sadly, "it is of the very worst. The massacres continue; Paris literally reeks with blood; and

Pale and tearful, the Comtesse was leaning back in her chair, listening horrorstruck to this brief and graphic

"Ah, monsieur!" she said in broken English, "it is dreadful to hear all thatand my poor husband still in that

awful country. It is terrible for me to be sitting here, in a theatre, all safe and in peace, whilst he is in such

"Lud, Madame!" said honest, bluff Lady Portarles, "your sitting in a convent won't make your husband safe,

and you have your children to consider: they are too young to be dosed with anxiety and premature

The Comtesse smiled through her tears at the vehemence of her friend. Lady Portarles, whose voice and

manner would not have misfitted a jockey, had a heart of gold, and hid the most genuine sympathy and most

gentle kindliness, beneath the somewhat coarse manners affected by some ladies at that time.

"Besides which, Madame," added Lord Grenville, "did you not tell me yesterday that the League of the

Scarlet Pimpernel had pledged their honour to bring M. le Comte safely across the Channel?"

"Ah, yes!" replied the Comtesse, "and that is my only hope. I saw Lord Hastings yesterday. . .he reassured me

"Then I am sure you need have no fear. What the league have sworn, that they surely will accomplish. Ah!"

"La, man!" interrupted honest Lady Portarles, "you are still young enough to turn your back on that French

"I wish I could. . .but your ladyship must remember that in serving our country we must put prejudices aside.

"Odd's fish, man!" she retorted, "you don't call those bloodthirsty ruffians over there a government, do you?"

"It has not been thought advisable as yet," said the Minister, guardedly, "for England to break off diplomatic

relations with France, and we cannot therefore refuse to receive with courtesy the agent she wishes to send to

"Diplomatic relations be demmed, my lord! That sly little fox over there is nothing but a spy, I'll warrant, and

you'll findan I'm much mistaken, that he'll concern himself little with such diplomacy, beyond trying to do

mischief to royalist refugeesto our heroic Scarlet Pimpernel and to the members of that brave little league."

"I am sure," said the Comtesse, pursing up her thin lips, "that if this Chauvelin wishes to do us mischief, he

"Bless the woman!" ejaculated Lady Portarles, "did ever anyone see such perversity? My Lord Grenville, you

have the gift of gab, will you please explain to Madame la Comtesse that she is acting like a fool. In your

position here in England, Madame," she added, turning a wrathful and resolute face towards the Comtesse,

"you cannot afford to put on the hoitytoity airs you French aristocrats are so fond of. Lady Blakeney may or

may not be in sympathy with those Ruffians in France; she may or may not have had anything to do with the

arrest and condemnation of St. Cyr, or whatever the man's name is, but she is the leader of fashion in this

country; Sir Percy Blakeney has more money than any halfdozen other men put together, he is hand and

glove with royalty, and your trying to snub Lady Blakeney will not harm her, but will make you look a fool.

But what Lord Grenville thought of this matter, or to what reflections this comely tirade of Lady Portarles led

the Comtesse de Tournay, remained unspoken, for the curtain had just risen on the third act of ORPHEUS,

Lord Grenville took a hasty farewell of the ladies and slipped back into his box, where M. Chauvelin had sat

through this ENTR'ACTE, with his eternal snuffbox in his hand, and with his keen pale eyes intently fixed

upon a box opposite him, where, with much froufrou of silken skirts, much laughter and general stir of

curiosity amongst the audience, Marguerite Blakeney had just entered, accompanied by her husband, and

looking divinely pretty beneath the wealth of her golden, reddish curls, slightly besprinkled with powder, and

tied back at the nape of her graceful neck with a gigantic black bow. Always dressed in the very latest vagary

of fashion, Marguerite alone among the ladies that night had discarded the crossover fichu and

broadlapelled overdress, which had been in fashion for the last two or three years. She wore the

shortwaisted classicalshaped gown, which so soon was to become the approved mode in every country in

Europe. It suited her graceful, regal figure to perfection, composed as it was of shimmering stuff which

As she entered, she leant for a moment out of the box, taking stock of all those present whom she knew.

Many bowed to her as she did so, and from the royal box there came also a quick and gracious salute.

Chauvelin watched her intently all through the commencement of the third act, as she sat enthralled with the

music, her exquisite little hand toying with a small jewelled fan, her regal head, her throat, arms and neck

covered with magnificent diamonds and rare gems, the gift of the adoring husband who sprawled leisurely by

Marguerite was passionately fond of music. ORPHEUS charmed her tonight. The very joy of living was

writ plainly upon the sweet young face, it sparkled out of the merry blue eyes and lit up the smile that lurked

around the lips. She was after all but fiveandtwenty, in the hey day of youth, the darling of a brilliant

throng, adored, FETED, petted, cherished. Two days ago the DAY DREAM had returned from Calais,

bringing her news that her idolised brother had safely landed, that he thought of her, and would be prudent for

What wonder for the moment, and listening to Gluck's impassioned strains, that she forgot her

disillusionments, forgot her vanished lovedreams, forgot even the lazy, goodhumoured nonentity who had

made up for his lack of spiritual attainments by lavishing worldly advantages upon her.

He had stayed beside her in the box just as long as convention demanded, making way for His Royal

Highness, and for the host of admirers who in a continued procession came to pay homage to the queen of

fashion. Sir Percy had strolled away, to talk to more congenial friends probably. Marguerite did not even

wonder whither he had goneshe cared so little; she had had a little court round her, composed of the

JEUNESSE DOREE of London, and had just dismissed them all, wishing to be alone with Gluck for a brief

"Come in," she said with some impatience, without turning to look at the intruder.

Chauvelin, waiting for his opportunity, noted that she was alone, and now, without pausing for that impatient

"Come in," he quietly slipped into the box, and the next moment was standing behind Marguerite's chair.

"Lud, man! you frightened me," she said with a forced little laugh, "your presence is entirely inopportune. I

"But this is my only opportunity," he said, as quietly, and without waiting for permission, he drew a chair

close behind herso close that he could whisper in her ear, without disturbing the audience, and without

being seen, in the dark background of the box. "This is my only opportunity," he repeated, as he vouchsafed

him no reply, "Lady Blakeney is always so surrounded, so FETED by her court, that a mere old friend has but

"Faith, man!" she said impatiently, "you must seek for another opportunity then. I am going to Lord

Grenville's ball tonight after the opera. So are you, probably. I'll give you five minutes then. . . ."

"Three minutes in the privacy of this box are quite sufficient for me," he rejoined placidly, "and I think that

Marguerite instinctively shivered. Chauvelin had not raised his voice above a whisper; he was now quietly

taking a pinch of snuff, yet there was something in his attitude, something in those pale, foxy eyes, which

seemed to freeze the blood in her veins, as would the sight of some deadly hitherto unguessed peril. "Is that a

He paused a moment, like a cat which sees a mouse running heedlessly by, ready to spring, yet waiting with

that feline sense of enjoyment of mischief about to be done. Then he said quietly

Not a muscle moved in the beautiful face before him. He could only see it in profile, for Marguerite seemed

to be watching the stage intently, but Chauvelin was a keen observer; he noticed the sudden rigidity of the

eyes, the hardening of the mouth, the sharp, almost paralysed tension of the beautiful, graceful figure.

"Lud, then," she said with affected merriment, "since `tis one of your imaginary plots, you'd best go back to

And with her hand she began to beat time nervously against the cushion of the box. Selina Storace was

singing the "Che faro" to an audience that hung spellbound upon the prima donna's lips. Chauvelin did not

move from his seat; he quietly watched that tiny nervous hand, the only indication that his shaft had indeed

"Well?" she said suddenly and irrelevantly, and with the same feigned unconcern.

"I have news of him for you which, I think, will interest you, but first let me explain. . . . May I?"

The question was unnecessary. He felt, though Marguerite still held her head steadily averted from him, that

"The other day, citoyenne," he said, "I asked for your help. . . . France needed it, and I thought I could rely on

you, but you gave me your answer. . . . Since then the exigencies of my own affairs and your own social

"To the point, I pray you, citoyen," she said lightly; "the music is entrancing, and the audience will get

"One moment, citoyenne. The day on which I had the honour of meeting you at Dover, and less than an hour

after I had your final answer, I obtained possession of some papers, which revealed another of those subtle

schemes for the escape of a batch of French aristocratsthat traitor de Tournay amongst othersall

organized by that archmeddler, the Scarlet Pimpernel. Some of the threads, too, of this mysterious

organization have come into my hands, but not all, and I want younay! you MUST help me to gather them

Marguerite seemed to have listened to him with marked impatience; she now shrugged her shoulders and said

"Bah! man. Have I not already told you that I care nought about your schemes or about the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"A little patience, I entreat, citoyenne," he continued imperturbably. "Two gentlemen, Lord Antony Dewhurst

and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes were at `The Fisherman's Rest' at Dover that same night."

"They were already known to my spies as members of that accursed league. It was Sir Andrew Ffoulkes who

escorted the Comtesse de Tournay and her children across the Channel. When the two young men were alone,

my spies forced their way into the coffeeroom of the inn, gagged and pinioned the two gallants, seized their

In a moment she had guessed the danger. Papers?. . .Had Armand been imprudent?. . .The very thought struck

her with nameless terror. Still she would not let this man see that she feared; she laughed gaily and lightly.

"Faith! and your impudence pases belief," she said merrily. "Robbery and violence!in England!in a

"What if they had? They are children of France, and have been trained by your humble servant. Had they

been caught they would have gone to jail, or even to the gallows, without a word of protest or indiscretion; at

any rate it was well worth the risk. A crowded inn is safer for these little operations than you think, and my

"Unfortunately, though they have given me cognisance of certain names. . .certain movements. . .enough, I

think, to thwart their projected COUP for the moment, it would only be for the moment, and still leaves me in

"La! my friend," she said, with the same assumed flippancy of manner, "then you are where you were before,

aren't you? and you can let me enjoy the last strophe of the ARIA. Faith!" she added, ostentatiously

"I am coming to him now, citoyenne. Among the papers there was a letter to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, written by

"That letter shows him to be not only in sympathy with the enemies of France, but actually a helper, if not a

The blow had been struck at last. All along, Marguerite had been expecting it; she would not show fear, she

was determined to seem unconcerned, flippant even. She wished, when the shock came, to be prepared for it,

to have all her wits about herthose wits which had been nicknamed the keenest in Europe. Even now she

did not flinch. She knew that Chauvelin had spoken the truth; the man was too earnest, too blindly devoted to

the misguided cause he had at heart, too proud of his countrymen, of those makers of revolutions, to stoop to

That letter of Armand'sfoolish, imprudent Armandwas in Chauvelin's hands. Marguerite knew that as if

she had seen the letter with her own eyes; and Chauvelin would hold that letter for purposes of his own, until

it suited him to destroy it or to make use of it against Armand. All that she knew, and yet she continued to

"La, man!" she said, speaking over her shoulder and looking him full and squarely in the face, "did I not say

it was some imaginary plot. . . . Armand in league with that enigmatic Scarlet Pimpernel!. . .Armand busy

helping those French aristocrats whom he despises!. . .Faith, the tale does infinite credit to your imagination!"

"Let me make my point clear, citoyenne," said Chauvelin, with the same unruffled calm, "I must assure you

Inside the orchestra box all was silent for a moment or two. Marguerite sat, straight upright, rigid and inert,

trying to think, trying to face the situation, to realise what had best be done.

In the house Storace had finished the ARIA, and was even now bowing in her classic garb, but in approved

eighteenthcentury fashion, to the enthusiastic audience, who cheered her to the echo.

"Chauvelin," said Marguerite Blakeney at last, quietly, and without that touch of bravado which had

characterised her attitude all along, "Chauvelin, my friend, shall we try to understand one another. It seems

that my wits have become rusty by contact with this damp climate. Now, tell me, you are very anxious to

"France's most bitter enemy, citoyenne. . .all the more dangerous, as he works in the dark."

"All the more noble, you mean. . . . Well!and you would now force me to do some spying work for you in

"Fie! two very ugly words, fair lady," protested Chauvelin, urbanely. "There can be no question of force, and

the service which I would ask of you, in the name of France, could never be called by the shocking name of

"At any rate, that is what it is called over here," she said drily. "That is your intention, is it not?"

"My intention is, that you yourself win the free pardon for Armand St. Just by doing me a small service."

"Only watch for me tonight, Citoyenne St. Just," he said eagerly. "Listen: among the papers which were

found about the person of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes there was a tiny note. See!" he added, taking a tiny scrap of

It was the same scrap of paper which, four days ago, the two young men had been in the act of reading, at the

very moment when they were attacked by Chauvelin's minions. Marguerite took it mechanically and stooped

to read it. There were only two lines, written in a distorted, evidently disguised, handwriting; she read them

"`Remember we must not meet more often than is strictly necessary. You have all instructions for the 2nd. If

"The Scarlet Pimpernel," she said eagerly, "and G.'s ball means Grenville's ball. . . . He will be at my Lord

"That is how I interpret the note, citoyenne," concluded Chauvelin, blandly. "Lord Antony Dewhurst and Sir

Andrew Ffoulkes, after they were pinioned and searched by my spies, were carried by my orders to a lonely

house in the Dover Road, which I had rented for the purpose: there they remained close prisoners until this

morning. But having found this tiny scrap of paper, my intention was that they should be in London, in time

to attend my Lord Grenville's ball. You see, do you not? that they must have a great deal to say to their chief.

. .and thus they will have an opportunity of speaking to him tonight, just as he directed them to do.

Therefore, this morning, those two young gallants found every bar and bolt open in that lonely house on the

Dover Road, their jailers disappeared, and two good horses standing ready saddled and tethered in the yard. I

have not seen them yet, but I think we may safely conclude that they did not draw rein until they reached

"It does seem simple, doesn't it?" she said, with a final bitter attempt at flippancy, "when you want to kill a

chicken. . .you take hold of it. . .then you wring its neck. . .it's only the chicken who does not find it quite so

simple. Now you hold a knife at my throat, and a hostage for my obedience. . . . You find it simple. . . . I

"Nay, citoyenne, I offer you a chance of saving the brother you love from the consequences of his own folly."

Marguerite's face softened, her eyes at last grew moist, as she murmured, half to herself:

"The only being in the world who has loved me truly and constantly. . . . But what do you want me to do,

Chauvelin?" she said, with a world of despair in her tearchoked voice. "In my present position, it is

"Nay, citoyenne," he said drily and relentlessly, not heeding that despairing, childlike appeal, which might

have melted a heart of stone, "as Lady Blakeney, no one suspects you, and with your help tonight I

maywho knows?succeed in finally establishing the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. . . . You are going

to the ball anon. . . . Watch for me there, citoyenne, watch and listen. . . . You can tell me if you hear a chance

word or whisper. . . . You can note everyone to whom Sir Andrew Ffoulkes or Lord Antony Dewhurst will

speak. You are absolutely beyond suspicion now. The Scarlet Pimpernel will be at Lord Grenville's ball

tonight. Find out who he is, and I will pledge the word of France that your brother shall be safe."

Chauvelin was putting the knife to her throat. Marguerite felt herself entangled in one of those webs, from

which she could hope for no escape. A precious hostage was being held for her obedience: for she knew that

this man would never make an empty threat. No doubt Armand was already signalled to the Committee of

Public Safety as one of the "suspect"; he would not be allowed to leave France again, and would be ruthlessly

struck, if she refused to obey Chauvelin. For a momentwomanlikeshe still hoped to temporise. She

"If I promise to help you in this matter, Chauvelin," she said pleasantly, "will you give me that letter of St.

"If you render me useful service tonight, citoyenne," he replied with a sarcastic smile, "I will give you that

"I trust you absolutely, dear lady, but St. Just's life is forfeit to his country. . .it rests with you to redeem it."

"That would be terrible indeed," he said quietly, "for you. . .and for St. Just."

Marguerite shuddered. She felt that from this man she could expect no mercy. Allpowerful, he held the

beloved life in the hollow of his hand. She knew him too well not to know that, if he failed in gaining his own

She felt cold in spite of the oppressive air of operahouse. The heartappealing strains of the music seemed

to reach her, as from a distant land. She drew her costly lace scarf up around her shoulders, and sat silently

For a moment her thoughts wandered away from the loved one who was in danger, to that other man who

also had a claim on her confidence and her affection. She felt lonely, frightened for Armand's sake; she

longed to seek comfort and advice from someone who would know how to help and console. Sir Percy

Blakeney had loved her once; he was her husband; why should she stand alone through this terrible ordeal?

He had very little brains, it is true, but he had plenty of muscle: surely, if she provided the thought, and he the

manly energy and pluck, together they could outwit the astute diplomatist, and save the hostage from his

vengeful hands, without imperilling the life of the noble leader of that gallant little band of heroes. Sir Percy

Chauvelin was taking no further heed of her. He had said his cruel "Eitheror" and left her to decide. He,

in his turn now, appeared to be absorbed in the sourstirring melodies of ORPHEUS, and was beating time to

A discreet rap at the door roused Marguerite from her thoughts. It was Sir Percy Blakeney, tall, sleepy,

goodhumoured, and wearing that halfshy, halfinane smile, which just now seemed to irritate her every

"Er. . .your chair is outside. . .m'dear," he said, with his most exasperating drawl, "I suppose you will want to

go to that demmed ball. . . . Excuse meerMonsieur ChauvelinI had not observed you. . . ."

He extended two slender, white fingers toward Chauvelin, who had risen when Sir Percy entered the box.

Marguerite sighed impatiently. Her last hope seemed suddenly to have vanished away. She wrapped her cloak

"I am ready to go," she said, taking his arm. At the door of the box she turned and looked straight at

Chauvelin, who, with his CHAPEAUBRAS under his arm, and a curious smile round his thin lips, was

"It is only AU REVOIR, Chauvelin," she said pleasantly, "we shall meet at my Lord Grenville's ball, anon."

And in her eyes the astute Frenchman, read, no doubt, something which caused him profound satisfaction,

for, with a sarcastic smile, he took a delicate pinch of snuff, then, having dusted his dainty lace jabot, he

The historic ball given by the then Secretary of State for Foreign AffairsLord Grenvillewas the most

brilliant function of the year. Though the autumn season had only just begun, everybody who was anybody

had contrived to be in London in time to be present there, and to shine at this ball, to the best of his or her

His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had promised to be present. He was coming on presently from the

opera. Lord Grenville himself had listened to the two first acts of ORPHEUS, before preparing to receive his

guests. At ten o'clockan unusually late hour in those daysthe grand rooms of the Foreign Office,

exquisitely decorated with exotic palms and flowers, were filled to overflowing. One room had been set apart

for dancing, and the dainty strains of the minuet made a soft accompaniment to the gay chatter, the merry

In a smaller chamber, facing the top of the fine stairway, the distinguished host stood ready to receive his

guests. Distinguished men, beautiful women, notabilities from every European country had already filed past

him, had exchanged the elaborate bows and curtsies with him, which the extravagant fashion of the time

demanded, and then, laughing and talking, had dispersed in the ball, reception, and card rooms beyond.

Not far from Lord Grenville's elbow, leaning against one of the console tables, Chauvelin, in his

irreproachable black costume, was taking a quiet survey of the brilliant throng. He noted that Sir Percy and

Lady Blakeney had not yet arrived, and his keen, pale eyes glanced quickly towards the door every time a

He stood somewhat isolated: the envoy of the Revolutionary Government of France was not likely to be very

popular in England, at a time when the news of the awful September massacres, and of the Reign of Terror

In his official capacity he had been received courteously by his English colleagues: Mr. Pitt had shaken him

by the hand; Lord Grenville had entertained him more than once; but the more intimate circles of London

society ignored him altogether; the women openly turned their backs upon him; the men who held no official

But Chauvelin was not the man to trouble himself about these social amenities, which he called mere

incidents in his diplomatic career. He was blindly enthusiastic for the revolutionary cause, he despised all

social inequalities, and he had a burning love for his own country: these three sentiments made him

supremely indifferent to the snubs he received in this fogridden, loyalist, oldfashioned England.

But, above all, Chauvelin had a purpose at heart. He firmly believed that the French aristocrat was the most

bitter enemy of France; he would have wished to see every one of them annihilated: he was one of those who,

during this awful Reign of Terror, had been the first to utter the historic and ferocious desire "that aristocrats

might have but one head between them, so that it might be cut off with a single stroke of the guillotine." And

thus he looked upon every French aristocrat, who had succeeded in escaping from France, as so much prey of

which the guillotine had been unwarrantably cheated. There is no doubt that those royalist EMIGRES, once

they had managed to cross the frontier, did their very best to stir up foreign indignation against France. Plots

without end were hatched in England, in Belgium, in Holland, to try and induce some great power to send

troops into revolutionary Paris, to free King Louis, and to summarily hang the bloodthirsty leaders of that

Small wonder, therefore, that the romantic and mysterious personality of the Scarlet Pimpernel was a source

of bitter hatred to Chauvelin. He and the few young jackanapes under his command, well furnished with

money, armed with boundless daring, and acute cunning, had succeeded in rescuing hundreds of aristocrats

from France. Ninetenths of the EMIGRES, who were FETED at the English court, owed their safety to that

Chauvelin had sworn to his colleagues in Paris that he would discover the identity of that meddlesome

Englishman, entice him over to France, and then. . .Chauvelin drew a deep breath of satisfaction at the very

thought of seeing that enigmatic head falling under the knife of the guillotine, as easily as that of any other

Suddenly there was a great stir on the handsome staircase, all conversation stopped for a moment as the

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and suite, Sir Percy Blakeney, Lady Blakeney."

The Prince of Wales, dressed in a magnificent court suit of salmoncoloured velvet richly embroidered with

gold, entered with Marguerite Blakeney on his arm; and on his left Sir Percy, in gorgeous shimmering cream

satin, cut in the extravagant "Incroyable" style, his fair hair free from powder, priceless lace at his neck and

After the few conventional words of deferential greeting, Lord Grenville said to his royal guest,

"Will your Highness permit me to introduce M. Chauvelin, the accredited agent of the French Government?"

Chauvelin, immediately the Prince entered, had stepped forward, expecting this introduction. He bowed very

"Monsieur," said His Royal Highness coldly, "we will try to forget the government that sent you, and look

upon you merely as our guesta private gentleman from France. As such you are welcome, Monsieur."

"Monseigneur," rejoined Chauvelin, bowing once again. "Madame," he added, bowing ceremoniously before

"Ah! my little Chauvelin!" she said with unconcerned gaiety, and extending her tiny hand to him. "Monsieur

"Ah, then," said the Prince, this time very graciously, "you are doubly welcome, Monsieur."

"There is someone else I would crave permission to present to your Royal Highness," here interposed Lord

"Madame la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive and her family, who have but recently come from France."

Lord Grenville turned in search of the Comtesse, who sat at the further end of the room.

"Lud love me!" whispered his Royal Highness to Marguerite, as soon as he had caught sight of the rigid

figure of the old lady; "Lud love me! she looks very virtuous and very melancholy."

"Faith, your Royal Highness," she rejoined with a smile, "virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it

"Virtue, alas!" sighed the Prince, "is mostly unbecoming to your charming sex, Madame."

"Madame la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive," said Lord Grenville, introducing the lady.

"This is a pleasure, Madame; my royal father, as you know, is ever glad to welcome those of your

"Your Royal Highness is ever gracious," replied the Comtesse with becoming dignity. Then, indicating her

daughter, who stood timidly by her side: "My daughter Suzanne, Monseigneur," she said.

"Ah! charming!charming!" said the Prince, "and now allow me, Comtesse, to introduce you, Lady

Blakeney, who honours us with her friendship. You and she will have much to say to one another, I vow.

Every compatriot of Lady Blakeney's is doubly welcome for her sake. . .her friends are our friends. . .her

Marguerite's blue eyes had twinkled with merriment at this gracious speech from her exalted friend. The

Comtesse de Tournay, who lately had so flagrantly insulted her, was here receiving a public lesson, at which

Marguerite could not help but rejoice. But the Comtesse, for whom respect of royalty amounted almost to a

religion, was too wellschooled in courtly etiquette to show the slightest sign of embarrassment, as the two

"His Royal Highness is ever gracious, Madame," said Marguerite, demurely, and with a wealth of mischief in

her twinkling blue eyes, "but there is no need for his kind of meditation. . . . Your amiable reception of me at

"We poor exiles, Madame," rejoined the Comtesse, frigidly, "show our gratitude to England by devotion to

The Prince in the meanwhile was saying a few gracious words to the young Vicomte.

"I am happy to know you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he said. "I knew your father well when he was ambassador

"Ah, Monseigneur!" replied the Vicomte, "I was a leetle boy then. . .and now I owe the honour of this

"Hush!" said the Prince, earnestly and quickly, as he indicated Chauvelin, who had stood a little on one side

throughout the whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Comtesse with an amused, sarcastic

"Nay, Monseigneur," he said now, as if in direct response to the Prince's challenge, "pray do not check this

gentleman's display of gratitude; the name of that interesting red flower is well known to meand to

"Faith, then, Monsieur," he said, "perhaps you know more about our national hero than we do ourselves. .

.perchance you know who he is. . . . See!" he added, turning to the groups round the room, "the ladies hang

upon your lips. . .you would render yourself popular among the fair sex if you were to gratify their curiosity."

"Ah, Monseigneur," said Chauvelin, significantly, "rumour has it in France that your Highness couldan

He looked quickly and keenly at Marguerite as he spoke; but she betrayed no emotion, and her eyes met his

"Nay, man," replied the Prince, "my lips are sealed! and the members of the league jealously guard the secret

of their chief. . .so his fair adorers have to be content with worshipping a shadow. Here in England,

Monsieur," he added, with wonderful charm and dignity, "we but name the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every fair

cheek is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him save his faithful lieutenants. We know not

if he be tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or illformed; but we know that he is the bravest gentleman in all

the world, and we all feel a little proud, Monsieur, when we remember that he is an Englishman.

"Ah, Monsieur Chauvelin," added Marguerite, looking almost with defiance across at the placid, sphinxlike

face of the Frenchman, "His Royal Highness should add that we ladies think of him as of a hero of old. . .we

worship him. . .we wear his badge. . .we tremble for him when he is in danger, and exult with him in the hour

Chauvelin did no more than bow placidly both to the Prince and to Marguerite; he felt that both speeches

were intendedeach in their wayto convey contempt or defiance. The pleasureloving, idle Prince he

despised: the beautiful woman, who in her golden hair wore a spray of small red flowers composed of rubies

and diamondsher he held in the hollow of hand: he could afford to remain silent and to wait events.

A long, jovial, inane laugh broke the sudden silence which had fallen over everyone.

"And we poor husbands," came in slow, affected accents from gorgeous Sir Percy, "we have to stand by. .

Everyone laughedthe Prince more loudly than anyone. The tension of subdued excitement was relieved,

and the next moment everyone was laughing and chatting merrily as the gay crowd broke up and dispersed in

Marguerite suffered intensely. Though she laughed and chatted, though she was more admired, more

surrounded, more FETED than any woman there, she felt like one condemned to death, living her last day

Her nerves were in a state of painful tension, which had increased a hundredfold during that brief hour which

she had spent in her husband's company, between the opera and the ball. The short ray of hopethat she

might find in this goodnatured, lazy individual a valuable friend and adviserhad vanished as quickly as it

had come, the moment she found herself alone with him. The same feeling of goodhumoured contempt

which one feels for an animal or a faithful servant, made her turn away with a smile from the man who

should have been her moral support in this heartrending crisis through which she was passing: who should

have been her coolheaded adviser, when feminine sympathy and sentiment tossed her hither and thither,

between her love for her brother, who was far away and in mortal peril, and horror of the awful service which

There he stood, the moral support, the coolheaded adviser, surrounded by a crowd of brainless,

emptyheaded young fops, who were even now repeating from mouth to mouth, and with every sign of the

keenest enjoyment, a doggerel quatrain which he had just given forth. Everywhere the absurd, silly words met

her: people seemed to have little else to speak about, even the Prince had asked her, with a little laugh,

"All done in the tying of a cravat," Sir Percy had declared to his clique of admirers.

Sir Percy's BON MOT had gone the round of the brilliant receptionrooms. The Prince was enchanted. He

vowed that life without Blakeney would be but a dreary desert. Then, taking him by the arm, had led him to

Sir Percy, whose chief interest in most social gatherings seemed to centre round the cardtable, usually

allowed his wife to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked. And tonight, having delivered

himself of his BON MOT, he had left Marguerite surrounded by a crowd of admirers of all ages, all anxious

and willing to help her to forget that somewhere in the spacious reception rooms, there was a long, lazy being

who had been fool enough to suppose that the cleverest woman in Europe would settle down to the prosaic

Her still overwrought nerves, her excitement and agitation, lent beautiful Marguerite Blakeney much

additional charm: escorted by a veritable bevy of men of all ages and of most nationalities, she called forth

She would not allow herself any more time to think. Her early, somewhat Bohemian training had made her

something of a fatalist. She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her

hands. From Chauvelin she knew that she could expect no mercy. He had set a price on Armand's head, and

Later on in the evening she caught sight of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst, who seemingly

had just arrived. She noticed at once that Sir Andrew immediately made for little Suzanne de Tournay, and

that the two young people soon managed to isolate themselves in one of the deep embrasures of the

mullioned windows, there to carry on a long conversation, which seemed very earnest and very pleasant on

Both the young men looked a little haggard and anxious, but otherwise they were irreproachably dressed, and

there was not the slightest sign, about their courtly demeanour, of the terrible catastrophe, which they must

That the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had no intention of abandoning its cause, she had gathered through

little Suzanne herself, who spoke openly of the assurance she and her mother had had that the Comte de

Tournay would be rescued from France by the league, within the next few days. Vaguely she began to

wonder, as she looked at the brilliant and fashionable in the gailylighted ballroom, which of these worldly

men round her was the mysterious "Scarlet Pimpernel," who held the threads of such daring plots, and the

A burning curiosity seized her to know him: although for months she had heard of him and had accepted his

anonymity, as everyone else in society had done; but now she longed to knowquite impersonally, quite

apart from Armand, and oh! quite apart from Chauvelinonly for her own sake, for the sake of the

He was at the ball, of course, somewhere, since Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst were here,

evidently expecting to meet their chiefand perhaps to get a fresh MOT D'ORDRE from him.

Marguerite looked round at everyone, at the aristocratic hightyped Norman faces, the squarelybuilt,

fairhaired Saxon, the more gentle, humorous caste of the Celt, wondering which of these betrayed the

power, the energy, the cunning which had imposed its will and its leadership upon a number of highborn

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes? Surely not, with his gentle blue eyes, which were looking so tenderly and longingly

after little Suzanne, who was being led away from the pleasant TETEATETE by her stern mother.

Marguerite watched him across the room, as he finally turned away with a sigh, and seemed to stand, aimless

and lonely, now that Suzanne's dainty little figure had disappeared in the crowd.

She watched him as he strolled towards the doorway, which led to a small boudoir beyond, then paused and

Marguerite contrived for the moment to evade her present attentive cavalier, and she skirted the fashionable

crowd, drawing nearer to the doorway, against which Sir Andrew was leaning. Why she wished to get closer

to him, she could not have said: perhaps she was impelled by an allpowerful fatality, which so often seems

Suddenly she stopped: her very heart seemed to stand still, her eyes, large and excited, flashed for a moment

towards that doorway, then as quickly were turned away again. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was still in the same

listless position by the door, but Marguerite had distinctly seen that Lord Hastingsa young buck, a friend

of her husband's and one of the Prince's sethad, as he quickly brushed past him, slipped something into his

For one moment longeroh! it was the merest flashMarguerite paused: the next she had, with admirably

played unconcern, resumed her walk across the roombut this time more quickly towards that doorway

All this, from the moment that Marguerite had caught sight of Sir Andrew leaning against the doorway, until

she followed him into the little boudoir beyond, had occurred in less than a minute. Fate is usually swift when

Now Lady Blakeney had suddenly ceased to exist. It was Marguerite St. Just who was there only: Marguerite

St. Just who had passed her childhood, her early youth, in the protecting arms of her brother Armand. She had

forgotten everything elseher rank, her dignity, her secret enthusiasmseverything save that Armand stood

in peril of his life, and that there, not twenty feet away from her, in the small boudoir which was quite

deserted, in the very hands of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, might be the talisman which would save her brother's

Barely another thirty seconds had elapsed between the moment when Lord Hastings slipped the mysterious

"something" into Sir Andrew's hand, and the one when she, in her turn, reached the deserted boudoir. Sir

Andrew was standing with his back to her and close to a table upon which stood a massive silver candelabra.

A slip of paper was in his hand, and he was in the very act of perusing its contents.

Unperceived, her soft clinging robe making not the slightest sound upon the heavy carpet, not daring to

breathe until she had accomplished her purpose, Marguerite slipped close behind him. . . . At that moment he

looked round and saw her; she uttered a groan, passed her hand across her forehead, and murmured faintly:

She tottered almost as if she would fall, and Sir Andrew, quickly recovering himself, and crumpling in his

hand the tiny note he had been reading, was only apparently, just in time to support her.

She sank into a chair close to the table, and throwing back her head, closing her eyes.

"There!" she murmured, still faintly; "the giddiness is passing off. . . . Do not heed me, Sir Andrew; I assure

At moments like these there is no doubtand psychologists actually assert itthat there is in us a sense

which has absolutely nothing to do with the other five: it is not that we see, it is not that we hear or touch, yet

we seem to do all three at once. Marguerite sat there with her eyes apparently closed. Sir Andrew was

immediately behind her, and on her right was the table with the fivearmed candelabra upon it. Before her

mental vision there was absolutely nothing but Armand's face. Armand, whose life was in the most imminent

danger, and who seemed to be looking at her from a background upon which were dimly painted the seething

crowd of Paris, the bare walls of the Tribunal of Public Safety, with FoucquierTinville, the Public

Prosecutor, demanding Armand's life in the name of the people of France, and the lurid guillotine with its

For one moment there was dead silence in the little boudoir. Beyond, from the brilliant ballroom, the sweet

notes of the gavotte, the froufrou of rich dresses, the talk and laughter of a large and merry crowd, came as a

Sir Andrew had not uttered another word. Then it was that that extra sense became potent in Marguerite

Blakeney. She could not see, for her two eyes were closed, she could not hear, for the noise from the

ballroom drowned the soft rustle of that momentous scrap of paper; nevertheless she knewas if she had

both seen and heardthat Sir Andrew was even now holding the paper to the flame of one of the candles.

At the exact moment that it began to catch fire, she opened her eyes, raised her hand and, with two dainty

fingers, had taken the burning scrap of paper from the young man's hand. Then she blew out the flame, and

"How thoughtful of you, Sir Andrew," she said gaily, "surely 'twas your grandmother who taught you that the

She sighed with satisfaction, holding the paper tightly between her jewelled fingers; that talisman which

perhaps would save her brother Armand's life. Sir Andrew was staring at her, too dazed for the moment to

realize what had actually happened; he had been taken so completely by surprise, that he seemed quite unable

to grasp the fact that the slip of paper, which she held in her dainty hand, was one perhaps on which the life

"Why do you stare at me like that?" she said playfully. "I assure you I feel much better; your remedy has

proved most effectual. This room is most delightedly cool," she added, with the same perfect composure,

She was prattling on in the most unconcerned and pleasant way, whilst Sir Andrew, in an agony of mind, was

racking his brains as to the quickest method he could employ to get that bit of paper out of that beautiful

woman's hand. Instinctively, vague and tumultuous thoughts rushed through his mind: he suddenly

remembered her nationality, and worst of all, recollected that horrible take anent the Marquis de St. Cyr,

which in England no one had credited, for the sake of Sir Percy, as well as for her own.

"What? Still dreaming and staring?" she said, with a merry laugh, "you are most ungallant, Sir Andrew; and

now I come to think of it, you seemed more startled than pleased when you saw me just now. I do believe,

after all, that it was not concern for my health, nor yet a remedy taught you by your grandmother that caused

you to burn this tiny scrap of paper. . . . I vow it must have been your lady love's last cruel epistle you were

trying to destroy. Now confess!" she added, playfully holding up the scrap of paper, "does this contain her

"Whichever it is, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew, who was gradually recovering his selfpossession, "this

Not caring whether his action was one that would be styled illbred towards a lady, the young man had made

a bold dash for the note; but Marguerite's thoughts flew quicker than his own; her actions under pressure of

this intense excitement, were swifter and more sure. She was tall and strong; she took a quick step backwards

and knocked over the small Sheraton table which was already topheavy, and which fell down with a crash,

There was not much damage done; one or two of the candles had blown out as the candelabra fell; others had

merely sent some grease upon the valuable carpet; one had ignited the paper shade aver it. Sir Andrew

quickly and dexterously put out the flames and replaced the candelabra upon the table; but this had taken him

a few seconds to do, and those seconds had been all that Marguerite needed to cast a quick glance at the

paper, and to note its contentsa dozen words in the same distorted handwriting she had seen before, and

When Sir Andrew once more looked at her, he only saw upon her face alarm at the untoward accident and

relief at its happy issue; whilst the tiny and momentous note had apparently fluttered to the ground. Eagerly

the young man picked it up, and his face looked much relieved, as his fingers closed tightly over it.

"For shame, Sir Andrew," she said, shaking her head with a playful sigh, "making havoc in the heart of some

impressionable duchess, whilst conquering the affections of my sweet little Suzanne. Well, well! I do believe

it was Cupid himself who stood by you, and threatened the entire Foreign Office with destruction by fire, just

on purpose to make me drop love's message, before it had been polluted by my indiscreet eyes. To think that,

"You will forgive me, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew, now as calm as she was herself, "if I resume the

"By all means, Sir Andrew! How should I venture to thwart the lovegod again? Perhaps he would mete out

some terrible chastisement against my presumption. Burn your lovetoken, by all means!"

Sir Andrew had already twisted the paper into a long spill, and was once again holding it to the flame of the

candle, which had remained alight. He did not notice the strange smile on the face of his fair VISAVIS, so

intent was he on the work of destruction; perhaps, had he done so, the look of relief would have faded from

his face. He watched the fateful note, as it curled under the flame. Soon the last fragment fell on the floor, and

"And now, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite Blakeney, with the pretty nonchalance peculiar to herself, and with

the most winning of smiles, "will you venture to excite the jealousy of your fair lady by asking me to dance

The few words which Marguerite Blakeney had managed to read on the halfscorched piece of paper,

seemed literally to be the words of Fate. "Start myself tomorrow. . . ." This she had read quite distinctly; then

came a blur caused by the smoke of the candle, which obliterated the next few words; but, right at the bottom,

there was another sentence, like letters of fire, before her mental vision, "If you wish to speak to me again I

shall be in the supperroom at one o'clock precisely." The whole was signed with the hastilyscrawled little

One o'clock precisely! It was now close upon eleven, the last minuet was being danced, with Sir Andrew

Ffoulkes and beautiful Lady Blakeney leading the couples, through its delicate and intricate figures.

Close upon eleven! the hands of the handsome Louis XV. clock upon its ormolu bracket seemed to move

along with maddening rapidity. Two hours more, and her fate and that of Armand would be sealed. In two

hours she must make up her mind whether she will keep the knowledge so cunningly gained to herself, and

leave her brother to his fate, or whether she will wilfully betray a brave man, whose life was devoted to his

fellowmen, who was noble, generous, and above all, unsuspecting. It seemed a horrible thing to do. But

then, there was Armand! Armand, too, was noble and brave, Armand, too, was unsuspecting. And Armand

loved her, would have willingly trusted his life in her hands, and now, when she could save him from death,

she hesitated. Oh! it was monstrous; her brother's kind, gentle face, so full of love for her, seemed to be

looking reproachfully at her. "You might have saved me, Margot!" he seemed to say to her, "and you chose

the life of a stranger, a man you do not know, whom you have never seen, and preferred that he should be

All these conflicting thoughts raged through Marguerite's brain, while, with a smile upon her lips, she glided

through the graceful mazes of the minuet. She notedwith that acute sense of hersthat she had succeeded

in completely allaying Sir Andrew's fears. Her selfcontrol had been absolutely perfectshe was a finer

actress at this moment, and throughout the whole of this minuet, than she had ever been upon the boards of

the Comedie Francaise; but then, a beloved brother's life had not depended upon her histrionic powers.

She was too clever to overdo her part, and made no further allusions to the supposed BILLET DOUX, which

had caused Sir Andrew Ffoulkes such an agonising five minutes. She watched his anxiety melting away

under her sunny smile, and soon perceived that, whatever doubt may have crossed his mind at the moment,

she had, by the time the last bars of the minuet had been played, succeeded in completely dispelling it; he

never realised in what a fever of excitement she was, what effort it cost her to keep up a constant ripple of

"I have promised to go down to supper with His Royal Highness," she said, "but before we part, tell me. . .am

"Yes! Confess, I gave you a fright just now. . . . But remember, I am not an English woman, and I do not look

upon the exchanging of BILLET DOUX as a crime, and I vow I'll not tell my little Suzanne. But now, tell

"I am not sure, Lady Blakeney," he replied evasively. "I may have to leave London tomorrow."

"I would not do that, if I were you," she said earnestly; then seeing the anxious look reappearing in his eyes,

she added gaily; "No one can throw a ball better than you can, Sir Andrew, we should so miss you on the

He had led her across the room, to one beyond, where already His Royal Highness was waiting for the

"Madame, supper awaits us," said the Prince, offering his arm to Marguerite, "and I am full of hope. The

goddess Fortune has frowned so persistently on me at hazard, that I look with confidence for the smiles of the

"Your Highness has been unfortunate at the card tables?" asked Marguerite, as she took the Prince's arm.

"Aye! most unfortunate. Blakeney, not content with being the richest among my father's subjects, has also the

most outrageous luck. By the way, where is that inimitable wit? I vow, Madam, that this life would be but a

Supper had been extremely gay. All those present declared that never had Lady Blakeney been more

His Royal Highness had laughed until the tears streamed down his cheeks at Blakeney's foolish yet funny

repartees. His doggerel verse, "We seek him here, we seek him there," etc., was sung to the tune of "Ho!

Merry Britons!" and to the accompaniment of glasses knocked loudly against the table. Lord Grenville,

moreover, had a most perfect cooksome wags asserted that he was a scion of the old French NOBLESSE,

who having lost his fortune, had come to seek it in the CUISINE of the Foreign Office.

Marguerite Blakeney was in her most brilliant mood, and surely not a soul in that crowded supperroom had

The clock was ticking so mercilessly on. It was long past midnight, and even the Prince of Wales was

thinking of leaving the suppertable. Within the next halfhour the destinies of two brave men would be

Marguerite had not tried to see Chauvelin during this last hour; she knew that his keen, foxlike eyes would

terrify her at once, and incline the balance of her decision towards Armand. Whilst she did not see him, there

still lingered in her heart of hearts a vague, undefined hope that "something" would occur, something big,

enormous, epochmaking, which would shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden of

But the minutes ticked on with that dull monotony which they invariably seem to assume when our very

After supper, dancing was resumed. His Royal Highness had left, and there was general talk of departing

among the older guests; the young were indefatigable and had started on a new gavotte, which would fill the

Marguerite did not feel equal to another dance; there is a limit to the most enduring of selfcontrol. Escorted

by a Cabinet Minister, she had once more found her way to the tiny boudoir, still the most deserted among all

the rooms. She knew that Chauvelin must be lying in wait for her somewhere, ready to seize the first possible

opportunity for a TETEATETE. His eyes had met hers for a moment after the `foresupper minuet, and

she knew that the keen diplomat, with those searching pale eyes of his, had divined that her work was

Fate had willed it so. Marguerite, torn by the most terrible conflict heart of woman can ever know, had

resigned herself to its decrees. But Armand must be saved at any cost; he, first of all, for he was her brother,

had been mother, father, friend to her ever since she, a tiny babe, had lost both her parents. To think of

Armand dying a traitor's death on the guillotine was too horrible even to dwell uponimpossible in fact.

That could never be, never. . . . As for the stranger, the hero. . .well! there, let Fate decide. Marguerite would

redeem her brother's life at the hands of the relentless enemy, then let that cunning Scarlet Pimpernel

PerhapsvaguelyMarguerite hoped that the daring plotter, who for so many months had baffled an army

She thought of all this, as she sat listening to the witty discourse of the Cabinet Minister, who, no doubt, felt

that he had found in Lady Blakeney a most perfect listener. Suddenly she saw the keen, foxlike face of

"Will you see if my husband is still in the cardroom? And if he is, will you tell him that I am very tired, and

The commands of a beautiful woman are binding on all mankind, even on Cabinet Ministers. Lord Fancourt

"Never fear. I shall be quite safe hereand, I think, undisturbed. . .but I am really tired. You know Sir Percy

will drive back to Richmond. It is a long way, and we shall notan we do not hurryget home before

The moment he had disappeared, Chauvelin slipped into the room, and the next instant stood calm and

An icy mantle seemed to have suddenly settled round Marguerite's shoulders; though her cheeks glowed with

fire, she felt chilled and numbed. Oh, Armand! will you ever know the terrible sacrifice of pride, of dignity,

"Nothing of importance," she said, staring mechanically before her, "but it might prove a clue. I

contrivedno matter howto detect Sir Andrew Ffoulkes in the very act of burning a paper at one of these

candles, in this very room. That paper I succeeded in holding between my fingers for the space of two

"In the corner of the paper there was the usual rough device of a small starshaped flower. Above it I read

Her throat seemed suddenly to have contracted. For an instant she felt that she could not speak the words,

"It is lucky that the whole paper was not burned," added Chauvelin, with dry sarcasm, "for it might have

"One was, `I start myself tomorrow,'" she said quietly, "the other'If you wish to speak to me, I shall be in

She was pale as a statue, her hands were icy cold, her head and heart throbbed with the awful strain upon her

nerves. Oh, this was cruel! cruel! What had she done to have deserved all this? Her choice was made: had she

done a vile action or one that was sublime? The recording angel, who writes in the book of gold, alone could

"I think not. When you parted from him after the minuet he stood and watched you, for a moment or two,

with a look which gave me to understand that something had happened between you. It was only natural, was

it not? that I should make a shrewd guess as to the nature of that `something.' I thereupon engaged the young

man in a long and animated conversationwe discussed Herr Gluck's singular success in Londonuntil a

"I did not lose sight of him through supper. When we all came upstairs again, Lady Portarles buttonholed him

and started on the subject of pretty Mlle. Suzanne de Tournay. I knew he would not move until Lady

Portarles had exhausted on the subject, which will not be for another quarter of an hour at least, and it is five

He was preparing to go, and went up to the doorway where, drawing aside the curtain, he stood for a moment

pointing out to Marguerite the distant figure of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes in close conversation with Lady

"I think," he said, with a triumphant smile, "that I may safely expect to find the person I seek in the

"Whoever is there, as the clock strikes one, will be shadowed by one of my men; of these, one, or perhaps

two, or even three, will leave for France tomorrow. ONE of these will be the `Scarlet Pimpernel.'"

"I also, fair lady, will leave for France tomorrow. The papers found at Dover upon the person of Sir Andrew

Ffoulkes speak of the neighborhood of Calais, of an inn which I know well, called `Le Chat Gris,' of a lonely

place somewhere on the coastthe Pere Blanchard's hutwhich I must endeavor to find. All these places

are given as the point where this meddlesome Englishman has bidden the traitor de Tournay and others to

meet his emissaries. But it seems that he has decided not to send his emissaries, that `he will start himself

tomorrow.' Now, one of these persons whom I shall see anon in the supperroom, will be journeying to

Calais, and I shall follow that person, until I have tracked him to where those fugitive aristocrats await him;

for that person, fair lady, will be the man whom I have sought for, for nearly a year, the man whose energies

has outdone me, whose ingenuity has baffled me, whose audacity has set me wonderingyes! me!who

have seen a trick or two in my timethe mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Have I ever broken my word? I promise you that the day the Scarlet Pimpernel and I start for France, I will

send you that imprudent letter of his by special courier. More than that, I will pledge you the word of France,

that the day I lay hands on that meddlesome Englishman, St. Just will be here in England, safe in the arms of

And with a deep and elaborate bow and another look at the clock, Chauvelin glided out of the room.

It seemed to Marguerite that through all the noise, all the din of music, dancing, and laughter, she could hear

his catlike tread, gliding through the vast receptionrooms; that she could hear him go down the massive

staircase, reach the diningroom and open the door. Fate HAD decided, had made her speak, had made her

do a vile and abominable thing, for the sake of the brother she loved. She lay back in her chair, passive and

still, seeing the figure of her relentless enemy ever present before her aching eyes.

When Chauvelin reached the supperroom it was quite deserted. It had that woebegone, forsaken, tawdry

Halfempty glasses littered the table, unfolded napkins lay about, the chairsturned towards one another in

groups of twos and threesvery close to one anotherin the far corners of the room, which spoke of recent

whispered flirtations, over cold gamepie and champagne; there were sets of three and four chairs, that

recalled pleasant, animated discussions over the latest scandal; there were chairs straight up in a row that still

looked starchy, critical, acid, like antiquated dowager; there were a few isolated, single chairs, close to the

table, that spoke of gourmands intent on the most RECHERCHE dishes, and others overturned on the floor,

It was a ghostlike replica, in fact, of that fashionable gathering upstairs; a ghost that haunts every house

where balls and good suppers are given; a picture drawn with white chalk on grey cardboard, dull and

colourless, now that the bright silk dresses and gorgeously embroidered coats were no longer there to fill in

Chauvelin smiled benignly, and rubbing his long, thin hands together, he looked round the deserted

supperroom, whence even the last flunkey had retired in order to join his friends in the hall below. All was

silence in the dimlylighted room, whilst the sound of the gavotte, the hum of distant talk and laughter, and

the rumble of an occasional coach outside, only seemed to reach this palace of the Sleeping Beauty as the

It all looked so peaceful, so luxurious, and so still, that the keenest observera veritable prophetcould

never have guessed that, at this present moment, that deserted supperroom was nothing but a trap laid for

the capture of the most cunning and audacious plotter those stirring times had ever seen.

Chauvelin pondered and tried to peer into the immediate future. What would this man be like, whom he and

the leaders of the whole revolution had sworn to bring to his death? Everything about him was weird and

mysterious; his personality, which he so cunningly concealed, the power he wielded over nineteen English

gentlemen who seemed to obey his every command blindly and enthusiastically, the passionate love and

submission he had roused in his little trained band, and, above all, his marvellous audacity, the boundless

impudence which had caused him to beard his most implacable enemies, within the very walls of Paris.

No wonder that in France the SOBRIQUET of the mysterious Englishman roused in the people a

superstitious shudder. Chauvelin himself as he gazed round the deserted room, where presently the weird

But his plans were well laid. He felt sure that the Scarlet Pimpernel had not been warned, and felt equally

sure that Marguerite Blakeney had not played him false. If she had. . . .a cruel look, that would have made her

shudder, gleamed in Chauvelin's keen, pale eyes. If she had played him a trick, Armand St. Just would suffer

Fortunately the supperroom was deserted: this would make Chauvelin's task all the easier, when presently

that unsuspecting enigma would enter it alone. No one was here now save Chauvelin himself.

Stay! as he surveyed with a satisfied smile the solitude of the room, the cunning agent of the French

Government became aware of the peaceful, monotonous breathing of some one of my Lord Grenville's

guests, who, no doubt, had supped both wisely and well, and was enjoying a quiet sleep, away from the din of

Chauvelin looked round once more, and there in the corner of a sofa, in the dark angle of the room, his mouth

open, his eyes shut, the sweet sounds of peaceful slumbers proceedings from his nostrils, reclined the

Chauvelin looked at him as he lay there, placid, unconscious, at peace with all the world and himself, after

the best of suppers, and a smile, that was almost one of pity, softened for a moment the hard lines of the

Evidently the slumberer, deep in dreamless sleep, would not interfere with Chauvelin's trap for catching that

cunning Scarlet Pimpernel. Again he rubbed his hands together, and, following the example of Sir Percy

Blakeney, he too, stretched himself out in the corner of another sofa, shut his eyes, opened his mouth, gave

Marguerite Blakeney had watched the slight sableclad figure of Chauvelin, as he worked his way through

the ballroom. Then perforce she had had to wait, while her nerves tingled with excitement.

Listlessly she sat in the small, still deserted boudoir, looking out through the curtained doorway on the

dancing couples beyond: looking at them, yet seeing nothing, hearing the music, yet conscious of naught save

Her mind conjured up before her the vision of what was, perhaps at this very moment, passing downstairs.

The halfdeserted diningroom, the fateful hourChauvelin on the watch!then, precise to the moment,

the entrance of a man, he, the Scarlet Pimpernel, the mysterious leader, who to Marguerite had become

She wished she were in the supperroom, too, at this moment, watching him as he entered; she knew that her

woman's penetration would at once recognise in the stranger's facewhoever he might bethat strong

individuality which belongs to a leader of mento a hero: to the mighty, highsoaring eagle, whose daring

Womanlike, she thought of him with unmixed sadness; the irony of that fate seemed so cruel which allowed

the fearless lion to succumb to the gnawing of a rat! Ah! had Armand's life not been at stake!. . .

"Faith! your ladyship must have thought me very remiss," said a voice suddenly, close to her elbow. "I had a

deal of difficulty in delivering your message, for I could not find Blakeney anywhere at first. . ."

Marguerite had forgotten all about her husband and her message to him; his very name, as spoken by Lord

Fancourt, sounded strange and unfamiliar to her, so completely had she in the last five minutes lived her old

life in the Rue de Richelieu again, with Armand always near her to love and protect her, to guard her from the

"I did find him at last," continued Lord Fancourt, "and gave him your message. He said that he would give

"Ah!" she said, still very absently, "you found my husband, and gave him my message?"

"Yes; he was in the diningroom fast asleep. I could not manage to wake him up at first."

"Will your ladyship honour me with the CONTREDANSE until your coach is ready?" asked Lord Fancourt.

"No, I thank you, my lord, butand you will forgive meI really am too tired, and the heat in the

"The conservatory is deliciously cool; let me take you there, and then get you something. You seem ailing,

"I am only very tired," she repeated wearily, as she allowed Lord Fancourt to lead her, where subdued lights

and green plants lent coolness to the air. He got her a chair, into which she sank. This long interval of waiting

was intolerable. Why did not Chauvelin come and tell her the result of his watch?

Lord Fancourt was very attentive. She scarcely heard what he said, and suddenly startled him by asking

"Lord Fancourt, did you perceive who was in the diningroom just now besides Sir Percy Blakeney?"

"Only the agent of the French government, M. Chauvelin, equally fast asleep in another corner," he said.

"It must have been about five or ten minutes past one. . . . I wonder what your ladyship is thinking about," he

added, for evidently the fair lady's thoughts were very far away, and she had not been listening to his

But indeed her thoughts were not very far away: only one storey below, in this same house, in the

diningroom where sat Chauvelin still on the watch. Had he failed? For one instant that possibility rose

before as a hopethe hope that the Scarlet Pimpernel had been warned by Sir Andrew, and that Chauvelin's

trap had failed to catch his bird; but that hope soon gave way to fear. Had he failed? But thenArmand!

Lord Fancourt had given up talking since he found that he had no listener. He wanted an opportunity for

slipping away; for sitting opposite to a lady, however fair, who is evidently not heeding the most vigorous

efforts made for her entertainment, is not exhilarating, even to a Cabinet Minister.

"Shall I find out if your ladyship's coach is ready," he said at last, tentatively.

"Oh, thank you. . .thank you. . .if you would be so kind. . .I fear I am but sorry company. . .but I am really

But Lord Fancourt went, and still Chauvelin did not come. Oh! what had happened? She felt Armand's fate

trembling in the balance. . .she fearednow with a deadly fear that Chauvelin HAD failed, and that the

mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel had proved elusive once more; then she knew that she need hope for no pity, no

He had pronounced his "Eitheror" and nothing less would content him: he was very spiteful, and would

affect the belief that she had wilfully misled him, and having failed to trap the eagle once again, his

Yet she had done her best; had strained every nerve for Armand's sake. She could not bear to think that all

had failed. She could not sit still; she wanted to go and hear the worst at once; she wondered even that

Lord Grenville himself came presently to tell her that her coach was ready, and that Sir Percy was already

waiting for herribbons in hand. Marguerite said "Farewell" to her distinguished host; many of her friends

stopped her, as she crossed the rooms, to talk to her, and exchange pleasant AU REVOIRS.

The Minister only took final leave of beautiful Lady Blakeney on the top of the stairs; below, on the landing,

a veritable army of gallant gentlemen were waiting to bid "Goodbye" to the queen of beauty and fashion,

whilst outside, under the massive portico, Sir Percy's magnificent bays were impatient pawing the ground.

At the top of the stairs, just after she had taken final leave of her host, she suddenly say Chauvelin; he was

There was a curious look on his mobile face, partly amused and wholly puzzled, as his keen eyes met

"M. Chauvelin," she said, as he stopped on the top of the stairs, bowing elaborately before her, "my coach is

As gallant as ever, he offered her his arm and led her downstairs. The crowd was very great, some of the

Minister's guests were departing, others were leaning against the banisters watching the throng as it filed up

"You are torturing me, Chauvelin. I have helped you tonight. . .surely I have the right to know. What

She spoke in a whisper, trusting that in the general hubbub of the crowd her words would remain unheeded

"Quiet and peace reigned supreme, fair lady; at that hour I was asleep in one corner of one sofa and Sir Percy

"Ah! Armand St. Just's chances hang on a thread. . .pray heaven, dear lady, that that thread may not snap."

"I remember my promise," he said quietly. "The day that the Scarlet Pimpernel and I meet on French soil, St.

"Which means that a brave man's blood will be on my hands," she said, with a shudder.

"His blood, or that of your brother. Surely at the present moment you must hope, as I do, that the enigmatical

"That Satan, your master, will have need of you elsewhere, before the sun rises today."

She had detained him for a while, midway down the stairs, trying to get at the thoughts which lay beyond

that thin, foxlike mask. But Chauvelin remained urbane, sarcastic, mysterious; not a line betrayed to the

Downstairs on the landing she was soon surrounded. Lady Blakeney never stepped from any house into her

coach, without an escort of fluttering human moths around the dazzling light of her beauty. But before she

finally turned away from Chauvelin, she held out a tiny hand to him, with that pretty gesture of childish

With perfect gallantry he bowed over that tiny hand, which looked so dainty and white through the delicately

"Pray heaven that the thread may not snap," he repeated, with his enigmatic smile.

And stepping aside, he allowed the moths to flutter more closely round the candle, and the brilliant throng of

the JEUNESSE DOREE, eagerly attentive to Lady Blakeney's every movement, hid the keen, foxlike face

A few minutes later she was sitting, wrapped in cozy furs, near Sir Percy Blakeney on the boxseat of his

magnificent coach, and the four splendid bays had thundered down the quiet street.

The night was warm in spite of the gentle breeze which fanned Marguerite's burning cheeks. Soon London

houses were left behind, and rattling over old Hammersmith Bridge, Sir Percy was driving his bays rapidly

The river wound in and out in its pretty delicate curves, looking like a silver serpent beneath the glittering

rays of the moon. Long shadows from overhanging trees spread occasional deep palls right across the road.

The bays were rushing along at breakneck speed, held but slightly back by Sir Percy's strong, unerring hands.

These nightly drives after balls and suppers in London were a source of perpetual delight to Marguerite, and

she appreciated her husband's eccentricity keenly, which caused him to adopt this mode of taking her home

every night, to their beautiful home by the river, instead of living in a stuffy London house. He loved driving

his spirited horses along the lonely, moonlit roads, and she loved to sit on the boxseat, with the soft air of an

English late summer's night fanning her face after the hot atmosphere of a ball or supperparty. The drive

was not a long oneless than an hour, sometimes, when the bays were very fresh, and Sir Percy gave them

Tonight he seemed to have a very devil in his fingers, and the coach seemed to fly along the road, beside the

river. As usual, he did not speak to her, but stared straight in front of him, the ribbons seeming to lie quite

loosely in his slender, white hands. Marguerite looked at him tentatively once or twice; she could see his

handsome profile, and one lazy eye, with its straight fine brow and drooping heavy lid.

The face in the moonlight looked singularly earnest, and recalled to Marguerite's aching heart those happy

days of courtship, before he had become the lazy nincompoop, the effete fop, whose life seemed spent in card

But now, in the moonlight, she could not catch the expression of the lazy blue eyes; she could only see the

outline of the firm chin, the corner of the strong mouth, the wellcut massive shape of the forehead; truly,

nature had meant well by Sir Percy; his faults must all be laid at the door of that poor, halfcrazy mother, and

of the distracted heartbroken father, neither of whom had cared for the young life which was sprouting up

between them, and which, perhaps, their very carelessness was already beginning to wreck.

Marguerite suddenly felt intense sympathy for her husband. The moral crisis she had just gone through made

How thoroughly a human being can be buffeted and overmastered by Fate, had been borne in upon her with

appalling force. Had anyone told her a week ago that she would stoop to spy upon her friends, that she would

betray a brave and unsuspecting man into the hands of a relentless enemy, she would have laughed the idea to

Yet she had done these things; anon, perhaps the death of that brave man would be at her door, just as two

years ago the Marquis de St. Cyr had perished through a thoughtless words of hers; but in that case she was

morally innocentshe had meant no serious harmfate merely had stepped in. But this time she had done a

thing that obviously was base, had done it deliberately, for a motive which, perhaps, high moralists would not

As she felt her husband's strong arm beside her, she also felt how much more he would dislike and despise

her, if he knew of this night's work. Thus human beings judge of one another, with but little reason, and no

charity. She despised her husband for his inanities and vulgar, unintellectual occupations; and he, she felt,

would despise her still worse, because she had not been strong enough to do right for right's sake, and to

Buried in her thoughts, Marguerite had found this hour in the breezy summer night all too brief; and it was

with a feeling of keen disappointment, that she suddenly realised that the bays had turned into the massive

Sir Percy Blakeney's house on the river has become a historic one: palatial in its dimensions, it stands in the

midst of exquisitely laidout gardens, with a picturesque terrace and frontage to the river. Built in Tudor

days, the old red brick of the walls looks eminently picturesque in the midst of a bower of green, the beautiful

lawn, with its old sundial, adding the true note of harmony to its foregrounds, and now, on this warm early

autumn night, the leaves slightly turned to russets and gold, the old garden looked singularly poetic and

With unerring precision, Sir Percy had brought the four bays to a standstill immediately in front of the fine

Elizabethan entrance hall; in spite of the late hour, an army of grooms seemed to have emerged from the very

Sir Percy jumped down quickly, then helped Marguerite to alight. She lingered outside a moment, whilst he

gave a few orders to one of his men. She skirted the house, and stepped on to the lawn, looking out dreamily

into the silvery landscape. Nature seemed exquisitely at peace, in comparison with the tumultuous emotions

she had gone through: she could faintly hear the ripple of the river and the occasional soft and ghostlike fall

All else was quiet round her. She had heard the horses prancing as they were being led away to their distant

stables, the hurrying of servant's feet as they had all gone within to rest: the house also was quite still. In two

separate suites of apartments, just above the magnificent receptionrooms, lights were still burning, they

were her rooms, and his, well divided from each other by the whole width of the house, as far apart as their

own lives had become. Involuntarily she sighedat that moment she could really not have told why.

She was suffering from unconquerable heartache. Deeply and achingly she was sorry for herself. Never had

she felt so pitiably lonely, so bitterly in want of comfort and of sympathy. With another sigh she turned away

from the river towards the house, vaguely wondering if, after such a night, she could ever find rest and sleep.

Suddenly, before she reached the terrace, she heard a firm step upon the crisp gravel, and the next moment

her husband's figure emerged out of the shadow. He too, had skirted the house, and was wandering along the

lawn, towards the river. He still wore his heavy driving coat with the numerous lapels and collars he himself

had set in fashion, but he had thrown it well back, burying his hands as was his wont, in the deep pockets of

his satin breeches: the gorgeous white costume he had worn at Lord Grenville's ball, with its jabot of

priceless lace, looked strangely ghostly against the dark background of the house.

He apparently did not notice her, for, after a few moments pause, he presently turned back towards the house,

He already had one foot on the lowest of the terrace steps, but at her voice he started, and paused, then looked

She came forward quickly into the moonlight, and, as soon as he saw her, he said, with that air of

But his foot was still on the step, and in his whole attitude there was a remote suggestion, distinctly visible to

"The air is deliciously cool," she said, "the moonlight peaceful and poetic, and the garden inviting. Will you

not stay in it awhile; the hour is not yet late, or is my company so distasteful to you, that you are in a hurry to

"Nay, Madame," he rejoined placidly, "but `tis on the other foot the shoe happens to be, and I'll warrant you'll

find the midnight air more poetic without my company: no doubt the sooner I remove the obstruction the

"I protest you mistake me, Sir Percy," she said hurriedly, and drawing a little closer to him; "the

estrangement, which alas! has arisen between us, was none of my making, remember."

"Begad! you must pardon me there, Madame!" he protested coldly, "my memory was always of the shortest."

He looked her straight in the eyes, with that lazy nonchalance which had become second nature to him. She

returned his gaze for a moment, then her eyes softened, as she came up quite close to him, to the foot of the

"Of the shortest, Sir Percy! Faith! how it must have altered! Was it three years ago or four that you saw me

for one hour in Paris, on your way to the East? When you came back two years later you had not forgotten

She looked divinely pretty as she stood there in the moonlight, with the furcloak sliding off her beautiful

shoulders, the gold embroidery on her dress shimmering around her, her childlike blue eyes turned up fully at

He stood for a moment, rigid and still, but for the clenching of his hand against the stone balustrade of the

"You desired my presence, Madame," he said frigidly. "I take it that it was not with the view to indulging in

His voice certainly was cold and uncompromising: his attitude before her, stiff and unbending. Womanly

decorum would have suggested Marguerite should return coldness for coldness, and should sweep past him

without another word, only with a curt nod of her head: but womanly instinct suggested that she should

remainthat keen instinct, which makes a beautiful woman conscious of her powers long to bring to her

"Nay, Sir Percy, why not? the present is not so glorious but that I should not wish to dwell a little in the past."

He bent his tall figure, and taking hold of the extreme tip of the fingers which she still held out to him, he

"I' faith, Madame," he said, "then you will pardon me, if my dull wits cannot accompany you there."

Once again he attempted to go, once more her voice, sweet, childlike, almost tender, called him back.

"Is it possible that love can die?" she said with sudden, unreasoning vehemence. "Methought that the passion

which you once felt for me would outlast the span of human life. Is there nothing left of that love, Percy. .

His massive figure seemed, while she spoke thus to him, to stiffen still more, the strong mouth hardened, a

"Yet `tis simple enough," he said with sudden bitterness, which seemed literally to surge through his words,

though he was making visible efforts to suppress it, "I humbly put the question to you, for my slow wits are

unable to grasp the cause of this, your ladyship's sudden new mood. Is it that you have the taste to renew the

devilish sport which you played so successfully last year? Do you wish to see me once more a lovesick

suppliant at your feet, so that you might again have the pleasure of kicking me aside, like a troublesome

She had succeeded in rousing him for the moment: and again she looked straight at him, for it was thus she

"Pardon me, Madame, but I understood you to say that your desire was to dwell in it."

"Nay! I spoke not of THAT past, Percy!" she said, while a tone of tenderness crept into her voice. "Rather did

I speak of a time when you loved me still! and I. . .oh! I was vain and frivolous; your wealth and position

allured me: I married you, hoping in my heart that your great love for me would beget in me a love for you. .

The moon had sunk low down behind a bank of clouds. In the east a soft grey light was beginning to chase

away the heavy mantle of the night. He could only see her graceful outline now, the small queenly head, with

its wealth of reddish golden curls, and the glittering gems forming the small, starshaped, red flower which

"Twentyfour hours after our marriage, Madame, the Marquis de St. Cyr and all his family perished on the

guillotine, and the popular rumour reached me that it was the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney who helped to send

"Not till after it had been recounted to me by strangers, with all its horrible details."

"And you believed them then and there," she said with great vehemence, "without a proof or questionyou

believed that I, whom you vowed you loved more than life, whom you professed you worshipped, that _I_

could do a thing so base as these STRANGERS chose to recount. You thought I meant to deceive you about

it allthat I ought to have spoken before I married you: yet, had you listened, I would have told you that up

to the very morning on which St. Cyr went to the guillotine, I was straining every nerve, using every

influence I possessed, to save him and his family. But my pride sealed my lips, when your love seemed to

perish, as if under the knife of that same guillotine. Yet I would have told you how I was duped! Aye! I,

whom that same popular rumour had endowed with the sharpest wits in France! I was tricked into doing this

thing, by men who knew how to play upon my love for an only brother, and my desire for revenge. Was it

Her voice became choked with tears. She paused for a moment or two, trying to regain some sort of

composure. She looked appealingly at him, almost as if he were her judge. He had allowed her to speak on in

her own vehement, impassioned way, offering no comment, no word of sympathy: and now, while she

paused, trying to swallow down the hot tears that gushed to her eyes, he waited, impassive and still. The dim,

grey light of early dawn seemed to make his tall form look taller and more rigid. The lazy, goodnatured face

looked strangely altered. Marguerite, excited, as she was, could see that the eyes were no longer languid, the

mouth no longer goodhumoured and inane. A curious look of intense passion seemed to glow from beneath

his drooping lids, the mouth was tightly closed, the lips compressed, as if the will alone held that surging

Marguerite Blakeney was, above all, a woman, with all a woman's fascinating foibles, all a woman's most

lovable sins. She knew in a moment that for the past few months she had been mistaken: that this man who

stood here before her, cold as a statue, when her musical voice struck upon his ear, loved her, as he had loved

her a year ago: that his passion might have been dormant, but that it was there, as strong, as intense, as

Pride had kept him from her, and, womanlike, she meant to win back that conquest which had been hers

before. Suddenly it seemed to her that the only happiness life could every hold for her again would be in

"Listen to the tale, Sir Percy," she said, and her voice was low, sweet, infinitely tender. "Armand was all in

all to me! We had no parents, and brought one another up. He was my little father, and I, his tiny mother; we

loved one another so. Then one daydo you mind me, Sir Percy? the Marquis de St. Cyr had my brother

Armand thrashedthrashed by his lacqueysthat brother whom I loved better than all the world! And his

offence? That he, a plebeian, had dared to love the daughter of the aristocrat; for that he was waylaid and

thrashed. . .thrashed like a dog within an inch of his life! Oh, how I suffered! his humiliation had eaten into

my very soul! When the opportunity occurred, and I was able to take my revenge, I took it. But I only thought

to bring that proud marquis to trouble and humiliation. He plotted with Austria against his own country.

Chance gave me knowledge of this; I spoke of it, but I did not knowhow could I guess?they trapped and

"It is perhaps a little difficult, Madame," said Sir Percy, after a moment of silence between them, "to go back

over the past. I have confessed to you that my memory is short, but the thought certainly lingered in my mind

that, at the time of the Marquis' death, I entreated you for an explanation of those same noisome popular

rumours. If that same memory does not, even now, play me a trick, I fancy that you refused me ALL

explanation then, and demanded of my love a humiliating allegiance it was not prepared to give."

"I wished to test your love for me, and it did not bear the test. You used to tell me that you drew the very

"And to probe that love, you demanded that I should forfeit mine honour," he said, whilst gradually his

impassiveness seemed to leave him, his rigidity to relax; "that I should accept without murmur or question, as

a dumb and submissive slave, every action of my mistress. My heart overflowing with love and passion, I

ASKED for no explanationI WAITED for one, not doubtingonly hoping. Had you spoken but one word,

from you I would have accepted any explanation and believed it. But you left me without a word, beyond a

bald confession of the actual horrible facts; proudly you returned to your brother's house, and left me alone. .

.for weeks. . .not knowing, now, in whom to believe, since the shrine, which contained my one illusion, lay

She need not complain now that he was cold and impassive; his very voice shook with an intensity of

"Aye! the madness of my pride!" she said sadly. "Hardly had I gone, already I had repented. But when I

returned, I found you, oh, so altered! wearing already that mask of somnolent indifference which you have

She was so close to him that her soft, loose hair was wafted against his cheek; her eyes, glowing with tears,

maddened him, the music in her voice sent fire through his veins. But he would not yield to the magic charm

of this woman whom he had so deeply loved, and at whose hands his pride had suffered so bitterly. He closed

his eyes to shut out the dainty vision of that sweet face, of that snowwhite neck and graceful figure, round

"Nay, Madame, it is no mask," he said icily; "I swore to you. . .once, that my life was yours. For months now

But now she knew that the very coldness was a mask. The trouble, the sorrow she had gone through last

night, suddenly came back into her mind, but no longer with bitterness, rather with a feeling that this man

"Sir Percy," she said impulsively, "Heaven knows you have been at pains to make the task, which I had set to

myself, difficult to accomplish. You spoke of my mood just now; well! we will call it that, if you will. I

wished to speak to you. . .because. . .because I was in trouble. . .and had need. . .of your sympathy."

"How cold you are!" she sighed. "Faith! I can scarce believe that but a few months ago one tear in my eye

had set you wellnigh crazy. Now I come to you. . .with a halfbroken heart. . .and. . . and. . ."

"I pray you, Madame," he said, whilst his voice shook almost as much as hers, "in what way can I serve

"Percy!Armand is in deadly danger. A letter of his. . . rash, impetuous, as were all his actions, and written

to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, has fallen into the hands of a fanatic. Armand is hopelessly compromised. .

.tomorrow, perhaps he will be arrested. . . after that the guillotine. . .unless. . .oh! it is horrible!". . . she said,

with a sudden wail of anguish, as all the events of the past night came rushing back to her mind, "horrible!. .

.and you do not understand. . .you cannot. . .and I have no one to whom I can turn. . .for help. . .or even for

Tears now refused to be held back. All her trouble, her struggles, the awful uncertainty of Armand's fate

overwhelmed her. She tottered, ready to fall, and leaning against the tone balustrade, she buried her face in

At first mention of Armand St. Just's name and of the peril in which he stood, Sir Percy's face had become a

shade more pale; and the look of determination and obstinacy appeared more marked than ever between his

eyes. However, he said nothing for the moment, but watched her, as her delicate frame was shaken with sobs,

watched her until unconsciously his face softened, and what looked almost like tears seemed to glisten in his

"And so," he said with bitter sarcasm, "the murderous dog of the revolution is turning upon the very hands

that fed it?. . .Begad, Madame," he added very gently, as Marguerite continued to sob hysterically, "will you

Instinctively, with sudden overmastering passion at the sight of her helplessness and of her grief, he stretched

out his arms, and the next, would have seized her and held her to him, protected from every evil with his very

life, his very heart's blood. . . . But pride had the better of it in this struggle once again; he restrained himself

"Will you not turn to me, Madame, and tell me in what way I may have the honour to serve you?"

She made a violent effort to control herself, and turning her tearstained face to him, she once more held out

her hand, which he kissed with the same punctilious gallantry; but Marguerite's fingers, this time, lingered in

his hand for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary, and this was because she had felt that his

hand trembled perceptibly and was burning hot, whilst his lips felt as cold as marble.

"Can you do aught for Armand?" she said sweetly and simply. "You have so much influence at court. . .so

"Nay, Madame, should you not seek the influence of your French friend, M. Chauvelin? His extends, if I

"I cannot ask him, Percy. . . . Oh! I wish I dared to tell you. . .but. . .but. . .he has put a price on my brother's

She would have given worlds if she had felt the courage then to tell him everything. . .all she had done that

nighthow she had suffered and how her hand had been forced. But she dared not give way to that impulse.

. .not now, when she was just beginning to feel that he still loved her, when she hoped that she could win him

back. She dared not make another confession to him. After all, he might not understand; he might not

sympathise with her struggles and temptation. His love still dormant might sleep the sleep of death.

Perhaps he divined what was passing in her mind. His whole attitude was one of intense longinga veritable

prayer for that confidence, which her foolish pride withheld from him. When she remained silent he sighed,

"Faith, Madame, since it distresses you, we will not speak of it. . . . As for Armand, I pray you have no fear. I

pledge you my word that he shall be safe. Now, have I your permission to go? The hour is getting late, and. .

"You will at least accept my gratitude?" she said, as she drew quite close to him, and speaking with real

With a quick, almost involuntary effort he would have taken her then in his arms, for her eyes were

swimming in tears, which he longed to kiss away; but she had lured him once, just like this, then cast him

aside like an illfitting glove. He thought this was but a mood, a caprice, and he was too proud to lend

"It is too soon, Madame!" he said quietly; "I have done nothing as yet. The hour is late, and you must be

He stood aside to allow her to pass. She sighed, a quick sigh of disappointment. His pride and her beauty had

been in direct conflict, and his pride had remained the conqueror. Perhaps, after all, she had been deceived

just now; what she took to be the light of love in his eyes might only have been the passion of pride or, who

knows, of hatred instead of love. She stood looking at him for a moment or two longer. He was again as rigid,

as impassive, as before. Pride had conquered, and he cared naught for her. The grey light of dawn was

gradually yielding to the rosy light of the rising sun. Birds began to twitter; Nature awakened, smiling in

happy response to the warmth of this glorious October morning. Only between these two hearts there lay a

strong, impassable barrier, built up of pride on both sides, which neither of them cared to be the first to

He had bent his tall figure in a low ceremonious bow, as she finally, with another bitter little sigh, began to

The long train of her goldembroidered gown swept the dead leaves off the steps, making a faint harmonious

shshsh as she glided up, with one hand resting on the balustrade, the rosy light of dawn making an

aureole of gold round her hair, and causing the rubies on her head and arms to sparkle. She reached the tall

glass doors which led into the house. Before entering, she paused once again to look at him, hoping against

hope to see his arms stretched out to her, and to hear his voice calling her back. But he had not moved; his

massive figure looked the very personification of unbending pride, of fierce obstinacy.

Hot tears again surged to her eyes, as she would not let him see them, she turned quickly within, and ran as

Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more on to the roselit garden, she would have seen that

which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to beara strong man, overwhelmed

with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was

powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footsteps had died

away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed

one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand

When Marguerite reached her room, she found her maid terribly anxious about her.

"Your ladyship will be so tired," said the poor woman, whose own eyes were half closed with sleep. "It is

"Ah, yes, Louise, I daresay I shall be tired presently," said Marguerite, kindly; "but you are very tired now, so

Louise was only too glad to obey. She took off her mistress's gorgeous balldress, and wrapped her up in a

When the maid was gone, Marguerite drew aside the curtains and threw open the windows. The garden and

the river beyond were flooded with rosy light. Far away to the east, the rays of the rising sun had changed the

rose into vivid gold. The lawn was deserted now, and Marguerite looked down upon the terrace where she

had stood a few moments ago trying in vain to win back a man's love, which once had been so wholly hers.

It was strange that through all her troubles, all her anxiety for Armand, she was mostly conscious at the

Her very limbs seemed to ache with longing for the love of a man who had spurned her, who had resisted her

tenderness, remained cold to her appeals, and had not responded to the glow of passion, which had caused her

to feel and hope that those happy olden days in Paris were not all dead and forgotten.

How strange it all was! She loved him still. And now that she looked back upon the last few months of

misunderstandings and of loneliness, she realised that she had never ceased to love him; that deep down in

her heart she had always vaguely felt that his foolish inanities, his empty laugh, his lazy nonchalance were

nothing but a mask; that the real man, strong, passionate, wilful, was there stillthe man she had loved,

whose intensity had fascinated her, whose personality attracted her, since she always felt that behind his

apparently slow wits there was a certain something, which he kept hidden from all the world, and most

A woman's heart is such a complex problemthe owner thereof is often most incompetent to find the

Did Marguerite Blakeney, "the cleverest woman in Europe," really love a fool? Was it love that she had felt

for him a year ago when she married him? Was it love she felt for him now that she realised that he still loved

her, but that he would not become her slave, her passionate, ardent lover once again? Nay! Marguerite herself

could not have told that. Not at this moment at any rate; perhaps her pride had sealed her mind against a

better understanding of her own heart. But this she did knowthat she meant to capture that obstinate heart

back again. That she would conquer once more. . .and then, that she would never lose him. . . . She would

keep him, keep his love, deserve it, and cherish it; for this much was certain, that there was no longer any

Thus the most contradictory thoughts and emotions rushed madly through her mind. Absorbed in them, she

had allowed time to slip by; perhaps, tired out with long excitement, she had actually closed her eyes and

sunk into a troubled sleep, wherein quickly fleeting dreams seemed but the continuation of her anxious

thoughtswhen suddenly she was roused, from dream or meditation, by the noise of footsteps outside her

Nervously she jumped up and listened; the house itself was as still as ever; the footsteps had retreated.

Through her wideopen window the brilliant rays of the morning sun were flooding her room with light. She

looked up at the clock; it was halfpast sixtoo early for any of the household to be already astir.

She certainly must have dropped asleep, quite unconsciously. The noise of the footsteps, also of hushed

Gently, on tiptoe, she crossed the room and opened the door to listen; not a soundthat peculiar stillness of

the early morning when sleep with all mankind is at its heaviest. But the noise had made her nervous, and

when, suddenly, at her feet, on the very doorstep, she saw something white lying therea letter

evidentlyshe hardly dared touch it. It seemed so ghostlike. It certainly was not there when she came

upstairs; had Louise dropped it? or was some tantalising spook at play, showing her fairy letters where none

At last she stooped to pick it up, and, amazed, puzzled beyond measure, she saw that the letter was addressed

to herself in her husband's large, businesslikelooking hand. What could he have to say to her, in the middle

"A most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for the North immediately, so I beg your ladyship's

pardon if I do not avail myself of the honour of bidding you goodbye. My business may keep me employed

for about a week, so I shall not have the privilege of being present at your ladyship's waterparty on

Marguerite must suddenly have been imbued with her husband's slowness of intellect, for she had perforce to

read the few simple lines over and over again, before she could fully grasp their meaning.

She stood on the landing, turning over and over in her hand this curt and mysterious epistle, her mind a blank,

her nerves strained with agitation and a presentiment she could not very well have explained.

Sir Percy owned considerable property in the North, certainly, and he had often before gone there alone and

stayed away a week at a time; but it seemed so very strange that circumstances should have arisen between

five and six o'clock in the morning that compelled him to start in this extreme hurry.

Vainly she tried to shake off an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness: she was trembling from head to foot. A

wild, unconquerable desire seized her to see her husband again, at once, if only he had not already started.

Forgetting the fact that she was only very lightly clad in a morning wrap, and that her hair lay loosely about

her shoulders, she flew down the stairs, right through the hall towards the front door.

It was as usual barred and bolted, for the indoor servants were not yet up; but her keen ears had detected the

With nervous, trembling fingers Marguerite undid the bolts one by one, bruising her hands, hurting her nails,

for the locks were heavy and stiff. But she did not care; her whole frame shook with anxiety at the very

thought that she might be too late; that he might have gone without her seeing him and bidding him

At last, she had turned the key and thrown open the door. Her ears had not deceived her. A groom was

standing close by holding a couple of horses; one of these was Sultan, Sir Percy's favourite and swiftest

The next moment Sir Percy himself appeared round the further corner of the house and came quickly towards

the horses. He had changed his gorgeous ball costume, but was as usual irreproachably and richly apparelled

in a suit of fine cloth, with lace jabot and ruffles, high topboots, and riding breeches.

Marguerite went forward a few steps. He looked up and saw her. A slight frown appeared between his eyes.

"As I have had the honour of informing your ladyship, urgent, most unexpected business calls me to the

"I have prayed your ladyship to offer my humble excuses to His Royal Highness. You are such a perfect

"But surely you might have waited for your journey. . .until after our waterparty. . ." she said, still speaking

quickly and nervously. "Surely this business is not so urgent. . .and you said nothing about itjust now."

"My business, as I had the honour to tell you, Madame, is as unexpected as it is urgent. . . . May I therefore

crave your permission to go. . . . Can I do aught for you in town?. . .on my way back?"

He was evidently trying to get away, whilst she was straining every nerve to keep him back for a moment or

"Percy," she said, "will you not tell me why you go today? Surely I, as your wife, have the right to know.

You have NOT been called away to the North. I know it. There were no letters, no couriers from there before

we left for the opera last night, and nothing was waiting for you when we returned from the ball. . . . You are

NOT going to the North, I feel convinced. . . . There is some mystery. . .and. . ."

"Nay, there is no mystery, Madame," he replied, with a slight tone of impatience. "My business has to do

"Danger? I?. . .Nay, Madame, your solicitude does me honour. As you say, I have some influence; my

"Nay, Madame," he said coldly, "there is no need for that. My life is at your service, and I am already more

"And mine will be at yours, Sir Percy, if you will but accept it, in exchange for what you do for Armand," she

said, as, impulsively, she stretched out both her hands to him. "There! I will not detain you. . .my thoughts go

How lovely she looked in this morning sunlight, with her ardent hair streaming around her shoulders. He

bowed very low and kissed her hand; she felt the burning kiss and her heart thrilled with joy and hope.

"Any. . .you will remember?. . ." she asked as her eyes, in response to his look, gave him an infinity of

"I will always remember, Madame, that you have honoured me by commanding my services."

The words were cold and formal, but they did not chill her this time. Her woman's heart had read his, beneath

He bowed to her again, then begged her leave to depart. She stood on one side whilst he jumped on to

Sultan's back, then, as he galloped out of the gates, she waved him a final "Adieu."

A bend in the road soon hid him from view; his confidential groom had some difficulty in keeping pace with

him, for Sultan flew along in response to his master's excited mood. Marguerite, with a sigh that was almost a

happy one, turned and went within. She went back to her room, for suddenly, like a tired child, she felt quite

Her heart seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and, though it still ached with undefined longing, a

She felt no longer anxious about Armand. The man who had just ridden away, bent on helping her brother,

inspired her with complete confidence in his strength and in his power. She marvelled at herself for having

ever looked upon him as an inane fool; of course, THAT was a mask worn to hide the bitter wound she had

dealt to his faith and to his love. His passion would have overmastered him, and he would not let her see how

But now all would be well: she would crush her own pride, humble it before him, tell him everything, trust

him in everything; and those happy days would come back, when they used to wander off together in the

forests of Fontainebleau, when they spoke littlefor he was always a silent manbut when she felt that

The more she thought of the events of the past night, the less fear had she of Chauvelin and his schemes. He

had failed to discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, of that she felt sure. Both Lord Fancourt and

Chauvelin himself had assured her that no one had been in the diningroom at one o'clock except the

Frenchman himself and PercyYes!Percy! she might have asked him, had she thought of it! Anyway, she

had no fears that the unknown and brave hero would fall in Chauvelin's trap; his death at any rate would not

Armand certainly was still in danger, but Percy had pledged his word that Armand would be safe, and

somehow, as Marguerite had seen him riding away, the possibility that he could fail in whatever he undertook

never even remotely crossed her mind. When Armand was safely over in England she would not allow him to

She felt almost happy now, and, drawing the curtains closely together again to shut out the piercing sun, she

went to bed at last, laid her head upon the pillow, and, like a wearied child, soon fell into a peaceful and

The day was well advanced when Marguerite woke, refreshed by her long sleep. Louise had brought her

some fresh milk and a dish of fruit, and she partook of this frugal breakfast with hearty appetite.

Thoughts crowded thick and fast in her mind as she munched her grapes; most of them went galloping away

after the tall, erect figure of her husband, whom she had watched riding out of site more than five hours ago.

In answer to her eager inquiries, Louise brought back the news that the groom had come home with Sultan,

having left Sir Percy in London. The groom thought that his master was about to get on board his schooner,

which was lying off just below London Bridge. Sir Percy had ridden thus far, had then met Briggs, the

skipper of the DAY DREAM, and had sent the groom back to Richmond with Sultan and the empty saddle.

This news puzzled Marguerite more than ever. Where could Sir Percy be going just now in the DAY

DREAM? On Armand's behalf, he had said. Well! Sir Percy had influential friends everywhere. Perhaps he

was going to Greenwich, or. . .but Marguerite ceased to conjecture; all would be explained anon: he said that

A long, idle day lay before Marguerite. She was expecting a visit of her old schoolfellow, little Suzanne de

Tournay. With all the merry mischief at her command, she had tendered her request for Suzanne's company

to the Comtesse in the Presence of the Prince of Wales last night. His Royal Highness had loudly applauded

the notion, and declared that he would give himself the pleasure of calling on the two ladies in the course of

the afternoon. The Comtesse had not dared to refuse, and then and there was entrapped into a promise to send

Marguerite expected her eagerly; she longed for a chat about old schooldays with the child; she felt that she

would prefer Suzanne's company to that of anyone else, and together they would roam through the fine old

But Suzanne had not come yet, and Marguerite being dressed, prepared to go downstairs. She looked quite a

girl this morning in her simple muslin frock, with a broad blue sash round her slim waist, and the dainty

crossover fichu into which, at her bosom, she had fastened a few late crimson roses.

She crossed the landing outside her own suite of apartments, and stood still for a moment at the head of the

fine oak staircase, which led to the lower floor. On her left were her husband's apartments, a suite of rooms

They consisted of bedroom, dressing and reception room, and at the extreme end of the landing, of a small

study, which, when Sir Percy did not use it, was always kept locked. His own special and confidential valet,

Frank, had charge of this room. No one was ever allowed to go inside. My lady had never cared to do so, and

Marguerite had often, with that goodnatured contempt which she had recently adopted towards her husband,

chaffed him about this secrecy which surrounded his private study. Laughingly she had always declared that

he strictly excluded all prying eyes from his sanctum for fear they should detect how very little "study" went

on within its four walls: a comfortable armchair for Sir Percy's sweet slumbers was, no doubt, its most

Marguerite thought of all this on this bright October morning as she glanced along the corridor. Frank was

evidently busy with his master's rooms, for most of the doors stood open, that of the study amongst the

A sudden burning, childish curiosity seized her to have a peep at Sir Percy's sanctum. This restriction, of

course, did not apply to her, and Frank would, of course, not dare to oppose her. Still, she hoped that the valet

would be busy in one of the other rooms, that she might have that one quick peep in secret, and unmolested.

Gently, on tiptoe, she crossed the landing and, like Blue Beard's wife, trembling half with excitement and

wonder, she paused a moment on the threshold, strangely perturbed and irresolute.

The door was ajar, and she could not see anything within. She pushed it open tentatively: there was no sound:

At once she was struck by the severe simplicity of everything around her: the dark and heavy hangings, the

massive oak furniture, the one or two maps on the wall, in no way recalled to her mind the lazy man about

town, the lover of racecourses, the dandified leader of fashion, that was the outward representation of Sir

There was no sign here, at any rate, of hurried departure. Everything was in its place, not a scrap of paper

littered the floor, not a cupboard or drawer was left open. The curtains were drawn aside, and through the

Facing the window, and well into the centre of the room, stood a ponderous businesslike desk, which looked

as if it had seen much service. On the wall to the left of the desk, reaching almost from floor to ceiling, was a

large fulllength portrait of a woman, magnificently framed, exquisitely painted, and signed with the name of

Marguerite knew very little about her, except that she had died abroad, ailing in body as well as in mind,

which Percy was still a lad. She must have been a very beautiful woman once, when Boucher painted her, and

as Marguerite looked at the portrait, she could not but be struck by the extraordinary resemblance which must

have existed between mother and son. There was the same low, square forehead, crowned with thick, fair

hair, smooth and heavy; the same deepset, somewhat lazy blue eyes beneath firmly marked, straight brows;

and in those eyes there was the same intensity behind that apparent laziness, the same latent passion which

used to light up Percy's face in the olden days before his marriage, and which Marguerite had again noted,

last night at dawn, when she had come quite close to him, and had allowed a note of tenderness to creep into

Marguerite studied the portrait, for it interested her: after that she turned and looked again at the ponderous

desk. It was covered with a mass of papers, all neatly tied and docketed, which looked like accounts and

receipts arrayed with perfect method. It had never before struck Margueritenor had she, alas! found it

worth while to inquireas to how Sir Percy, whom all the world had credited with a total lack of brains,

Since she had entered this neat, orderly room, she had been taken so much by surprise, that this obvious proof

of her husband's strong business capacities did not cause her more than a passing thought of wonder. But it

also strengthened her in the now certain knowledge that, with his worldly inanities, his foppish ways, and

foolish talk, he was not only wearing a mask, but was playing a deliberate and studied part.

Marguerite wondered again. Why should he take all this trouble? Why should hewho was obviously a

serious, earnest manwish to appear before his fellowmen as an emptyheaded nincompoop?

He may have wished to hide his love for a wife who held him in contempt. . .but surely such an object could

have been gained at less sacrifice, and with far less trouble than constant incessant acting of an unnatural part.

She looked round her quite aimlessly now: she was horribly puzzled, and a nameless dread, before all this

strange, unaccountable mystery, had begun to seize upon her. She felt cold and uncomfortable suddenly in

this severe and dark room. There were no pictures on the wall, save the fine Boucher portrait, only a couple

of maps, both of parts of France, one of the North coast and the other of the environs of Paris. What did Sir

Her head began to ache, she turned away from this strange Blue Beard's chamber, which she had entered, and

which she did not understand. She did not wish Frank to find her here, and with a fast look round, she once

more turned to the door. As she did so, her foot knocked against a small object, which had apparently been

lying close to the desk, on the carpet, and which now went rolling, right across the room.

She stooped to pick it up. It was a solid gold ring, with a flat shield, on which was engraved a small device.

Marguerite turned it over in her fingers, and then studied the engraving on the shield. It represented a small

starshaped flower, of a shape she had seen so distinctly twice before: once at the opera, and once at Lord

At what particular moment the strange doubt first crept into Marguerite's mind, she could not herself have

said. With the ring tightly clutched in her hand, she had run out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the

garden, where, in complete seclusion, alone with the flowers, and the river and the birds, she could look again

Stupidly, senselessly, now, sitting beneath the shade of an overhanging sycamore, she was looking at the

Bah! It was ridiculous! she was dreaming! her nerves were overwrought, and she saw signs and mysteries in

the most trivial coincidences. Had not everybody about town recently made a point of affecting the device of

Did she herself wear it embroidered on her gowns? set in gems and enamel in her hair? What was there

strange in the fact that Sir Percy should have chosen to use the device as a sealring? He might easily have

done that. . .yes. . .quite easily. . .and. . . besides. . .what connection could there be between her exquisite

dandy of a husband, with his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who rescued French

Her thoughts were in a whirlher mind a blank. . .She did not see anything that was going on around her,

and was quite startled when a fresh young voice called to her across the garden.

"CHERIE!CHERIE! where are you?" and little Suzanne, fresh as a rosebud, with eyes dancing with glee,

and brown curls fluttering in the soft morning breeze, came running across the lawn.

"They told me you were in the garden," she went on prattling merrily, and throwing herself with a pretty,

girlish impulse into Marguerite's arms, "so I ran out to give you a surprise. You did not expect me quite so

Marguerite, who had hastily concealed the ring in the folds of her kerchief, tried to respond gaily and

"Indeed, sweet one," she said with a smile, "it is delightful to have you all to myself, and for a nice whole

"Oh! bored! Margot, how CAN you say such a wicked thing. Why! when we were in the dear old convent

The two young girls had linked their arms in one another's and began wandering round the garden.

"Oh! how lovely your home is, Margot, darling," said little Suzanne, enthusiastically, "and how happy you

"Aye, indeed! I ought to be happyoughtn't I, sweet one?" said Marguerite, with a wistful little sigh.

"How sadly you say it, CHERIE. . . . Ah, well, I suppose now that you are a married woman you won't care

to talk secrets with me any longer. Oh! what lots and lots of secrets we used to have at school! Do you

remember?some we did not even confide to Sister Theresa of the Holy Angelsthough she was such a

"And now you have one allimportant secret, eh, little one?" said Marguerite, merrily, "which you are

forthwith going to confide in me. nay, you need not blush, CHERIE." she added, as she saw Suzanne's pretty

little face crimson with blushes. "Faith, there's naught to be ashamed of! He is a noble and true man, and one

to be proud of as a lover, and. . .as a husband." "Indeed, CHERIE, I am not ashamed," rejoined Suzanne,

softly; "and it makes me very, very proud to hear you speak so well of him. I think maman will consent," she

added thoughtfully, "and I shall beoh! so happybut, of course, nothing is to be thought of until papa is

Marguerite started. Suzanne's father! the Comte de Tournay!one of those whose life would be jeopardised

She had understood all along from the Comtesse, and also from one or two of the members of the league, that

their mysterious leader had pledged his honour to bring the fugitive Comte de Tournay safely out of France.

Whilst little Suzanneunconscious of allsave her own allimportant little secret, went prattling on.

Armand's peril, Chauvelin's threat, his cruel "Eitheror" which she had accepted.

And then her own work in the matter, which should have culminated at one o'clock in Lord Grenville's

diningroom, when the relentless agent of the French Government would finally learn who was this

mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, who so openly defied an army of spies and placed himself so boldly, and for

Since then she had heard nothing from Chauvelin. She had concluded that he had failed, and yet, she had not

felt anxious about Armand, because her husband had promised her that Armand would be safe.

But now, suddenly, as Suzanne prattled merrily along, an awful horror came upon her for what she had done.

Chauvelin had told her nothing, it was true; but she remembered how sarcastic and evil he looked when she

took final leave of him after the ball. Had he discovered something then? Had he already laid his plans for

catching the daring plotter, redhanded, in France, and sending him to the guillotine without compunction or

Marguerite turned sick with horror, and her hand convulsively clutched the ring in her dress.

"You are not listening, CHERIE," said Suzanne, reproachfully, as she paused in her long, highly interesting

"Yes, yes, darlingindeed I am," said Marguerite with an effort, forcing herself to smile." "I love to hear

you talking. . . and your happiness makes me so very glad. . . . Have no fear, we will manage to propitiate

maman. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes is a noble English gentleman; he has money and position, the Comtesse will

not refuse her consent. . . . But. . .now, little one. . .tell me. . . what is the latest news about your father?"

"Oh!" said Suzanne with mad glee, "the best we could possibly hear. My Lord Hastings came to see maman

early this morning. He said that all is now well with dear papa, and we may safely expect him here in

"Yes," said Marguerite, whose glowing eyes were fastened on Suzanne's lips, as she continued merrily:

"Oh, we have no fear now! You don't know, CHERIE, that that great and noble Scarlet Pimpernel himself has

gone to save papa. He has gone, CHERIE. . .actually gone. . ." added Suzanne excitedly, "He was in London

this morning; he will be in Calais, perhaps, tomorrow. . .where he will meet papa. . .and then. . .and then. . ."

The blow had fallen. She had expected it all along, though she had tried for the last halfhour to delude

herself and to cheat her fears. He had gone to Calais, had been in London this morning. . .he. . .the Scarlet

Pimpernel. . .Percy Blakeney. . .her husband. . .whom she had betrayed last night to Chauvelin.

Percy. . .Percy. . .her husband. . .the Scarlet Pimpernel. . . Oh! how could she have been so blind? She

understood it all nowall at once. . .that part he playedthe mask he wore. . .in order to throw dust in

And all for the sheer sport and devilry of course!saving men, women and children from death, as other

men destroy and kill animals for the excitement, the love of the thing. The idle, rich man wanted some aim in

lifehe, and the few young bucks he enrolled under his banner, had amused themselves for months in

Perhaps he had meant to tell her when they were first married; and then the story of the Marquis de St. Cyr

had come to his ears, and he had suddenly turned from her, thinking, no doubt, that she might someday betray

him and his comrades, who had sworn to follow him; and so he had tricked her, as he tricked all others,

whilst hundreds now owed their lives to him, and many families owed him both life and happiness.

The mask of an inane fop had been a good one, and the part consummately well played. No wonder that

Chauvelin's spies had failed to detect, in the apparently brainless nincompoop, the man whose reckless daring

and resourceful ingenuity had baffled the keenest French spies, both in France and in England. Even last

night when Chauvelin went to Lord Grenville's diningroom to seek that daring Scarlet Pimpernel, he only

Had his astute mind guessed the secret, then? Here lay the whole awful, horrible, amazing puzzle. In

betraying a nameless stranger to his fate in order to save her brother, had Marguerite Blakeney sent her

No! no! no! a thousand times no! Surely Fate could not deal a blow like that: Nature itself would rise in

revolt: her hand, when it held that tiny scrap of paper last night, would have surely have been struck numb ere

"But what is it, CHERIE?" said little Suzanne, now genuinely alarmed, for Marguerite's colour had become

"Nothing, nothing, child," she murmured, as in a dream. "Wait a moment. . .let me think. . .think!. . .You

"It is nothing, child, I tell you. . .nothing. . .I must be alone a minuteanddear one. . .I may have to curtail

"I understand that something has happened, CHERIE, and that you want to be alone. I won't be a hindrance to

you. Don't think of me. My maid, Lucile, has not yet gone. . .we will go back together. . .don't think of me."

She threw her arms impulsively round Marguerite. Child as she was, she felt the poignancy of her friend's

grief, and with the infinite tact of her girlish tenderness, she did not try to pry into it, but was ready to efface

She kissed Marguerite again and again, then walked sadly back across the lawn. Marguerite did not move,

Just as little Suzanne was about to mount the terrace steps, a groom came running round the house towards

his mistress. He carried a sealed letter in his hand. Suzanne instinctively turned back; her heart told her that

here perhaps was further ill news for her friend, and she felt that poor Margot was not in a fit state to bear any

The groom stood respectfully beside his mistress, then he handed her the sealed letter.

Marguerite took the letter mechanically, and turned it over in her trembling fingers.

"The runner said, my lady," replied the groom, "that his orders were to deliver this, and that your ladyship

Marguerite tore open the envelope. Already her instinct told her what it contained, and her eyes only glanced

It was a letter by Armand St. Just to Sir Andrew Ffoulkesthe letter which Chauvelin's spies had stolen at

"The Fisherman's Rest," and which Chauvelin had held as a rod over her to enforce her obedience.

Now he had kept his wordhe had sent her back St. Just's compromising letter. . .for he was on the track of

Marguerite's senses reeled, her very soul seemed to be leaving her body; she tottered, and would have fallen

but for Suzanne's arm round her waist. With superhuman effort she regained control over herselfthere was

"Bring that runner here to me," she said to the servant, with much calm. "He has not gone?"

"And you, child, run within. Tell Lucile to get ready. I fear that I must send you home, child. Andstay, tell

Suzanne made no reply. She kissed Marguerite tenderly and obeyed without a word; the child was overawed

A minute later the groom returned, followed by the runner who had brought the letter.

"A gentleman, my lady," replied the man, "at `The Rose and Thistle' inn opposite Charing Cross. He said you

"Yes, my lady. A special coach he had ordered. I understood from his man that he was posting straight to

"That's enough. You may go." Then she turned to the groom: "My coach and the four swiftest horses in the

The groom and runner both went quickly off to obey. Marguerite remained standing for a moment on the

lawn quite alone. Her graceful figure was as rigid as a statue, her eyes were fixed, her hands were tightly

clasped across her breast; her lips moved as they murmured with pathetic heartbreaking persistence,

"What's to be done? What's to be done? Where to find him?Oh, God! grant me light."

But this was not the moment for remorse and despair. She had doneunwittinglyan awful and terrible

thingthe very worst crime, in her eyes, that woman ever committedshe saw it in all its horror. Her very

blindness in not having guessed her husband's secret seemed now to her another deadly sin. She ought to

How could she imagine that a man who could love with so much intensity as Percy Blakeney had loved her

from the firsthow could such a man be the brainless idiot he chose to appear? She, at least, ought to have

known that he was wearing a mask, and having found that out, she should have torn it from his face,

Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by her own pride; and she, too, had worn a mask

in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him.

But there was no time now to go over the past. By her own blindness she had sinned; now she must repay, not

Percy had started for Calais, utterly unconscious of the fact that his most relentless enemy was on his heels.

He had set sail early that morning from London Bridge. Provided he had a favourable wind, he would no

doubt be in France within twentyfour hours; no doubt he had reckoned on the wind and chosen this route.

Chauvelin, on the other hand, would post to Dover, charter a vessel there, and undoubtedly reach Calais much

about the same time. Once in Calais, Percy would meet all those who were eagerly waiting for the noble and

brave Scarlet Pimpernel, who had come to rescue them from horrible and unmerited death. With Chauvelin's

eyes now fixed upon his every movement, Percy would thus not only be endangering his own life, but that of

Suzanne's father, the old Comte de Tournay, and of those other fugitives who were waiting for him and

trusting in him. There was also Armand, who had gone to meet de Tournay, secure in the knowledge that the

All these lives and that of her husband, lay in Marguerite's hands; these she must save, if human pluck and

Unfortunately, she could not do all this quite alone. Once in Calais she would not know where to find her

husband, whilst Chauvelin, in stealing the papers at Dover, had obtained the whole itinerary. Above every

She knew enough about him by now to understand that he would never abandon those who trusted in him,

that he would not turn his back from danger, and leave the Comte de Tournay to fall into the bloodthirsty

hands that knew of no mercy. But if he were warned, he might form new plans, be more wary, more prudent.

Unconsciously, he might fall into a cunning trap, butonce warnedhe might yet succeed.

And if he failedif indeed Fate, and Chauvelin, with all the resources at his command, proved too strong for

the daring plotter after allthen at least she would be there by his side, to comfort, love and cherish, to cheat

death perhaps at the last by making it seem sweet, if they died both together, locked in each other's arms, with

the supreme happiness of knowing that passion had responded to passion, and that all misunderstandings

Her whole body stiffened as with a great and firm resolution. This she meant to do, if God gave her wits and

strength. Her eyes lost their fixed look; they glowed with inward fire at the thought of meeting him again so

soon, in the very midst of most deadly perils; they sparkled with the joy of sharing these dangers with

The childlike sweet face had become hard and set, the curved mouth was closed tightly over her clenched

teeth. She meant to do or die, with him and for his sake. A frown, which spoke of an iron will and unbending

resolution, appeared between the two straight brows; already her plans were formed. She would go and find

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes first; he was Percy's best friend, and Marguerite remembered, with a thrill, with what

He would help her where she needed help; her coach was ready. A change of raiment, and a farewell to little

Less than half an hour later, Marguerite, buried in thoughts, sat inside her coach, which was bearing her

She had taken an affectionate farewell of little Suzanne, and seen the child safely started with her maid, and

in her own coach, back to town. She had sent one courier with a respectful letter of excuse to His Royal

Highness, begging for a postponement of the august visit on account of pressing and urgent business, and

Then she had changed her muslin frock for a dark traveling costume and mantle, had provided herself with

moneywhich her husband's lavishness always placed fully at her disposaland had started on her way.

She did not attempt to delude herself with any vain and futile hopes; the safety of her brother Armand was to

have been conditional on the imminent capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel. As Chauvelin had sent her back

Armand's compromising letter, there was no doubt that he was quite satisfied in his own mind that Percy

No! there was no room for any fond delusions! Percy, the husband whom she loved with all the ardour which

her admiration for his bravery had kindled, was in immediate, deadly peril, through her hand. She had

betrayed him to his enemyunwittingly `tis truebut she HAD betrayed him, and if Chauvelin succeeded

in trapping him, who so far was unaware of his danger, then his death would be at her door. His death! when

with her very heart's blood, she would have defended him and given willingly her life for his.

She had ordered her coach to drive her to the "Crown" inn; once there, she told her coachman to give the

horses food and rest. Then she ordered a chair, and had herself carried to the house in Pall Mall where Sir

Among all Percy's friends who were enrolled under his daring banner, she felt that she would prefer to

confide in Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. He had always been her friend, and now his love for little Suzanne had

brought him closer to her still. Had he been away from home, gone on the mad errand with Percy, perhaps,

then she would have called on Lord Hastings or Lord Tonyfor she wanted the help of one of these young

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, however, was at home, and his servant introduced her ladyship immediately. She went

upstairs to the young man's comfortable bachelor's chambers, and was shown into a small, though luxuriously

He had evidently been much startled when he heard who his lady visitor was, for he looked anxiouslyeven

suspiciouslyat Marguerite, whilst performing the elaborate bows before her, which the rigid etiquette of

Marguerite had laid aside every vestige of nervousness; she was perfectly calm, and having returned the

"Sir Andrew, I have no desire to waste valuable time in much talk. You must take certain things I am going to

tell you for granted. These will be of no importance. What is important is that your leader and comrade, the

Had she the remotest doubt of the correctness of her deductions, she would have had them confirmed now,

for Sir Andrew, completely taken by surprise, had grown very pale, and was quite incapable of making the

"No matter how I know this, Sir Andrew," she continued quietly, "thank God that I do, and that perhaps it is

not too late to save him. Unfortunately, I cannot do this quite alone, and therefore have come to you for help."

"Will you hear me first?" she interrupted. "This is how the matter stands. When the agent of the French

Government stole your papers that night in Dover, he found amongst them certain plans, which you or your

leader meant to carry out for the rescue of the Comte de Tournay and others. The Scarlet PimpernelPercy,

my husbandhas gone on this errand himself today. Chauvelin knows that the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy

Blakeney are one and the same person. He will follow him to Calais, and there will lay hands on him. You

know as well as I do the fate that awaits him at the hands of the Revolutionary Government of France. No

interference from Englandfrom King George himselfwould save him. Robespierre and his gang would

see to it that the interference came too late. But not only that, the muchtrusted leader will also have been

unconsciously the means of revealing the hidingplace of the Comte de Tournay and of all those who, even

She had spoken quietly, dispassionately, and with firm, unbending resolution. Her purpose was to make that

"I do not understand," he repeated, trying to gain time, to think what was best to be done.

"Aye! but I think you do, Sir Andrew. You must know that I am speaking the truth. Look these facts straight

in the face. Percy has sailed for Calais, I presume for some lonely part of the coast, and Chauvelin is on his

track. HE has posted for Dover, and will cross the Channel probably tonight. What do you think will

"Percy will arrive at his destination: unconscious of being followed he will seek out de Tournay and the

othersamong these is Armand St. Just my brotherhe will seek them out, one after another, probably, not

knowing that the sharpest eyes in the world are watching his every movement. When he has thus

unconsciously betrayed those who blindly trust in him, when nothing can be gained from him, and he is ready

to come back to England, with those whom he has gone so bravely to save, the doors of the trap will close

"You do not trust me," she said passionately. "Oh God! cannot you see that I am in deadly earnest? Man,

man," she added, while, with her tiny hands she seized the young man suddenly by the shoulders, forcing him

to look straight at her, "tell me, do I look like that vilest thing on eartha woman who would betray her own

"God forbid, Lady Blakeney," said the young man at last, "that I should attribute such evil motives to you,

but. . ." "But what?. . .tell me. . .Quick, man!. . .the very seconds are precious!"

"Will you tell me," he asked resolutely, and looking searchingly into her blue eyes, "whose hand helped to

"Mine," she said quietly, "I own itI will not lie to you, for I wish you to trust me absolutely. But I had no

ideahow COULD I have?of the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. . .and my brother's safety was to be

"It is no use telling you how he forced my hand. Armand is more than a brother to me, and. . .and. . .how

COULD I guess?. . . But we waste time, Sir Andrew. . .every second is precious. . .in the name of God!. . .my

Sir Andrew felt his position to be a very awkward one. The oath he had taken before his leader and comrade

was one of obedience and secrecy; and yet the beautiful woman, who was asking him to trust her, was

undoubtedly in earnest; his friend and leader was equally undoubtedly in imminent danger and. . .

"Lady Blakeney," he said at last, "God knows you have perplexed me, so that I do not know which way my

duty lies. Tell me what you wish me to do. There are nineteen of us ready to lay down our lives for the

"There is no need for lives just now, my friend," she said drily; "my wits and four swift horses will serve the

necessary purpose. But I must know where to find him. See," she added, while her eyes filled with tears, "I

have humbled myself before you, I have owned my fault to you; shall I also confess my weakness?My

husband and I have been estranged, because he did not trust me, and because I was too blind to understand.

You must confess that the bandage which he put over my eyes was a very thick one. Is it small wonder that I

did not see through it? But last night, after I led him unwittingly into such deadly peril, it suddenly fell from

my eyes. If you will not help me, Sir Andrew, I would still strive to save my husband. I would still exert

every faculty I possess for his sake; but I might be powerless, for I might arrive too late, and nothing would

"But, Lady Blakeney," said the young man, touched by the gentle earnestness of this exquisitely beautiful

woman, "do you know that what you propose doing is man's work?you cannot possibly journey to Calais

alone. You would be running the greatest possible risks to yourself, and your chances of finding your

"Oh, I hope there are risks!" she murmured softly, "I hope there are dangers, too!I have so much to atone

for. But I fear you are mistaken. Chauvelin's eyes are fixed upon you all, he will scarce notice me. Quick, Sir

Andrew!the coach is ready, and there is not a moment to be lost. . . . I MUST get to him! I MUST!" she

repeated with almost savage energy, "to warn him that that man is on his track. . . . Can't you seecan't you

see, that I MUST get to him. . .even. . .even if it be too late to save him. . .at least. . . to be by his side. . .at the

"Faith, Madame, you must command me. Gladly would I or any of my comrades lay down our lives for our

"Nay, friend, do you not see that I would go mad if I let you go without me." She stretched out her hand to

"Listen, then. My coach is ready to take me to Dover. Do you follow me, as swiftly as horses will take you.

We meet at nightfall at `The Fisherman's Rest.' Chauvelin would avoid it, as he is known there, and I think it

would be the safest. I will gladly accept your escort to Calais. . .as you say, I might miss Sir Percy were you

to direct me ever so carefully. We'll charter a schooner at Dover and cross over during the night. Disguised, if

"I am entirely at your service, Madame," rejoined the young man earnestly. "I trust to God that you will sight

the DAY DREAM before we reach Calais. With Chauvelin at his heels, every step the Scarlet Pimpernel

"God grant it, Sir Andrew. But now, farewell. We meet tonight at Dover! It will be a race between

Chauvelin and me across the Channel tonightand the prizethe life of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

He kissed her hand, and then escorted her to her chair. A quarter of an hour later she was back at the "Crown"

inn, where her coach and horses were ready and waiting for her. The next moment they thundered along the

She had no time for despair now. She was up and doing and had no leisure to think. With Sir Andrew

God would be merciful. He would not allow so appalling a crime to be committed, as the death of a brave

man, through the hand of a woman who loved him, and worshipped him, and who would gladly have died for

Marguerite's thoughts flew back to him, the mysterious hero, whom she had always unconsciously loved,

when his identity was still unknown to her. Laughingly, in the olden days, she used to call him the shadowy

king of her heart, and now she had suddenly found that this enigmatic personality whom she had worshipped,

and the man who loved her so passionately, were one and the same: what wonder that one or two happier

Visions began to force their way before her mind? She vaguely wondered what she would say to him when

She had had so many anxieties, so much excitement during the past few hours, that she allowed herself the

luxury of nursing these few more hopeful, brighter thoughts. Gradually the rumble of the coach wheels, with

its incessant monotony, acted soothingly on her nerves: her eyes, aching with fatigue and many shed and

It was late into the night when she at last reached "The Fisherman's Rest." She had done the whole journey in

less than eight hours, thanks to innumerable changes of horses at the various coaching stations, for which she

always paid lavishly, thus obtaining the very best and swiftest that could be had.

Her coachman, too, had been indefatigible; the promise of special and rich reward had no doubt helped to

keep him up, and he had literally burned the ground beneath his mistress' coach wheels.

The arrival of Lady Blakeney in the middle of the night caused a considerable flutter at "The Fisherman's

Rest." Sally jumped hastily out of bed, and Mr. Jellyband was at great pains how to make his important guest

Both of these good folk were far too well drilled in the manners appertaining to innkeepers, to exhibit the

slightest surprise at Lady Blakeney's arrival, alone, at this extraordinary hour. No doubt they thought all the

more, but Marguerite was far too absorbed in the importancethe deadly earnestnessof her journey, to

The coffeeroomthe scene lately of the dastardly outrage on two English gentlemenwas quite deserted.

Mr. Jellyband hastily relit the lamp, rekindled a cheerful bit of fire in the great hearth, and then wheeled a

"Will your ladyship stay the night?" asked pretty Miss Sally, who was already busy laying a snowwhite

"No! not the whole night," replied Marguerite. "At any rate, I shall not want any room but this, if I can have it

"It is at your ladyship's service," said honest Jellyband, whose rubicund face was set in its tightest folds, lest

it should betray before "the quality" that boundless astonishment which the very worthy fellow had begun to

"I shall be crossing over at the first turn of the tide," said Marguerite, "and in the first schooner I can get. But

my coachman and men will stay the night, and probably several days longer, so I hope you will make them

"Yes, my lady; I'll look after them. Shall Sally bring your ladyship some supper?"

"Yes, please. Put something cold on the table, and as soon as Sir Andrew Ffoulkes comes, show him in here."

Honest Jellyband's face now expressed distress in spite of himself. He had great regard for Sir Percy

Blakeney, and did not like to see his lady running away with young Sir Andrew. Of course, it was no

business of his, and Mr. Jellyband was no gossip. Still, in his heart, he recollected that her ladyship was after

all only one of them "furriners"; what wonder that she was immoral like the rest of them?

"Don't sit up, honest Jellyband," continued Marguerite kindly, "nor you either, Mistress Sally. Sir Andrew

Jellyband was only too willing that Sally should go to bed. He was beginning not to like these goingson at

all. Still, Lady Blakeney would pay handsomely for the accommodation, and it certainly was no business of

Sally arranged a simple supper of cold meat, wine, and fruit on the table, then with a respectful curtsey, she

retired, wondering in her little mind why her ladyship looked so serious, when she was about to elope with

Then commenced a period of weary waiting for Marguerite. She knew that Sir Andrewwho would have to

provide himself with clothes befitting a lacqueycould not possibly reach Dover for at least a couple of

hours. He was a splendid horseman of course, and would make light in such an emergency of the seventy odd

miles between London and Dover. He would, too, literally burn the ground beneath his horse's hoofs, but he

might not always get very good remounts, and in any case, he could not have started from London until at

She had seen nothing of Chauvelin on the road. Her coachman, whom she questioned, had not seen anyone

answering the description his mistress gave him of the wizened figure of the little Frenchman.

Evidently, therefore, he had been ahead of her all the time. She had not dared to question the people at the

various inns, where they had stopped to change horses. She feared that Chauvelin had spies all along the

route, who might overhear her questions, then outdistance her and warn her enemy of her approach.

Now she wondered at what inn he might be stopping, or whether he had had the good luck of chartering a

vessel already, and was now himself on the way to France. That thought gripped her at the heart as with an

The loneliness of the room overwhelmed her; everything within was so horribly still; the ticking of the

grandfather's clockdreadfully slow and measuredwas the only sound which broke this awful loneliness.

Marguerite had need of all her energy, all her steadfastness of purpose, to keep up her courage through this

Everyone else in the house but herself must have been asleep. She had heard Sally go upstairs. Mr. Jellyband

had gone to see to her coachman and men, and then had returned and taken up a position under the porch

outside, just where Marguerite had first met Chauvelin about a week ago. He evidently meant to wait up for

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, but was soon overcome by sweet slumbers, for presentlyin addition to the slow

ticking of the clockMarguerite could hear the monotonous and dulcet tones of the worthy fellow's

For some time now, she had realised that the beautiful warm October's day, so happily begun, had turned into

a rough and cold night. She had felt very chilly, and was glad of the cheerful blaze in the hearth: but

gradually, as time wore on, the weather became more rough, and the sound of the great breakers against the

Admiralty Pier, though some distance from the inn, came to her as the noise of muffled thunder.

The wind was becoming boisterous, rattling the leaded windows and the massive doors of the oldfashioned

house: it shook the trees outside and roared down the vast chimney. Marguerite wondered if the wind would

be favourable for her journey. She had no fear of the storm, and would have braved worse risks sooner than

A sudden commotion outside roused her from her meditations. Evidently it was Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, just

arrived in mad haste, for she heard his horse's hoofs thundering on the flagstones outside, then Mr.

For a moment, then, the awkwardness of her position struck Marguerite; alone at this hour, in a place where

she was well known, and having made an assignation with a young cavalier equally well known, and who

The idea struck Marguerite chiefly from its humorous side: there was such quaint contrast between the

seriousness of her errand, and the construction which would naturally be put on her actions by honest Mr.

Jellyband, that, for the first time since many hours, a little smile began playing round the corners of her

childlike mouth, and when, presently, Sir Andrew, almost unrecognisable in his lacqueylike garb, entered

Mr. Jellyband had followed Sir Andrew, looking strangely perplexed. The young gallant's disguise had

confirmed his worst suspicions. Without a smile upon his jovial face, he drew the cork from the bottle of

"Thanks, honest friend," said Marguerite, who was still smiling at the thought of what the worthy fellow must

be thinking at that very moment, "we shall require nothing more; and here's for all the trouble you have been

She handed two or three gold pieces to Jellyband, who took them respectfully, and with becoming gratitude.

"Stay, Lady Blakeney," interposed Sir Andrew, as Jellyband was about to retire, "I am afraid we shall require

something more of my friend Jelly's hospitality. I am sorry to say we cannot cross over tonight."

"Not cross over tonight?" she repeated in amazement. "But we must, Sir Andrew, we must! There can be no

"I am afraid it is not a question of cost, Lady Blakeney. There is a nasty storm blowing from France, the wind

Marguerite became deadly pale. She had not foreseen this. Nature herself was playing her a horrible, cruel

trick. Percy was in danger, and she could not go to him, because the wind happened to blow from the coast of

"But we must go!we must!" she repeated with strange, persistent energy, "you know, we must go!can't

"I have been down to the shore already," he said, "and had a talk to one or two skippers. It is quite impossible

to set sail tonight, so every sailor assured me. No one," he added, looking significantly at Marguerite, "NO

Marguerite at once understood what he meant. NO ONE included Chauvelin as well as herself. She nodded

"Oh, yes, your ladyship. A nice, bright, airy room. I'll see to it at once. . . . And there is another one for Sir

"That's brave now, mine honest Jelly," said Sir Andrew, gaily, and clapping his worth host vigorously on the

back. "You unlock both those rooms, and leave our candles here on the dresser. I vow you are dead with

sleep, and her ladyship must have some supper before she retires. There, have no fear, friend of the rueful

countenance, her ladyship's visit, though at this unusual hour, is a great honour to thy house, and Sir Percy

Blakeney will reward thee doubly, if thou seest well to her privacy and comfort."

Sir Andrew had no doubt guessed the many conflicting doubts and fears which raged in honest Jellyband's

head; and, as he was a gallant gentleman, he tried by this brave hint to allay some of the worthy innkeeper's

suspicions. He had the satisfaction of seeing that he had partially succeeded. Jellyband's rubicund

"I'll go and see to it at once, sir," he said with alacrity, and with less frigidity in his manner. "Has her ladyship

"Everything, thanks, honest friend, and as I am famished and dead with fatigue, I pray you see to the rooms."

"Now tell me," she said eagerly, as soon as Jellyband had gone from the room, "tell me all your news."

"There is nothing else much to tell you, Lady Blakeney," replied the young man. "The storm makes it quite

impossible for any vessel to put out of Dover this tide. But, what seems to you at first a terrible calamity is

really a blessing in disguise. If we cannot cross over to France tonight, Chauvelin is in the same quandary.

"God grant he may," said Sir Andrew, merrily, "for very likely then he'll have been driven out of his course!

Who knows? He may now even be lying at the bottom of the sea, for there is a furious storm raging, and it

will fare ill with all small craft which happen to be out. But I fear me we cannot build our hopes upon the

shipwreck of that cunning devil, and of all his murderous plans. The sailors I spoke to, all assured me that no

schooner had put out of Dover for several hours: on the other hand, I ascertained that a stranger had arrived

by coach this afternoon, and had, like myself, made some inquiries about crossing over to France.

"Undoubtedly. Shall I go waylay him and run my sword through him? That were indeed the quickest way out

"Nay! Sir Andrew, do not jest! Alas! I have often since last night caught myself wishing for that fiend's death.

But what you suggest is impossible! The laws of this country do not permit of murder! It is only in our

beautiful France that wholesale slaughter is done lawfully, in the name of Liberty and of brotherly love."

Sir Andrew had persuaded her to sit down to the table, to partake of some supper and to drink a little wine.

This enforced rest of at least twelve hours, until the next tide, was sure to be terribly difficult to bear in the

state of intense excitement in which she was. Obedient in these small matters like a child, Marguerite tried to

Sir Andrew, with that profound sympathy born in all those who are in love, made her almost happy by talking

to her about her husband. He recounted to her some of the daring escapes the brave Scarlet Pimpernel had

contrived for the poor French fugitives, whom a relentless and bloody revolution was driving out of their

country. He made her eyes glow with enthusiasm by telling her of his bravery, his ingenuity, his

resourcefulness, when it meant snatching the lives of men, women, and even children from beneath the very

He even made her smile quite merrily by telling her of the Scarlet Pimpernel's quaint and many disguises,

through which he had baffled the strictest watch set against him at the barricades of Paris. This last time, the

escape of the Comtesse de Tournay and her children had been a veritable masterpieceBlakeney disguised

as a hideous old marketwoman, in filthy cap and straggling grey locks, was a sight fit to make the gods

Marguerite laughed heartily as Sir Andrew tried to describe Blakeney's appearance, whose gravest difficulty

always consisted in his great height, which in France made disguise doubly difficult.

Thus an hour wore on. There were many more to spend in enforced inactivity in Dover. Marguerite rose from

the table with an impatient sigh. She looked forward with dread to the night in the bed upstairs, with terribly

anxious thoughts to keep her company, and the howling of the storm to help chase sleep away.

She wondered where Percy was now. The DAY DREAM was a strong, wellbuilt seagoing yacht. Sir

Andrew had expressed the opinion that no doubt she had got in the lee of the wind before the storm broke

out, or else perhaps had not ventured into the open at all, but was lying quietly at Gravesend.

Briggs was an expert skipper, and Sir Percy handled a schooner as well as any master mariner. There was no

It was long past midnight when at last Marguerite retired to rest. As she had feared, sleep sedulously avoided

her eyes. Her thoughts were of the blackest during these long, weary hours, whilst that incessant storm raged

which was keeping her away from Percy. The sound of the distant breakers made her heart ache with

melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are

very happy, that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on

with such persistent, irritating monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When

they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring

additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.

The weariest nights, the longest days, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.

Marguerite had spent over fifteen hours in such acute mental torture as wellnigh drove her crazy. After a

sleepless night, she rose early, wild with excitement, dying to start on her journey, terrified lest further

obstacles lay in her way. She rose before anyone else in the house was astir, so frightened was she, lest she

When she came downstairs, she found Sir Andrew Ffoulkes sitting in the coffeeroom. He had been out half

an hour earlier, and had gone to the Admiralty Pier, only to find that neither the French packet nor any

privately chartered vessel could put out of Dover yet. The storm was then at its fullest, and the tide was on the

turn. If the wind did not abate or change, they would perforce have to wait another ten or twelve hours until

the next tide, before a start could be made. And the storm had not abated, the wind had not changed, and the

Marguerite felt the sickness of despair when she heard this melancholy news. Only the most firm resolution

kept her from totally breaking down, and thus adding to the young man's anxiety, which evidently had

Though he tried to hide it, Marguerite could see that Sir Andrew was just as anxious as she was to reach his

How they spend that wearisome day at Dover, Marguerite could never afterwards say. She was in terror of

showing herself, lest Chauvelin's spies happened to be about, so she had a private sittingroom, and she and

Sir Andrew sat there hour after hour, trying to take, at long intervals, some perfunctory meals, which little

Sally would bring them, with nothing to do but to think, to conjecture, and only occasionally to hope.

The storm had abated just too late; the tide was by then too far out to allow a vessel to put off to sea. The

wind had changed, and was settling down to a comfortable northwesterly breezea veritable godsend for a

And there those two waited, wondering if the hour would ever come when they could finally make a start.

There had been one happy interval in this long weary day, and that was when Sir Andrew went down once

again to the pier, and presently came back to tell Marguerite that he had chartered a quick schooner, whose

From that moment the hours seemed less wearisome; there was less hopelessness in the waiting; and at last,

at five o'clock in the afternoon, Marguerite, closely veiled and followed by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who, in the

guise of her lacquey, was carrying a number of impedimenta, found her way down to the pier.

Once on board, the keen, fresh seaair revived her, the breeze was just strong enough to nicely swell the sails

The sunset was glorious after the storm, and Marguerite, as she watched the white cliffs of Dover gradually

Sir Andrew was full of kind attentions, and she felt how lucky she had been to have him by her side in this,

Gradually the grey coast of France began to emerge from the fastgathering evening mists. One or two lights

could be seen flickering, and the spires of several churches to rise out of the surrounding haze.

Half an hour later Marguerite had landed upon French shore. She was back in that country where at this very

moment men slaughtered their fellowcreatures by the hundreds, and sent innocent women and children in

The very aspect of the country and its people, even in this remote seacoast town, spoke of that seething

revolution, three hundred miles away, in beautiful Paris, now rendered hideous by the constant flow of the

blood of her noblest sons, by the wailing of the widows, and the cries of fatherless children.

The men all wore red capsin various stages of cleanlinessbut all with the tricolor cockade pinned on the

leftside. Marguerite noticed with a shudder that, instead of the laughing, merry countenance habitual to her

Every man nowadays was a spy upon his fellows: the most innocent word uttered in jest might at any time be

brought up as a proof of aristocratic tendencies, or of treachery against the people. Even the women went

about with a curious look of fear and of hate lurking in their brown eyes; and all watched Marguerite as she

stepped on shore, followed by Sir Andrew, and murmured as she passed along: "SACRES ARISTOS!" or

Otherwise their presence excited no further comment. Calais, even in those days, was in constant business

communication with England, and English merchants were often seen on this coast. It was well known that in

view of the heavy duties in England, a vast deal of French wines and brandies were smuggled across. This

pleased the French BOURGEOIS immensely; he liked to see the English Government and the English king,

both of whom he hated, cheated out of their revenues; and an English smuggler was always a welcome guest

So, perhaps, as Sir Andrew gradually directed Marguerite through the tortuous streets of Calais, many of the

population, who turned with an oath to look at the strangers clad in English fashion, thought that they were

bent on purchasing dutiable articles for their own fogridden country, and gave them no more than a passing

Marguerite, however, wondered how her husband's tall, massive figure could have passed through Calais

unobserved: she marvelled what disguise he assumed to do his noble work, without exciting too much

Without exchanging more than a few words, Sir Andrew was leading her right across the town, to the other

side from that where they had landed, and the way towards Cap Gris Nez. The streets were narrow, tortuous,

and mostly evilsmelling, with a mixture of stale fish and damp cellar odours. There had been heavy rain

here during the storm last night, and sometimes Marguerite sank ankledeep in the mud, for the roads were

But she did not heed any of these petty discomforts: "We may meet Blakeney at the `Chat Gris,'" Sir Andrew

had said, when they landed, and she was walking as if on a carpet of roseleaves, for she was going to meet

At last they reached their destination. Sir Andrew evidently knew the road, for he had walked unerringly in

the dark, and had not asked his way from anyone. It was too dark then for Marguerite to notice the outside

aspect of this house. The "Chat Gris," as Sir Andrew had called it, was evidently a small wayside inn on the

outskirts of Calais, and on the way to Gris Nez. It lay some little distance from the coast, for the sound of the

Sir Andrew knocked at the door with the knob of his cane, and from within Marguerite heard a sort of grunt

and the muttering of a number of oaths. Sir Andrew knocked again, this time more peremptorily: more oaths

were heard, and then shuffling steps seemed to draw near the door. Presently this was thrown open, and

Marguerite found herself on the threshold of the most dilapidated, most squalid room she had ever seen in all

The paper, such as it was, was hanging from the walls in strips; there did not seem to be a single piece of

furniture in the room that could, by the wildest stretch of imagination, be called "whole." Most of the chairs

had broken backs, others had no seats to them, one corner of the table was propped up with a bundle of

In one corner of the room there was a huge hearth, over which hung a stockpot, with a not altogether

unpalatable odour of hot soup emanating therefrom. On one side of the room, high up in the wall, there was a

species of loft, before which hung a tattered blueandwhite checked curtain. A rickety set of steps led up to

On the great bare walls, with their colourless paper, all stained with varied filth, there were chalked up at

The whole of this sordid abode was dimly lighted by an evilsmelling oillamp, which hung from the rickety

rafters of the ceiling. It all looked so horribly squalid, so dirty and uninviting, that Marguerite hardly dared to

The individual who had come to the door in response to Sir Andrew's knock, and who, presumably, was the

owner of this squalid abode, was an elderly, heavily built peasant, dressed in a dirty blue blouse, heavy

sabots, from which wisps of straw protruded all round, shabby blue trousers, and the inevitable red cap with

the tricolour cockade, that proclaimed his momentary political views. He carried a short wooden pipe, from

which the odour of rank tobacco emanated. He looked with some suspicion and a great deal of contempt at

the two travellers, muttering "SACRRRES ANGLAIS!" and spat upon the ground to further show his

independence of spirit, but, nevertheless, he stood aside to let them enter, no doubt well aware that these

"Oh, lud!" said Marguerite, as she advanced into the room, holding her handkerchief to her dainty nose,

"Aye! `this the place, sure enough," replied the young man as, with his laceedged, fashionable handkerchief,

he dusted a chair for Marguerite to sit on; "but I vow I never saw a more villainous hole."

"Faith!" she said, looking round with some curiosity and a great deal of horror at the dilapidated walls, the

The landlord of the "Chat Gris"by name, Brogardhad taken no further notice of his guests; he concluded

that presently they would order supper, and in the meanwhile it was not for a free citizen to show deference,

By the hearth sat a huddledup figure clad, seemingly, mostly in rags: that figure was apparently a woman,

although even that would have been hard to distinguish, except for the cap, which had once been white, and

for what looked like the semblance of a petticoat. She was sitting mumbling to herself, and from time to time

"Hey, my friend!" said Sir Andrew at last, "we should like some supper. . . . The citoyenne there," he added,

"is concocting some delicious soup, I'll warrant, and my mistress has not tasted food for several hours.

It took Brogard some few minutes to consider the question. A free citizen does not respond too readily to the

Then he went very slowly up to a dresser which stood in a corner of the room; from this he took an old

pewter souptureen and slowly, and without a word, he handed it to his betterhalf, who, in the same silence,

Marguerite had watched all these preparations with absolute horror; were it not for the earnestness of her

purpose, she would incontinently have fled from this abode of dirt and evil smells.

"Faith! our host and hostess are not cheerful people," said Sir Andrew, seeing the look of horror on

Marguerite's face. "I would I could offer you a more hearty and more appetising meal. . .but I think you will

find the soup eatable and the wine good; these people wallow in dirt, but live well as a rule."

"Nay! I pray you, Sir Andrew," she said gently, "be not anxious about me. My mind is scarce inclined to

Brogard was slowly pursuing his gruesome preparations; he had placed a couple of spoons, also two glasses

Brogard had also produced a bottle of wine and some bread, and Marguerite made an effort to draw her chair

to the table and to make some pretence at eating. Sir Andrew, as befitting his ROLE of lacquey, stood behind

"Nay, Madame, I pray you," he said, seeing that Marguerite seemed quite unable to eat, "I beg of you to try

The soup certainly was not bad; it smelt and tasted good. Marguerite might have enjoyed it, but for the

horrible surroundings. She broke the bread, however, and drank some of the wine.

"Nay, Sir Andrew," she said, "I do not like to see you standing. You have need of food just as much as I have.

This creature will only think that I am an eccentric Englishwoman eloping with her lacquey, if you'll sit down

Indeed, Brogard having placed what was strictly necessary upon the table, seemed not to trouble himself any

further about his guests. The Mere Brogard had quietly shuffled out of the room, and the man stood and

lounged about, smoking his evilsmelling pipe, sometimes under Marguerite's very nose, as any freeborn

"Confound the brute!" said Sir Andrew, with native British wrath, as Brogard leant up against the table,

"In Heaven's name, man," admonished Marguerite, hurriedly, seeing that Sir Andrew, with Britishborn

instinct, was ominously clenching his fist, "remember that you are in France, and that in this year of grace

He had taken Marguerite's advice and sat next to her at table, and they were both making noble efforts to

"I pray you," said Marguerite, "keep the creature in a good temper, so that he may answer the questions we

"I'll do my best, but, begad! I'd sooner scrag him than question him. Hey! my friend," he said pleasantly in

French, and tapping Brogard lightly on the shoulder, "do you see many of our quality along these parts?

Brogard looked round at him, over his near shoulder, puffed away at his pipe for a moment or two as he was

"Ah!" said Sir Andrew, carelessly, "English travellers always know where they can get good wine, eh! my

friend?Now, tell me, my lady was desiring to know if by any chance you happen to have seen a great

friend of hers, an English gentleman, who often comes to Calais on business; he is tall, and recently was on

Marguerite tried not to look at Brogard, lest she should betray before him the burning anxiety with which she

waited for his reply. But a freeborn French citizen is never in any hurry to answer questions: Brogard took

"Yes, today," muttered Brogard, sullenly. Then he quietly took Sir Andrew's hat from a chair close by, put it

on his own head, tugged at his dirty blouse, and generally tried to express in pantomime that the individual in

question wore very fine clothes. "SACRRE ARISTO!" he muttered, "that tall Englishman!"

She smiled, in the midst of all her anxiety and through her gathering tears, at the thought of "the ruling

passion strong in death"; of Percy running into the wildest, maddest dangers, with the latestcut coat upon his

"Oh! the foolhardiness of it!" she sighed. "Quick, Sir Andrew! ask the man when he went."

"Ah yes, my friend," said Sir Andrew, addressing Brogard, with the same assumption of carelessness, "my

lord always wears beautiful clothes; the tall Englishman you saw, was certainly my lady's friend. And he has

Sir Andrew put his hand with a quick gesture of warning upon Marguerite's arm; it came none too sone, for

the next moment her wild, mad joy would have betrayed her. He was safe and well, was coming back here

presently, she would see him in a few moments perhaps. . . . Oh! the wildness of her joy seemed almost more

"Here!" she said to Brogard, who seemed suddenly to have been transformed in her eyes into some

heavenborn messenger of bliss. "Here!did you say the English gentleman was coming back here?"

The heavenborn messenger of bliss spat upon the floor, to express his contempt for all and sundry

"Heu!" he muttered, "he ordered supperhe will come back. . . SACRRE ANGLAIS!" he added, by way of

"But where is he now?Do you know?" she asked eagerly, placing her dainty white hand upon the dirty

"He went to get a horse and cart," said Brogard, laconically, as with a surly gesture, he shook off from his

But Brogard had evidently had enough of these questionings. He did not think that it was fitting for a

citizenwho was the equal of anybodyto be thus catechised by these SACRRES ARISTOS, even though

they were rich English ones. It was distinctly more fitting to his newborn dignity to be as rude as possible; it

"I don't know," he said surlily. "I have said enough, VOYONS, LES ARISTOS!. . .He came today. He

And with this parting assertion of his rights as a citizen and a free man, to be as rude as he well pleased,

"Faith, Madame!" said Sir Andrew, seeing that Marguerite seemed desirous to call her surly host back again,

"I think we'd better leave him alone. We shall not get anything more out of him, and we might arouse his

suspicions. One never knows what spies may be lurking around these Godforsaken places."

"What care I?" she replied lightly, "now I know that my husband is safe, and that I shall see him almost

"Hush!" he said in genuine alarm, for she had talked quite loudly, in the fulness of her glee, "the very walls

He rose quickly from the table, and walked round the bare, squalid room, listening attentively at the door,

through which Brogard has just disappeared, and whence only muttered oaths and shuffling footsteps could

be heard. He also ran up the rickety steps that led to the attic, to assure himself that there were no spies of

"Are we alone, Monsieur, my lacquey?" said Marguerite, gaily, as the young man once more sat down beside

"Faith, man! but you wear a glum face! As for me, I could dance with joy! Surely there is no longer any cause

for fear. Our boat is on the beach, the FOAM CREST not two miles out at sea, and my husband will be here,

under this very roof, within the next half hour perhaps. Sure! there is naught to hinder us. Chauvelin and his

"Exactly. ButI did not speak of it before, for I feared to alarm youI saw him on the beach not five

minutes before we embarked. At least, I swore to myself at the time that it was himself; he was disguised as a

CURE, so that Satan, his own guardian, would scarce have known him. But I heard him then, bargaining for a

vessel to take him swiftly to Calais; and he must have set sail less than an hour after we did."

Marguerite's face had quickly lost its look of joy. The terrible danger in which Percy stood, now that he was

actually on French soil, became suddenly and horribly clear to her. Chauvelin was close upon his heels; here

in Calais, the astute diplomatist was allpowerful; a word from him and Percy could be tracked and arrested

Every drop of blood seemed to freeze in her veins; not even during the moments of her wildest anguish in

England had she so completely realised the imminence of the peril in which her husband stood. Chauvelin

had sworn to bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine, and now the daring plotter, whose anonymity

hitherto had been his safeguard, stood revealed through her own hand, to his most bitter, most relentless

Chauvelinwhen he waylaid Lord Tony and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes in the coffeeroom of "The Fisherman's

Rest"had obtained possession of all the plans of this latest expedition. Armand St. Just, the Comte de

Tournay and other fugitive royalists were to have met the Scarlet Pimpernelor rather, as it had been

originally arranged, two of his emissarieson this day, the 2nd of October, at a place evidently known to the

Armand, whose connection with the Scarlet Pimpernel and disavowal of the brutal policy of the Reign of

Terror was still unknown to his countryman, had left England a little more than a week ago, carrying with

him the necessary instructions, which would enable him to meet the other fugitives and to convey them to

This much Marguerite had fully understood from the first, and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had confirmed her

surmises. She knew, too, that when Sir Percy realized that his own plans and his directions to his lieutenants

had been stolen by Chauvelin, it was too late to communicate with Armand, or to send fresh instructions to

They would, of necessity, be at the appointed time and place, not knowing how grave was the danger which

Blakeney, who as usual had planned and organized the whole expedition, would not allow any of his younger

comrades to run the risk of almost certain capture. Hence his hurried note to them at Lord Grenville's

And now with his identity known to his most bitter enemy, his every step would be dogged, the moment he

set foot in France. He would be tracked by Chauvelin's emissaries, followed until he reached that mysterious

hut where the fugitives were waiting for him, and there the trap would be closed on him and on them.

There was but one hourthe hour's start which Marguerite and Sir Andrew had of their enemyin which to

warn Percy of the imminence of his danger, and to persuade him to give up the foolhardy expedition, which

"Chauvelin knows of this inn, from the papers he stole," said Sir Andrew, earnestly, "and on landing will

"He has not landed yet," she said, "we have an hour's start on him, and Percy will be here directly. We shall

be midChannel ere Chauvelin has realised that we have slipped through his fingers.

She spoke excitedly and eagerly, wishing to infuse into her young friend some of that buoyant hope which

"Silent again, Sir Andrew?" she said with some impatience. "Why do you shake your head and look so

"Faith, Madame," he replied, "`tis only because in making your rosecoloured plans, you are forgetting the

"What in the world do you mean?I am forgetting nothing. . . . What factor do you mean?" she added with

"It stands six foot odd high," replied Sir Andrew, quietly, "and hath name Percy Blakeney."

"Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having accomplished what he set out to do?"

"My brother!" she said with a heartbroken sob of anguish. "Heaven help me, but I fear I had forgotten."

"Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival

of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the Channel.

Indeed, she had forgotten! With the sublime selfishness of a woman who loves with her whole heart, she had

in the last twentyfour hours had no thought save for him. His precious, noble life, his dangerhe, the loved

"My brother!" she murmured, as one by one the heavy tears gathered in her eyes, as memory came back to

her of Armand, the companion and darling of her childhood, the man for whom she had committed the deadly

"Sir Percy Blakeney would not be the trusted, honoured leader of a score of English gentlemen," said Sir

Andrew, proudly, "if he abandoned those who placed their trust in him. As for breaking his word, the very

There was silence for a moment or two. Marguerite had buried her face in her hands, and was letting the tears

slowly trickle through her trembling fingers. The young man said nothing; his heart ached for this beautiful

woman in her awful grief. All along he had felt the terrible IMPASSE in which her own rash act had plunged

them all. He knew his friend and leader so well, with his reckless daring, his mad bravery, his worship of his

own word of honour. Sir Andrew knew that Blakeney would brave any danger, run the wildest risks sooner

than break it, and with Chauvelin at his very heels, would make a final attempt, however desperate, to rescue

"Faith, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite at last, making brave efforts to dry her tears, "you are right, and I would

not now shame myself by trying to dissuade him from doing his duty. As you say, I should plead in vain. God

grant him strength and ability," she added fervently and resolutely, "to outwit his pursuers. He will not refuse

to take you with him, perhaps, when he starts on his noble work; between you, you will have cunning as well

as valour! God guard you both! In the meanwhile I think we should lose no time. I still believe that his safety

"Undoubtedly. He has wonderful resources at his command. As soon as he is aware of his danger he will

"Then, what say you to a voyage of reconnaissance in the village whilst I wait here against his

coming!You might come across Percy's track and thus save valuable time. If you find him, tell him to

"Nay, that I do not mind!But you might ask our surly host if he could let me wait in another room, where I

could be safer from the prying eyes of any chance traveller. Offer him some ready money, so that he should

She spike quite calmly, even cheerfully now, thinking out her plans, ready for the worst if need be; she would

show no more weakness, she would prove herself worthy of him, who was about to give his life for the sake

Sir Andrew obeyed her without further comment. Instinctively he felt that hers now was the stronger mind;

he was willing to give himself over to her guidance, to become the hand, whilst she was the directing hand.

He went to the door of the inner room, through which Brogard and his wife had disappeared before, and

"Hey! friend Brogard!" said the man peremptorily, "my lady friend would wish to rest here awhile. Could

He took some money out of his pocket, and allowed it to jingle significantly in his hand. Brogard had opened

the door, and listened, with his usual surly apathy, to the young man's request. At the sight of the gold,

however, his lazy attitude relaxed slightly; he took his pipe from his mouth and shuffled into the room.

"She can wait up there!" he said with a grunt. "It's comfortable, and I have no other room."

"Nothing could be better," said Marguerite in English; she at once realised the advantages such a position

hidden from view would give her. "Give him the money, Sir Andrew; I shall be quite happy up there, and can

She nodded to Brogard, who condescended to go up to the attic, and to shake up the straw that lay on the

"May I entreat you, madam, to do nothing rash," said Sir Andrew, as Marguerite prepared in her turn to

ascend the rickety flight of steps. "Remember this place is infested with spies. Do not, I beg of you, reveal

yourself to Sir Percy, unless you are absolutely certain that you are alone with him."

Even as he spoke, he felt how unnecessary was this caution: Marguerite was as calm, as clearheaded as any

"Nay," she said with a slight attempt at cheerfulness, "that I can faithfully promise you. I would not

jeopardise my husband's life, nor yet his plans, by speaking to him before strangers. Have no fear, I will

Brogard had come down the steps again, and Marguerite was ready to go up to her safe retreat.

"I dare not kiss your hand, madam," said Sir Andrew, as she began to mount the steps, "since I am your

lacquey, but I pray you be of good cheer. If I do not come across Blakeney in half an hour, I shall return,

"Yes, that will be best. We can afford to wait for half an hour. Chauvelin cannot possibly be here before that.

God grant that either you or I may have seen Percy by then. Good luck to you, friend! Have no fear for me."

Lightly she mounted the rickety wooden steps that led to the attic. Brogard was taking no further heed of her.

She could make herself comfortable there or not as she chose. Sir Andrew watched her until she had reached

the curtains across, and the young man noted that she was singularly well placed there, for seeing and

He had paid Brogard well; the surly old innkeeper would have no object in betraying her. Then Sir Andrew

prepared to go. At the door he turned once again and looked up at the loft. Through the ragged curtains

Marguerite's sweet face was peeping down at him, and the young man rejoiced to see that it looked serene,

and even gently smiling. With a final nod of farewell to her, he walked out into the night.

The next quarter of an hour went by swiftly and noiselessly. In the room downstairs, Brogard had for a while

It was because she watched these preparations that Marguerite found the time slipping by more pleasantly. It

was for Percy that this semblance of supper was being got ready. Evidently Brogard had a certain amount of

respect for the tall Englishman, as he seemed to take some trouble in making the place look a trifle less

He even produced, from some hidden recess in the old dresser, what actually looked like a tablecloth; and

when he spread it out, and saw it was full of holes, he shook his head dubiously for a while, then was at much

Then he got out a serviette, also old and ragged, but possessing some measure of cleanliness, and with this he

Marguerite could not help smiling to herself as she watched all these preparations, which Brogard

accomplished to an accompaniment of muttered oaths. Clearly the great height and bulk of the Englishman,

or perhaps the weight of his fist, had overawed this freeborn citizen of France, or he would never have been

When the table was setsuch as it wasBrogard surveyed it with evident satisfaction. He then dusted one

of the chairs with the corner of his blouse, gave a stir to the stockpot, threw a fresh bundle of faggots on to

Marguerite was left alone with her reflections. She had spread her travelling cloak over the straw, and was

sitting fairly comfortably, as the straw was fresh, and the evil odours from below came up to her only in a

But, momentarily, she was almost happy; happy because, when she peeped through the tattered curtains, she

could see a rickety chair, a torn tablecloth, a glass, a plate and a spoon; that was all. But those mute and ugly

things seemed to say to her that they were waiting for Percy; that soon, very soon, he would be here, that the

That thought was so heavenly, that Marguerite closed her eyes in order to shut out everything but that. In a

few minutes she would be alone with him; she would run down the ladder, and let him see her; then he would

take her in his arms, and she would let him see that, after that, she would gladly die for him, and with him, for

And then what would happen? She could not even remotely conjecture. She knew, of course, that Sir Andrew

was right, that Percy would do everything he had set out to accomplish; that shenow she was herecould

do nothing, beyond warning him to be cautious, since Chauvelin himself was on his track. After having

cautioned him, she would perforce have to see him go off upon the terrible and daring mission; she could not

even with a word or look, attempt to keep him back. She would have to obey, whatever he told her to do,

even perhaps have to efface herself, and wait, in indescribable agony, whilst he, perhaps, went to his death.

But even that seemed less terrible to bear than the thought that he should never know how much she loved

himthat at any rate would be spared her; the squalid room itself, which seemed to be waiting for him, told

Suddenly her oversensitive ears caught the sound of distant footsteps drawing near; her heart gave a wild

leap of joy! Was it Percy at last? No! the step did not seem quite as long, nor quite as firm as his; she also

thought that she could hear two distinct sets of footsteps. Yes! that was it! two men were coming this way.

But she had not time to conjecture, for presently there was a peremptory call at the door, and the next

moment it was violently open from the outside, whilst a rough, commanding voice shouted,

Marguerite could not see the newcomers, but, through a hole in one of the curtains, she could observe one

She heard Brogard's shuffling footsteps, as he came out of the inner room, muttering his usual string of oaths.

On seeing the strangers, however, he paused in the middle of the room, well within range of Marguerite's

vision, looked at them, with even more withering contempt than he had bestowed upon his former guests, and

Marguerite's heart seemed all at once to stop beating; her eyes, large and dilated, had fastened on one of the

newcomers, who, at this point, had taken a quick step forward towards Brogard. He was dressed in the

soutane, broadbrimmed hat and buckled shoes habitual to the French CURE, but as he stood opposite the

innkeeper, he threw open his soutane for a moment, displaying the tricolour scarf of officialism, which sight

immediately had the effect of transforming Brogard's attitude of contempt, into one of cringing

It was the sight of this French CURE, which seemed to freeze the very blood in Marguerite's veins. She could

not see his face, which was shaded by his broadbrimmed hat, but she recognized the thin, bony hands, the

The horror of the situation struck her as with a physical blow; the awful disappointment, the dread of what

was to come, made her very senses reel, and she needed almost superhuman effort, not to fall senseless

"A plate of soup and a bottle of wine," said Chauvelin imperiously to Brogard, "then clear out of

Silently, and without any muttering this time, Brogard obeyed. Chauvelin sat down at the table, which had

been prepared for the tall Englishman, and the innkeeper busied himself obsequiously round him, dishing up

the soup and pouring out the wine. The man who had entered with Chauvelin and whom Marguerite could not

At a brusque sign from Chauvelin, Brogard had hurried back to the inner room, and the former now beckoned

In him Marguerite at once recognised Desgas, Chauvelin's secretary and confidential factotum, whom she had

often seen in Paris, in days gone by. He crossed the room, and for a moment or two listened attentively at the

For a moment Marguerite dreaded lest Chauvelin should order Desgas to search the place; what would

happen if she were to be discovered, she hardly dared to imagine. Fortunately, however, Chauvelin seemed

more impatient to talk to his secretary than afraid of spies, for he called Desgas quickly back to his side.

"She was lost sight of at sundown, citoyen," replied Desgas, "but was then making west, towards Cap Gris

"He assured me that all the orders you sent him last week have been implicitly obeyed. All the roads which

converge to this place have been patrolled night and day ever since: and the beach and cliffs have been most

"No, citoyen, nobody seems to know of it by that name. There are any amount of fisherman's huts all along

"The roads and the beach are patrolled as usual, citoyen, and Captain Jutley awaits further orders."

"Go back to him at once, then. Tell him to send reinforcements to the various patrols; and especially to those

Chauvelin spoke curtly and to the point, and every word he uttered struck at Marguerite's heart like the

"The men," he continued, "are to keep the sharpest possible lookout for any stranger who may be walking,

riding, or driving, along the road or the beach, more especially for a tall stranger, whom I need not describe

further, as probably he will be disguised; but he cannot very well conceal his height, except by stooping. You

"As soon as any of the men have sighted a stranger, two of them are to keep him in view. The man who loses

sight of the tall stranger, after he is once seen, will pay for his negligence with his life; but one man is to ride

"Very well, then. Go and see Jutley at once. See the reinforcements start off for the patrol duty, then ask the

captain to let you have a halfadozen more men and bring them here with you. You can be back in ten

As Marguerite, sick with horror, listened to Chauvelin's directions to his underling, the whole of the plan for

the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel became appallingly clear to her. Chauvelin wished that the fugitives

should be left in false security waiting in their hidden retreat until Percy joined them. Then the daring plotter

was to be surrounded and caught redhanded, in the very act of aiding and abetting royalists, who were

traitors to the republic. Thus, if his capture were noised abroad, even the British Government could not

legally protest in his favour; having plotted with the enemies of the French Government, France had the right

Escape for him and them would be impossible. All the roads patrolled and watched, the trap well set, the net,

wide at present, but drawing together tighter and tighter, until it closed upon the daring plotter, whose

Desgas was about to go, but Chauvelin once more called him back. Marguerite vaguely wondered what

further devilish plans he could have formed, in order to entrap one brave man, alone, against twoscore of

others. She looked at him as he turned to speak to Desgas; she could just see his face beneath the

broadbrimmed, CURES'S hat. There was at that moment so much deadly hatred, such fiendish malice in the

thin face and pale, small eyes, that Marguerite's last hope died in her heart, for she felt that from this man she

"I had forgotten," repeated Chauvelin, with a weird chuckle, as he rubbed his bony, talonlike hands one

against the other, with a gesture of fiendish satisfaction. "The tall stranger may show fight. In any case no

shooting, remember, except as a last resort. I want that tall stranger alive. . .if possible."

He laughed, as Dante has told us that the devils laugh at the sight of the torture of the damned. Marguerite

had thought that by now she had lived through the whole gamut of horror and anguish that human heart could

bear; yet now, when Desgas left the house, and she remained alone in this lonely, squalid room, with that

fiend for company, she felt as if all that she had suffered was nothing compared with this. He continued to

laugh and chuckle to himself for awhile, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his triumph.

His plans were well laid, and he might well triumph! Not a loophole was left, through which the bravest, the

most cunning man might escape. Every road guarded, every corner watched, and in that lonely hut

somewhere on the coast, a small band of fugitives waiting for their rescuer, and leading him to his

deathnay! to worse than death. That fiend there, in a holy man's garb, was too much of a devil to allow a

He, above all, longed to have the cunning enemy, who had so long baffled him, helpless in his power; he

wished to gloat over him, to enjoy his downfall, to inflict upon him what moral and mental torture a deadly

hatred alone can devise. The brave eagle, captured, and with noble wings clipped, was doomed to endure the

gnawing of the rat. And she, his wife, who loved him, and who had brought him to this, could do nothing to

Nothing, save to hope for death by his side, and for one brief moment in which to tell him that her

Chauvelin was now sitting close to the table; he had taken off his hat, and Marguerite could just see the

outline of his thin profile and pointed chin, as he bent over his meagre supper. He was evidently quite

contented, and awaited evens with perfect calm; he even seemed to enjoy Brogard's unsavoury fare.

Marguerite wondered how so much hatred could lurk in one human being against another.

Suddenly, as she watched Chauvelin, a sound caught her ear, which turned her very heart to stone. And yet

that sound was not calculated to inspire anyone with horror, for it was merely the cheerful sound of a gay,

Marguerite's breath stopped short; she seemed to feel her very life standing still momentarily whilst she

listened to that voice and to that song. In the singer she had recognised her husband. Chauvelin, too, had

heard it, for he darted a quick glance towards the door, then hurriedly took up his broadbrimmed hat and

The voice drew nearer; for one brief second the wild desire seized Marguerite to rush down the steps and fly

across the room, to stop that song at any cost, to beg the cheerful singer to flyfly for his life, before it be

too late. She checked the impulse just in time. Chauvelin would stop her before she reached the door, and,

moreover, she had no idea if he had any soldiers posted within his call. Her impetuous act might prove the

sang the voice more lustily than ever. The next moment the door was thrown open and there was dead silence

Marguerite could not see the door; she held her breath, trying to imagine what was happening.

Percy Blakeney on entering had, of course, at once caught sight of the CURE at the table; his hesitation lasted

less than five seconds, the next moment, Marguerite saw his tall figure crossing the room, whilst he called in

He wore the magnificent coat and ridingsuit which he had on when Marguerite last saw him at Richmond,

so many hours ago. As usual, his getup was absolutely irreproachable, the fine Mechlin lace at his neck and

wrists were immaculate and white, his fair hair was carefully brushed, and he carried his eyeglass with his

usual affected gesture. In fact, at this moment, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., might have been on his way to a

gardenparty at the Prince of Wales', instead of deliberately, coldbloodedly running his head in a trap, set

He stood for a moment in the middle of the room, whilst Marguerite, absolutely paralysed with horror,

Every moment she expected that Chauvelin would give a signal, that the place would fill with soldiers, that

she would rush down and help Percy to sell his life dearly. As he stood there, suavely unconscious, she very

But she had not time even to do that, for the next moment Blakeney quietly walked to the table, and, jovially

"Odds's fish!. . .er. . .M. Chauvelin. . . . I vow I never thought of meeting you here."

Chauvelin, who had been in the very act of conveying soup to his mouth, fairly choked. His thin face became

absolutely purple, and a violent fit of coughing saved this cunning representative of France from betraying

the most boundless surprise he had ever experienced. There was no doubt that this bold move on the part of

the enemy had been wholly unexpected, as far as he was concerned: and the daring impudence of it

Obviously he had not taken the precaution of having the inn surrounded with soldiers. Blakeney had

evidently guessed that much, and no doubt his resourceful brain had already formed some plan by which he

Marguerite up in the loft had not moved. She had made a solemn promise to Sir Andrew not to speak to her

husband before strangers, and she had sufficient selfconcontrol not to throw herself unreasoningly and

impulsively across his plans. To sit still and watch these two men together was a terrible trial of fortitude.

Marguerite had heard Chauvelin give the orders for the patrolling of all the roads. She knew that if Percy now

left the "Chat Gris"in whatever direction he happened to gohe could not go far without being sighted by

some of Captain Jutley's men on patrol. On the other hand, if he stayed, then Desgas would have time to

The trap was closing in, and Marguerite could do nothing but watch and wonder. The two men looked such a

strange contrast, and of the two it was Chauvelin who exhibited a slight touch of fear. Marguerite knew him

well enough to guess what was passing in his mind. He had no fear for his own person, although he certainly

was alone in a lonely inn with a man who was powerfully built, and who was daring and reckless beyond the

bounds of probability. She knew that Chauvelin would willingly have braved perilous encounters for the sake

of the cause he had at heart, but what he did fear was that this impudent Englishman would, by knocking him

down, double his own chances of escape; his underlings might not succeed so sell in capturing the Scarlet

Pimpernel, when not directed by the cunning hand and the shrewd brain, which had deadly hate for an

Evidently, however, the representative of the French Government had nothing to fear for the moment, at the

hands of his powerful adversary. Blakeney, with his most inane laugh and pleasant goodnature, was

"I am so demmed sorry. . ." he was saying cheerfully, "so very sorry. . .I seem to have upset you. . .eating

soup, too. . .nasty, awkward thing, soup. . .er. . .Begad!a friend of mine died once. . . er. . .choked. . .just

"Odd's life!" he continued, as soon as the latter had somewhat recovered himself, "beastly hole this. . .ain't it

now? La! you don't mind?" he added, apologetically, as he sat down on a chair close to the table and drew the

There was a second plate on the table, and he calmly helped himself to soup, then poured himself out a glass

For a moment Marguerite wondered what Chauvelin would do. His disguise was so good that perhaps he

meant, on recovering himself, to deny his identity: but Chauvelin was too astute to make such an obviously

false and childish move, and already he too had stretched out his hand and said pleasantly,

"I am indeed charmed to see you Sir Percy. You must excuse meh'mI thought you the other side of the

"La!" said Sir Percy, with a goodhumoured grin, "it did that quite, didn't iterM.erChaubertin?"

"I beg pardona thousand times. YesChauvelin of course. . . . Er. . .I never could cotton to foreign names.

He was calmly eating his soup, laughing with pleasant goodhumour, as if he had come all the way to Calais

for the express purpose of enjoying supper at this filthy inn, in the company of his archenemy.

For the moment Marguerite wondered why Percy did not knock the little Frenchman down then and

thereand no doubt something of the sort must have darted through his mind, for every now and then his

lazy eyes seemed to flash ominously, as they rested on the slight figure of Chauvelin, who had now quite

But the keen brain, which had planned and carried through so many daring plots, was too farseeing to take

unnecessary risks. This place, after all, might be infested with spies; the innkeeper might be in Chauvelin's

pay. One call on Chauvelin's part might bring twenty men about Blakeney's ears for aught he knew, and he

might be caught and trapped before he could help, or, at least, warn the fugitives. This he would not risk; he

meant to help the others, to get THEM safely away; for he had pledged his word to them, and his word he

WOULD keep. And whilst he ate and chatted, he thought and planned, whilst, up in the loft, the poor,

anxious woman racked her brain as to what she should do, and endured agonies of longing to rush down to

"I didn't know," Blakeney was saying jovially, "that you. . . er. . .were in holy orders."

"I. . .er. . .hem. . ." stammered Chauvelin. The calm impudence of his antagonist had evidently thrown him

"But, la! I should have known you anywhere," continued Sir Percy, placidly, as he poured himself out another

"Lud! they alter a man so. . .but. . .begad! I hope you don't mind my having made the remark?. . .Demmed

"No, no, not at allhem! I hope Lady Blakeney is well," said Chauvelin, hurriedly changing the topic of

Blakeney, with much deliberation, finished his plate of soup, drank his glass of wine, and, momentarily, it

"Quite well, thank you," he said at last, drily. There was a pause, during which Marguerite could watch these

two antagonists who, evidently in their minds, were measuring themselves against one another. She could see

Percy almost full face where he sat at the table not ten yards from where she herself was crouching, puzzled,

not knowing what to do, or what she should think. She had quite controlled her impulse now of rushing down

hand disclosing herself to her husband. A man capable of acting a part, in the way he was doing at the present

Marguerite indulged in the luxury, dear to every tender woman's heart, of looking at the man she loved. She

looked through the tattered curtain, across at the handsome face of her husband, in whose lazy blue eyes, and

behind whose inane smile, she could now so plainly see the strength, energy, and resourcefulness which had

caused the Scarlet Pimpernel to be reverenced and trusted by his followers. "There are nineteen of us ready to

lay down our lives for your husband, Lady Blakeney," Sir Andrew had said to her; and as she looked at the

forehead, low, but square and broad, the eyes, blue, yet deepset and intense, the whole aspect of the man, of

indomitable energy, hiding, behind a perfectly acted comedy, his almost superhuman strength of will and

marvellous ingenuity, she understood the fascination which he exercised over his followers, for had he not

Chauvelin, who was trying to conceal his impatience beneath his usual urbane manner, took a quick look at

his watch. Desgas should not be long: another two or three minutes, and this impudent Englishman would be

"Odd's life, no," replied Blakeney, with a laugh. "Only as far as Lillenot Paris for me. . .beastly

uncomfortable place Paris, just now. . .eh, Monsieur Chaubertin. . .beg pardon. . .Chauvelin!"

"Not for an English gentleman like yourself, Sir Percy," rejoined Chauvelin, sarcastically, "who takes no

"La! you see it's no business of mine, and our demmed government is all on your side of the business. Old

Pitt daren't say 'Bo' to a goose. You are in a hurry, sir," he added, as Chauvelin once again took out his watch;

"an appointment, perhaps. . . . I pray you take no heed of me. . . . My time's my own."

He rose from the table and dragged a chair to the hearth. Once more Marguerite was terribly tempted to go to

him, for time was getting on; Desgas might be back at any moment with his men. Percy did not know that

"I am in no hurry," continued Percy, pleasantly, "but, la! I don't want to spend any more time than I can help

in this Godforsaken hole! But, begad! sir," he added, as Chauvelin had surreptitiously looked at his watch

for the third time, "that watch of yours won't go any faster for all the looking you give it. You are expecting a

"Not a ladyI trust, Monsieur l'Abbe," laughed Blakeney; "surely the holy church does not allow?. . .eh?. .

He kicked the fire with the heel of his boot, making the logs blaze in the old hearth. He seemed in no hurry to

go, and apparently was quite unconscious of his immediate danger. He dragged another chair to the fire, and

Chauvelin, whose impatience was by now quite beyond control, sat down beside the hearth, in such a way as

to command a view of the door. Desgas had been gone nearly a quarter of an hour. It was quite plane to

Marguerite's aching senses that as soon as he arrived, Chauvelin would abandon all his other plans with

"Hey, M. Chauvelin," the latter was saying arily, "tell me, I pray you, is your friend pretty? Demmed smart

these little French women sometimeswhat? But I protest I need not ask," he added, as he carelessly strode

back towards the suppertable. "In matters of taste the Church has never been backward. . . . Eh?"

But Chauvelin was not listening. His every faculty was now concentrated on that door through which

presently Desgas would enter. Marguerite's thoughts, too, were centered there, for her ears had suddenly

caught, through the stillness of the night, the sound of numerous and measured treads some distance away.

It was Desgas and his men. Another three minutes and they would be here! Another three minutes and the

awful thing would have occurred: the brave eagle would have fallen in the ferret's trap! She would have

moved now and screamed, but she dared not; for whilst she heard the soldiers approaching, she was looking

at Percy and watching his every movement. He was standing by the table whereon the remnants of the

supper, plates, glasses, spoons, salt and pepperpots were scattered pellmell. His back was turned to

Chauvelin and he was still prattling along in his own affected and inane way, but from his pocket he had

taken his snuffbox, and quickly and suddenly he emptied the contents of the pepperpot into it.

Chauvelin had been too intent on listening to the sound of those approaching footsteps, to notice what his

cunning adversary had been doing. He now pulled himself together, trying to look unconcerned in the very

midst of his anticipated triumph. "No," he said presently, "that isas you were saying, Sir Percy?"

"I was saying," said Blakeney, going up to Chauvelin, by the fire, "that the Jew in Piccadilly has sold me

better snuff this time than I have ever tasted. Will you honour me, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

He stood close to Chauvelin in his own careless, DEBONNAIRE way, holding out his snuffbox to his

Chauvelin, who, as he told Marguerite once, had seen a trick or two in his day, had never dreamed of this

one. With one ear fixed on those fastapproaching footsteps, one eye turned to that door where Desgas and

his men would presently appear, lulled into false security by the impudent Englishman's airy manner, he

Only he, who has ever by accident sniffed vigorously a dose of pepper, can have the faintest conception of

Chauvelin felt as if his head would burstsneeze after sneeze seemed nearly to choke him; he was blind,

deaf, and dumb for the moment, and during that moment Blakeney quietly, without the slightest haste, took

up his hat, took some money out of his pocket, which he left on the table, then calmly stalked out of the

It took Marguerite some time to collect her scattered senses; the whole of this last short episode had taken

place in less than a minute, and Desgas and the soldiers were still about two hundred yards away from the

When she realised what had happened, a curious mixture of joy and wonder filled her heart. It all was so neat,

so ingenious. Chauvelin was still absolutely helpless, far more so than he could even have been under a blow

from the fist, for now he could neither see, nor hear, nor speak, whilst his cunning adversary had quietly

Blakeney was gone, obviously to try and join the fugitives at the Pere Blanchard's hut. For the moment, true,

Chauvelin was helpless; for the moment the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had not been caught by Desgas and his

men. But all the roads and the beach were patrolled. Every place was watched, and every stranger kept in

sight. How far could Percy go, thus arrayed in his gorgeous clothes, without being sighted and followed?

Now she blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to him sooner, and given him that word of

warning and of love which, perhaps, after all, he needed. He could not know of the orders which Chauvelin

But before all these horrible thoughts had taken concrete form in her brain, she heard the grounding of arms

Chauvelin had partially recovered; his sneezing had become less violent, and he had struggled to his feet. He

Chauvelin threw open the door, and before his secretary could say a word, he had managed to stammer

"And you are just five minutes too late, my friend," said Chauvelin, with concentrated fury.

"You did what I ordered you to do," said Chauvelin, with impatience. "I know that, but you were a precious

long time about it. Fortunately, there's not much harm done, or it had fared ill with you, Citoyen Desgas."

Desgas turned a little pale. There was so much rage and hatred in his superior's whole attitude.

"Was here, in this room, five minutes ago, having supper at that table. Damn his impudence! For obvious

reasons, I dared not tackle him alone. Brogard is too big a fool, and that cursed Englishman appears to have

"Captain Jutley sent forty men as reinforcements for the patrol duty: twenty went down to the beach. He

again assured me that the watch had been constant all day, and that no stranger could possibly get to the

"That's good.Do the men know their work?" "They have had very clear orders, citoyen: and I myself spoke

to those who were about to start. They are to shadowas secretly as possibleany stranger they may see,

"In no case to detain such a person, of course," said Chauvelin, eagerly. "That impudent Scarlet Pimpernel

would slip through clumsy fingers. We must let him get to the Pere Blanchard's hut now; there surround and

"The men understand that, citoyen, and also that, as soon as a tall stranger has been sighted, he must be

"A tall Englishman had a long conversation about threequarters of an hour ago with a Jew, Reuben by name,

"The conversation was all about a horse and cart, which the tall Englishman wished to hire, and which was to

"Send one of the men to find out if the stranger has driven off in Reuben's cart."

Desgas went to give the necessary orders to one of the men. Not a word of this conversation between him and

Chauvelin had escaped Marguerite, and every word they had spoken seemed to strike at her heart, with

She had come all this way, and with such high hopes and firm determination to help her husband, and so far

she had been able to do nothing, but to watch, with a heart breaking with anguish, the meshes of the deadly

He could not now advance many steps, without spying eyes to track and denounce him. Her own helplessness

struck her with the terrible sense of utter disappointment. The possibility of being the slightest use to her

husband had become almost NIL, and her only hope rested in being allowed to share his fate, whatever it

For the moment, even her chance of ever seeing the man she loved again, had become a remote one. Still, she

was determined to keep a close watch over his enemy, and a vague hope filled her heart, that whilst she kept

Desgas left Chauvelin moodily pacing up and down the room, whilst he himself waited outside for the return

of the man whom he had sent in search of Reuben. Thus several minutes went by. Chauvelin was evidently

devoured with impatience. Apparently he trusted no one: this last trick played upon him by the daring Scarlet

Pimpernel had made him suddenly doubtful of success, unless he himself was there to watch, direct and

About five minutes later, Desgas returned, followed by an elderly Jew, in a dirty, threadbare gaberdine, worn

greasy across the shoulders. His red hair, which he wore after the fashion of the Polish Jews, with the

corkscrew curls each side of his face, was plentifully sprinkled with greya general coating of grime, about

his cheeks and his chin, gave him a peculiarly dirty and loathsome appearance. He had the habitual stoop,

those of his race affected in mock humility in past centuries, before the dawn of equality and freedom in

matters of faith, and he walked behind Desgas with the peculiar shuffling gait which has remained the

Chauvelin, who had all the Frenchman's prejudice against the despised race, motioned to the fellow to keep at

a respectful distance. The group of the three men were standing just underneath the hanging oillamp, and

"No, citoyen," replied Desgas, "Reuben could not be found, so presumably his cart has gone with the

stranger; but this man here seems to know something, which he is willing to sell for a consideration."

"Ah!" said Chauvelin, turning away with disgust from the loathsome specimen of humanity before him.

The Jew, with characteristic patience, stood humbly on one side, leaning on the knotted staff, his greasy,

broadbrimmed hat casting a deep shadow over his grimy face, waiting for the noble Excellency to deign to

"The citoyen tells me," said Chauvelin peremptorily to him, "that you know something of my friend, the tall

Englishman, whom I desire to meet. . .MORBLEU! keep your distance, man," he added hurriedly, as the Jew

"Yes, your Excellency," replied the Jew, who spoke the language with that peculiar lisp which denotes

Eastern origin, "I and Reuben Goldstein met a tall Englishman, on the road, close by here this evening."

"He spoke to us, your Excellency. He wanted to know if he could hire a horse and cart to go down along the

"I did not say anything," said the Jew in an injured tone, "Reuben Goldstein, that accursed traitor, that son of

"Cut that short, man," interrupted Chauvelin, roughly, "and go on with your story."

"He took the words out of my mouth, your Excellency: when I was about to offer the wealthy Englishman my

horse and cart, to take him wheresoever he chose, Reuben had already spoken, and offered his halfstarved

"He listened to Reuben Goldstein, your Excellency, and put his hand in his pocket then and there, and took

out a handful of gold, which he showed to that descendant of Beelzebub, telling him that all that would be

"Well! they were ready for him in a manner, so to speak, your Excellency. Reuben's nag was lame as usual;

she refused to budge at first. It was only after a time and with plenty of kicks, that she at last could be made

"Yes, they started about five minutes ago. I was disgusted with that stranger's folly. An Englishman too!He

"No choice, your Excellency?" protested the Jew, in a rasping voice, "did I not repeat to him a dozen times,

that my horse and cart would take him quicker, and more comfortably than Reuben's bag of bones. He would

not listen. Reuben is such a liar, and has such insinuating ways. The stranger was deceived. If he was in a

Thoughtfully the Jew rubbed his dirty chin. Marguerite's heart was beating wellnigh to bursting. She had

heard the peremptory question; she looked anxiously at the Jew, but could not read his face beneath the

shadow of his broadbrimmed hat. Vaguely she felt somehow as if he held Percy's fate in his long dirty

There was a long pause, whilst Chauvelin frowned impatiently at the stooping figure before him: at last the

Jew slowly put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew out from its capacious depths a number of silver coins.

"This is what the tall stranger gave me, when he drove away with Reuben, for holding my tongue about him,

"Twenty francs, your Excellency," replied the Jew, "and I have been an honest man all my life."

Chauvelin without further comment took a few pieces of gold out of his own pocket, and leaving them in the

palm of his hand, he allowed them to jingle as he held them out towards the Jew.

Evidently he had no desire to terrorize the man, but to conciliate him, for his own purposes, for his manner

was pleasant and suave. No doubt he feared that threats of the guillotine, and various other persuasive

methods of that type, might addle the old man's brains, and that he would be more likely to be useful through

The eyes of the Jew shot a quick, keen glance at the gold in his interlocutor's hand.

"Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friend the tall stranger, who has driven off

Chauvelin without another word threw the five pieces of gold one by one before the Jew, who knelt down,

and on his hands and knees struggled to collect them. One rolled away, and he had some trouble to get it, for

it had lodged underneath the dresser. Chauvelin quietly waited while the old man scrambled on the floor, to

"As far as the Pere Blanchard's hut, your Honour, and further than Reuben's nag took your friend. I am sure

that, not two leagues from here, we shall come across that wily Reuben, his nag, his cart and the tall stranger

"On the road which the Englishman took, Miquelon is the nearest village, not two leagues from here."

"That is my intention," said Chauvelin very quietly, "but remember, if you have deceived me, I shall tell off

two of my most stalwart soldiers to give you such a beating, that your breath will perhaps leave your ugly

body for ever. But if we find my friend the tall Englishman, either on the road or at the Pere Blanchard's hut,

The Jew again thoughtfully rubbed his chin. He looked at the money in his hand, then at this stern

interlocutor, and at Desgas, who had stood silently behind him all this while. After a moment's pause, he said

"Go and wait outside then," said Chauvelin, "and remember to stick to your bargain, or by Heaven, I will

With a final, most abject and cringing bow, the old Jew shuffled out of the room. Chauvelin seemed pleased

with his interview, for he rubbed his hands together, with that usual gesture of his, of malignant satisfaction.

Desgas went to the door, and apparently gave the necessary orders, for presently a soldier entered, carrying

He took off his soutane, beneath which he was wearing closefitting breeches and a cloth waistcoat, and

"You, citoyen, in the meanwhile," he said to Desgas, "go back to Captain Jutley as fast as you can, and tell

him to let you have another dozen men, and bring them with you along the St. Martin Road, where I daresay

you will soon overtake the Jew's cart with myself in it. There will be hot work presently, if I mistake not, in

the Pere Blanchard's hut. We shall corner our game there, I'll warrant, for this impudent Scarlet Pimpernel has

had the audacityor the stupidity, I hardly know whichto adhere to his original plans. He has gone to

meet de Tournay, St. Just and the other traitors, which for the moment, I thought, perhaps, he did not intend

to do. When we find them, there will be a band of desperate men at bay. Some of our men will, I presume, be

put HORS DE COMBAT. These royalists are good swordsmen, and the Englishman is devilish cunning, and

looks very powerful. Still, we shall be five against one at least. You can follow the cart closely with your

men, all along the St. Martin Road, through Miquelon. The Englishman is ahead of us, and not likely to look

Whilst he gave these curt and concise orders, he had completed his change of attire. The priest's costume had

been laid aside, and he was once more dressed in his usual dark, tightfitting clothes. At last he took up his

"I shall have an interesting prisoner to deliver into your hands," he said with a chuckle, as with unwonted

familiarity he took Desgas' arm, and led him towards the door. "We won't kill him outright, eh, friend

Desgas? The Pere Blanchard's hut isan I mistake nota lonely spot upon the beach, and our men will

enjoy a bit of rough sport there with the wounded fox. Choose your men well, friend Desgas. . .of the sort

who would enjoy that type of sporteh? We must see that Scarlet Pimpernel wither a bitwhat?shrink

and tremble, eh?. . .before we finally. . ." He made an expressive gesture, whilst he laughed a low, evil laugh,

"Choose your men well, Citoyen Desgas," he said once more, as he led his secretary finally out of the room.

Never for a moment did Marguerite Blakeney hesitate. The last sounds outside the "Chat Gris" had died away

in the night. She had heard Desgas giving orders to his men, and then starting off towards the fort, to get a

reinforcement of a dozen more men: six were not thought sufficient to capture the cunning Englishman,

whose resourceful brain was even more dangerous than his valour and his strength.

Then a few minutes later, she heard the Jew's husky voice again, evidently shouting to his nag, then the

Inside the inn, everything was still. Brogard and his wife, terrified of Chauvelin, had given no sign of life;

they hoped to be forgotten, and at any rate to remain unperceived: Marguerite could not even hear their usual

She waited a moment or two longer, then she quietly slipped down the broken stairs, wrapped her dark cloak

The night was fairly dark, sufficiently so at any rate to hide her dark figure from view, whilst her keen ears

kept count of the sound of the cart going on ahead. She hoped by keeping well within the shadow of the

ditches which lined the road, that she would not be seen by Desgas' men, when they approached, or by the

Thus she started to do this, the last stage of her weary journey, alone, at night, and on foot. Nearly three

leagues to Miquelon, and then on to the Pere Blanchard's hut, wherever that fatal spot might be, probably

The Jew's nag could not get on very fast, and though she was wary with mental fatigue and nerve strain, she

knew that she could easily keep up with it, on a hilly road, where the poor beast, who was sure to be

halfstarved, would have to be allowed long and frequent rests. The road lay some distance from the sea,

bordered on either side by shrubs and stunted trees, sparsely covered with meagre foliage, all turning away

from the North, with their branches looking in the semidarkness, like stiff, ghostly hair, blown by a

Fortunately, the moon showed no desire to peep between the clouds, and Marguerite hugging the edge of the

road, and keeping close to the low line of shrubs, was fairly safe from view. Everything around her was so

still: only from far, very far away, there came like a long soft moan, the sound of the distant sea.

The air was keen and full of brine; after that enforced period of inactivity, inside the evilsmelling, squalid

inn, Marguerite would have enjoyed the sweet scent of this autumnal night, and the distant melancholy

rumble of the autumnal night, and the distant melancholy rumble of the waves; she would have revelled in the

calm and stillness of this lonely spot, a calm, broken only at intervals by the strident and mournful cry of

some distant gull, and by the creaking of the wheels, some way down the road: she would have loved the cool

atmosphere, the peaceful immensity of Nature, in this lonely part of the coast: but her heart was too full of

cruel foreboding, of a great ache and longing for a being who had become infinitely dear to her.

Her feet slipped on the grassy bank, for she thought it safest not to walk near the centre of the road, and she

found it difficult to keep up a sharp pace along the muddy incline. She even thought it best not to keep too

near to the cart; everything was so still, that the rumble of the wheels could not fail to be a safe guide.

The loneliness was absolute. Already the few dim lights of Calais lay far behind, and on this road there was

not a sign of human habitation, not even the hut of a fisherman or of a woodcutter anywhere near; far away

on her right was the edge of the cliff, below it the rough beach, against which the incoming tide was dashing

itself with its constant, distant murmur. And ahead the rumble of the wheels, bearing an implacable enemy to

Marguerite wondered at what particular spot, on this lonely coast, Percy could be at this moment. Not very

far surely, for he had had less than a quarter of an hour's start of Chauvelin. She wondered if he knew that in

this cool, oceanscented bit of France, there lurked many spies, all eager to sight his tall figure, to track him

to where his unsuspecting friends waited for him, and then, to close the net over him and them.

Chauvelin, on ahead, jolted and jostled in the Jew's vehicle, was nursing comfortable thoughts. He rubbed his

hands together, with content, as he thought of the web which he had woven, and through which that

ubiquitous and daring Englishman could not hope to escape. As the time went on, and the old Jew drove him

leisurely but surely along the dark road, he felt more and more eager for the grand finale of this exciting

chase after the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel. The capture of the audacious plotter would be the finest leaf in

Citoyen Chauvelin's wreath of glory. Caught, redhanded, on the spot, in the very act of aiding and abetting

the traitors against the Republic of France, the Englishman could claim no protection from his own country.

Chauvelin had, in any case, fully made up his mind that all intervention should come too late.

Never for a moment did the slightest remorse enter his heart, as to the terrible position in which he had placed

the unfortunate wife, who had unconsciously betrayed her husband. As a matter of fact, Chauvelin had ceased

The Jew's lean nag did little more than walk. She was going along at a slow jog trot, and her driver had to

"We have not yet come across your friend and mine, lying in a heap in the roadway," was Chauvelin's

"Patience, noble Excellency," rejoined the son of Moses, "they are ahead of us. I can see the imprint of the

"As sure as I am of the presence of those ten gold pieces in the noble Excellency's pockets, which I trust will

"As soon as I have shaken hands with my friend the tall stranger, they will certainly be yours."

Through the stillness, which had been absolute, there could now be heard distinctly the sound of horses' hoofs

Marguerite had also heard the sound of galloping hoofs, coming towards the cart and towards herself. For

some time she had been on the alert thinking that Desgas and his squad would soon overtake them, but these

came from the opposite direction, presumably from Miquelon. The darkness lent her sufficient cover. She had

perceived that the cart had stopped, and with utmost caution, treading noiselessly on the soft road, she crept a

Her heart was beating fast, she was trembling in every limb; already she had guessed what news these

mounted men would bring. "Every stranger on these roads or on the beach must be shadowed, especially if he

be tall or stoops as if he would disguise his height; when sighted a mounted messenger must at once ride back

and report." Those had been Chauvelin's orders. Had then the tall stranger been sighted, and was this the

mounted messenger, come to bring the great news, that the hunted hare had run its head into the noose at

Marguerite, realizing that the cart had come to a standstill, managed to slip nearer to it in the darkness; she

crept close up, hoping to get within earshot, to hear what the messenger had to say.

Marguerite could see them silhouetted against the midnight sky. She could hear their voices, and the snorting

of their horses, and now, behind her, some little distance off, the regular and measured tread of a body of

There had been a long pause, during which, no doubt, Chauvelin satisfied the men as to his identity, for

"Less than a quarter of a league beyond Miquelon, we came across a rough construction of wood, which

looked like the hut of a fisherman, where he might keep his tools and nets. When we first sighted it, it seemed

to be empty, and, at first we thought that there was nothing suspicious about, until we saw some smoke

issuing through an aperture at the side. I dismounted and crept close to it. It was then empty, but in one corner

of the hut, there was a charcoal fire, and a couple of stools were also in the hut. I consulted with my

comrades, and we decided that they should take cover with the horses, well out of sight, and that I should

"About half an hour later, I heard voices, citoyen, and presently, two men came along towards the edge of the

cliff; they seemed to me to have come from the Lille Road. One was young, the other quite old. They were

One was young, and the other quite old. Marguerite's aching heart almost stopped beating as she listened: was

the young one Armand?her brother?and the old one de Tournaywere they the two fugitives who,

unconsciously, were used as a decoy, to entrap their fearless and noble rescuer.

"The two men presently went into the hut," continued the soldier, whilst Marguerite's aching nerves seemed

to catch the sound of Chauvelin's triumphant chuckle, "and I crept nearer to it then. The hut is very roughly

"The old man asked the young one if he were sure that was right place. `Oh, yes,' he replied, `'tis the place

sure enough,' and by the light of the charcoal fire he showed to his companion a paper, which he carried.

`Here is the plan,' he said, `which he gave me before I left London. We were to adhere strictly to that plan,

unless I had contrary orders, and I have had none. Here is the road we followed, see. . .here the fork. . .here

we cut across the St. Martin Road. . .and here is the footpath which brought us to the edge of the cliff.' I must

have made a slight noise then, for the young man came to the door of the hut, and peered anxiously all round

him. When he again joined his companion, they whispered so low, that I could no longer hear them."

"There were six of us altogether, patrolling that part of the beach, so we consulted together, and thought it

best that four should remain behind and keep the hut in sight, and I and my comrade rode back at once to

"Not lose sight of him for a moment, and if he showed signs of escape, or any boat came in sight, they would

close in on him, and, if necessary, they would shoot: the firing would bring the rest of the patrol to the spot.

"Aye! but I did not want the stranger hurtnot just yet," murmured Chauvelin, savagely, "but there, you've

"We met half a dozen men just now, who have been patrolling this road for several hours."

"Yet he is on ahead somewhere, in a cart or else. . .Here! there is not a moment to lose. How far is that hut

"It is not a dark night, citoyen, and I know I can find my way," repeated the soldier firmly.

"Fall in behind then. Let your comrade take both your horses back to Calais. You won't want them. Keep

beside the cart, and direct the Jew to drive straight ahead; then stop him, within a quarter of a league of the

Whilst Chauvelin spoke, Desgas and his men were fast approaching, and Marguerite could hear their

footsteps within a hundred yards behind her now. She thought it unsafe to stay where she was, and

unnecessary too, as she had heard enough. She seemed suddenly to have lost all faculty even for suffering:

her heart, her nerves, her brain seemed to have become numb after all these hours of ceaseless anguish,

For now there was absolutely not the faintest hope. Within two short leagues of this spot, the fugitives were

waiting for their brave deliverer. He was on his way, somewhere on this lonely road, and presently he would

join them; then the welllaid trap would close, two dozen men, led by one whose hatred was as deadly as his

cunning was malicious, would close round the small band of fugitives, and their daring leader. They would

all be captured. Armand, according to Chauvelin's pledged word would be restored to her, but her husband,

Percy, whom with every breath she drew she seemed to love and worship more and more, he would fall into

the hands of a remorseless enemy, who had no pity for a brave heart, no admiration for the courage of a noble

soul, who would show nothing but hatred for the cunning antagonist, who had baffled him so long.

She heard the soldier giving a few brief directions to the Jew, then she retired quickly to the edge of the road,

All fell in noiselessly behind the cart, and slowly they all started down the dark road. Marguerite waited until

she reckoned that they were well outside the range of earshot, then, she too in the darkness, which suddenly

As in a dream, Marguerite followed on; the web was drawing more and more tightly every moment round the

beloved life, which had become dearer than all. To see her husband once again, to tell him how she had

suffered, how much she had wronged, and how little understood him, had become now her only aim. She had

abandoned all hope of saving him: she saw him gradually hemmed in on all sides, and, in despair, she gazed

round her into the darkness, and wondered whence he would presently come, to fall into the deathtrap which

The distant roar of the waves now made her shudder; the occasional dismal cry of an owl, or a seagull, filled

her with unspeakable horror. She thought of the ravenous beastsin human shapewho lay in wait for their

prey, and destroyed them, as mercilessly as any hungry wolf, for the satisfaction of their own appetite of hate.

Marguerite was not afraid of the darkness, she only feared that man, on ahead, who was sitting at the bottom

of a rough wooden cart, nursing thoughts of vengeance, which would have made the very demons in hell

Her feet were sore. Her knees shook under her, from sheer bodily fatigue. For days now she had lived in a

wild turmoil of excitement; she had not had a quiet rest for three nights; now, she had walked on a slippery

road for nearly two hours, and yet her determination never swerved for a moment. She would see her

husband, tell him all, and, if he was ready to forgive the crime, which she had committed in her blind

She must have walked on almost in a trance, instinct alone keeping her up, and guiding her in the wake of the

enemy, when suddenly her ears, attuned to the slightest sound, by that same blind instinct, told her that the

cart had stopped, and that the soldiers had halted. They had come to their destination. No doubt on the right,

somewhere close ahead, was the footpath that led to the edge of the cliff and to the hut.

Heedless of any risks, she crept up quite close up to where Chauvelin stood, surrounded by his little troop: he

had descended from the cart, and was giving some orders to the men. These she wanted to hear: what little

chance she yet had, of being useful to Percy, consisted in hearing absolutely every word of his enemy's plans.

The spot where all the party had halted must have lain some eight hundred meters from the coast; the sound

of the sea came only very faintly, as from a distance. Chauvelin and Desgas, followed by the soldiers, had

turned off sharply to the right of the road, apparently on to the footpath, which led to the cliffs. The Jew had

Marguerite, with infinite caution, and literally crawling on her hands and knees, had also turned off to the

right: to accomplish this she had to creep through the rough, low shrubs, trying to make as little noise as

possible as she went along, tearing her face and hands against the dry twigs, intent only upon hearing without

being seen or heard. Fortunatelyas is usual in this part of Francethe footpath was bordered by a low

rough hedge, beyond which was a dry ditch, filled with coarse grass. In this Marguerite managed to find

shelter; she was quite hidden from view, yet could contrive to get within three yards of where Chauvelin

"Now," he was saying in a low and peremptory whisper, "where is the Pere Blanchard's hut?"

"About eight hundred meters from here, along the footpath," said the soldier who had lately been directing

"Very good. You shall lead us. Before we begin to descend the cliff, you shall creep down to the hut, as

noiselessly as possible, and ascertain if the traitor royalists are there? Do you understand?"

"Now listen very attentively, all of you," continued Chauvelin, impressively, and addressing the soldiers

collectively, "for after this we may not be able to exchange another word, so remember every syllable I utter,

as if your very lives depended on your memory. Perhaps they do," he added drily.

"We listen, citoyen," said Desgas, "and a soldier of the Republic never forgets an order."

"You, who have crept up to the hut, will try to peep inside. If an Englishman is there with those traitors, a

man who is tall above the average, or who stoops as if he would disguise his height, then give a sharp, quick

whistle as a signal to your comrades. All of you," he added, once more speaking to the soldiers collectively,

"then quickly surround and rush into the hut, and each seize one of the men there, before they have time to

draw their firearms; if any of them struggle, shoot at their legs or arms, but on no account kill the tall man.

"The man who is tall above the average is probably also strong above the average; it will take four or five of

"If the royalist traitors are still alone, which is more than likely to be the case, then warn your comrades who

are lying in wait there, and all of you creep and take cover behind the rocks and boulders round the hut, and

wait there, in dead silence, until the tall Englishman arrives; then only rush the hut, when he is safely within

its doors. But remember that you must be as silent as the wolf is at night, when he prowls around the pens. I

do not wish those royalists to be on the alertthe firing of a pistol, a shriek or call on their part would be

sufficient, perhaps, to warn the tall personage to keep clear of the cliffs, and of the hut, and," he added

emphatically, "it is the tall Englishman whom it is your duty to capture tonight."

"What about the Jew, citoyen?" asked Desgas, as silently like noiseless shadows, one by one the soldiers

"Ah, yes; I had forgotten about the Jew," said Chauvelin, and, turning towards the Jew, he called him

"Here, you. . .Aaron, Moses, Abraham, or whatever your confounded name may be," he said to the old man,

who had quietly stood beside his lean nag, as far away from the soldiers as possible.

"It does not please me to hear your voice, but it does please me to give you certain orders, which you will

"Hold your confounded tongue. You shall stay here, do you hear? with your horse and cart until our return.

You are on no account to utter the faintest sound, or to even breathe louder than you can help; nor are you, on

any consideration whatever, to leave your post, until I give you orders to do so. Do you understand?"

"There is no question of `but' or of any argument," said Chauvelin, in a tone that made the timid old man

tremble from heat to foot. "If, when I return, I do not find you here, I most solemnly assure you that,

wherever you may try to hide yourself, I can find you, and that punishment swift, sure and terrible, will

The soldiers had all crept away; the three men stood alone together in the dark and lonely road, with

Marguerite there, behind the hedge, listening to Chauvelin's orders, as she would to her own death sentence.

"I heard your Honour," protested the Jew again, while he tried to draw nearer to Chauvelin, "and I swear by

Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that I would obey your Honour most absolutely, and that I would not move from

this place until your Honour once more deigned to shed the light of your countenance upon your humble

servant; but remember, your Honour, I am a poor man; my nerves are not as strong as those of a young

soldier. If midnight marauders should come prowling round this lonely road, I might scream or run in my

fright! And is my life to be forfeit, is some terrible punishment to come on my poor old head for that which I

The Jew seemed in real distress; he was shaking from head to foot. Clearly he was not the man to be left by

himself on this lonely road. The man spoke truly; he might unwittingly, in sheer terror, utter the shriek that

"I fancy, citoyen," here interposed Desgas, "that they will be safer without that dirty, cowardly Jew than with

him. There seems no doubt that, if he gets scared, he will either make a bolt of it, or shriek his head off."

"No, for we shall want him to drive back the wounded presently," said Chauvelin, with grim significance.

There was a pause againDesgas waiting for the decision of his chief, and the old Jew whining beside his

"Well, you lazy, lumbering old coward," said Chauvelin at last, "you had better shuffle along behind us.

Chauvelin handed a scarf to Desgas, who solemnly began winding it round the Jew's mouth. Meekly

Benjamin Rosenbaum allowed himself to be gagged; he, evidently, preferred this uncomfortable state to that

of being left alone, on the dark St. Martin Road. Then the three men fell in line.

"Quick!" said Chauvelin, impatiently, "we have already wasted much valuable time."

And the firm footsteps of Chauvelin and Desgas, the shuffling gait of the old Jew, soon died away along the

Marguerite had not lost a single one of Chauvelin's words of command. Her every nerve was strained to

completely grasp the situation first, then to make a final appeal to those wits which had so often been called

Certainly the situation was desperate enough; a tiny band of unsuspecting men, quietly awaiting the arrival of

their rescuer, who was equally unconscious of the trap laid for them all. It seemed so horrible, this net, as it

were drawn in a circle, at dead of night, on a lonely beach, round a few defenceless men, defenceless because

they were tricked and unsuspecting; of these one was the husband she idolised, another the brother she loved.

She vaguely wondered who the others were, who were also calmly waiting for the Scarlet Pimpernel, while

For the moment she could do nothing but follow the soldiers and Chauvelin. She feared to lose her way, or

she would have rushed forward and found that wooden hut, and perhaps been in time to warn the fugitives

For a second, the thought flashed through her mind of uttering the piercing shrieks, which Chauvelin seemed

to dread, as a possible warning to the Scarlet Pimpernel and his friendsin the wild hope that they would

hear, and have yet time to escape before it was too late. But she did not know if her shrieks would reach the

ears of the doomed men. Her effort might be premature, and she would never be allowed to make another.

Her mouth would be securely gagged, like that of the Jew, and she, a helpless prisoner in the hands of

Like a ghost she flitted noiselessly behind that hedge: she had taken her shoes off, and her stockings were by

now torn off her feet. She felt neither soreness nor weariness; indomitable will to reach her husband in spite

of adverse Fate, and of a cunning enemy, killed all sense of bodily pain within her, and rendered her instincts

She heard nothing save the soft and measured footsteps of Percy's enemies on in front; she saw nothing

butin her mind's eyethat wooden hut, and he, her husband, walking blindly to his doom.

Suddenly, those same keen instincts within her made her pause in her mad haste, and cower still further

within the shadow of the hedge. The moon, which had proved a friend to her by remaining hidden behind a

bank of clouds, now emerged in all the glory of an early autumn night, and in a moment flooded the weird

There, not two hundred metres ahead, was the edge of the cliff, and below, stretching far away to free and

happy England, the sea rolled on smoothly and peaceably. Marguerite's gaze rested for an instant on the

brilliant, silvery waters; and as she gazed, her heart, which had been numb with pain for all these hours,

seemed to soften and distend, and her eyes filled with hot tears: not three miles away, with white sails set, a

Marguerite had guessed rather than recognized her. It was the DAY DREAM, Percy's favourite yacht, and all

her crew of British sailors: her white sails, glistening in the moonlight, seemed to convey a message to

Marguerite of joy and hope, which yet she feared could never be. She waited there, out at sea, waited for her

master, like a beautiful white bird all ready to take flight, and he would never reach her, never see her smooth

deck again, never gaze any more on the white cliffs of England, the land of liberty and of hope.

The sight of the schooner seemed to infuse into the poor, wearied woman the superhuman strength of despair.

There was the edge of the cliff, and some way below was the hut, where presently, her husband would meet

his death. But the moon was out: she could see her way now: she would see the hut from a distance, run to it,

rouse them all, warn them at any rate to be prepared and to sell their lives dearly, rather than be caught like so

She stumbled on behind the hedge in the low, thick grass of the ditch. She must have run on very fast, and

had outdistanced Chauvelin and Desgas, for presently she reached the edge of the cliff, and heard their

footsteps distinctly behind her. But only a very few yards away, and now the moonlight was full upon her,

her figure must have been distinctly silhouetted against the silvery background of the sea.

Only for a moment, though; the next she had cowered, like some animal doubled up within itself. She peeped

down the great rugged cliffsthe descent would be easy enough, as they were not precipitous, and the great

boulders afforded plenty of foothold. Suddenly, as she grazed, she saw at some little distance on her left, and

about midway down the cliffs, a rough wooden construction, through the wall of which a tiny red light

glimmered like a beacon. Her very heart seemed to stand still, the eagerness of joy was so great that it felt

She could not gauge how distant the hut was, but without hesitation she began the steep descent, creeping

from boulder to boulder, caring nothing for the enemy behind, or for the soldiers, who evidently had all taken

On she pressed, forgetting the deadly foe on her track, running, stumbling, footsore, halfdazed, but still on.

. .When, suddenly, a crevice, or stone, or slippery bit of rock, threw her violently to the ground. She struggled

again to her feet, and started running forward once more to give them that timely warning, to beg them to flee

before he came, and to tell him to keep awayaway from this deathtrapaway from this awful doom. But

now she realised that other steps, quicker than her own, were already close at her heels. The next instant a

hand dragged at her skirt, and she was down on her knees again, whilst something was wound round her

Bewildered, half frantic with the bitterness of disappointment, she looked round her helplessly, and, bending

down quite close to her, she saw through the mist, which seemed to gather round her, a pair of keen,

malicious eyes, which appeared to her excited brain to have a weird, supernatural green light in them. She lay

in the shadow of a great boulder; Chauvelin could not see her features, but he passed his thin, white fingers

"We cannot let her loose, that's certain," he muttered to himself. "I wonder now. . ."

Suddenly he paused, after a few moment of deadly silence, he gave forth a long, low, curious chuckle, while

once again Marguerite felt, with a horrible shudder, his thin fingers wandering over her face.

"Dear me! dear me!" he whispered, with affected gallantry, "this is indeed a charming surprise," and

The situation was indeed grotesque, had it not been at the same time so fearfully tragic: the poor, weary

woman, broken in spirit, and half frantic with the bitterness of her disappointment, receiving on her knees the

Her senses were leaving her; half choked with the tight grip round her mouth, she had no strength to move or

to utter the faintest sound. The excitement which all along had kept up her delicate body seemed at once to

have subsided, and the feeling of blank despair to have completely paralyzed her brain and nerves.

Chauvelin must have given some directions, which she was too dazed to hear, for she felt herself lifted from

off her feet: the bandage round her mouth was made more secure, and a pair of strong arms carried her

towards that tiny, red light, on ahead, which she had looked upon as a beacon and the last faint glimmer of

She did not know how long she was thus carried along, she had lost all notion of time and space, and for a

When she once more realised her state, she felt that she was placed with some degree of comfort upon a

man's coat, with her back resting against a fragment of rock. The moon was hidden again behind some

clouds, and the darkness seemed in comparison more intense. The sea was roaring some two hundred feet

below her, and on looking all round she could no longer see any vestige of the tiny glimmer of red light.

That the end of the journey had been reached, she gathered from the fact that she heard rapid questions and

"There are four men in there, citoyen; they are sitting by the fire, and seem to be waiting quietly."

"Obviously an English one, lying some three kilometers out. But we cannot see her boat."

"They will not stir until the tall Englishman comes, then they will surround and overpower the five men."

"Good. Then have your gun ready, in case you want it. Get close to the hut and leave me to look after the

Desgas evidently obeyed, for Marguerite heard him creeping away along the stony cliff, then she felt that a

pair of warm, thin, talonlike hands took hold of both her own, and held them in a grip of steel.

"Before that handkerchief is removed from your pretty mouth, fair lady," whispered Chauvelin close to her

ear, "I think it right to give you one small word of warning. What has procured me the honour of being

followed across the Channel by so charming a companion, I cannot, of course, conceive, but, if I mistake it

not, the purpose of this flattering attention is not one that would commend itself to my vanity and I think that

I am right in surmising, moreover, that the first sound which your pretty lips would utter, as soon as the cruel

gag is removed, would be one that would prove a warning to the cunning fox, which I have been at such pains

He paused a moment, while the steellike grasp seemed to tighten round her waist; then he resumed in the

"Inside that hut, if again I am not mistaken, your brother, Armand St. Just, waits with that traitor de Tournay,

and two other men unknown to you, for the arrival of the mysterious rescuer, whose identity has for so long

puzzled our Committee of Public Safetythe audacious Scarlet Pimpernel. No doubt if you scream, if there

is a scuffle here, if shots are fired, it is more than likely that the same long legs that brought this scarlet

enigma here, will as quickly take him to some place of safety. The purpose then, for which I have travelled all

these miles, will remain unaccomplished. On the other hand it only rests with yourself that your

brotherArmandshall be free to go off with you tonight if you like, to England, or any other place of

Marguerite could not utter a sound, as the handkerchief was would very tightly round her mouth, but

Chauvelin was peering through the darkness very closely into her face; no doubt too her hand gave a

"What I want you to do to ensure Armand's safety is a very simple thing, dear lady."

"To remainon this spot, without uttering a sound, until I give you leave to speak. Ah! but I think you will

obey," he added, with that funny dry chuckle of his as Marguerite's whole figure seemed to stiffen, in

defiance of this order, "for let me tell you that if you scream, nay! if you utter one sound, or attempt to move

from here, my menthere are thirty of them aboutwill seize St. Just, de Tournay, and their two friends,

Marguerite had listened to her implacable enemy's speech with everincreasing terror. Numbed with physical

pain, she yet had sufficient mental vitality in her to realize the full horror of this terrible "eitheror" he was

once more putting before her; "eitheror" ten thousand times more appalling and horrible, that the one he

This time it meant that she should keep still, and allow the husband she worshipped to walk unconsciously to

his death, or that she should, by trying to give him a word of warning, which perhaps might even be

unavailing, actually give the signal for her own brother's death, and that of three other unsuspecting men.

She could not see Chauvelin, but she could almost feel those keen, pale eyes of his fixed maliciously upon

her helpless form, and his hurried, whispered words reached her ear, as the deathknell of her last faint,

"Nay, fair lady," he added urbanely, "you can have no interest in anyone save in St. Just, and all you need do

for his safety is to remain where you are, and to keep silent. My men have strict orders to spare him in every

way. As for that enigmatic Scarlet Pimpernel, what is he to you? Believe me, no warning from you could

possibly save him. And now dear lady, let me remove this unpleasant coercion, which has been placed before

your pretty mouth. You see I wish you to be perfectly free, in the choice which you are about to make."

Her thoughts in a whirl, her temples aching, her nerves paralyzed, her body numb with pain, Marguerite sat

there, in the darkness which surrounded her as with a pall. From where she sat she could not see the sea, but

she heard the incessant mournful murmur of the incoming tide, which spoke of her dead hopes, her lost love,

Chauvelin removed he handkerchief from her mouth. She certainly did not scream: at that moment, she had

no strength to do anything but barely to hold herself upright, and to force herself to think.

Oh! think! think! think! of what she should do. The minutes flew on; in this awful stillness she could not tell

how fast or how slowly; she heard nothing, she saw nothing: she did not feel the sweetsmelling autumn air,

scented with the briny odour of the sea, she no longer heard the murmur of the waves, the occasional rattling

of a pebble, as it rolled down some steep incline. More and more unreal did the whole situation seem. It was

impossible that she, Marguerite Blakeney, the queen of London society, should actually be sitting here on this

bit of lonely coast, in the middle of the night, side by side with a most bitter enemy; and oh! it was not

possible that somewhere, not many hundred feet away perhaps, from where she stood, the being she had once

despised, but who now, in every moment of this weird, dreamlike life, became more and more dearit was

not possible that HE was unconsciously, even now walking to his doom, whilst she did nothing to save him.

Why did she not with unearthly screams, that would reecho from one end of the lonely beach to the other,

send out a warning to him to desist, to retrace his steps, for death lurked here whilst he advanced? Once or

twice the screams rose to her throatas if my instinct: then, before her eyes there stood the awful alternative:

her brother and those three men shot before her eyes, practically by her orders: she their murderer.

Oh! that fiend in human shape, next to her, knew humanfemalenature well. He had played upon her

feelings as a skilful musician plays upon an instrument. He had gauged her very thoughts to a nicety.

She could not give that signalfor she was weak, and she was a woman. How could she deliberately order

Armand to be shot before her eyes, to have his dear blood upon her head, he dying perhaps with a curse on

her, upon his lips. And little Suzanne's father, too! he, and old man; and the others!oh! it was all too, too

Wait! wait! wait! how long? The early morning hours sped on, and yet it was not dawn: the sea continued its

incessant mournful murmur, the autumnal breeze sighed gently in the night: the lonely beach was silent, even

Suddenly from somewhere, not very far away, a cheerful, strong voice was heard singing "God save the

Marguerite's aching heart stood still. She felt, more than she heard, the men on the watch preparing for the

fight. Her senses told her that each, with sword in hand, was crouching, ready for the spring.

The voice came nearer and nearer; in the vast immensity of these lonely cliffs, with the loud murmur of the

sea below, it was impossible to say how near, or how far, nor yet from which direction came that cheerful

singer, who sang to God to save his King, whilst he himself was in such deadly danger. Faint at first, the

voice grew louder and louder; from time to time a small pebble detached itself apparently from beneath the

firm tread of the singer, and went rolling down the rocky cliffs to the beach below.

Marguerite as she heard, felt that her very life was slipping away, as if when that voice drew nearer, when

No! no! no! no! Oh, God in heaven! this cannot be! let Armand's blood then be on her own head! let her be

branded as his murderer! let even he, whom she loved, despise and loathe her for this, but God! oh God! save

With a wild shriek, she sprang to her feet, and darted round the rock, against which she had been cowering;

she saw the little red gleam through the chinks of the hut; she ran up to it and fell against its wooden walls,

which she began to hammer with clenched fists in an almost maniacal frenzy, while she shouted,

"Armand! Armand! for God's sake fire! your leader is near! he is coming! he is betrayed! Armand! Armand!

She was seized and thrown to the ground. She lay there moaning, bruised, not caring, but still halfsobbing,

"One of you stop that woman screaming," hissed Chauvelin, who hardly could refrain from striking her.

Something was thrown over her face; she could not breathe, and perforce she was silent.

The bold singer, too, had become silent, warned, no doubt, of his impending danger by Marguerite's frantic

shrieks. The men had sprung to their feet, there was no need for further silence on their part; the very cliffs

Chauvelin, with a muttered oath, which boded no good to her, who had dared to upset his most cherished

The moon had once more emerged from between the clouds: the darkness on the cliffs had gone, giving place

once more to brilliant, silvery light. Some of the soldiers had rushed to the rough, wooden door of the hut,

The door was partially open; on of the soldiers pushed it further, but within all was darkness, the charcoal fire

only lighting with a dim, red light the furthest corner of the hut. The soldiers paused automatically at the

Chauvelin, who was prepared for a violent onslaught from within, and for a vigorous resistance from the four

fugitives, under cover of the darkness, was for the moment paralyzed with astonishment when he saw the

soldiers standing there at attention, like sentries on guard, whilst not a sound proceeded from the hut.

Filled with strange, anxious foreboding, he, too, went to the door of the hut, and peering into the gloom, he

"I think, citoyen, that there is no one there now," replied one of the soldiers imperturbably.

"You have not let those four men go?" thundered Chauvelin, menacingly. "I ordered you to let no man escape

The men, obedient as machines, rushed down the rocky incline towards the beach, some going off to right

"You and your men will pay with your lives for this blunder, citoyen sergeant," said Chauvelin viciously to

the sergeant who had been in charge of the men; "and you, too, citoyen," he added turning with a snarl to

"You ordered us to wait, citoyen, until the tall Englishman arrived and joined the four men in the hut. No one

"But I ordered you just now, when the woman screamed, to rush in and let no one escape."

"But, citoyen, the four men who were there before had been gone some time, I think. . ."

"You think?You?. . ." said Chauvelin, almost choking with fury, "and you let them go. . ."

"You ordered us to wait, citoyen," protested the sergeant, "and to implicitly obey your commands on pain of

"I heard the men creep out of the hut, not many minutes after we took cover, and long before the woman

In the distance the sound of repeated firing was heard. Chauvelin tried to peer along the beach below, but as

luck would have it, the fitful moon once more hid her light behind a bank of clouds, and he could see nothing.

Stolidly the sergeant obeyed: he went up to the charcoal fire and lit the small lantern he carried in his belt; it

"I could not tell, citoyen," said the sergeant; "they went straight down the cliff first, then disappeared behind

All three men listened attentively. In the far, very far distance, could be heard faintly echoing and already

dying away, the quick, sharp splash of half a dozen oars. Chauvelin took out his handkerchief and wiped the

Evidently Armand St. Just and his three companions had managed to creep along the side of the cliffs, whilst

the men, like true soldiers of the welldrilled Republican army, had with blind obedience, and in fear of their

own lives, implicitly obeyed Chauvelin's ordersto wait for the tall Englishman, who was the important

They had no doubt reached one of the creeks which jut far out to see on this coast at intervals; behind this, the

boat of the DAY DREAM must have been on the lookout for them, and they were by now safely on board the

As if to confirm this last supposition, the dull boom of a gun was heard from out at sea.

It needed all Chauvelin's nerve and presence of mind not to give way to a useless and undignified access of

rage. There was no doubt now, that once again, that accursed British head had completely outwitted him.

How he had contrived to reach the hut, without being seen by one of the thirty soldiers who guarded the spot,

was more than Chauvelin could conceive. That he had done so before the thirty men had arrived on the cliff

was, of course, fairly clear, but how he had come over in Reuben Goldstein's cart, all the way from Calais,

without being sighted by the various patrols on duty was impossible of explanation. It really seemed as if

some potent Fate watched over that daring Scarlet Pimpernel, and his astute enemy almost felt a superstitious

shudder pass through him, as he looked round at the towering cliffs, and the loneliness of this outlying coast.

But surely this was reality! and the year of grace 1792: there were no fairies and hobgoblins about. Chauvelin

and his thirty men had all heard with their own ears that accursed voice singing "God save the King," fully

twenty minutes AFTER they had all taken cover around the hut; by that time the four fugitives must have

reached the creek, and got into the boat, and the nearest creek was more than a mile from the hut.

Where had that daring singer got to? Unless Satan himself had lent him wings, he could not have covered that

mile on a rocky cliff in the space of two minutes; and only two minutes had elapsed between his song and the

sound of the boat's oars away at sea. He must have remained behind, and was even now hiding somewhere

about the cliffs; the patrols were still about, he would still be sighted, no doubt. Chauvelin felt hopeful once

One or two of the men, who had run after the fugitives, were now slowly working their way up the cliff: one

of them reached Chauvelin's side, at the very moment that this hope arose in the astute diplomatist's heart.

"We were too late, citoyen," the soldier said, "we reached the beach just before the moon was hidden by that

bank of clouds. The boat had undoubtedly been on the lookout behind that first creek, a mile off, but she

had shoved off some time ago, when we got to the beach, and was already some way out to sea. We fired

after her, but of course, it was no good. She was making straight and quickly for the schooner. We saw her

"Yes," said Chauvelin, with eager impatience, "she had shoved off some time ago, you said, and the nearest

"Yes, citoyen! I ran all the way, straight to the beach, though I guessed the boat would have waited

somewhere near the creek, as the tide would reach there earliest. The boat must have shoved off some

"Bring the light in here!" he commanded eagerly, as he once more entered the hut.

The sergeant brought his lantern, and together the two men explored the little place: with a rapid glance

Chauvelin noted its contents: the cauldron placed close under an aperture in the wall, and containing the last

few dying embers of burned charcoal, a couple of stools, overturned as if in the haste of sudden departure,

then the fisherman's tools and his nets lying in one corner, and beside them, something small and white.

"Pick that up," said Chauvelin to the sergeant, pointing to this white scrap, "and bring it to me."

It was a crumpled piece of paper, evidently forgotten there by the fugitives, in their hurry to get away. The

sergeant, much awed by the citoyen's obvious rage and impatience, picked the paper up and handed it

The sergeant, by the light of his lantern, began deciphering the few hastily scrawled words.

"I cannot quite reach you, without risking your lives and endangering the success of your rescue. When you

receive this, wait two minutes, then creep out of the hut one by one, turn to your left sharply, and creep

cautiously down the cliff; keep to the left all the time, till you reach the first rock, which you see jutting far

out to seabehind it in the creek the boat is on the lookout for yougive a long, sharp whistleshe will

come upget into hermy men will row you to the schooner, and thence to England and safetyonce on

board the DAY DREAM send the boat back for me, tell my men that I shall be at the creek, which is in a

direct line opposite the `Chat Gris' near Calais. They know it. I shall be there as soon as possiblethey must

wait for me at a safe distance out at sea, till they hear the usual signal. Do not delayand obey these

"Then there is the signature, citoyen," added the sergeant, as he handed the paper back to Chauvelin.

But the latter had not waited an instant. One phrase of the momentous scrawl had caught his ear. "I shall be at

the creek which is in a direct line opposite the `Chat Gris' near Calais": that phrase might yet mean victory for

"Which of you knows this coast well?" he shouted to his men who now one by one all returned from their

"I do, citoyen," said one of them, "I was born in Calais, and know every stone of these cliffs."

"The Englishman is hoping to reach that creek. He does NOT know every stone of these cliffs, he may go

there by the longest way round, and in any case he will proceed cautiously for fear of the patrols. At any rate,

there is a chance to get him yet. A thousand francs to each man who gets to that creek before that

"I know of a short cut across the cliffs," said the soldier, and with an enthusiastic shout, he rushed forward,

Within a few minutes their running footsteps had died away in the distance. Chauvelin listened to them for a

moment; the promise of the reward was lending spurs to the soldiers of the Republic. The gleam of hate and

Close to him Desgas still stood mute and impassive, waiting for further orders, whilst two soldiers were

kneeling beside the prostrate form of Marguerite. Chauvelin gave his secretary a vicious look. His welllaid

plan had failed, its sequel was problematical; there was still a great chance now that the Scarlet Pimpernel

might yet escape, and Chauvelin, with that unreasoning fury, which sometimes assails a strong nature, was

The soldiers were holding Marguerite pinioned to the ground, though, she, poor soul, was not making the

faintest struggle. Overwrought nature had at last peremptorily asserted herself, and she lay there in a dead

swoon: her eyes circled by deep purple lines, that told of long, sleepless nights, her hair matted and damp

round her forehead, her lips parted in a sharp curve that spoke of physical pain.

The cleverest woman in Europe, the elegant and fashionable Lady Blakeney, who had dazzled London

society with her beauty, her wit and her extravagances, presented a very pathetic picture of tiredout,

suffering womanhood, which would have appealed to any, but the hard, vengeful heart of her baffled enemy.

"It is no use mounting guard over a woman who is half dead," he said spitefully to the soldiers, "when you

"You'd better try and find that footpath again for me, and that brokendown cart we left on the road."

"Close by here, citoyen," said Desgas; "I gagged him and tied his legs together as you commanded."

From the immediate vicinity, a plaintive moan reached Chauvelin's ears. He followed his secretary, who led

the way to the other side of the hut, where, fallen into an absolute heap of dejection, with his legs tightly

pinioned together and his mouth gagged, lay the unfortunate descendant of Israel.

His face in the silvery light of the moon looked positively ghastly with terror: his eyes were wide open and

almost glassy, and his whole body was trembling, as if with ague, while a piteous wail escaped his bloodless

lips. The rope which had originally been wound round his shoulders and arms had evidently given way, for it

lay in a tangle about his body, but he seemed quite unconscious of this, for he had not made the slightest

attempt to move from the place where Desgas had originally put him: like a terrified chicken which looks

upon a line of white chalk, drawn on a table, as on a string which paralyzes its movements.

He certainly felt exceedingly vicious, and since he had no reasonable grounds for venting his illhumour on

the soldiers who had but too punctually obeyed his orders, he felt that the son of the despised race would

prove an excellent butt. With true French contempt of the Jew, which has survived the lapse of centuries even

to this day, he would not go too near him, but said with biting sarcasm, as the wretched old man was brought

"Answer!" he again commanded, as the Jew with trembling lips seemed too frightened to speak.

"You remember, then, the one you and I made together in Calais, when you undertook to overtake Reuben

There was dead silence. The unfortunate man looked round at the great cliffs, the moon above, the stolid

faces of the soldiers, and even at the poor, prostate, inanimate woman close by, but said nothing.

He did try, poor wretch, but, obviously, he could not. There was no doubt, however, that he knew what to

"Since your terror seems to have paralyzed your tongue," said Chauvelin sarcastically, "I must needs refresh

your memory. It was agreed between us, that if we overtook my friend the tall stranger, before he reached this

"But," added Chauvelin, with slow emphasis, "if you deceived me in your promise, you were to have a sound

"And by all the other patriarchs, I know. Unfortunately, they are still in Hades, I believe, according to your

creed, and cannot help you much in your present trouble. Now, you did not fulful your share of the bargain,

but I am ready to fulfil mine. Here," he added, turning to the soldiers, "the buckleend of your two belts to

As the soldiers obediently unbuckled their heavy leather belts, the Jew set up a howl that surely would have

been enough to bring all the patriarchs out of Hades and elsewhere, to defend their descendant from the

"I think I can rely on you, citoyen soldiers," laughed Chauvelin, maliciously, "to give this old liar the best and

He did not wait to see his orders carried out: he knew that he could trust these soldierswho were still

smarting under his rebukenot to mince matters, when given a free hand to belabour a third party.

"When that lumbering coward has had his punishment," he said to Desgas, "the men can guide us as far as the

cart, and one of them can drive us in it back to Calais. The Jew and the woman can look after each other," he

added roughly, "until we can send somebody for them in the morning. They can't run away very far, in their

Chauvelin had not given up all hope. His men, he knew, were spurred on by the hope of the reward. That

enigmatic and audacious Scarlet Pimpernel, alone and with thirty men at his heels, could not reasonably be

But he felt less sure now: the Englishman's audacity had baffled him once, whilst the woodenheaded

stupidity of the soldiers, and the interference of a woman had turned his hand, which held all the trumps, into

a losing one. If Marguerite had not taken up his time, if the soldiers had had a grain of intelligence, if. . .it

was a long "if," and Chauvelin stood for a moment quite still, and enrolled thirty odd people in one long,

overwhelming anathema. Nature, poetic, silent, balmy, the bright moon, the calm, silvery sea spoke of beauty

and of rest, and Chauvelin cursed nature, cursed man and woman, and above all, he cursed all longlegged,

The howls of the Jew behind him, undergoing his punishment sent a balm through his heart, overburdened as

it was with revengeful malice. He smiled. It eased his mind to think that some human being at least was, like

He turned and took a last look at the lonely bit of coast, where stood the wooden hut, now bathed in

moonlight, the scene of the greatest discomfiture ever experienced by a leading member of the Committee of

Against a rock, on a hard bed of stone, lay the unconscious figure of Marguerite Blakeney, while some few

paces further on, the unfortunate Jew was receiving on his broad back the blows of two stout leather belts,

wielded by the stolid arms of two sturdy soldiers of the Republic. The howls of Benjamin Rosenbaum were

fit to make the dead rise from their graves. They must have wakened all the gulls from sleep, and made them

"That will do," commanded Chauvelin, as the Jew's moans became more feeble, and the poor wretch seemed

Obediently the soldiers buckled on their belts, one of them viciously kicking the Jew to one side.

"Leave him there," said Chauvelin, "and lead the way now quickly to the cart. I'll follow."

He walked up to where Marguerite lay, and looked down into her face. She had evidently recovered

consciousness, and was making feeble efforts to raise herself. Her large, blue eyes were looking at the

moonlit scene round her with a scared and terrified look; they rested with a mixture of horror and pity on the

Jew, whose luckless fate and wild howls had been the first signs that struck her, with her returning senses;

then she caught sight of Chauvelin, in his neat, dark clothes, which seemed hardly crumpled after the stirring

events of the last few hours. He was smiling sarcastically, and his pale eyes peered down at her with a look of

With mock gallantry, he stooped and raised her icycold hand to his lips, which sent a thrill of indescribable

"I much regret, fair lady," he said in his most suave tones, "that circumstances, over which I have no control,

compel me to leave you here for the moment. But I go away, secure in the knowledge that I do not leave you

unprotected. Our friend Benjamin here, though a trifle the worse for wear at the present moment, will prove a

gallant defender of your fair person, I have no doubt. At dawn I will send an escort for you; until then, I feel

Marguerite only had the strength to turn her head away. Her heart was broken with cruel anguish. One awful

thought had returned to her mind, together with gathering consciousness: "What had become of

She knew nothing of what had happened after she heard the cheerful song, "God save the King," which she

"I, myself," concluded Chauvelin, "must now very reluctantly leave you. AU REVOIR, fair lady. We meet, I

hope, soon in London. Shall I see you at the Prince of Wales garden party?No?Ah, well, AU

And, with a last ironical smile and bow, he once more kissed her hand, and disappeared down the footpath in

Marguerite listenedhalfdazed as she wasto the fastretreating, firm footsteps of the four men.

All nature was so still that she, lying with her ear close to the ground, could distinctly trace the sound of their

tread, as they ultimately turned into the road, and presently the faint echo of the old cartwheels, the halting

gait of the lean nag, told her that her enemy was a quarter of a league away. How long she lay there she knew

not. She had lost count of time; dreamily she looked up at the moonlit sky, and listened to the monotonous

The invigorating scent of the sea was nectar to her wearied body, the immensity of the lonely cliffs was silent

and dreamlike. Her brain only remained conscious of its ceaseless, its intolerable torture of uncertainty.

She did not know whether Percy was even now, at this moment, in the hands of the soldiers of the Republic,

enduringas she had done herselfthe gibes and jeers of his malicious enemy. She did not know, on the

other hand, whether Armand's lifeless body did not lie there, in the hut, whilst Percy had escaped, only to

hear that his wife's hands had guided the human bloodhounds to the murder of Armand and his friends.

The physical pain of utter weariness was so great, that she hoped confidently her tired body could rest here

for ever, after all the turmoil, the passion, and the intrigues of the last few dayshere, beneath that clear sky,

within sound of the sea, and with this balmy autumn breeze whispering to her a last lullaby. All was so

solitary, so silent, like unto dreamland. Even the last faint echo of the distant cart had long ago died away,

Suddenly. . .a sound. . .the strangest, undoubtedly, that these lonely cliffs of France had ever heard, broke the

So strange a sound was it that the gentle breeze ceased to murmur, the tiny pebbles to roll down the steep

incline! So strange, that Marguerite, wearied, overwrought as she was, thought that the beneficial

unconsciousness of the approach of death was playing her halfsleeping senses a weird and elusive trick.

The sea gulls in their nests awoke and looked round in astonishment; a distant and solitary owl set up a

midnight hoot, the tall cliffs frowned down majestically at the strange, unheardof sacrilege.

Marguerite did not trust her ears. Halfraising herself on her hands, she strained every sense to see or hear, to

All was still again for the space of a few seconds; the same silence once more fell upon the great and lonely

Then Marguerite, who had listened as in a trance, who felt she must be dreaming with that cool, magnetic

moonlight overhead, heard again; and this time her heart stood still, her eyes large and dilated, looked round

This time it was quite unmistakable, only one particular pair of essentially British lips could have uttered

"Damn!" repeated those same British lips, emphatically. "Zounds! but I'm as weak as a rat!"

Was she dreaming? Were those great, stony cliffs the gates of paradise? Was the fragrant breath of the breeze

suddenly caused by the flutter of angels' wings, bringing tidings of unearthly joys to her, after all her

She listened again, and once again she heard the same very earthly sounds of good, honest British language,

She looked round her eagerly at the tall cliffs, the lonely hut, the great stretch of rocky beach. Somewhere

there, above or below her, behind a boulder or inside a crevice, but still hidden from her longing, feverish

eyes, must be the owner of that voice, which once used to irritate her, but now would make her the happiest

"Percy! Percy!" she shrieked hysterically, tortured between doubt and hope, "I am here! Come to me! Where

"It's all very well calling me, m'dear!" said the same sleepy, drawly voice, "but odd's life, I cannot come to

you: those demmed frogeaters have trussed me like a goose on a spit, and I am weak as a mouse. . .I cannot

And still Marguerite did not understand. She did not realise for at least another ten seconds whence came that

voice, so drawly, so dear, but alas! with a strange accent of weakness and of suffering. There was no one

within sight. . .except by that rock. . .Great God!. . .the Jew!. . .Was she mad or dreaming?. . .

His back was against the pale moonlight, he was half crouching, trying vainly to raise himself with his arms

tightly pinioned. Marguerite ran up to him, took his head in both her hands. . . and look straight into a pair of

blue eyes, goodnatured, even a trifle amusedshining out of the weird and distorted mask of the Jew.

"Percy!. . .Percy!. . .my husband!" she gasped, faint with the fulness of her joy. "Thank God! Thank God!"

"La! m'dear," he rejoined goodhumouredly, "we will both do that anon, an you think you can loosen these

She had no knife, her fingers were numb and weak, but she worked away with her teeth, while great welcome

"Odd's life!" he said, when at last, after frantic efforts on her part, the ropes seemed at last to be giving way,

"but I marvel whether it has ever happened before, that an English gentleman allowed himself to be licked by

It was very obvious that he was exhausted from sheer physical pain, and when at last the rope gave way, he

"Oh! for a drop of water on this awful beach!" she cried in agony, seeing that he was ready to faint again.

"Nay, m'dear," he murmured with his goodhumoured smile, "personally I should prefer a drop of good

French brandy! an you'll dive in the pocket of this dirty old garment, you'll find my flask. . . . I am demmed if

"La! that's better now! Eh! little woman?" he said, with a sigh of satisfaction. "Heighho! but this is a queer

rigup for Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., to be found in by his lady, and no mistake. Begad!" he added, passing

his hand over his chin, "I haven't been shaved for nearly twenty hours: I must look a disgusting object. As for

And laughingly he took off the disfiguring wig and curls, and stretched out his long limbs, which were

cramped from many hours' stooping. Then he bent forward and looked long and searchingly into his wife's

"Percy," she whispered, while a deep blush suffused her delicate cheeks and neck, "if you only knew. . ."

"I have naught to forgive, sweetheart; your heroism, your devotion, which I, alas! so little deserved, have

"Yes!" he replied tenderly, "I knew. . .all the time. . . . But, begad! had I but known what a noble heart yours

was, my Margot, I should have trusted you, as you deserved to be trusted, and you would not have had to

undergo the terrible sufferings of the past few hours, in order to run after a husband, who has done so much

They were sitting side by side, leaning up against a rock, and he had rested his aching head on her shoulder.

"It is a case of the blind leading the lame, sweetheart, is it not?" he said with his goodnatured smile of old.

"Odd's life! but I do not know which are the more sore, my shoulders or your little feet."

He bent forward to kiss them, for they peeped out through her torn stockings, and bore pathetic witness to her

"But Armand. . ." she said with sudden terror and remorse, as in the midst of her happiness the image of the

beloved brother, for whose sake she had so deeply sinned, rose now before her mind.

"Oh! have no fear for Armand, sweetheart," he said tenderly, "did I not pledge you my word that he should be

"Yet, `tis simple enough, m'dear," he said with that funny, halfshy, halfinane laugh of his, "you see! when

I found that that brute Chauvelin meant to stick to me like a leech, I thought the best thing I could do, as I

could not shake him off, was to take him along with me. I had to get to Armand and the others somehow, and

all the roads were patrolled, and every one on the lookout for your humble servant. I knew that when I

slipped through Chauvelin's fingers at the `Chat Gris,' that he would lie in wait for me here, whichever way I

took. I wanted to keep an eye on him and his doings, and a British head is as good as a French one any day."

Indeed it had proved to be infinitely better, and Marguerite's heart was filled with joy and marvel, as he

continued to recount to her the daring manner in which he had snatched the fugitives away, right from under

"Dressed as the dirty old Jew," he said gaily, "I knew I should not be recognized. I had met Reuben Goldstein

in Calais earlier in the evening. For a few gold pieces he supplied me with this rigout, and undertook to bury

"But if Chauvelin had discovered you," she gasped excitedly, "your disguise was good. . .but he is so sharp."

"Odd's fish!" he rejoined quietly, "then certainly the game would have been up. I could but take the risk. I

know human nature pretty well by now," he added, with a note of sadness in his cheery, young voice, "and I

know these Frenchmen out and out. They so loathe a Jew, that they never come nearer than a couple of yards

of him, and begad! I fancy that I contrived to make myself look about as loathesome an object as it is possible

"Zooks!then I carried out my little plan: that is to say, at first I only determined to leave everything to

chance, but when I heard Chauvelin giving his orders to the soldiers, I thought that Fate and I were going to

work together after all. I reckoned on the blind obedience of the soldiers. Chauvelin had ordered them on pain

of death not to stir until the tall Englishman came. Desgas had thrown me down in a heap quite close to the

hut; the soldiers took no notice of the Jew, who had driven Citoyen Chauvelin to this spot. I managed to free

my hands from the ropes, with which the brute had trussed me; I always carry pencil and paper with me

wherever I go, and I hastily scrawled a few important instructions on a scrap of paper; then I looked about

me. I crawled up to the hut, under the very noses of the soldiers, who lay under cover without stirring, just as

Chauvelin had ordered them to do, then I dropped my little note into the hut through a chink in the wall, and

waited. In this note I told the fugitives to walk noiselessly out of the hut, creep down the cliffs, keep to the

left until they came to the first creek, to give a certain signal, when the boat of the DAY DREAM, which lay

in wait not far out to sea, would pick them up. They obeyed implicitly, fortunately for them and for me. The

soldiers who saw them were equally obedient to Chauvelin's orders. They did not stir! I waited for nearly half

an hour; when I knew that the fugitives were safe I gave the signal, which caused so much stir."

And that was the whole story. It seemed so simple! and Marguerite could be marvel at the wonderful

ingenuity, the boundless pluck and audacity which had evolved and helped to carry out this daring plan.

"But those brutes struck you!" she gasped in horror, at the bare recollection of the fearful indignity.

"Well! that could not be helped," he said gently, "whilst my little wife's fate was so uncertain, I had to remain

here by her side. Odd's life!" he added merrily, "never fear! Chauvelin will lose nothing by waiting, I

warrant! Wait till I get him back to England!La! he shall pay for the thrashing he gave me with compound

Marguerite laughed. It was so good to be beside him, to hear his cheery voice, to watch that goodhumoured

twinkle in his blue eyes, as he stretched out his strong arms, in longing for that foe, and anticipation of his

Suddenly, however, she started: the happy blush left her cheek, the light of joy died out of her eyes: she had

heard a stealthy footfall overhead, and a stone had rolled down from the top of the cliffs right down to the

"Oh! nothing, m'dear," he muttered with a pleasant laugh, "only a trifle you happened to have forgotten. . .my

Indeed, she had wholly forgotten the devoted friend and companion, who had trusted and stood by her during

all these hours of anxiety and suffering. She remembered him how, tardily and with a pang of remorse.

"Aye! you had forgotten him, hadn't you, m'dear?" said Sir Percy merrily. "Fortunately, I met him, not far

from the `Chat Gris.' before I had that interesting supper party, with my friend Chauvelin. . . . Odd's life! but I

have a score to settle with that young reprobate!but in the meanwhile, I told him of a very long, very

circuitous road which Chauvelin's men would never suspect, just about the time when we are ready for him,

"Without word or question. See, here he comes. He was not in the way when I did not want him, and now he

arrives in the nick of time. Ah! he will make pretty little Suzanne a most admirable and methodical husband."

In the meanwhile Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had cautiously worked his way down the cliffs: he stopped once or

twice, pausing to listen for whispered words, which would guide him to Blakeney's hidingplace.

The next moment he rounded the rock against which Sir Percy and Marguerite were leaning, and seeing the

weird figure still clad in the Jew's long gaberdine, he paused in sudden, complete bewilderment.

"Here I am, friend," he said with his funny, inane laugh, "all alive! though I do look a begad scarecrow in

"Zooks!" ejaculated Sir Andrew in boundless astonishment as he recognized his leader, "of all the. . ."

The young man had seen Marguerite, and happily checked the forcible language that rose to his lips, at sight

"Yes!" said Blakeney, calmly, "of all the. . .hem!. . .My friend!I have not yet had time to ask you what you

were doing in France, when I ordered you to remain in London? Insubordination? What? Wait till my

"Odd's fish! I'll bear it," said Sir Andrew with a merry laugh, "seeing that you are alive to give it. . . . Would

you have had me allow Lady Blakeney to do the journey alone? But, in the name of heaven, man, where did

you get these extraordinary clothes?" "Lud! they are a bit quaint, ain't they?" laughed Sir Percy, jovially,

"But, odd's fish!" he added, with sudden earnestness and authority, "now you are here, Ffoulkes, we must lose

Marguerite was so happy, she could have stayed here for ever, hearing his voice, asking a hundred questions.

But at mention of Chauvelin's name she started in quick alarm, afraid for the dear life she would have died to

"But how can we get back?" she gasped; "the roads are full of soldiers between here and Calais, and. . ."

"We are not going back to Calais, sweetheart," he said, "but just the other side of Gris Nez, not half a league

"Yes!" he said, with a merry laugh; "another little trick of mine. I should have told you before that when I

slipped that note into the hut, I also added another for Armand, which I directed him to leave behind, and

which has sent Chauvelin and his men running full tilt back to the `Chat Gris' after me; but the first little note

contained my real instructions, including those to old Briggs. He had my orders to go out further to sea, and

then towards the west. When well out of sight of Calais, he will send the galley to a little creek he and I know

of, just beyond Gris Nez. The men will look out for mewe have a preconcerted signal, and we will all be

safely aboard, whilst Chauvelin and his men solemnly sit and watch the creek which is `just opposite the

"The other side of Gris Nez? But I. . .I cannot walk, Percy," she moaned helplessly as, trying to struggle to

"I will carry you, dear," he said simply; "the blind leading the lame, you know."

Sir Andrew was ready, too, to help with the precious burden, but Sir Percy would not entrust his beloved to

"When you and she are both safely on board the DAY DREAM," he said to his young comrade, "and I feel

that Mlle. Suzanne's eyes will not greet me in England with reproachful looks, then it will be my turn to rest."

And his arms, still vigorous in spite of fatigue and suffering, closed round Marguerite's poor, weary body,

Then, as Sir Andrew discreetly kept out of earshot, there were many things said, or rather whispered, which

All his fatigue was forgotten; his shoulders must have been very sore, for the soldiers had hit hard, but the

man's muscles seemed made of steel, and his energy was almost supernatural. It was a weary tramp, half a

league along the stony side of the cliffs, but never for a moment did his courage give way or his muscles

yield to fatigue. On he tramped, with firm footstep, his vigorous arms encircling the precious burden, and. .

.no doubt, as she lay, quiet and happy, at times lulled to momentary drowsiness, at others watching, through

the slowly gathering morning light, the pleasant face with the lazy, drooping blue eyes, ever cheerful, ever

illumined with a goodhumoured smile, she whispered many things, which helped to shorten the weary road,

The manyhued light of dawn was breaking in the east, when at last they reached the creek beyond Gris Nez.

The galley lay in wait: in answer to a signal from Sir Percy, she drew near, and two sturdy British sailors had

Half an hour later, they were on board the DAY DREAM. The crew, who of necessity were in their master's

secrets, and who were devoted to him heart and soul, were not surprised to see him arriving in so

Armand St. Just and the other fugitives were eagerly awaiting the advent of their brave rescuer; he would not

stay to hear the expressions of their gratitude, but found the way to his private cabin as quickly as he could,

Everything on board the DAY DREAM was fitted with that exquisite luxury, so dear to Sir Percy Blakeney's

heart, and by the time they all landed at Dover he had found time to get into some of the sumptuous clothes

The difficulty was to provide Marguerite with a pair of shoes, and great was the little middy's joy when my

The rest is silence!silence and joy for those who had endured so much suffering, yet found at last a great

But it is on record that at the brilliant wedding of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Bart., with Mlle. Suzanne de Tournay

de Basserive, a function at which H.R.H. the Prince of Wales and all the ELITE of fashionable society were

present, the most beautiful woman there was unquestionably Lady Blakeney, whilst the clothes of Sir Percy

It is also a fact that M. Chauvelin, the accredited agent of the French Republican Government, was not

present at that or any other social function in London, after that memorable evening at Lord Grenville's ball.