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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1752-0.txt b/1752-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ca8e9c --- /dev/null +++ b/1752-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14653 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: El Dorado + +Author: Baroness Orczy + +Posting Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1752] +Release Date: May, 1999 +Last Updated: February 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EL DORADO *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +EL DORADO + +By Baroness Orczy + + + + +FOREWORD + +There has of late years crept so much confusion into the mind of the +student as well as of the general reader as to the identity of the +Scarlet Pimpernel with that of the Gascon Royalist plotter known to +history as the Baron de Batz, that the time seems opportune for setting +all doubts on that subject at rest. + +The identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is in no way whatever connected +with that of the Baron de Batz, and even superficial reflection will +soon bring the mind to the conclusion that great fundamental differences +existed in these two men, in their personality, in their character, and, +above all, in their aims. + +According to one or two enthusiastic historians, the Baron de Batz was +the chief agent in a vast network of conspiracy, entirely supported by +foreign money--both English and Austrian--and which had for its object +the overthrow of the Republican Government and the restoration of the +monarchy in France. + +In order to attain this political goal, it is averred that he set +himself the task of pitting the members of the revolutionary Government +one against the other, and bringing hatred and dissensions amongst them, +until the cry of “Traitor!” resounded from one end of the Assembly of +the Convention to the other, and the Assembly itself became as one vast +den of wild beasts wherein wolves and hyenas devoured one another and, +still unsatiated, licked their streaming jaws hungering for more prey. + +Those same enthusiastic historians, who have a firm belief in the +so-called “Foreign Conspiracy,” ascribe every important event of the +Great Revolution--be that event the downfall of the Girondins, the +escape of the Dauphin from the Temple, or the death of Robespierre--to +the intrigues of Baron de Batz. He it was, so they say, who egged the +Jacobins on against the Mountain, Robespierre against Danton, Hebert +against Robespierre. He it was who instigated the massacres of +September, the atrocities of Nantes, the horrors of Thermidor, the +sacrileges, the noyades: all with the view of causing every section of +the National Assembly to vie with the other in excesses and in cruelty, +until the makers of the Revolution, satiated with their own lust, turned +on one another, and Sardanapalus-like buried themselves and their orgies +in the vast hecatomb of a self-consumed anarchy. + +Whether the power thus ascribed to Baron de Batz by his historians is +real or imaginary it is not the purpose of this preface to investigate. +Its sole object is to point out the difference between the career of +this plotter and that of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +The Baron de Batz himself was an adventurer without substance, save that +which he derived from abroad. He was one of those men who have nothing +to lose and everything to gain by throwing themselves headlong in the +seething cauldron of internal politics. + +Though he made several attempts at rescuing King Louis first, and +then the Queen and Royal Family from prison and from death, he never +succeeded, as we know, in any of these undertakings, and he never once +so much as attempted the rescue of other equally innocent, if not quite +so distinguished, victims of the most bloodthirsty revolution that has +ever shaken the foundations of the civilised world. + +Nay more; when on the 29th Prairial those unfortunate men and women were +condemned and executed for alleged complicity in the so-called “Foreign +Conspiracy,” de Batz, who is universally admitted to have been the +head and prime-mover of that conspiracy--if, indeed, conspiracy there +was--never made either the slightest attempt to rescue his confederates +from the guillotine, or at least the offer to perish by their side if he +could not succeed in saving them. + +And when we remember that the martyrs of the 29th Prairial included +women like Grandmaison, the devoted friend of de Batz, the beautiful +Emilie de St. Amaranthe, little Cecile Renault--a mere child not sixteen +years of age--also men like Michonis and Roussell, faithful servants +of de Batz, the Baron de Lezardiere, and the Comte de St. Maurice, +his friends, we no longer can have the slightest doubt that the Gascon +plotter and the English gentleman are indeed two very different persons. + +The latter’s aims were absolutely non-political. He never intrigued +for the restoration of the monarchy, or even for the overthrow of that +Republic which he loathed. + +His only concern was the rescue of the innocent, the stretching out of a +saving hand to those unfortunate creatures who had fallen into the nets +spread out for them by their fellow-men; by those who--godless, lawless, +penniless themselves--had sworn to exterminate all those who clung to +their belongings, to their religion, and to their beliefs. + +The Scarlet Pimpernel did not take it upon himself to punish the guilty; +his care was solely of the helpless and of the innocent. + +For this aim he risked his life every time that he set foot on French +soil, for it he sacrificed his fortune, and even his personal happiness, +and to it he devoted his entire existence. + +Moreover, whereas the French plotter is said to have had confederates +even in the Assembly of the Convention, confederates who were +sufficiently influential and powerful to secure his own immunity, the +Englishman when he was bent on his errands of mercy had the whole of +France against him. + +The Baron de Batz was a man who never justified either his own ambitions +or even his existence; the Scarlet Pimpernel was a personality of whom +an entire nation might justly be proud. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PART I + I IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL + II WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS + III THE DEMON CHANCE + IV MADEMOISELLE LANGE + V THE TEMPLE PRISON + VI THE COMMITTEE’S AGENT + VII THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE + VIII ARCADES AMBO + IX WHAT LOVE CAN DO + X SHADOWS + XI THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL + XII WHAT LOVE IS + XIII THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK + XIV THE CHIEF + XV THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE + XVI THE WEARY SEARCH + XVII CHAUVELIN + XVIII THE REMOVAL + XIX IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN + XX THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY + XXI BACK TO PARIS + XXII OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION + XXIII THE OVERWHELMING ODDS + + PART II + XXIV THE NEWS + XXV PARIS ONCE MORE + XXVI THE BITTEREST FOE + XXVI IN THE CONCIERGERIE + XXVIII THE CAGED LION + XXIX FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT + XXX AFTERWARDS + XXXI AN INTERLUDE + XXXII SISTERS + XXXIII LITTLE MOTHER + XXXIV THE LETTER + + PART III + XXXV THE LAST PHASE + XXXVI SUBMISSION + XXXVII CHAUVELIN’S ADVICE + XXXVIII CAPITULATION + XXXIX KILL HIM! + XL GOD HELP US ALL + XLI WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD + XLII THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. ANNE + XLIII THE DREARY JOURNEY + XLIV THE HALT AT CRECY + XLV THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE + XLVI OTHERS IN THE PARK + XLVII THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE + XLVIII THE WANING MOON + XLIX THE LAND OF ELDORADO + + + + +PART I. + + + +CHAPTER I. IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL + +And yet people found the opportunity to amuse themselves, to dance and +to go to the theatre, to enjoy music and open-air cafes and promenades +in the Palais Royal. + +New fashions in dress made their appearance, milliners produced fresh +“creations,” and jewellers were not idle. A grim sense of humour, born +of the very intensity of ever-present danger, had dubbed the cut of +certain tunics “tete tranche,” or a favourite ragout was called “a la +guillotine.” + +On three evenings only during the past memorable four and a half years +did the theatres close their doors, and these evenings were the ones +immediately following that terrible 2nd of September the day of the +butchery outside the Abbaye prison, when Paris herself was aghast with +horror, and the cries of the massacred might have drowned the calls of +the audience whose hands upraised for plaudits would still be dripping +with blood. + +On all other evenings of these same four and a half years the theatres +in the Rue de Richelieu, in the Palais Royal, the Luxembourg, and +others, had raised their curtains and taken money at their doors. +The same audience that earlier in the day had whiled away the time +by witnessing the ever-recurrent dramas of the Place de la Revolution +assembled here in the evenings and filled stalls, boxes, and tiers, +laughing over the satires of Voltaire or weeping over the sentimental +tragedies of persecuted Romeos and innocent Juliets. + +Death knocked at so many doors these days! He was so constant a guest in +the houses of relatives and friends that those who had merely shaken him +by the hand, those on whom he had smiled, and whom he, still smiling, +had passed indulgently by, looked on him with that subtle contempt born +of familiarity, shrugged their shoulders at his passage, and envisaged +his probable visit on the morrow with lighthearted indifference. + +Paris--despite the horrors that had stained her walls had remained a +city of pleasure, and the knife of the guillotine did scarce descend +more often than did the drop-scenes on the stage. + +On this bitterly cold evening of the 27th Nivose, in the second year of +the Republic--or, as we of the old style still persist in calling it, +the 16th of January, 1794--the auditorium of the Theatre National was +filled with a very brilliant company. + +The appearance of a favourite actress in the part of one of Moliere’s +volatile heroines had brought pleasure-loving Paris to witness this +revival of “Le Misanthrope,” with new scenery, dresses, and the +aforesaid charming actress to add piquancy to the master’s mordant wit. + +The Moniteur, which so impartially chronicles the events of those times, +tells us under that date that the Assembly of the Convention voted on +that same day a new law giving fuller power to its spies, enabling them +to effect domiciliary searches at their discretion without previous +reference to the Committee of General Security, authorising them to +proceed against all enemies of public happiness, to send them to prison +at their own discretion, and assuring them the sum of thirty-five livres +“for every piece of game thus beaten up for the guillotine.” Under that +same date the Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National +was filled to its utmost capacity for the revival of the late citoyen +Moliere’s comedy. + +The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which placed the +lives of thousands at the mercy of a few human bloodhounds, adjourned +its sitting and proceeded to the Rue de Richelieu. + +Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made their way +to the seats which had been reserved for them. An awed hush descended +on the throng as one by one the men whose very names inspired horror and +dread filed in through the narrow gangways of the stalls or took their +places in the tiny boxes around. + +Citizen Robespierre’s neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of +these; his bosom friend St. Just was with him, and also his sister +Charlotte. Danton, like a big, shaggy-coated lion, elbowed his way into +the stalls, whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and idol of the people +of Paris, was loudly acclaimed as his huge frame, gorgeously clad in the +uniform of the National Guard, was sighted on one of the tiers above. + +The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered excitedly; the +awe-inspiring names flew about hither and thither on the wings of the +overheated air. Women craned their necks to catch sight of heads which +mayhap on the morrow would roll into the gruesome basket at the foot of +the guillotine. + +In one of the tiny avant-scene boxes two men had taken their seats long +before the bulk of the audience had begun to assemble in the house. The +inside of the box was in complete darkness, and the narrow opening which +allowed but a sorry view of one side of the stage helped to conceal +rather than display the occupants. + +The younger one of these two men appeared to be something of a stranger +in Paris, for as the public men and the well-known members of the +Government began to arrive he often turned to his companion for +information regarding these notorious personalities. + +“Tell me, de Batz,” he said, calling the other’s attention to a group +of men who had just entered the house, “that creature there in the green +coat--with his hand up to his face now--who is he?” + +“Where? Which do you mean?” + +“There! He looks this way now, and he has a playbill in his hand. The +man with the protruding chin and the convex forehead, a face like a +marmoset, and eyes like a jackal. What?” + +The other leaned over the edge of the box, and his small, restless eyes +wandered over the now closely-packed auditorium. + +“Oh!” he said as soon as he recognised the face which his friend had +pointed out to him, “that is citizen Foucquier-Tinville.” + +“The Public Prosecutor?” + +“Himself. And Heron is the man next to him.” + +“Heron?” said the younger man interrogatively. + +“Yes. He is chief agent to the Committee of General Security now.” + +“What does that mean?” + +Both leaned back in their chairs, and their sombrely-clad figures were +once more merged in the gloom of the narrow box. Instinctively, since +the name of the Public Prosecutor had been mentioned between them, they +had allowed their voices to sink to a whisper. + +The older man--a stoutish, florid-looking individual, with small, keen +eyes, and skin pitted with small-pox--shrugged his shoulders at +his friend’s question, and then said with an air of contemptuous +indifference: + +“It means, my good St. Just, that these two men whom you see down +there, calmly conning the programme of this evening’s entertainment, and +preparing to enjoy themselves to-night in the company of the late M. de +Moliere, are two hell-hounds as powerful as they are cunning.” + +“Yes, yes,” said St. Just, and much against his will a slight shudder +ran through his slim figure as he spoke. “Foucquier-Tinville I know; I +know his cunning, and I know his power--but the other?” + +“The other?” retorted de Batz lightly. “Heron? Let me tell you, my +friend, that even the might and lust of that damned Public Prosecutor +pale before the power of Heron!” + +“But how? I do not understand.” + +“Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though no +doubt the main plot of our hideous tragedy has reached your ken, you +have no cognisance of the actors who play the principal parts on this +arena flooded with blood and carpeted with hate. They come and go, these +actors, my good St. Just--they come and go. Marat is already the man +of yesterday, Robespierre is the man of to-morrow. To-day we still have +Danton and Foucquier-Tinville; we still have Pere Duchesne, and your +own good cousin Antoine St. Just, but Heron and his like are with us +always.” + +“Spies, of course?” + +“Spies,” assented the other. “And what spies! Were you present at the +sitting of the Assembly to-day?” + +“I was. I heard the new decree which already has passed into law. Ah! I +tell you, friend, that we do not let the grass grow under our feet these +days. Robespierre wakes up one morning with a whim; by the afternoon +that whim has become law, passed by a servile body of men too terrified +to run counter to his will, fearful lest they be accused of moderation +or of humanity--the greatest crimes that can be committed nowadays.” + +“But Danton?” + +“Ah! Danton? He would wish to stem the tide that his own passions +have let loose; to muzzle the raging beasts whose fangs he himself has +sharpened. I told you that Danton is still the man of to-day; to-morrow +he will be accused of moderation. Danton and moderation!--ye gods! +Eh? Danton, who thought the guillotine too slow in its work, and armed +thirty soldiers with swords, so that thirty heads might fall at one +and the same time. Danton, friend, will perish to-morrow accused of +treachery against the Revolution, of moderation towards her enemies; +and curs like Heron will feast on the blood of lions like Danton and his +crowd.” + +He paused a moment, for he dared not raise his voice, and his whispers +were being drowned by the noise in the auditorium. The curtain, timed +to be raised at eight o’clock, was still down, though it was close on +half-past, and the public was growing impatient. There was loud stamping +of feet, and a few shrill whistles of disapproval proceeded from the +gallery. + +“If Heron gets impatient,” said de Batz lightly, when the noise had +momentarily subsided, “the manager of this theatre and mayhap his leading +actor and actress will spend an unpleasant day to-morrow.” + +“Always Heron!” said St. Just, with a contemptuous smile. + +“Yes, my friend,” rejoined the other imperturbably, “always Heron. And +he has even obtained a longer lease of existence this afternoon.” + +“By the new decree?” + +“Yes. The new decree. The agents of the Committee of General Security, +of whom Heron is the chief, have from to-day powers of domiciliary +search; they have full powers to proceed against all enemies of +public welfare. Isn’t that beautifully vague? And they have absolute +discretion; every one may become an enemy of public welfare, either by +spending too much money or by spending too little, by laughing to-day +or crying to-morrow, by mourning for one dead relative or rejoicing over +the execution of another. He may be a bad example to the public by +the cleanliness of his person or by the filth upon his clothes, he may +offend by walking to-day and by riding in a carriage next week; the +agents of the Committee of General Security shall alone decide what +constitutes enmity against public welfare. All prisons are to be opened +at their bidding to receive those whom they choose to denounce; they +have henceforth the right to examine prisoners privately and without +witnesses, and to send them to trial without further warrants; their +duty is clear--they must ‘beat up game for the guillotine.’ Thus is the +decree worded; they must furnish the Public Prosecutor with work to do, +the tribunals with victims to condemn, the Place de la Revolution +with death-scenes to amuse the people, and for their work they will +be rewarded thirty-five livres for every head that falls under the +guillotine Ah! if Heron and his like and his myrmidons work hard and +well they can make a comfortable income of four or five thousand livres +a week. We are getting on, friend St. Just--we are getting on.” + +He had not raised his voice while he spoke, nor in the recounting of +such inhuman monstrosity, such vile and bloodthirsty conspiracy against +the liberty, the dignity, the very life of an entire nation, did he +appear to feel the slightest indignation; rather did a tone of amusement +and even of triumph strike through his speech; and now he laughed +good-humouredly like an indulgent parent who is watching the naturally +cruel antics of a spoilt boy. + +“Then from this hell let loose upon earth,” exclaimed St. Just hotly, +“must we rescue those who refuse to ride upon this tide of blood.” + +His cheeks were glowing, his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He looked +very young and very eager. Armand St. Just, the brother of Lady +Blakeney, had something of the refined beauty of his lovely sister, but +the features though manly--had not the latent strength expressed in +them which characterised every line of Marguerite’s exquisite face. The +forehead suggested a dreamer rather than a thinker, the blue-grey eyes +were those of an idealist rather than of a man of action. + +De Batz’s keen piercing eyes had no doubt noted this, even whilst +he gazed at his young friend with that same look of good-humoured +indulgence which seemed habitual to him. + +“We have to think of the future, my good St. Just,” he said after a +slight pause, and speaking slowly and decisively, like a father rebuking +a hot-headed child, “not of the present. What are a few lives worth +beside the great principles which we have at stake?” + +“The restoration of the monarchy--I know,” retorted St. Just, still +unsobered, “but, in the meanwhile--” + +“In the meanwhile,” rejoined de Batz earnestly, “every victim to +the lust of these men is a step towards the restoration of law and +order--that is to say, of the monarchy. It is only through these violent +excesses perpetrated in its name that the nation will realise how it is +being fooled by a set of men who have only their own power and their own +advancement in view, and who imagine that the only way to that power is +over the dead bodies of those who stand in their way. Once the nation is +sickened by these orgies of ambition and of hate, it will turn against +these savage brutes, and gladly acclaim the restoration of all that +they are striving to destroy. This is our only hope for the future, and, +believe me, friend, that every head snatched from the guillotine by +your romantic hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a stone laid for the +consolidation of this infamous Republic.” + +“I’ll not believe it,” protested St. Just emphatically. + +De Batz, with a gesture of contempt indicative also of complete +self-satisfaction and unalterable self-belief, shrugged his broad +shoulders. His short fat fingers, covered with rings, beat a tattoo upon +the ledge of the box. + +Obviously, he was ready with a retort. His young friend’s attitude +irritated even more than it amused him. But he said nothing for the +moment, waiting while the traditional three knocks on the floor of the +stage proclaimed the rise of the curtain. The growing impatience of the +audience subsided as if by magic at the welcome call; everybody settled +down again comfortably in their seats, they gave up the contemplation of +the fathers of the people, and turned their full attention to the actors +on the boards. + + + +CHAPTER II. WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS + +This was Armand S. Just’s first visit to Paris since that memorable day +when first he decided to sever his connection from the Republican party, +of which he and his beautiful sister Marguerite had at one time been +amongst the most noble, most enthusiastic followers. Already a year and +a half ago the excesses of the party had horrified him, and that was +long before they had degenerated into the sickening orgies which were +culminating to-day in wholesale massacres and bloody hecatombs of +innocent victims. + +With the death of Mirabeau the moderate Republicans, whose sole and +entirely pure aim had been to free the people of France from the +autocratic tyranny of the Bourbons, saw the power go from their clean +hands to the grimy ones of lustful demagogues, who knew no law save +their own passions of bitter hatred against all classes that were not as +self-seeking, as ferocious as themselves. + +It was no longer a question of a fight for political and religious +liberty only, but one of class against class, man against man, and +let the weaker look to himself. The weaker had proved himself to +be, firstly, the man of property and substance, then the law-abiding +citizen, lastly the man of action who had obtained for the people that +very same liberty of thought and of belief which soon became so terribly +misused. + +Armand St. Just, one of the apostles of liberty, fraternity, and +equality, soon found that the most savage excesses of tyranny were being +perpetrated in the name of those same ideals which he had worshipped. + +His sister Marguerite, happily married in England, was the final +temptation which caused him to quit the country the destinies of which +he no longer could help to control. The spark of enthusiasm which he +and the followers of Mirabeau had tried to kindle in the hearts of an +oppressed people had turned to raging tongues of unquenchable flames. +The taking of the Bastille had been the prelude to the massacres of +September, and even the horror of these had since paled beside the +holocausts of to-day. + +Armand, saved from the swift vengeance of the revolutionaries by the +devotion of the Scarlet Pimpernel, crossed over to England and enrolled +himself under the banner of the heroic chief. But he had been unable +hitherto to be an active member of the League. The chief was loath to +allow him to run foolhardy risks. The St. Justs--both Marguerite and +Armand--were still very well-known in Paris. Marguerite was not a woman +easily forgotten, and her marriage with an English “aristo” did not +please those republican circles who had looked upon her as their queen. +Armand’s secession from his party into the ranks of the emigres had +singled him out for special reprisals, if and whenever he could be got +hold of, and both brother and sister had an unusually bitter enemy in +their cousin Antoine St. Just--once an aspirant to Marguerite’s hand, +and now a servile adherent and imitator of Robespierre, whose ferocious +cruelty he tried to emulate with a view to ingratiating himself with the +most powerful man of the day. + +Nothing would have pleased Antoine St. Just more than the opportunity of +showing his zeal and his patriotism by denouncing his own kith and kin +to the Tribunal of the Terror, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, whose own +slender fingers were held on the pulse of that reckless revolution, had +no wish to sacrifice Armand’s life deliberately, or even to expose it to +unnecessary dangers. + +Thus it was that more than a year had gone by before Armand St. Just--an +enthusiastic member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel--was able +to do aught for its service. He had chafed under the enforced restraint +placed upon him by the prudence of his chief, when, indeed, he was +longing to risk his life with the comrades whom he loved and beside the +leader whom he revered. + +At last, in the beginning of ‘94 he persuaded Blakeney to allow him +to join the next expedition to France. What the principal aim of that +expedition was the members of the League did not know as yet, but what +they did know was that perils--graver even than hitherto--would attend +them on their way. + +The circumstances had become very different of late. At first the +impenetrable mystery which had surrounded the personality of the chief +had been a full measure of safety, but now one tiny corner of that +veil of mystery had been lifted by two rough pairs of hands at least; +Chauvelin, ex-ambassador at the English Court, was no longer in any +doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, whilst Collot +d’Herbois had seen him at Boulogne, and had there been effectually +foiled by him. + +Four months had gone by since that day, and the Scarlet Pimpernel +was hardly ever out of France now; the massacres in Paris and in the +provinces had multiplied with appalling rapidity, the necessity for the +selfless devotion of that small band of heroes had become daily, hourly +more pressing. They rallied round their chief with unbounded enthusiasm, +and let it be admitted at once that the sporting instinct--inherent in +these English gentlemen--made them all the more keen, all the more +eager now that the dangers which beset their expeditions were increased +tenfold. + +At a word from the beloved leader, these young men--the spoilt darlings +of society--would leave the gaieties, the pleasures, the luxuries of +London or of Bath, and, taking their lives in their hands, they placed +them, together with their fortunes, and even their good names, at the +service of the innocent and helpless victims of merciless tyranny. The +married men--Ffoulkes, my Lord Hastings, Sir Jeremiah Wallescourt--left +wife and children at a call from the chief, at the cry of the wretched. +Armand--unattached and enthusiastic--had the right to demand that he +should no longer be left behind. + +He had only been away a little over fifteen months, and yet he found +Paris a different city from the one he had left immediately after the +terrible massacres of September. An air of grim loneliness seemed to +hang over her despite the crowds that thronged her streets; the men whom +he was wont to meet in public places fifteen months ago--friends and +political allies--were no longer to be seen; strange faces surrounded +him on every side--sullen, glowering faces, all wearing a certain air of +horrified surprise and of vague, terrified wonder, as if life had +become one awful puzzle, the answer to which must be found in the brief +interval between the swift passages of death. + +Armand St. Just, having settled his few simple belongings in the squalid +lodgings which had been assigned to him, had started out after dark to +wander somewhat aimlessly through the streets. Instinctively he seemed +to be searching for a familiar face, some one who would come to him out +of that merry past which he had spent with Marguerite in their pretty +apartment in the Rue St. Honore. + +For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times it +appeared to him as if he did recognise a face or figure that passed him +swiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully make up his mind +to that, the face or figure had already disappeared, gliding furtively +down some narrow unlighted by-street, without turning to look to right +or left, as if dreading fuller recognition. Armand felt a total stranger +in his own native city. + +The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolution +were fortunately over, the tumbrils no longer rattled along the uneven +pavements, nor did the death-cry of the unfortunate victims resound +through the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first day of his +arrival, spared the sight of this degradation of the once lovely city; +but her desolation, her general appearance of shamefaced indigence and +of cruel aloofness struck a chill in the young man’s heart. + +It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way slowly +back to his lodging he was accosted by a pleasant, cheerful voice, that +he responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a smooth, oily timbre, +as if the owner kept it well greased for purposes of amiable speech, +was like an echo of the past, when jolly, irresponsible Baron de Batz, +erst-while officer of the Guard in the service of the late King, +and since then known to be the most inveterate conspirator for the +restoration of the monarchy, used to amuse Marguerite by his vapid, +senseless plans for the overthrow of the newly-risen power of the +people. + +Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that a +good talk over old times would be vastly agreeable, the younger man +gladly acceded. The two men, though certainly not mistrustful of one +another, did not seem to care to reveal to each other the place where +they lodged. De Batz at once proposed the avant-scene box of one of the +theatres as being the safest place where old friends could talk without +fear of spying eyes or ears. + +“There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my young +friend,” he said “I have tried every sort of nook and cranny in this +accursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have come to the conclusion +that a small avant-scene box is the most perfect den of privacy there +is in the entire city. The voices of the actors on the stage and the hum +among the audience in the house will effectually drown all individual +conversation to every ear save the one for whom it is intended.” + +It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely and +somewhat forlorn in a large city to while away an evening in the +companionship of a cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially good +company. His vapourings had always been amusing, but Armand now gave him +credit for more seriousness of purpose; and though the chief had warned +him against picking up acquaintances in Paris, the young man felt that +that restriction would certainly not apply to a man like de Batz, whose +hot partisanship of the Royalist cause and hare-brained schemes for +its restoration must make him at one with the League of the Scarlet +Pimpernel. + +Armand accepted the other’s cordial invitation. He, too, felt that he +would indeed be safer from observation in a crowded theatre than in +the streets. Among a closely packed throng bent on amusement the +sombrely-clad figure of a young man, with the appearance of a student or +of a journalist, would easily pass unperceived. + +But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz’ company +within the gloomy shelter of the small avant-scene box, Armand already +repented of the impulse which had prompted him to come to the theatre +to-night, and to renew acquaintanceship with the ex-officer of the late +King’s Guard. Though he knew de Batz to be an ardent Royalist, and even +an active adherent of the monarchy, he was soon conscious of a vague +sense of mistrust of this pompous, self-complacent individual, whose +every utterance breathed selfish aims rather than devotion to a forlorn +cause. + +Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of Moliere’s +witty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately towards the stage and tried +to interest himself in the wordy quarrel between Philinte and Alceste. + +But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to suit +his newly-found friend. It was clear that de Batz did not consider the +topic of conversation by any means exhausted, and that it had been more +with a view to a discussion like the present interrupted one that he had +invited St. Just to come to the theatre with him to-night, rather +than for the purpose of witnessing Mlle. Lange’s debut in the part of +Celimene. + +The presence of St. Just in Paris had as a matter of fact astonished de +Batz not a little, and had set his intriguing brain busy on conjectures. +It was in order to turn these conjectures into certainties that he had +desired private talk with the young man. + +He waited silently now for a moment or two, his keen, small eyes resting +with evident anxiety on Armand’s averted head, his fingers still beating +the impatient tattoo upon the velvet-covered cushion of the box. Then at +the first movement of St. Just towards him he was ready in an instant to +re-open the subject under discussion. + +With a quick nod of his head he called his young friend’s attention back +to the men in the auditorium. + +“Your good cousin Antoine St. Just is hand and glove with Robespierre +now,” he said. “When you left Paris more than a year ago you could +afford to despise him as an empty-headed windbag; now, if you desire to +remain in France, you will have to fear him as a power and a menace.” + +“Yes, I knew that he had taken to herding with the wolves,” rejoined +Armand lightly. “At one time he was in love with my sister. I thank God +that she never cared for him.” + +“They say that he herds with the wolves because of this disappointment,” + said de Batz. “The whole pack is made up of men who have been +disappointed, and who have nothing more to lose. When all these wolves +will have devoured one another, then and then only can we hope for the +restoration of the monarchy in France. And they will not turn on one +another whilst prey for their greed lies ready to their jaws. Your +friend the Scarlet Pimpernel should feed this bloody revolution of ours +rather than starve it, if indeed he hates it as he seems to do.” + +His restless eyes peered with eager interrogation into those of the +younger man. He paused as if waiting for a reply; then, as St. Just +remained silent, he reiterated slowly, almost in the tones of a +challenge: + +“If indeed he hates this bloodthirsty revolution of ours as he seems to +do.” + +The reiteration implied a doubt. In a moment St. Just’s loyalty was up +in arms. + +“The Scarlet Pimpernel,” he said, “cares naught for your political aims. +The work of mercy that he does, he does for justice and for humanity.” + +“And for sport,” said de Batz with a sneer, “so I’ve been told.” + +“He is English,” assented St. Just, “and as such will never own to +sentiment. Whatever be the motive, look at the result! + +“Yes! a few lives stolen from the guillotine.” + +“Women and children--innocent victims--would have perished but for his +devotion.” + +“The more innocent they were, the more helpless, the more pitiable, +the louder would their blood have cried for reprisals against the wild +beasts who sent them to their death.” + +St. Just made no reply. It was obviously useless to attempt to argue +with this man, whose political aims were as far apart from those of the +Scarlet Pimpernel as was the North Pole from the South. + +“If any of you have influence over that hot-headed leader of yours,” + continued de Batz, unabashed by the silence of his friend, “I wish to +God you would exert it now.” + +“In what way?” queried St. Just, smiling in spite of himself at the +thought of his or any one else’s control over Blakeney and his plans. + +It was de Batz’ turn to be silent. He paused for a moment or two, then +he asked abruptly: + +“Your Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now, is he not?” + +“I cannot tell you,” replied Armand. + +“Bah! there is no necessity to fence with me, my friend. The moment I +set eyes on you this afternoon I knew that you had not come to Paris +alone.” + +“You are mistaken, my good de Batz,” rejoined the young man earnestly; +“I came to Paris alone.” + +“Clever parrying, on my word--but wholly wasted on my unbelieving ears. +Did I not note at once that you did not seem overpleased to-day when I +accosted you?” + +“Again you are mistaken. I was very pleased to meet you, for I had felt +singularly lonely all day, and was glad to shake a friend by the hand. +What you took for displeasure was only surprise.” + +“Surprise? Ah, yes! I don’t wonder that you were surprised to see me +walking unmolested and openly in the streets of Paris--whereas you had +heard of me as a dangerous conspirator, eh?--and as a man who has the +entire police of his country at his heels--on whose head there is a +price--what?” + +“I knew that you had made several noble efforts to rescue the +unfortunate King and Queen from the hands of these brutes.” + +“All of which efforts were unsuccessful,” assented de Batz +imperturbably, “every one of them having been either betrayed by some +d----d confederate or ferreted out by some astute spy eager for gain. Yes, +my friend, I made several efforts to rescue King Louis and Queen Marie +Antoinette from the scaffold, and every time I was foiled, and yet here +I am, you see, unscathed and free. I walk about the streets boldly, and +talk to my friends as I meet them.” + +“You are lucky,” said St. Just, not without a tinge of sarcasm. + +“I have been prudent,” retorted de Batz. “I have taken the trouble to +make friends there where I thought I needed them most--the mammon of +unrighteousness, you know-what?” + +And he laughed a broad, thick laugh of perfect self-satisfaction. + +“Yes, I know,” rejoined St. Just, with the tone of sarcasm still more +apparent in his voice now. “You have Austrian money at your disposal.” + +“Any amount,” said the other complacently, “and a great deal of it +sticks to the grimy fingers of these patriotic makers of revolutions. +Thus do I ensure my own safety. I buy it with the Emperor’s money, and +thus am I able to work for the restoration of the monarchy in France.” + +Again St. Just was silent. What could he say? Instinctively now, as the +fleshy personality of the Gascon Royalist seemed to spread itself out +and to fill the tiny box with his ambitious schemes and his far-reaching +plans, Armand’s thoughts flew back to that other plotter, the man +with the pure and simple aims, the man whose slender fingers had never +handled alien gold, but were ever there ready stretched out to the +helpless and the weak, whilst his thoughts were only of the help that he +might give them, but never of his own safety. + +De Batz, however, seemed blandly unconscious of any such disparaging +thoughts in the mind of his young friend, for he continued quite +amiably, even though a note of anxiety seemed to make itself felt now in +his smooth voice: + +“We advance slowly, but step by step, my good St. Just,” he said. “I +have not been able to save the monarchy in the person of the King or the +Queen, but I may yet do it in the person of the Dauphin.” + +“The Dauphin,” murmured St. Just involuntarily. + +That involuntary murmur, scarcely audible, so soft was it, seemed in +some way to satisfy de Batz, for the keenness of his gaze relaxed, and +his fat fingers ceased their nervous, intermittent tattoo on the ledge +of the box. + +“Yes! the Dauphin,” he said, nodding his head as if in answer to his +own thoughts, “or rather, let me say, the reigning King of France--Louis +XVII, by the grace of God--the most precious life at present upon the +whole of this earth.” + +“You are right there, friend de Batz,” assented Armand fervently, +“the most precious life, as you say, and one that must be saved at all +costs.” + +“Yes,” said de Batz calmly, “but not by your friend the Scarlet +Pimpernel.” + +“Why not?” + +Scarce were those two little words out of St. Just’s mouth than he +repented of them. He bit his lip, and with a dark frown upon his face he +turned almost defiantly towards his friend. + +But de Batz smiled with easy bonhomie. + +“Ah, friend Armand,” he said, “you were not cut out for diplomacy, nor +yet for intrigue. So then,” he added more seriously, “that gallant hero, +the Scarlet Pimpernel, has hopes of rescuing our young King from the +clutches of Simon the cobbler and of the herd of hyenas on the watch for +his attenuated little corpse, eh?” + +“I did not say that,” retorted St. Just sullenly. + +“No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my over-loyal young +friend. Could I, or any one else, doubt for a moment that sooner or +later your romantic hero would turn his attention to the most pathetic +sight in the whole of Europe--the child-martyr in the Temple prison? +The wonder were to me if the Scarlet Pimpernel ignored our little King +altogether for the sake of his subjects. No, no; do not think for a +moment that you have betrayed your friend’s secret to me. When I met you +so luckily today I guessed at once that you were here under the banner +of the enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went a +step further in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now in +the hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple prison.” + +“If that is so, you must not only rejoice but should be able to help.” + +“And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the other +in the future,” said de Batz placidly. “I happen to be a Frenchman, you +see.” + +“What has that to do with such a question?” + +“Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman too, +do not look through my spectacles. Louis XVII is King of France, my good +St. Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to us Frenchmen, and to +no one else.” + +“That is sheer madness, man,” retorted Armand. “Would you have the child +perish for the sake of your own selfish ideas?” + +“You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a measure +selfish. What does the rest of the world care if we are a republic or a +monarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work for ourselves and to +please ourselves, and I for one will not brook foreign interference.” + +“Yet you work with foreign money!” + +“That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get it where +I can; but I can arrange for the escape of Louis XVII from the Temple +Prison, and to us Royalists of France should belong the honour and glory +of having saved our King.” + +For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; he was +gazing wide-eyed, almost appalled at this impudent display of well-nigh +ferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling and complacent, was +leaning back in his chair, looking at his young friend with perfect +contentment expressed in every line of his pock-marked face and in the +very attitude of his well-fed body. It was easy enough now to understand +the remarkable immunity which this man was enjoying, despite the many +foolhardy plots which he hatched, and which had up to now invariably +come to naught. + +A regular braggart and empty windbag, he had taken but one good care, +and that was of his own skin. Unlike other less fortunate Royalists of +France, he neither fought in the country nor braved dangers in town. He +played a safer game--crossed the frontier and constituted himself agent +of Austria; he succeeded in gaining the Emperor’s money for the good of +the Royalist cause, and for his own most especial benefit. + +Even a less astute man of the world than was Armand St. Just would +easily have guessed that de Batz’ desire to be the only instrument in +the rescue of the poor little Dauphin from the Temple was not actuated +by patriotism, but solely by greed. Obviously there was a rich reward +waiting for him in Vienna the day that he brought Louis XVII safely into +Austrian territory; that reward he would miss if a meddlesome Englishman +interfered in this affair. Whether in this wrangle he risked the life of +the child-King or not mattered to him not at all. It was de Batz who was +to get the reward, and whose welfare and prosperity mattered more than +the most precious life in Europe. + + + +CHAPTER III. THE DEMON CHANCE + +St. Just would have given much to be back in his lonely squalid lodgings +now. Too late did he realise how wise had been the dictum which had +warned him against making or renewing friendships in France. + +Men had changed with the times. How terribly they had changed! Personal +safety had become a fetish with most--a goal so difficult to attain that +it had to be fought for and striven for, even at the expense of humanity +and of self-respect. + +Selfishness--the mere, cold-blooded insistence for +self-advancement--ruled supreme. De Batz, surfeited with foreign money, +used it firstly to ensure his own immunity, scattering it to right and +left to still the ambition of the Public Prosecutor or to satisfy the +greed of innumerable spies. + +What was left over he used for the purpose of pitting the bloodthirsty +demagogues one against the other, making of the National Assembly a +gigantic bear-den, wherein wild beasts could rend one another limb from +limb. + +In the meanwhile, what cared he--he said it himself--whether hundreds +of innocent martyrs perished miserably and uselessly? They were the +necessary food whereby the Revolution was to be satiated and de Batz’ +schemes enabled to mature. The most precious life in Europe even was +only to be saved if its price went to swell the pockets of de Batz, or +to further his future ambitions. + +Times had indeed changed an entire nation. St. Just felt as sickened +with this self-seeking Royalist as he did with the savage brutes who +struck to right or left for their own delectation. He was meditating +immediate flight back to his lodgings, with a hope of finding there +a word for him from the chief--a word to remind him that men did live +nowadays who had other aims besides their own advancement--other ideals +besides the deification of self. + +The curtain had descended on the first act, and traditionally, as the +works of M. de Moliere demanded it, the three knocks were heard again +without any interval. St. Just rose ready with a pretext for parting +with his friend. The curtain was being slowly drawn up on the second +act, and disclosed Alceste in wrathful conversation with Celimene. + +Alceste’s opening speech is short. Whilst the actor spoke it Armand had +his back to the stage; with hand outstretched, he was murmuring what +he hoped would prove a polite excuse for thus leaving his amiable host +while the entertainment had only just begun. + +De Batz--vexed and impatient--had not by any means finished with his +friend yet. He thought that his specious arguments--delivered with +boundless conviction--had made some impression on the mind of the young +man. That impression, however, he desired to deepen, and whilst Armand +was worrying his brain to find a plausible excuse for going away, de +Batz was racking his to find one for keeping him here. + +Then it was that the wayward demon Chance intervened. Had St. Just +risen but two minutes earlier, had his active mind suggested the +desired excuse more readily, who knows what unspeakable sorrow, what +heartrending misery, what terrible shame might have been spared both +him and those for whom he cared? Those two minutes--did he but know +it--decided the whole course of his future life. The excuse hovered on +his lips, de Batz reluctantly was preparing to bid him good-bye, +when Celimene, speaking common-place words enough in answer to her +quarrelsome lover, caused him to drop the hand which he was holding out +to his friend and to turn back towards the stage. + +It was an exquisite voice that had spoken--a voice mellow and tender, +with deep tones in it that betrayed latent power. The voice had caused +Armand to look, the lips that spoke forged the first tiny link of that +chain which riveted him forever after to the speaker. + +It is difficult to say if such a thing really exists as love at first +sight. Poets and romancists will have us believe that it does; idealists +swear by it as being the only true love worthy of the name. + +I do not know if I am prepared to admit their theory with regard to +Armand St. Just. Mlle. Lange’s exquisite voice certainly had charmed +him to the extent of making him forget his mistrust of de Batz and his +desire to get away. Mechanically almost he sat down again, and leaning +both elbows on the edge of the box, he rested his chin in his hand, and +listened. The words which the late M. de Moliere puts into the mouth +of Celimene are trite and flippant enough, yet every time that Mlle. +Lange’s lips moved Armand watched her, entranced. + +There, no doubt, the matter would have ended: a young man fascinated +by a pretty woman on the stage--‘tis a small matter, and one from which +there doth not often spring a weary trail of tragic circumstances. +Armand, who had a passion for music, would have worshipped at the shrine +of Mlle. Lange’s perfect voice until the curtain came down on the last +act, had not his friend de Batz seen the keen enchantment which the +actress had produced on the young enthusiast. + +Now de Batz was a man who never allowed an opportunity to slip by, if +that opportunity led towards the furtherance of his own desires. He +did not want to lose sight of Armand just yet, and here the good demon +Chance had given him an opportunity for obtaining what he wanted. + +He waited quietly until the fall of the curtain at the end of Act II.; +then, as Armand, with a sigh of delight, leaned back in his chair, +and closing his eyes appeared to be living the last half-hour all over +again, de Batz remarked with well-assumed indifference: + +“Mlle. Lange is a promising young actress. Do you not think so, my +friend?” + +“She has a perfect voice--it was exquisite melody to the ear,” replied +Armand. “I was conscious of little else.” + +“She is a beautiful woman, nevertheless,” continued de Batz with a +smile. “During the next act, my good St. Just, I would suggest that you +open your eyes as well as your ears.” + +Armand did as he was bidden. The whole appearance of Mlle. Lange +seemed in harmony with her voice. She was not very tall, but eminently +graceful, with a small, oval face and slender, almost childlike figure, +which appeared still more so above the wide hoops and draped panniers of +the fashions of Moliere’s time. + +Whether she was beautiful or not the young man hardly knew. Measured +by certain standards, she certainly was not so, for her mouth was not +small, and her nose anything but classical in outline. But the eyes +were brown, and they had that half-veiled look in them--shaded with long +lashes that seemed to make a perpetual tender appeal to the masculine +heart: the lips, too, were full and moist, and the teeth dazzling white. +Yes!--on the whole we might easily say that she was exquisite, even +though we did not admit that she was beautiful. + +Painter David has made a sketch of her; we have all seen it at the Musee +Carnavalet, and all wondered why that charming, if irregular, little +face made such an impression of sadness. + +There are five acts in “Le Misanthrope,” during which Celimene is almost +constantly on the stage. At the end of the fourth act de Batz said +casually to his friend: + +“I have the honour of personal acquaintanceship with Mlle. Lange. An you +care for an introduction to her, we can go round to the green-room after +the play.” + +Did prudence then whisper, “Desist”? Did loyalty to the leader murmur, +“Obey”? It were indeed difficult to say. Armand St. Just was not +five-and-twenty, and Mlle. Lange’s melodious voice spoke louder than the +whisperings of prudence or even than the call of duty. + +He thanked de Batz warmly, and during the last half-hour, while the +misanthropical lover spurned repentant Celimene, he was conscious of a +curious sensation of impatience, a tingling of his nerves, a wild, mad +longing to hear those full moist lips pronounce his name, and have those +large brown eyes throw their half-veiled look into his own. + + + +CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE LANGE + +The green-room was crowded when de Batz and St. Just arrived there after +the performance. The older man cast a hasty glance through the open +door. The crowd did not suit his purpose, and he dragged his companion +hurriedly away from the contemplation of Mlle. Lange, sitting in a far +corner of the room, surrounded by an admiring throng, and by innumerable +floral tributes offered to her beauty and to her success. + +De Batz without a word led the way back towards the stage. Here, by the +dim light of tallow candles fixed in sconces against the surrounding +walls, the scene-shifters were busy moving drop-scenes, back cloths and +wings, and paid no heed to the two men who strolled slowly up and down +silently, each wrapped in his own thoughts. + +Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his head +bent forward on his chest; but every now and again he threw quick, +apprehensive glances round him whenever a firm step echoed along the +empty stage or a voice rang clearly through the now deserted theatre. + +“Are we wise to wait here?” he asked, speaking to himself rather than to +his companion. + +He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz had +impressed themselves upon his mind: “Heron and his spies we have always +with us.” + +From the green-room a separate foyer and exit led directly out into +the street. Gradually the sound of many voices, the loud laughter and +occasional snatches of song which for the past half-hour had proceeded +from that part of the house, became more subdued and more rare. One by +one the friends of the artists were leaving the theatre, after having +paid the usual banal compliments to those whom they favoured, or +presented the accustomed offering of flowers to the brightest star of +the night. + +The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the ones +who could no longer command a court of admirers round them. They all +filed out of the green-room and crossed the stage to where, at the +back, a narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their so-called +dressing-rooms--tiny, dark cubicles, ill-lighted, unventilated, where +some half-dozen of the lesser stars tumbled over one another while +removing wigs and grease-paint. + +Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal impatience. +Mlle. Lange was the last to leave the green-room. For some time, since +the crowd had become thinner round her, Armand had contrived to catch +glimpses of her slight, elegant figure. A short passage led from the +stage to the green-room door, which was wide open, and at the corner +of this passage the young man had paused from time to time in his walk, +gazing with earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl’s +head, with its wig of powdered curls that seemed scarcely whiter than +the creamy brilliance of her skin. + +De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks in the +direction of the crowd that prevented her leaving the green-room. He +did watch Armand, however--noted his eager look, his brisk and alert +movements, the obvious glances of admiration which he cast in the +direction of the young actress, and this seemed to afford him a +considerable amount of contentment. + +The best part of an hour had gone by since the fall of the curtain +before Mlle. Lange finally dismissed her many admirers, and de Batz had +the satisfaction of seeing her running down the passage, turning back +occasionally in order to bid gay “good-nights” to the loiterers who +were loath to part from her. She was a child in all her movements, quite +unconscious of self or of her own charms, but frankly delighted with +her success. She was still dressed in the ridiculous hoops and panniers +pertaining to her part, and the powdered peruke hid the charm of her +own hair; the costume gave a certain stilted air to her unaffected +personality, which, by this very sense of contrast, was essentially +fascinating. + +In her arms she held a huge sheaf of sweet-scented narcissi, the spoils +of some favoured spot far away in the South. Armand thought that never +in his life had he seen anything so winsome or so charming. + +Having at last said the positively final adieu, Mlle. Lange with a happy +little sigh turned to run down the passage. + +She came face to face with Armand, and gave a sudden little gasp of +terror. It was not good these days to come on any loiterer unawares. + +But already de Batz had quickly joined his friend, and his smooth, +pleasant voice, and podgy, beringed hand extended towards Mlle. Lange, +were sufficient to reassure her. + +“You were so surrounded in the green-room, mademoiselle,” he said +courteously, “I did not venture to press in among the crowd of +your admirers. Yet I had the great wish to present my respectful +congratulations in person.” + +“Ah! c’est ce cher de Batz!” exclaimed mademoiselle gaily, in that +exquisitely rippling voice of hers. “And where in the world do you +spring from, my friend? + +“Hush-sh-sh!” he whispered, holding her small bemittened hand in +his, and putting one finger to his lips with an urgent entreaty for +discretion; “not my name, I beg of you, fair one.” + +“Bah!” she retorted lightly, even though her full lips trembled now as +she spoke and belied her very words. “You need have no fear whilst +you are in this part of the house. It is an understood thing that the +Committee of General Security does not send its spies behind the curtain +of a theatre. Why, if all of us actors and actresses were sent to +the guillotine there would be no play on the morrow. Artistes are not +replaceable in a few hours; those that are in existence must perforce be +spared, or the citizens who govern us now would not know where to spend +their evenings.” + +But though she spoke so airily and with her accustomed gaiety, it was +easily perceived that even on this childish mind the dangers which beset +every one these days had already imprinted their mark of suspicion and +of caution. + +“Come into my dressing-room,” she said. “I must not tarry here any +longer, for they will be putting out the lights. But I have a room to +myself, and we can talk there quite agreeably.” + +She led the way across the stage towards the wooden stairs. Armand, who +during this brief colloquy between his friend and the young girl had +kept discreetly in the background, felt undecided what to do. But at +a peremptory sign from de Batz he, too, turned in the wake of the gay +little lady, who ran swiftly up the rickety steps, humming snatches of +popular songs the while, and not turning to see if indeed the two men +were following her. + +She had the sheaf of narcissi still in her arms, and the door of her +tiny dressing-room being open, she ran straight in and threw the flowers +down in a confused, sweet-scented mass upon the small table that +stood at one end of the room, littered with pots and bottles, letters, +mirrors, powder-puffs, silk stockings, and cambric handkerchiefs. + +Then she turned and faced the two men, a merry look of unalterable +gaiety dancing in her eyes. + +“Shut the door, mon ami,” she said to de Batz, “and after that sit down +where you can, so long as it is not on my most precious pot of unguent +or a box of costliest powder.” + +While de Batz did as he was told, she turned to Armand and said with a +pretty tone of interrogation in her melodious voice: + +“Monsieur?” + +“St. Just, at your service, mademoiselle,” said Armand, bowing very low +in the most approved style obtaining at the English Court. + +“St. Just?” she repeated, a look of puzzlement in her brown eyes. +“Surely--” + +“A kinsman of citizen St. Just, whom no doubt you know, mademoiselle,” + he exclaimed. + +“My friend Armand St. Just,” interposed de Batz, “is practically a +new-comer in Paris. He lives in England habitually.” + +“In England?” she exclaimed. “Oh! do tell me all about England. I would +love to go there. Perhaps I may have to go some day. Oh! do sit down, de +Batz,” she continued, talking rather volubly, even as a delicate blush +heightened the colour in her cheeks under the look of obvious admiration +from Armand St. Just’s expressive eyes. + +She swept a handful of delicate cambric and silk from off a chair, +making room for de Batz’ portly figure. Then she sat upon the sofa, and +with an inviting gesture and a call from the eyes she bade Armand sit +down next to her. She leaned back against the cushions, and the table +being close by, she stretched out a hand and once more took up the bunch +of narcissi, and while she talked to Armand she held the snow-white +blooms quite close to her face--so close, in fact, that he could not +see her mouth and chin, only her dark eyes shone across at him over the +heads of the blossoms. + +“Tell me all about England,” she reiterated, settling herself down among +the cushions like a spoilt child who is about to listen to an oft-told +favourite story. + +Armand was vexed that de Batz was sitting there. He felt he could have +told this dainty little lady quite a good deal about England if only his +pompous, fat friend would have had the good sense to go away. + +As it was, he felt unusually timid and gauche, not quite knowing what to +say, a fact which seemed to amuse Mlle. Lange not a little. + +“I am very fond of England,” he said lamely; “my sister is married to an +Englishman, and I myself have taken up my permanent residence there.” + +“Among the society of emigres?” she queried. + +Then, as Armand made no reply, de Batz interposed quickly: + +“Oh! you need not fear to admit it, my good Armand; Mademoiselle Lange, +has many friends among the emigres--have you not, mademoiselle?” + +“Yes, of course,” she replied lightly; “I have friends everywhere. Their +political views have nothing to do with me. Artistes, I think, should +have naught to do with politics. You see, citizen St. Just, I never +inquired of you what were your views. Your name and kinship would +proclaim you a partisan of citizen Robespierre, yet I find you in the +company of M. de Batz; and you tell me that you live in England.” + +“He is no partisan of citizen Robespierre,” again interposed de Batz; +“in fact, mademoiselle, I may safely tell you, I think, that my friend +has but one ideal on this earth, whom he has set up in a shrine, and +whom he worships with all the ardour of a Christian for his God.” + +“How romantic!” she said, and she looked straight at Armand. “Tell me, +monsieur, is your ideal a woman or a man?” + +His look answered her, even before he boldly spoke the two words: + +“A woman.” + +She took a deep draught of sweet, intoxicating scent from the narcissi, +and his gaze once more brought blushes to her cheeks. De Batz’ +good-humoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted access of +confusion. + +“That was well turned, friend Armand,” he said lightly; “but I assure +you, mademoiselle, that before I brought him here to-night his ideal was +a man.” + +“A man!” she exclaimed, with a contemptuous little pout. “Who was it?” + +“I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificant +flower--the Scarlet Pimpernel,” replied de Batz. + +“The Scarlet Pimpernel!” she ejaculated, dropping the flowers suddenly, +and gazing on Armand with wide, wondering eyes. “And do you know him, +monsieur?” + +He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt at +sitting so close to this charming little lady, and feeling that in a +measure his presence and his personality interested her. But he felt +irritated with de Batz, and angered at what he considered the latter’s +indiscretion. To him the very name of his leader was almost a sacred +one; he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who only care to name the +idol of their dreams with bated breath, and only in the ears of those +who would understand and sympathise. + +Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with mademoiselle he +could have told her all about the Scarlet Pimpernel, knowing that in her +he would find a ready listener, a helping and a loving heart; but as it +was he merely replied tamely enough: + +“Yes, mademoiselle, I do know him.” + +“You have seen him?” she queried eagerly; “spoken to him?” + +“Yes.” + +“Oh! do tell me all about him. You know quite a number of us in France +have the greatest possible admiration for your national hero. We know, +of course, that he is an enemy of our Government--but, oh! we feel that +he is not an enemy of France because of that. We are a nation of heroes, +too, monsieur,” she added with a pretty, proud toss of the head; “we can +appreciate bravery and resource, and we love the mystery that surrounds +the personality of your Scarlet Pimpernel. But since you know him, +monsieur, tell me what is he like?” + +Armand was smiling again. He was yielding himself up wholly to the charm +which emanated from this young girl’s entire being, from her gaiety +and her unaffectedness, her enthusiasm, and that obvious artistic +temperament which caused her to feel every sensation with superlative +keenness and thoroughness. + +“What is he like?” she insisted. + +“That, mademoiselle,” he replied, “I am not at liberty to tell you.” + +“Not at liberty to tell me!” she exclaimed; “but monsieur, if I command +you--” + +“At risk of falling forever under the ban of your displeasure, +mademoiselle, I would still remain silent on that subject.” + +She gazed on him with obvious astonishment. It was quite an unusual +thing for this spoilt darling of an admiring public to be thus openly +thwarted in her whims. + +“How tiresome and pedantic!” she said, with a shrug of her pretty +shoulders and a moue of discontent. “And, oh! how ungallant! You have +learnt ugly, English ways, monsieur; for there, I am told, men hold +their womenkind in very scant esteem. There!” she added, turning with +a mock air of hopelessness towards de Batz, “am I not a most unlucky +woman? For the past two years I have used my best endeavours to catch +sight of that interesting Scarlet Pimpernel; here do I meet monsieur, +who actually knows him (so he says), and he is so ungallant that he even +refuses to satisfy the first cravings of my just curiosity.” + +“Citizen St. Just will tell you nothing now, mademoiselle,” rejoined +de Batz with his good-humoured laugh; “it is my presence, I assure you, +which is setting a seal upon his lips. He is, believe me, aching to +confide in you, to share in your enthusiasm, and to see your beautiful +eyes glowing in response to his ardour when he describes to you the +exploits of that prince of heroes. En tete-a-tete one day, you will, I +know, worm every secret out of my discreet friend Armand.” + +Mademoiselle made no comment on this--that is to say, no audible +comment--but she buried the whole of her face for a few seconds among +the flowers, and Armand from amongst those flowers caught sight of a +pair of very bright brown eyes which shone on him with a puzzled look. + +She said nothing more about the Scarlet Pimpernel or about England just +then, but after awhile she began talking of more indifferent subjects: +the state of the weather, the price of food, the discomforts of her own +house, now that the servants had been put on perfect equality with their +masters. + +Armand soon gathered that the burning questions of the day, the horrors +of massacres, the raging turmoil of politics, had not affected her very +deeply as yet. She had not troubled her pretty head very much about the +social and humanitarian aspect of the present seething revolution. +She did not really wish to think about it at all. An artiste to her +finger-tips, she was spending her young life in earnest work, striving +to attain perfection in her art, absorbed in study during the day, and +in the expression of what she had learnt in the evenings. + +The terrors of the guillotine affected her a little, but somewhat +vaguely still. She had not realised that any dangers could assail her +whilst she worked for the artistic delectation of the public. + +It was not that she did not understand what went on around her, but that +her artistic temperament and her environment had kept her aloof from +it all. The horrors of the Place de la Revolution made her shudder, but +only in the same way as the tragedies of M. Racine or of Sophocles which +she had studied caused her to shudder, and she had exactly the same +sympathy for poor Queen Marie Antoinette as she had for Mary Stuart, and +shed as many tears for King Louis as she did for Polyeucte. + +Once de Batz mentioned the Dauphin, but mademoiselle put up her hand +quickly and said in a trembling voice, whilst the tears gathered in her +eyes: + +“Do not speak of the child to me, de Batz. What can I, a lonely, +hard-working woman, do to help him? I try not to think of him, for if +I did, knowing my own helplessness, I feel that I could hate my +countrymen, and speak my bitter hatred of them across the footlights; +which would be more than foolish,” she added naively, “for it would not +help the child, and I should be sent to the guillotine. But oh sometimes +I feel that I would gladly die if only that poor little child-martyr +were restored to those who love him and given back once more to joy and +happiness. But they would not take my life for his, I am afraid,” + she concluded, smiling through her tears. “My life is of no value in +comparison with his.” + +Soon after this she dismissed her two visitors. De Batz, well content +with the result of this evening’s entertainment, wore an urbane, bland +smile on his rubicund face. Armand, somewhat serious and not a little in +love, made the hand-kiss with which he took his leave last as long as he +could. + +“You will come and see me again, citizen St. Just?” she asked after that +preliminary leave-taking. + +“At your service, mademoiselle,” he replied with alacrity. + +“How long do you stay in Paris?” + +“I may be called away at any time.” + +“Well, then, come to-morrow. I shall be free towards four o’clock. +Square du Roule. You cannot miss the house. Any one there will tell you +where lives citizeness Lange.” + +“At your service, mademoiselle,” he replied. + +The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they took +final leave of her, spoke the gratitude and the joy which he felt. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE TEMPLE PRISON + +It was close on midnight when the two friends finally parted company +outside the doors of the theatre. The night air struck with biting +keenness against them when they emerged from the stuffy, overheated +building, and both wrapped their caped cloaks tightly round their +shoulders. Armand--more than ever now--was anxious to rid himself of +de Batz. The Gascon’s platitudes irritated him beyond the bounds of +forbearance, and he wanted to be alone, so that he might think over +the events of this night, the chief event being a little lady with an +enchanting voice and the most fascinating brown eyes he had ever seen. + +Self-reproach, too, was fighting a fairly even fight with the excitement +that had been called up by that same pair of brown eyes. Armand for the +past four or five hours had acted in direct opposition to the earnest +advice given to him by his chief; he had renewed one friendship which +had been far better left in oblivion, and he had made an acquaintance +which already was leading him along a path that he felt sure his comrade +would disapprove. But the path was so profusely strewn with scented +narcissi that Armand’s sensitive conscience was quickly lulled to rest +by the intoxicating fragrance. + +Looking neither to right nor left, he made his way very quickly up the +Rue Richelieu towards the Montmartre quarter, where he lodged. + +De Batz stood and watched him for as long as the dim lights of the +street lamps illumined his slim, soberly-clad figure; then he turned on +his heel and walked off in the opposite direction. + +His florid, pock-marked face wore an air of contentment not altogether +unmixed with a kind of spiteful triumph. + +“So, my pretty Scarlet Pimpernel,” he muttered between his closed lips, +“you wish to meddle in my affairs, to have for yourself and your friends +the credit and glory of snatching the golden prize from the clutches of +these murderous brutes. Well, we shall see! We shall see which is the +wiliest--the French ferret or the English fox.” + +He walked deliberately away from the busy part of the town, turning +his back on the river, stepping out briskly straight before him, and +swinging his gold-beaded cane as he walked. + +The streets which he had to traverse were silent and deserted, save +occasionally where a drinking or an eating house had its swing-doors +still invitingly open. From these places, as de Batz strode rapidly by, +came sounds of loud voices, rendered raucous by outdoor oratory; volleys +of oaths hurled irreverently in the midst of impassioned speeches; +interruptions from rowdy audiences that vied with the speaker in +invectives and blasphemies; wordy war-fares that ended in noisy +vituperations; accusations hurled through the air heavy with tobacco +smoke and the fumes of cheap wines and of raw spirits. + +De Batz took no heed of these as he passed, anxious only that the crowd +of eating-house politicians did not, as often was its wont, turn out +pele-mele into the street, and settle its quarrel by the weight +of fists. He did not wish to be embroiled in a street fight, which +invariably ended in denunciations and arrests, and was glad when +presently he had left the purlieus of the Palais Royal behind him, and +could strike on his left toward the lonely Faubourg du Temple. + +From the dim distance far away came at intervals the mournful sound of a +roll of muffled drums, half veiled by the intervening hubbub of the +busy night life of the great city. It proceeded from the Place de la +Revolution, where a company of the National Guard were on night watch +round the guillotine. The dull, intermittent notes of the drum came as +a reminder to the free people of France that the watchdog of a vengeful +revolution was alert night and day, never sleeping, ever wakeful, +“beating up game for the guillotine,” as the new decree framed to-day by +the Government of the people had ordered that it should do. + +From time to time now the silence of this lonely street was broken by +a sudden cry of terror, followed by the clash of arms, the inevitable +volley of oaths, the call for help, the final moan of anguish. They +were the ever-recurring brief tragedies which told of denunciations, of +domiciliary search, of sudden arrests, of an agonising desire for +life and for freedom--for life under these same horrible conditions of +brutality and of servitude, for freedom to breathe, if only a day or two +longer, this air, polluted by filth and by blood. + +De Batz, hardened to these scenes, paid no heed to them. He had heard it +so often, that cry in the night, followed by death-like silence; it +came from comfortable bourgeois houses, from squalid lodgings, or +lonely cul-de-sac, wherever some hunted quarry was run to earth by the +newly-organised spies of the Committee of General Security. + +Five and thirty livres for every head that falls trunkless into the +basket at the foot of the guillotine! Five and thirty pieces of silver, +now as then, the price of innocent blood. Every cry in the night, every +call for help, meant game for the guillotine, and five and thirty livres +in the hands of a Judas. + +And de Batz walked on unmoved by what he saw and heard, swinging his +cane and looking satisfied. Now he struck into the Place de la +Victoire, and looked on one of the open-air camps that had recently been +established where men, women, and children were working to provide arms +and accoutrements for the Republican army that was fighting the whole of +Europe. + +The people of France were up in arms against tyranny; and on the open +places of their mighty city they were encamped day and night forging +those arms which were destined to make them free, and in the meantime +were bending under a yoke of tyranny more complete, more grinding +and absolute than any that the most despotic kings had ever dared to +inflict. + +Here by the light of resin torches, at this late hour of the night, +raw lads were being drilled into soldiers, half-naked under the cutting +blast of the north wind, their knees shaking under them, their arms and +legs blue with cold, their stomachs empty, and their teeth chattering +with fear; women were sewing shirts for the great improvised army, +with eyes straining to see the stitches by the flickering light of +the torches, their throats parched with the continual inhaling of +smoke-laden air; even children, with weak, clumsy little fingers, were +picking rags to be woven into cloth again--all, all these slaves were +working far into the night, tired, hungry, and cold, but working +unceasingly, as the country had demanded it: “the people of France in +arms against tyranny!” The people of France had to set to work to make +arms, to clothe the soldiers, the defenders of the people’s liberty. + +And from this crowd of people--men, women, and children--there came +scarcely a sound, save raucous whispers, a moan or a sigh quickly +suppressed. A grim silence reigned in this thickly-peopled camp; only +the crackling of the torches broke that silence now and then, or the +flapping of canvas in the wintry gale. They worked on sullen, desperate, +and starving, with no hope of payment save the miserable rations wrung +from poor tradespeople or miserable farmers, as wretched, as oppressed +as themselves; no hope of payment, only fear of punishment, for that was +ever present. + +The people of France in arms against tyranny were not allowed to forget +that grim taskmaster with the two great hands stretched upwards, holding +the knife which descended mercilessly, indiscriminately on necks that +did not bend willingly to the task. + +A grim look of gratified desire had spread over de Batz’ face as he +skirted the open-air camp. Let them toil, let them groan, let them +starve! The more these clouts suffer, the more brutal the heel that +grinds them down, the sooner will the Emperor’s money accomplish its +work, the sooner will these wretches be clamoring for the monarchy, +which would mean a rich reward in de Batz’ pockets. + +To him everything now was for the best: the tyranny, the brutality, the +massacres. He gloated in the holocausts with as much satisfaction as did +the most bloodthirsty Jacobin in the Convention. He would with his own +hands have wielded the guillotine that worked too slowly for his ends. +Let that end justify the means, was his motto. What matter if the future +King of France walked up to his throne over steps made of headless +corpses and rendered slippery with the blood of martyrs? + +The ground beneath de Batz’ feet was hard and white with the frost. +Overhead the pale, wintry moon looked down serene and placid on this +giant city wallowing in an ocean of misery. + +There, had been but little snow as yet this year, and the cold was +intense. On his right now the Cimetiere des SS. Innocents lay peaceful +and still beneath the wan light of the moon. A thin covering of snow lay +evenly alike on grass mounds and smooth stones. Here and there a broken +cross with chipped arms still held pathetically outstretched, as if in +a final appeal for human love, bore mute testimony to senseless excesses +and spiteful desire for destruction. + +But here within the precincts of the dwelling of the eternal Master a +solemn silence reigned; only the cold north wind shook the branches of +the yew, causing them to send forth a melancholy sigh into the night, +and to shed a shower of tiny crystals of snow like the frozen tears of +the dead. + +And round the precincts of the lonely graveyard, and down narrow streets +or open places, the night watchmen went their rounds, lanthorn in hand, +and every five minutes their monotonous call rang clearly out in the +night: + +“Sleep, citizens! everything is quiet and at peace!” + + + +We may take it that de Batz did not philosophise over-much on what went +on around him. He had walked swiftly up the Rue St. Martin, then turning +sharply to his right he found himself beneath the tall, frowning +walls of the Temple prison, the grim guardian of so many secrets, such +terrible despair, such unspeakable tragedies. + +Here, too, as in the Place de la Revolution, an intermittent roll of +muffled drums proclaimed the ever-watchful presence of the National +Guard. But with that exception not a sound stirred round the grim and +stately edifice; there were no cries, no calls, no appeals around its +walls. All the crying and wailing was shut in by the massive stone that +told no tales. + +Dim and flickering lights shone behind several of the small windows in +the facade of the huge labyrinthine building. Without any hesitation de +Batz turned down the Rue du Temple, and soon found himself in front +of the main gates which gave on the courtyard beyond. The sentinel +challenged him, but he had the pass-word, and explained that he desired +to have speech with citizen Heron. + +With a surly gesture the guard pointed to the heavy bell-pull up against +the gate, and de Batz pulled it with all his might. The long clang of +the brazen bell echoed and re-echoed round the solid stone walls. Anon +a tiny judas in the gate was cautiously pushed open, and a peremptory +voice once again challenged the midnight intruder. + +De Batz, more peremptorily this time, asked for citizen Heron, with whom +he had immediate and important business, and a glimmer of a piece of +silver which he held up close to the judas secured him the necessary +admittance. + +The massive gates slowly swung open on their creaking hinges, and as de +Batz passed beneath the archway they closed again behind him. + +The concierge’s lodge was immediately on his left. Again he was +challenged, and again gave the pass-word. But his face was apparently +known here, for no serious hindrance to proceed was put in his way. + +A man, whose wide, lean frame was but ill-covered by a threadbare coat +and ragged breeches, and with soleless shoes on his feet, was told off +to direct the citoyen to citizen Heron’s rooms. The man walked slowly +along with bent knees and arched spine, and shuffled his feet as he +walked; the bunch of keys which he carried rattled ominously in his +long, grimy hands; the passages were badly lighted, and he also carried +a lanthorn to guide himself on the way. + +Closely followed by de Batz, he soon turned into the central corridor, +which is open to the sky above, and was spectrally alight now with +flag-stones and walls gleaming beneath the silvery sheen of the moon, +and throwing back the fantastic elongated shadows of the two men as they +walked. + +On the left, heavily barred windows gave on the corridor, as did here +and there the massive oaken doors, with their gigantic hinges and bolts, +on the steps of which squatted groups of soldiers wrapped in their +cloaks, with wild, suspicious eyes beneath their capotes, peering at the +midnight visitor as he passed. + +There was no thought of silence here. The very walls seemed alive with +sounds, groans and tears, loud wails and murmured prayers; they exuded +from the stones and trembled on the frost-laden air. + +Occasionally at one of the windows a pair of white hands would appear, +grasping the heavy iron bar, trying to shake it in its socket, and +mayhap, above the hands, the dim vision of a haggard face, a man’s or a +woman’s, trying to get a glimpse of the outside world, a final look at +the sky, before the last journey to the place of death to-morrow. Then +one of the soldiers, with a loud, angry oath, would struggle to his +feet, and with the butt-end of his gun strike at the thin, wan fingers +till their hold on the iron bar relaxed, and the pallid face beyond +would sink back into the darkness with a desperate cry of pain. + +A quick, impatient sigh escaped de Batz’ lips. He had skirted the wide +courtyard in the wake of his guide, and from where he was he could see +the great central tower, with its tiny windows lighted from within, the +grim walls behind which the descendant of the world’s conquerors, the +bearer of the proudest name in Europe, and wearer of its most ancient +crown, had spent the last days of his brilliant life in abject shame, +sorrow, and degradation. The memory had swiftly surged up before him of +that night when he all but rescued King Louis and his family from this +same miserable prison: the guard had been bribed, the keeper corrupted, +everything had been prepared, save the reckoning with the one +irresponsible factor--chance! + +He had failed then and had tried again, and again had failed; a fortune +had been his reward if he had succeeded. He had failed, but even now, +when his footsteps echoed along the flagged courtyard, over which +an unfortunate King and Queen had walked on their way to their last +ignominious Calvary, he hugged himself with the satisfying thought that +where he had failed at least no one else had succeeded. + +Whether that meddlesome English adventurer, who called himself the +Scarlet Pimpernel, had planned the rescue of King Louis or of Queen +Marie Antoinette at any time or not--that he did not know; but on one +point at least he was more than ever determined, and that was that +no power on earth should snatch from him the golden prize offered by +Austria for the rescue of the little Dauphin. + +“I would sooner see the child perish, if I cannot save him myself,” was +the burning thought in this man’s tortuous brain. “And let that accursed +Englishman look to himself and to his d----d confederates,” he added, +muttering a fierce oath beneath his breath. + +A winding, narrow stone stair, another length or two of corridor, and +his guide’s shuffling footsteps paused beside a low iron-studded door +let into the solid stone. De Batz dismissed his ill-clothed guide and +pulled the iron bell-handle which hung beside the door. + +The bell gave forth a dull and broken clang, which seemed like an echo +of the wails of sorrow that peopled the huge building with their weird +and monotonous sounds. + +De Batz--a thoroughly unimaginative person--waited patiently beside the +door until it was opened from within, and he was confronted by a tall +stooping figure, wearing a greasy coat of snuff-brown cloth, and holding +high above his head a lanthorn that threw its feeble light on de Batz’ +jovial face and form. + +“It is even I, citizen Heron,” he said, breaking in swiftly on the +other’s ejaculation of astonishment, which threatened to send his name +echoing the whole length of corridors and passages, until round every +corner of the labyrinthine house of sorrow the murmur would be borne +on the wings of the cold night breeze: “Citizen Heron is in parley with +ci-devant Baron de Batz!” + +A fact which would have been equally unpleasant for both these worthies. + +“Enter!” said Heron curtly. + +He banged the heavy door to behind his visitor; and de Batz, who seemed +to know his way about the place, walked straight across the narrow +landing to where a smaller door stood invitingly open. + +He stepped boldly in, the while citizen Heron put the lanthorn down on +the floor of the couloir, and then followed his nocturnal visitor into +the room. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE COMMITTEE’S AGENT + +It was a narrow, ill-ventilated place, with but one barred window that +gave on the courtyard. An evil-smelling lamp hung by a chain from the +grimy ceiling, and in a corner of the room a tiny iron stove shed more +unpleasant vapour than warm glow around. + +There was but little furniture: two or three chairs, a table which was +littered with papers, and a corner-cupboard--the open doors of which +revealed a miscellaneous collection--bundles of papers, a tin saucepan, +a piece of cold sausage, and a couple of pistols. The fumes of stale +tobacco-smoke hovered in the air, and mingled most unpleasantly with +those of the lamp above, and of the mildew that penetrated through the +walls just below the roof. + +Heron pointed to one of the chairs, and then sat down on the other, +close to the table, on which he rested his elbow. He picked up a +short-stemmed pipe, which he had evidently laid aside at the sound of +the bell, and having taken several deliberate long-drawn puffs from it, +he said abruptly: + +“Well, what is it now?” + +In the meanwhile de Batz had made himself as much at home in this +uncomfortable room as he possibly could. He had deposited his hat and +cloak on one rickety rush-bottomed chair, and drawn another close to +the fire. He sat down with one leg crossed over the other, his podgy +be-ringed hand wandering with loving gentleness down the length of his +shapely calf. + +He was nothing if not complacent, and his complacency seemed highly to +irritate his friend Heron. + +“Well, what is it?” reiterated the latter, drawing his visitor’s +attention roughly to himself by banging his fist on the table. “Out with +it! What do you want? Why have you come at this hour of the night to +compromise me, I suppose--bring your own d--d neck and mine into the +same noose--what?” + +“Easy, easy, my friend,” responded de Batz imperturbably; “waste not +so much time in idle talk. Why do I usually come to see you? Surely you +have had no cause to complain hitherto of the unprofitableness of my +visits to you?” + +“They will have to be still more profitable to me in the future,” + growled the other across the table. “I have more power now.” + +“I know you have,” said de Batz suavely. “The new decree? What? You +may denounce whom you please, search whom you please, arrest whom you +please, and send whom you please to the Supreme Tribunal without giving +them the slightest chance of escape.” + +“Is it in order to tell me all this that you have come to see me at this +hour of the night?” queried Heron with a sneer. + +“No; I came at this hour of the night because I surmised that in the +future you and your hell-hounds would be so busy all day ‘beating +up game for the guillotine’ that the only time you would have at the +disposal of your friends would be the late hours of the night. I saw you +at the theatre a couple of hours ago, friend Heron; I didn’t think to +find you yet abed.” + +“Well, what do you want?” + +“Rather,” retorted de Batz blandly, “shall we say, what do YOU want, +citizen Heron?” + +“For what? + +“For my continued immunity at the hands of yourself and your pack?” + +Heron pushed his chair brusquely aside and strode across the narrow room +deliberately facing the portly figure of de Batz, who with head slightly +inclined on one side, his small eyes narrowed till they appeared +mere slits in his pockmarked face, was steadily and quite placidly +contemplating this inhuman monster who had this very day been given +uncontrolled power over hundreds of thousands of human lives. + +Heron was one of those tall men who look mean in spite of their height. +His head was small and narrow, and his hair, which was sparse and lank, +fell in untidy strands across his forehead. He stooped slightly from the +neck, and his chest, though wide, was hollow between the shoulders. But +his legs were big and bony, slightly bent at the knees, like those of an +ill-conditioned horse. + +The face was thin and the cheeks sunken; the eyes, very large and +prominent, had a look in them of cold and ferocious cruelty, a look +which contrasted strangely with the weakness and petty greed apparent +in the mouth, which was flabby, with full, very red lips, and chin that +sloped away to the long thin neck. + +Even at this moment as he gazed on de Batz the greed and the cruelty +in him were fighting one of those battles the issue of which is always +uncertain in men of his stamp. + +“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “that I am prepared to treat with you +any longer. You are an intolerable bit of vermin that has annoyed +the Committee of General Security for over two years now. It would +be excessively pleasant to crush you once and for all, as one would a +buzzing fly.” + +“Pleasant, perhaps, but immeasurably foolish,” rejoined de Batz coolly; +“you would only get thirty-five livres for my head, and I offer you ten +times that amount for the self-same commodity.” + +“I know, I know; but the whole thing has become too dangerous.” + +“Why? I am very modest. I don’t ask a great deal. Let your hounds keep +off my scent.” + +“You have too many d--d confederates.” + +“Oh! Never mind about the others. I am not bargaining about them. Let +them look after themselves.” + +“Every time we get a batch of them, one or the other denounces you.” + +“Under torture, I know,” rejoined de Batz placidly, holding his podgy +hands to the warm glow of the fire. “For you have started torture in +your house of Justice now, eh, friend Heron? You and your friend the +Public Prosecutor have gone the whole gamut of devilry--eh?” + +“What’s that to you?” retorted the other gruffly. + +“Oh, nothing, nothing! I was even proposing to pay you three thousand +five hundred livres for the privilege of taking no further interest in +what goes on inside this prison!” + +“Three thousand five hundred!” ejaculated Heron involuntarily, and this +time even his eyes lost their cruelty; they joined issue with the mouth +in an expression of hungering avarice. + +“Two little zeros added to the thirty-five, which is all you would get +for handing me over to your accursed Tribunal,” said de Batz, and, as if +thoughtlessly, his hand wandered to the inner pocket of his coat, and +a slight rustle as of thin crisp paper brought drops of moisture to the +lips of Heron. + +“Leave me alone for three weeks and the money is yours,” concluded de +Batz pleasantly. + +There was silence in the room now. Through the narrow barred window +the steely rays of the moon fought with the dim yellow light of the oil +lamp, and lit up the pale face of the Committee’s agent with its lines +of cruelty in sharp conflict with those of greed. + +“Well! is it a bargain?” asked de Batz at last in his usual smooth, oily +voice, as he half drew from out his pocket that tempting little bundle +of crisp printed paper. “You have only to give me the usual receipt for +the money and it is yours.” + +Heron gave a vicious snarl. + +“It is dangerous, I tell you. That receipt, if it falls into some cursed +meddler’s hands, would send me straight to the guillotine.” + +“The receipt could only fall into alien hands,” rejoined de Batz +blandly, “if I happened to be arrested, and even in that case they +could but fall into those of the chief agent of the Committee of General +Security, and he hath name Heron. You must take some risks, my friend. +I take them too. We are each in the other’s hands. The bargain is quite +fair.” + +For a moment or two longer Heron appeared to be hesitating whilst de +Batz watched him with keen intentness. He had no doubt himself as to the +issue. He had tried most of these patriots in his own golden crucible, +and had weighed their patriotism against Austrian money, and had never +found the latter wanting. + +He had not been here to-night if he were not quite sure. This inveterate +conspirator in the Royalist cause never took personal risks. He looked +on Heron now, smiling to himself the while with perfect satisfaction. + +“Very well,” said the Committee’s agent with sudden decision, “I’ll take +the money. But on one condition.” + +“What is it?” + +“That you leave little Capet alone.” + +“The Dauphin!” + +“Call him what you like,” said Heron, taking a step nearer to de Batz, +and from his great height glowering down in fierce hatred and rage upon +his accomplice; “call the young devil what you like, but leave us to +deal with him.” + +“To kill him, you mean? Well, how can I prevent it, my friend?” + +“You and your like are always plotting to get him out of here. I won’t +have it. I tell you I won’t have it. If the brat disappears I am a dead +man. Robespierre and his gang have told me as much. So you leave him +alone, or I’ll not raise a finger to help you, but will lay my own hands +on your accursed neck.” + +He looked so ferocious and so merciless then, that despite himself, the +selfish adventurer, the careless self-seeking intriguer, shuddered with +a quick wave of unreasoning terror. He turned away from Heron’s piercing +gaze, the gaze of a hyena whose prey is being snatched from beneath its +nails. For a moment he stared thoughtfully into the fire. + +He heard the other man’s heavy footsteps cross and re-cross the narrow +room, and was conscious of the long curved shadow creeping up the +mildewed wall or retreating down upon the carpetless floor. + +Suddenly, without any warning he felt a grip upon his shoulder. He gave +a start and almost uttered a cry of alarm which caused Heron to laugh. +The Committee’s agent was vastly amused at his friend’s obvious access +of fear. There was nothing that he liked better than that he should +inspire dread in the hearts of all those with whom he came in contact. + +“I am just going on my usual nocturnal round,” he said abruptly. “Come +with me, citizen de Batz.” + +A certain grim humour was apparent in his face as he proffered this +invitation, which sounded like a rough command. As de Batz seemed to +hesitate he nodded peremptorily to him to follow. Already he had gone +into the hall and picked up his lanthorn. From beneath his waistcoat he +drew forth a bunch of keys, which he rattled impatiently, calling to his +friend to come. + +“Come, citizen,” he said roughly. “I wish to show you the one treasure +in this house which your d--d fingers must not touch.” + +Mechanically de Batz rose at last. He tried to be master of the terror +which was invading his very bones. He would not own to himself even that +he was afraid, and almost audibly he kept murmuring to himself that he +had no cause for fear. + +Heron would never touch him. The spy’s avarice, his greed of money were +a perfect safeguard for any man who had the control of millions, and +Heron knew, of course, that he could make of this inveterate plotter +a comfortable source of revenue for himself. Three weeks would soon be +over, and fresh bargains could be made time and again, while de Batz was +alive and free. + +Heron was still waiting at the door, even whilst de Batz wondered +what this nocturnal visitation would reveal to him of atrocity and of +outrage. He made a final effort to master his nervousness, wrapped his +cloak tightly around him, and followed his host out of the room. + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE + +Once more he was being led through the interminable corridors of the +gigantic building. Once more from the narrow, barred windows close by +him he heard the heart-breaking sighs, the moans, the curses which spoke +of tragedies that he could only guess. + +Heron was walking on ahead of him, preceding him by some fifty metres or +so, his long legs covering the distances more rapidly than de Batz could +follow them. The latter knew his way well about the old prison. Few men +in Paris possessed that accurate knowledge of its intricate passages and +its network of cells and halls which de Batz had acquired after close +and persevering study. + +He himself could have led Heron to the doors of the tower where the +little Dauphin was being kept imprisoned, but unfortunately he did not +possess the keys that would open all the doors which led to it. There +were sentinels at every gate, groups of soldiers at each end of every +corridor, the great--now empty--courtyards, thronged with prisoners in +the daytime, were alive with soldiery even now. Some walked up and +down with fixed bayonet on shoulder, others sat in groups on the stone +copings or squatted on the ground, smoking or playing cards, but all of +them were alert and watchful. + +Heron was recognised everywhere the moment he appeared, and though in +these days of equality no one presented arms, nevertheless every guard +stood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened a gate for the +powerful chief agent of the Committee of General Security. + +Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him to the +presence of the martyred little King. + +Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding the +other. De Batz walked leisurely, thought-fully, taking stock of +everything he saw--the gates, the barriers, the positions of sentinels +and warders, of everything in fact that might prove a help or a +hindrance presently, when the great enterprise would be hazarded. At +last--still in the wake of Heron--he found himself once more behind the +main entrance gate, underneath the archway on which gave the guichet of +the concierge. + +Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: two +were doing sentinel outside the guichet, but there were others in a file +against the wall. + +Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge’s lodge, +then, as it was not immediately opened from within, he pushed it open +with his foot. + +“The concierge?” he queried peremptorily. + +From a corner of the small panelled room there came a grunt and a reply: + +“Gone to bed, quoi!” + +The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron’s door slowly +struggled to his feet. He had been squatting somewhere in the gloom, and +had been roused by Heron’s rough command. He slouched forward now still +carrying a boot in one hand and a blacking brush in the other. + +“Take this lanthorn, then,” said the chief agent with a snarl directed +at the sleeping concierge, “and come along. Why are you still here?” he +added, as if in after-thought. + +“The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his +boots,” muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously on +the floor; “an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this... twenty cells +to sweep out every day... and boots to clean for every aristo of a +concierge or warder who demands it.... Is that work for a free born +patriot, I ask?” + +“Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont,” retorted Heron dryly, +“you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of others ready to +do your work...” + +“Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I have +had fourteen days of this convict work...” + +He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no further +heed to him, turned abruptly towards a group of soldiers stationed +outside. + +“En avant, corporal!” he said; “bring four men with you... we go up to +the tower.” + +The small procession was formed. On ahead the lanthorn-bearer, with +arched spine and shaking knees, dragging shuffling footsteps along the +corridor, then the corporal with two of his soldiers, then Heron closely +followed by de Batz, and finally two more soldiers bringing up the rear. + +Heron had given the bunch of keys to the man Dupont. The latter, on +ahead, holding the lanthorn aloft, opened one gate after another. At +each gate he waited for the little procession to file through, then he +re-locked the gate and passed on. + +Up two or three flights of winding stairs set in the solid stone, and +the final heavy door was reached. + +De Batz was meditating. Heron’s precautions for the safe-guarding of the +most precious life in Europe were more complete than he had anticipated. +What lavish liberality would be required! what superhuman ingenuity and +boundless courage in order to break down all the barriers that had been +set up round that young life that flickered inside this grim tower! + +Of these three requisites the corpulent, complacent intriguer possessed +only the first in a considerable degree. He could be exceedingly liberal +with the foreign money which he had at his disposal. As for courage and +ingenuity, he believed that he possessed both, but these qualities had +not served him in very good stead in the attempts which he had made at +different times to rescue the unfortunate members of the Royal Family +from prison. His overwhelming egotism would not admit for a moment that +in ingenuity and pluck the Scarlet Pimpernel and his English followers +could outdo him, but he did wish to make quite sure that they would +not interfere with him in the highly remunerative work of saving the +Dauphin. + +Heron’s impatient call roused him from these meditations. The little +party had come to a halt outside a massive iron-studded door. + +At a sign from the chief agent the soldiers stood at attention. He then +called de Batz and the lanthorn-bearer to him. + +He took a key from his breeches pocket, and with his own hand unlocked +the massive door. He curtly ordered the lanthorn-bearer and de Batz to +go through, then he himself went in, and finally once more re-locked the +door behind him, the soldiers remaining on guard on the landing outside. + +Now the three men were standing in a square antechamber, dank and dark, +devoid of furniture save for a large cupboard that filled the whole of +one wall; the others, mildewed and stained, were covered with a greyish +paper, which here and there hung away in strips. + +Heron crossed this ante-chamber, and with his knuckles rapped against a +small door opposite. + +“Hola!” he shouted, “Simon, mon vieux, tu es la?” + +From the inner room came the sound of voices, a man’s and a woman’s, +and now, as if in response to Heron’s call, the shrill tones of a child. +There was some shuffling, too, of footsteps, and some pushing about +of furniture, then the door was opened, and a gruff voice invited the +belated visitors to enter. + +The atmosphere in this further room was so thick that at first de Batz +was only conscious of the evil smells that pervaded it; smells which +were made up of the fumes of tobacco, of burning coke, of a smoky lamp, +and of stale food, and mingling through it all the pungent odour of raw +spirits. + +Heron had stepped briskly in, closely followed by de Batz. The man +Dupont with a mutter of satisfaction put down his lanthorn and curled +himself up in a corner of the antechamber. His interest in the spectacle +so favoured by citizen Heron had apparently been exhausted by constant +repetition. + +De Batz looked round him with keen curiosity with which disgust was +ready enough to mingle. + +The room itself might have been a large one; it was almost impossible to +judge of its size, so crammed was it with heavy and light furniture of +every conceivable shape and type. There was a monumental wooden bedstead +in one corner, a huge sofa covered in black horsehair in another. A +large table stood in the centre of the room, and there were at least +four capacious armchairs round it. There were wardrobes and cabinets, a +diminutive washstand and a huge pier-glass, there were innumerable boxes +and packing-cases, cane-bottomed chairs and what-nots every-where. The +place looked like a depot for second-hand furniture. + +In the midst of all the litter de Batz at last became conscious of two +people who stood staring at him and at Heron. He saw a man before him, +somewhat fleshy of build, with smooth, mouse-coloured hair brushed away +from a central parting, and ending in a heavy curl above each ear; the +eyes were wide open and pale in colour, the lips unusually thick and +with a marked downward droop. Close beside him stood a youngish-looking +woman, whose unwieldy bulk, however, and pallid skin revealed the +sedentary life and the ravages of ill-health. + +Both appeared to regard Heron with a certain amount of awe, and de Batz +with a vast measure of curiosity. + +Suddenly the woman stood aside, and in the far corner of the room +there was displayed to the Gascon Royalist’s cold, calculating gaze the +pathetic figure of the uncrowned King of France. + +“How is it Capet is not yet in bed?” queried Heron as soon as he caught +sight of the child. + +“He wouldn’t say his prayers this evening,” replied Simon with a coarse +laugh, “and wouldn’t drink his medicine. Bah!” he added with a snarl, +“this is a place for dogs and not for human folk.” + +“If you are not satisfied, mon vieux,” retorted Heron curtly, “you can +send in your resignation when you like. There are plenty who will be +glad of the place.” + +The ex-cobbler gave another surly growl and expectorated on the floor in +the direction where stood the child. + +“Little vermin,” he said, “he is more trouble than man or woman can +bear.” + +The boy in the meanwhile seemed to take but little notice of the vulgar +insults put upon him by his guardian. He stood, a quaint, impassive +little figure, more interested apparently in de Batz, who was a stranger +to him, than in the three others whom he knew. De Batz noted that the +child looked well nourished, and that he was warmly clad in a rough +woollen shirt and cloth breeches, with coarse grey stockings and thick +shoes; but he also saw that the clothes were indescribably filthy, as +were the child’s hands and face. The golden curls, among which a young +and queenly mother had once loved to pass her slender perfumed fingers, +now hung bedraggled, greasy, and lank round the little face, from the +lines of which every trace of dignity and of simplicity had long since +been erased. + +There was no look of the martyr about this child now, even though, +mayhap, his small back had often smarted under his vulgar tutor’s +rough blows; rather did the pale young face wear the air of sullen +indifference, and an abject desire to please, which would have appeared +heart-breaking to any spectator less self-seeking and egotistic than was +this Gascon conspirator. + +Madame Simon had called him to her while her man and the citizen Heron +were talking, and the child went readily enough, without any sign of +fear. She took the corner of her coarse dirty apron in her hand, and +wiped the boy’s mouth and face with it. + +“I can’t keep him clean,” she said with an apologetic shrug of the +shoulders and a look at de Batz. “There now,” she added, speaking once +more to the child, “drink like a good boy, and say your lesson to please +maman, and then you shall go to bed.” + +She took a glass from the table, which was filled with a clear liquid +that de Batz at first took to be water, and held it to the boy’s lips. +He turned his head away and began to whimper. + +“Is the medicine very nasty?” queried de Batz. + +“Mon Dieu! but no, citizen,” exclaimed the woman, “it is good strong eau +de vie, the best that can be procured. Capet likes it really--don’t you, +Capet? It makes you happy and cheerful, and sleep well of nights. Why, +you had a glassful yesterday and enjoyed it. Take it now,” she added in +a quick whisper, seeing that Simon and Heron were in close conversation +together; “you know it makes papa angry if you don’t have at least half +a glass now and then.” + +The child wavered for a moment longer, making a quaint little grimace of +distaste. But at last he seemed to make up his mind that it was wisest +to yield over so small a matter, and he took the glass from Madame +Simon. + +And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St. Louis quaffing a glass of +raw spirit at the bidding of a rough cobbler’s wife, whom he called by +the fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman! + +Selfish egoist though he was, de Batz turned away in loathing. + +Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction. He +chuckled audibly when the child drank the spirit, and called Heron’s +attention to him, whilst a look of triumph lit up his wide, pale eyes. + +“And now, mon petit,” he said jovially, “let the citizen hear you say +your prayers!” + +He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal of +enjoyment for the visitor from what was coming. From a heap of litter in +a corner of the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet adorned with a +tricolour cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, which had once been +white, and had golden fleur-de-lys embroidered upon it. + +The cap he set on the child’s head, and the flag he threw upon the +floor. + +“Now, Capet--your prayers!” he said with another chuckle of amusement. + +All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiously +coarse. He banged against the furniture as he moved about the room, +kicking a footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair. De +Batz instinctively thought of the perfumed stillness of the rooms at +Versailles, of the army of elegant high-born ladies who had ministered +to the wants of this child, who stood there now before him, a cap on his +yellow hair, and his shoulder held up to his ear with that gesture +of careless indifference peculiar to children when they are sullen or +uncared for. + +Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag which +Henri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted in +the face of the armies of Europe. The son of the Bourbons was spitting +on their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its tattered folds. With shrill +cracked voice he sang the Carmagnole, “Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a la +lanterne!” until de Batz himself felt inclined to stop his ears and to +rush from the place in horror. + +Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France by the +grace of God, the child of the Bourbons, the eldest son of the Church, +was stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, which he had +been taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he danced, his eyes +shone with the unnatural light kindled in them by the intoxicating +liquor; with one slender hand he waved the red cap with the tricolour +cockade, and shouted “Vive la Republique!” + +Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with obvious +pride, and a kind of rough maternal affection. Simon was gazing on +Heron for approval, and the latter nodded his head, murmuring words of +encouragement and of praise. + +“Thy catechism now, Capet--thy catechism,” shouted Simon in a hoarse +voice. + +The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs wide +apart, and feet firmly planted on the fleur-de-lys, the glory of his +forefathers. + +“Thy name?” queried Simon. + +“Louis Capet,” replied the child in a clear, high-pitched voice. + +“What art thou?” + +“A citizen of the Republic of France.” + +“What was thy father?” + +“Louis Capet, ci-devant king, a tyrant who perished by the will of the +people!” + +“What was thy mother?” + +“A ----” + +De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man’s +private character was, he had been born a gentleman, and his every +instinct revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene had +positively sickened him. He turned precipitately towards the door. + +“How now, citizen?” queried the Committee’s agent with a sneer. “Are you +not satisfied with what you see?” + +“Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden chair,” + interposed Simon the cobbler with a sneer, “and me and my wife kneeling +and kissing his hand--what?” + +“‘Tis the heat of the room,” stammered de Batz, who was fumbling with +the lock of the door; “my head began to swim.” + +“Spit on their accursed flag, then, like a good patriot, like Capet,” + retorted Simon gruffly. “Here, Capet, my son,” he added, pulling the boy +by the arm with a rough gesture, “get thee to bed; thou art quite drunk +enough to satisfy any good Republican.” + +By way of a caress he tweaked the boy’s ear and gave him a prod in the +back with his bent knee. He was not wilfully unkind, for just now he +was not angry with the lad; rather was he vastly amused with the effect +Capet’s prayer and Capet’s recital of his catechism had had on the +visitor. + +As to the lad, the intensity of excitement in him was immediately +followed by an overwhelming desire for sleep. Without any preliminary +of undressing or of washing, he tumbled, just as he was, on to the sofa. +Madame Simon, with quite pleasing solicitude, arranged a pillow under +his head, and the very next moment the child was fast asleep. + +“‘Tis well, citoyen Simon,” said Heron in his turn, going towards +the door. “I’ll report favourably on you to the Committee of Public +Security. As for the citoyenne, she had best be more careful,” he added, +turning to the woman Simon with a snarl on his evil face. “There was no +cause to arrange a pillow under the head of that vermin’s spawn. Many +good patriots have no pillows to put under their heads. Take that pillow +away; and I don’t like the shoes on the brat’s feet; sabots are quite +good enough.” + +Citoyenne Simon made no reply. Some sort of retort had apparently +hovered on her lips, but had been checked, even before it was uttered, +by a peremptory look from her husband. Simon the cobbler, snarling in +speech but obsequious in manner, prepared to accompany the citizen agent +to the door. + +De Batz was taking a last look at the sleeping child; the uncrowned King +of France was wrapped in a drunken sleep, with the last spoken insult +upon his dead mother still hovering on his childish lips. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. ARCADES AMBO + +“That is the way we conduct our affairs, citizen,” said Heron gruffly, +as he once more led his guest back into his office. + +It was his turn to be complacent now. De Batz, for once in his life +cowed by what he had seen, still wore a look of horror and disgust upon +his florid face. + +“What devils you all are!” he said at last. + +“We are good patriots,” retorted Heron, “and the tyrant’s spawn leads +but the life that hundreds of thousands of children led whilst his +father oppressed the people. Nay! what am I saying? He leads a far +better, far happier life. He gets plenty to eat and plenty of warm +clothes. Thousands of innocent children, who have not the crimes of +a despot father upon their conscience, have to starve whilst he grows +fat.” + +The leer in his face was so evil that once more de Batz felt that +eerie feeling of terror creeping into his bones. Here were cruelty and +bloodthirsty ferocity personified to their utmost extent. At thought of +the Bourbons, or of all those whom he considered had been in the past +the oppressors of the people, Heron was nothing but a wild and ravenous +beast, hungering for revenge, longing to bury his talons and his fangs +into the body of those whose heels had once pressed on his own neck. + +And de Batz knew that even with millions or countless money at his +command he could not purchase from this carnivorous brute the life and +liberty of the son of King Louis. No amount of bribery would accomplish +that; it would have to be ingenuity pitted against animal force, the +wiliness of the fox against the power of the wolf. + +Even now Heron was darting savagely suspicious looks upon him. + +“I shall get rid of the Simons,” he said; “there’s something in that +woman’s face which I don’t trust. They shall go within the next few +hours, or as soon as I can lay my hands upon a better patriot than that +mealy-mouthed cobbler. And it will be better not to have a woman about +the place. Let me see--to-day is Thursday, or else Friday morning. +By Sunday I’ll get those Simons out of the place. Methought I saw you +ogling that woman,” he added, bringing his bony fist crashing down on +the table so that papers, pen, and inkhorn rattled loudly; “and if I +thought that you--” + +De Batz thought it well at this point to finger once more nonchalantly +the bundle of crisp paper in the pocket of his coat. + +“Only on that one condition,” reiterated Heron in a hoarse voice; “if +you try to get at Capet, I’ll drag you to the Tribunal with my own +hands.” + +“Always presuming that you can get me, my friend,” murmured de Batz, who +was gradually regaining his accustomed composure. + +Already his active mind was busily at work. One or two things which +he had noted in connection with his visit to the Dauphin’s prison had +struck him as possibly useful in his schemes. But he was disappointed +that Heron was getting rid of the Simons. The woman might have been +very useful and more easily got at than a man. The avarice of the French +bourgeoise would have proved a promising factor. But this, of course, +would now be out of the question. At the same time it was not because +Heron raved and stormed and uttered cries like a hyena that he, de +Batz, meant to give up an enterprise which, if successful, would place +millions into his own pocket. + +As for that meddling Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and his +crack-brained followers, they must be effectually swept out of the way +first of all. De Batz felt that they were the real, the most likely +hindrance to his schemes. He himself would have to go very cautiously +to work, since apparently Heron would not allow him to purchase immunity +for himself in that one matter, and whilst he was laying his plans with +necessary deliberation so as to ensure his own safety, that accursed +Scarlet Pimpernel would mayhap snatch the golden prize from the Temple +prison right under his very nose. + +When he thought of that the Gascon Royalist felt just as vindictive as +did the chief agent of the Committee of General Security. + +While these thoughts were coursing through de Batz’ head, Heron had been +indulging in a volley of vituperation. + +“If that little vermin escapes,” he said, “my life will not be worth +an hour’s purchase. In twenty-four hours I am a dead man, thrown to the +guillotine like those dogs of aristocrats! You say I am a night-bird, +citizen. I tell you that I do not sleep night or day thinking of that +brat and the means to keep him safely under my hand. I have never +trusted those Simons--” + +“Not trusted them!” exclaimed de Batz; “surely you could not find +anywhere more inhuman monsters!” + +“Inhuman monsters?” snarled Heron. “Bah! they don’t do their business +thoroughly; we want the tyrant’s spawn to become a true Republican and +a patriot--aye! to make of him such a one that even if you and your +cursed confederates got him by some hellish chance, he would be no use +to you as a king, a tyrant to set above the people, to set up in +your Versailles, your Louvre, to eat off golden plates and wear satin +clothes. You have seen the brat! By the time he is a man he should +forget how to eat save with his fingers, and get roaring drunk every +night. That’s what we want!--to make him so that he shall be no use to +you, even if you did get him away; but you shall not! You shall not, not +if I have to strangle him with my own hands.” + +He picked up his short-stemmed pipe and pulled savagely at it for +awhile. De Batz was meditating. + +“My friend,” he said after a little while, “you are agitating yourself +quite unnecessarily, and gravely jeopardising your prospects of getting +a comfortable little income through keeping your fingers off my person. +Who said I wanted to meddle with the child?” + +“You had best not,” growled Heron. + +“Exactly. You have said that before. But do you not think that you +would be far wiser, instead of directing your undivided attention to my +unworthy self, to turn your thoughts a little to one whom, believe me, +you have far greater cause to fear?” + +“Who is that?” + +“The Englishman.” + +“You mean the man they call the Scarlet Pimpernel?” + +“Himself. Have you not suffered from his activity, friend Heron? I fancy +that citizen Chauvelin and citizen Collot would have quite a tale to +tell about him.” + +“They ought both to have been guillotined for that blunder last autumn +at Boulogne.” + +“Take care that the same accusation be not laid at your door this year, +my friend,” commented de Batz placidly. + +“Bah!” + +“The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris even now.” + +“The devil he is!” + +“And on what errand, think you?” + +There was a moment’s silence, and then de Batz continued with slow and +dramatic emphasis: + +“That of rescuing your most precious prisoner from the Temple.” + +“How do you know?” Heron queried savagely. + +“I guessed.” + +“How?” + +“I saw a man in the Theatre National to-day...” + +“Well?” + +“Who is a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.” + +“D---- him! Where can I find him?” + +“Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred livres, +which I am pining to hand over to you, my friend, and I will tell you?” + +“Where’s the money?” + +“In my pocket.” + +Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of paper +towards him, took up a pen, and wrote a few words rapidly in a loose, +scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then handed it across +the table to de Batz. + +“Will that do?” he asked briefly. + +The other was reading the note through carefully. + +“I see you only grant me a fortnight,” he remarked casually. + +“For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an extension you +must pay more.” + +“So be it,” assented de Batz coolly, as he folded the paper across. +“On the whole a fortnight’s immunity in France these days is quite a +pleasant respite. And I prefer to keep in touch with you, friend Heron. +I’ll call on you again this day fortnight.” + +He took out a letter-case from his pocket. Out of this he drew a packet +of bank-notes, which he laid on the table in front of Heron, then he +placed the receipt carefully into the letter-case, and this back into +his pocket. + +Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The light +of ferocity had entirely gone from his eyes; momentarily the whole +expression of the face was one of satisfied greed. + +“Well!” he said at last when he had assured himself that the number +of notes was quite correct, and he had transferred the bundle of crisp +papers into an inner pocket of his coat--“well, what about your friend?” + +“I knew him years ago,” rejoined de Batz coolly; “he is a kinsman of +citizen St. Just. I know that he is one of the confederates of the +Scarlet Pimpernel.” + +“Where does he lodge?” + +“That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and afterwards +in the green-room; he was making himself agreeable to the citizeness +Lange. I heard him ask for leave to call on her to-morrow at four +o’clock. You know where she lodges, of course!” + +He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap of +paper, then he quietly rose to go. He took up his cloak and once again +wrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more to be said, and +he was anxious to go. + +The leave-taking between the two men was neither cordial nor more than +barely courteous. De Batz nodded to Heron, who escorted him to the +outside door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a soldier who +was doing sentinel at the further end of the corridor. + +“Show this citizen the way to the guichet,” he said curtly. “Good-night, +citizen,” he added finally, nodding to de Batz. + +Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue du +Temple between the great outer walls of the prison and the silent +little church and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where in the +central tower a small grated window lighted from within showed the +place where the last of the Bourbons was being taught to desecrate the +traditions of his race, at the bidding of a mender of shoes--a naval +officer cashiered for misconduct and fraud. + +Such is human nature in its self-satisfied complacency that de Batz, +calmly ignoring the vile part which he himself had played in the last +quarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee’s agent, found +it in him to think of Heron with loathing, and even of the cobbler Simon +with disgust. + +Then with a self-righteous sense of duty performed, and an indifferent +shrug of the shoulders, he dismissed Heron from his mind. + +“That meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel will find his hands over-full +to-morrow, and mayhap will not interfere in my affairs for some time to +come,” he mused; “meseems that that will be the first time that a member +of his precious League has come within the clutches of such unpleasant +people as the sleuth-hounds of my friend Heron!” + + + +CHAPTER IX. WHAT LOVE CAN DO + +“Yesterday you were unkind and ungallant. How could I smile when you +seemed so stern?” + +“Yesterday I was not alone with you. How could I say what lay next my +heart, when indifferent ears could catch the words that were meant only +for you?” + +“Ah, monsieur, do they teach you in England how to make pretty +speeches?” + +“No, mademoiselle, that is an instinct that comes into birth by the fire +of a woman’s eyes.” + +Mademoiselle Lange was sitting upon a small sofa of antique design, with +cushions covered in faded silks heaped round her pretty head. Armand +thought that she looked like that carved cameo which his sister +Marguerite possessed. + +He himself sat on a low chair at some distance from her. He had brought +her a large bunch of early violets, for he knew that she was fond of +flowers, and these lay upon her lap, against the opalescent grey of her +gown. + +She seemed a little nervous and agitated, his obvious admiration +bringing a ready blush to her cheeks. + +The room itself appeared to Armand to be a perfect frame for the +charming picture which she presented. The furniture in it was small and +old; tiny tables of antique Vernis-Martin, softly faded tapestries, a +pale-toned Aubusson carpet. Everything mellow and in a measure pathetic. +Mademoiselle Lange, who was an orphan, lived alone under the duennaship +of a middle-aged relative, a penniless hanger-on of the successful young +actress, who acted as her chaperone, housekeeper, and maid, and kept +unseemly or over-bold gallants at bay. + +She told Armand all about her early life, her childhood in the backshop +of Maitre Meziere, the jeweller, who was a relative of her mother’s; of +her desire for an artistic career, her struggles with the middle-class +prejudices of her relations, her bold defiance of them, and final +independence. + +She made no secret of her humble origin, her want of education in those +days; on the contrary, she was proud of what she had accomplished for +herself. She was only twenty years of age, and already held a leading +place in the artistic world of Paris. + +Armand listened to her chatter, interested in everything she said, +questioning her with sympathy and discretion. She asked him a good +deal about himself, and about his beautiful sister Marguerite, who, +of course, had been the most brilliant star in that most brilliant +constellation, the Comedie Francaise. She had never seen Marguerite St. +Just act, but, of course, Paris still rang with her praises, and all +art-lovers regretted that she should have married and left them to mourn +for her. + +Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England. Mademoiselle +professed a vast interest in the citizen’s country of adoption. + +“I had always,” she said, “thought it an ugly country, with the noise +and bustle of industrial life going on everywhere, and smoke and fog to +cover the landscape and to stunt the trees.” + +“Then, in future, mademoiselle,” he replied, “must you think of it as +one carpeted with verdure, where in the spring the orchard trees covered +with delicate blossom would speak to you of fairyland, where the dewy +grass stretches its velvety surface in the shadow of ancient monumental +oaks, and ivy-covered towers rear their stately crowns to the sky.” + +“And the Scarlet Pimpernel? Tell me about him, monsieur.” + +“Ah, mademoiselle, what can I tell you that you do not already know? The +Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who has devoted his entire existence to the +benefit of suffering mankind. He has but one thought, and that is for +those who need him; he hears but one sound the cry of the oppressed.” + +“But they do say, monsieur, that philanthropy plays but a sorry part in +your hero’s schemes. They aver that he looks on his own efforts and the +adventures through which he goes only in the light of sport.” + +“Like all Englishmen, mademoiselle, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a little +ashamed of sentiment. He would deny its very existence with his lips, +even whilst his noble heart brimmed over with it. Sport? Well! mayhap +the sporting instinct is as keen as that of charity--the race for lives, +the tussle for the rescue of human creatures, the throwing of a life on +the hazard of a die.” + +“They fear him in France, monsieur. He has saved so many whose death had +been decreed by the Committee of Public Safety.” + +“Please God, he will save many yet.” + +“Ah, monsieur, the poor little boy in the Temple prison!” + +“He has your sympathy, mademoiselle?” + +“Of every right-minded woman in France, monsieur. Oh!” she added with a +pretty gesture of enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, and looking +at Armand with large eyes filled with tears, “if your noble Scarlet +Pimpernel will do aught to save that poor innocent lamb, I would indeed +bless him in my heart, and help him with all my humble might if I +could.” + +“May God’s saints bless you for those words, mademoiselle,” he said, +whilst, carried away by her beauty, her charm, her perfect femininity, +he stooped towards her until his knee touched the carpet at her feet. “I +had begun to lose my belief in my poor misguided country, to think all +men in France vile, and all women base. I could thank you on my +knees for your sweet words of sympathy, for the expression of tender +motherliness that came into your eyes when you spoke of the poor +forsaken Dauphin in the Temple.” + +She did not restrain her tears; with her they came very easily, just as +with a child, and as they gathered in her eyes and rolled down her fresh +cheeks they in no way marred the charm of her face. One hand lay in her +lap fingering a diminutive bit of cambric, which from time to time she +pressed to her eyes. The other she had almost unconsciously yielded to +Armand. + +The scent of the violets filled the room. It seemed to emanate from her, +a fitting attribute of her young, wholly unsophisticated girlhood. The +citizen was goodly to look at; he was kneeling at her feet, and his lips +were pressed against her hand. + +Armand was young and he was an idealist. I do not for a moment imagine +that just at this moment he was deeply in love. The stronger feeling had +not yet risen up in him; it came later when tragedy encompassed him +and brought passion to sudden maturity. Just now he was merely yielding +himself up to the intoxicating moment, with all the abandonment, all the +enthusiasm of the Latin race. There was no reason why he should not bend +the knee before this exquisite little cameo, that by its very presence +was giving him an hour of perfect pleasure and of aesthetic joy. + +Outside the world continued its hideous, relentless way; men butchered +one another, fought and hated. Here in this small old-world salon, with +its faded satins and bits of ivory-tinted lace, the outer universe had +never really penetrated. It was a tiny world--quite apart from the rest +of mankind, perfectly peaceful and absolutely beautiful. + +If Armand had been allowed to depart from here now, without having been +the cause as well as the chief actor in the events that followed, no +doubt that Mademoiselle Lange would always have remained a charming +memory with him, an exquisite bouquet of violets pressed reverently +between the leaves of a favourite book of poems, and the scent of spring +flowers would in after years have ever brought her dainty picture to his +mind. + +He was murmuring pretty words of endearment; carried away by emotion, +his arm stole round her waist; he felt that if another tear came like a +dewdrop rolling down her cheek he must kiss it away at its very source. +Passion was not sweeping them off their feet--not yet, for they +were very young, and life had not as yet presented to them its most +unsolvable problem. + +But they yielded to one another, to the springtime of their life, +calling for Love, which would come presently hand in hand with his grim +attendant, Sorrow. + +Even as Armand’s glowing face was at last lifted up to hers asking with +mute lips for that first kiss which she already was prepared to give, +there came the loud noise of men’s heavy footsteps tramping up the +old oak stairs, then some shouting, a woman’s cry, and the next moment +Madame Belhomme, trembling, wide-eyed, and in obvious terror, came +rushing into the room. + +“Jeanne! Jeanne! My child! It is awful! It is awful! Mon Dieu--mon Dieu! +What is to become of us?” + +She was moaning and lamenting even as she ran in, and now she threw her +apron over her face and sank into a chair, continuing her moaning and +her lamentations. + +Neither Mademoiselle nor Armand had stirred. They remained like graven +images, he on one knee, she with large eyes fixed upon his face. They +had neither of them looked on the old woman; they seemed even now +unconscious of her presence. But their ears had caught the sound of that +measured tramp of feet up the stairs of the old house, and the halt upon +the landing; they had heard the brief words of command: + +“Open, in the name of the people!” + +They knew quite well what it all meant; they had not wandered so far in +the realms of romance that reality--the grim, horrible reality of the +moment--had not the power to bring them back to earth. + +That peremptory call to open in the name of the people was the prologue +these days to a drama which had but two concluding acts: arrest, which +was a certainty; the guillotine, which was more than probable. Jeanne +and Armand, these two young people who but a moment ago had tentatively +lifted the veil of life, looked straight into each other’s eyes and saw +the hand of death interposed between them: they looked straight into +each other’s eyes and knew that nothing but the hand of death would part +them now. Love had come with its attendant, Sorrow; but he had come with +no uncertain footsteps. Jeanne looked on the man before her, and he bent +his head to imprint a glowing kiss upon her hand. + +“Aunt Marie!” + +It was Jeanne Lange who spoke, but her voice was no longer that of an +irresponsible child; it was firm, steady and hard. Though she spoke to +the old woman, she did not look at her; her luminous brown eyes rested +on the bowed head of Armand St. Just. + +“Aunt Marie!” she repeated more peremptorily, for the old woman, with +her apron over her head, was still moaning, and unconscious of all save +an overmastering fear. + +“Open, in the name of the people!” came in a loud harsh voice once more +from the other side of the front door. + +“Aunt Marie, as you value your life and mine, pull yourself together,” + said Jeanne firmly. + +“What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do?” moaned Madame Belhomme. But +she had dragged the apron away from her face, and was looking with some +puzzlement at meek, gentle little Jeanne, who had suddenly become so +strange, so dictatorial, all unlike her habitual somewhat diffident +self. + +“You need not have the slightest fear, Aunt Marie, if you will only do +as I tell you,” resumed Jeanne quietly; “if you give way to fear, we +are all of us undone. As you value your life and mine,” she now repeated +authoritatively, “pull yourself together, and do as I tell you.” + +The girl’s firmness, her perfect quietude had the desired effect. Madame +Belhomme, though still shaken up with sobs of terror, made a great +effort to master herself; she stood up, smoothed down her apron, passed +her hand over her ruffled hair, and said in a quaking voice: + +“What do you think we had better do?” + +“Go quietly to the door and open it.” + +“But--the soldiers--” + +“If you do not open quietly they will force the door open within the +next two minutes,” interposed Jeanne calmly. “Go quietly and open the +door. Try and hide your fears, grumble in an audible voice at being +interrupted in your cooking, and tell the soldiers at once that they +will find mademoiselle in the boudoir. Go, for God’s sake!” she added, +whilst suppressed emotion suddenly made her young voice vibrate; “go, +before they break open that door!” + +Madame Belhomme, impressed and cowed, obeyed like an automaton. She +turned and marched fairly straight out of the room. It was not a minute +too soon. From outside had already come the third and final summons: + +“Open, in the name of the people!” + +After that a crowbar would break open the door. + +Madame Belhomme’s heavy footsteps were heard crossing the ante-chamber. +Armand still knelt at Jeanne’s feet, holding her trembling little hand +in his. + +“A love-scene,” she whispered rapidly, “a love-scene--quick--do you know +one?” + +And even as he had tried to rise she held him back, down on his knees. + +He thought that fear was making her distracted. + +“Mademoiselle--” he murmured, trying to soothe her. + +“Try and understand,” she said with wonderful calm, “and do as I tell +you. Aunt Marie has obeyed. Will you do likewise?” + +“To the death!” he whispered eagerly. + +“Then a love-scene,” she entreated. “Surely you know one. Rodrigue and +Chimene! Surely--surely,” she urged, even as tears of anguish rose into +her eyes, “you must--you must, or, if not that, something else. Quick! +The very seconds are precious!” + +They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, had +gone to the door and opened it; even her well-feigned grumblings could +now be heard and the rough interrogations from the soldiery. + +“Citizeness Lange!” said a gruff voice. + +“In her boudoir, quoi!” + +Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her part +remarkably well. + +“Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!” she went on grumbling and +muttering. + +“Oh, think--think!” murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, her hot +little hand grasping his so tightly that her nails were driven into his +flesh. “You must know something that will do--anything--for dear life’s +sake.... Armand!” + +His name--in the tense excitement of this terrible moment--had escaped +her lips. + +All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, and +even as the door of the boudoir was thrown violently open Armand--still +on his knees, but with one hand pressed to his heart, the other +stretched upwards to the ceiling in the most approved dramatic style, +was loudly declaiming: + + “Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour, + Pour venger sa maitresse il a quitte le jour!” + +Whereupon Mademoiselle Lange feigned the most perfect impatience. + +“No, no, my good cousin,” she said with a pretty moue of disdain, “that +will never do! You must not thus emphasise the end of every line; the +verses should flow more evenly, as thus....” + +Heron had paused at the door. It was he who had thrown it open--he who, +followed by a couple of his sleuth-hounds, had thought to find here +the man denounced by de Batz as being one of the followers of that +irrepressible Scarlet Pimpernel. The obviously Parisian intonation of +the man kneeling in front of citizeness Lange in an attitude no ways +suggestive of personal admiration, and coolly reciting verses out of a +play, had somewhat taken him aback. + +“What does this mean?” he asked gruffly, striding forward into the room +and glaring first at mademoiselle, then at Armand. + +Mademoiselle gave a little cry of surprise. + +“Why, if it isn’t citizen Heron!” she cried, jumping up with a dainty +movement of coquetry and embarrassment. “Why did not Aunt Marie announce +you?... It is indeed remiss of her, but she is so ill-tempered on baking +days I dare not even rebuke her. Won’t you sit down, citizen Heron? +And you, cousin,” she added, looking down airily on Armand, “I pray you +maintain no longer that foolish attitude.” + +The febrileness of her manner, the glow in her cheeks were easily +attributable to natural shyness in face of this unexpected visit. Heron, +completely bewildered by this little scene, which was so unlike what he +expected, and so unlike those to which he was accustomed in the exercise +of his horrible duties, was practically speechless before the little +lady who continued to prattle along in a simple, unaffected manner. + +“Cousin,” she said to Armand, who in the meanwhile had risen to his +knees, “this is citizen Heron, of whom you have heard me speak. My +cousin Belhomme,” she continued, once more turning to Heron, “is fresh +from the country, citizen. He hails from Orleans, where he has played +leading parts in the tragedies of the late citizen Corneille. But, ah +me! I fear that he will find Paris audiences vastly more critical +than the good Orleanese. Did you hear him, citizen, declaiming those +beautiful verses just now? He was murdering them, say I--yes, murdering +them--the gaby!” + +Then only did it seem as if she realised that there was something amiss, +that citizen Heron had come to visit her, not as an admirer of her +talent who would wish to pay his respects to a successful actress, but +as a person to be looked on with dread. + +She gave a quaint, nervous little laugh, and murmured in the tones of a +frightened child: + +“La, citizen, how glum you look! I thought you had come to compliment +me on my latest success. I saw you at the theatre last night, though +you did not afterwards come to see me in the green-room. Why! I had a +regular ovation! Look at my flowers!” she added more gaily, pointing to +several bouquets in vases about the room. “Citizen Danton brought me +the violets himself, and citizen Santerre the narcissi, and that laurel +wreath--is it not charming?--that was a tribute from citizen Robespierre +himself.” + +She was so artless, so simple, and so natural that Heron was completely +taken off his usual mental balance. He had expected to find the usual +setting to the dramatic episodes which he was wont to conduct--screaming +women, a man either at bay, sword in hand, or hiding in a linen cupboard +or up a chimney. + +Now everything puzzled him. De Batz--he was quite sure--had spoken of an +Englishman, a follower of the Scarlet Pimpernel; every thinking French +patriot knew that all the followers of the Scarlet Pimpernel were +Englishmen with red hair and prominent teeth, whereas this man.... + +Armand--who deadly danger had primed in his improvised role--was +striding up and down the room declaiming with ever-varying intonations: + + “Joignez tous vos efforts contre un espoir si doux + Pour en venir a bout, c’est trop peu que de vous.” + +“No! no!” said mademoiselle impatiently; “you must not make that ugly +pause midway in the last line: ‘pour en venir a bout, c’est trop peu que +de vous!’” + +She mimicked Armand’s diction so quaintly, imitating his stride, his +awkward gesture, and his faulty phraseology with such funny exaggeration +that Heron laughed in spite of himself. + +“So that is a cousin from Orleans, is it?” he asked, throwing his lanky +body into an armchair, which creaked dismally under his weight. + +“Yes! a regular gaby--what?” she said archly. “Now, citizen Heron, you +must stay and take coffee with me. Aunt Marie will be bringing it in +directly. Hector,” she added, turning to Armand, “come down from the +clouds and ask Aunt Marie to be quick.” + +This certainly was the first time in the whole of his experience that +Heron had been asked to stay and drink coffee with the quarry he was +hunting down. Mademoiselle’s innocent little ways, her desire for +the prolongation of his visit, further addled his brain. De Batz had +undoubtedly spoken of an Englishman, and the cousin from Orleans was +certainly a Frenchman every inch of him. + +Perhaps had the denunciation come from any one else but de Batz, Heron +might have acted and thought more circumspectly; but, of course, the +chief agent of the Committee of General Security was more suspicious of +the man from whom he took a heavy bribe than of any one else in France. +The thought had suddenly crossed his mind that mayhap de Batz had sent +him on a fool’s errand in order to get him safely out of the way of the +Temple prison at a given hour of the day. + +The thought took shape, crystallised, caused him to see a rapid vision +of de Batz sneaking into his lodgings and stealing his keys, the guard +being slack, careless, inattentive, allowing the adventurer to pass +barriers that should have been closed against all comers. + +Now Heron was sure of it; it was all a conspiracy invented by de Batz. +He had forgotten all about his theories that a man under arrest is +always safer than a man that is free. Had his brain been quite normal, +and not obsessed, as it always was now by thoughts of the Dauphin’s +escape from prison, no doubt he would have been more suspicious of +Armand, but all his worst suspicions were directed against de Batz. +Armand seemed to him just a fool, an actor quoi? and so obviously not an +Englishman. + +He jumped to his feet, curtly declining mademoiselle’s offers of +hospitality. He wanted to get away at once. Actors and actresses were +always, by tacit consent of the authorities, more immune than the rest +of the community. They provided the only amusement in the intervals +of the horrible scenes around the scaffolds; they were irresponsible, +harmless creatures who did not meddle in politics. + +Jeanne the while was gaily prattling on, her luminous eyes fixed upon +the all-powerful enemy, striving to read his thoughts, to understand +what went on behind those cruel, prominent eyes, the chances that Armand +had of safety and of life. + +She knew, of course, that the visit was directed against Armand--some +one had betrayed him, that odious de Batz mayhap--and she was fighting +for Armand’s safety, for his life. Her armoury consisted of her presence +of mind, her cool courage, her self-control; she used all these weapons +for his sake, though at times she felt as if the strain on her nerves +would snap the thread of life in her. The effort seemed more than she +could bear. + +But she kept up her part, rallying Heron for the shortness of his +visit, begging him to tarry for another five minutes at least, throwing +out--with subtle feminine intuition--just those very hints anent little +Capet’s safety that were most calculated to send him flying back towards +the Temple. + +“I felt so honoured last night, citizen,” she said coquettishly, “that +you even forgot little Capet in order to come and watch my debut as +Celimene.” + +“Forget him!” retorted Heron, smothering a curse, “I never forget the +vermin. I must go back to him; there are too many cats nosing round my +mouse. Good day to you, citizeness. I ought to have brought flowers, I +know; but I am a busy man--a harassed man.” + +“Je te crois,” she said with a grave nod of the head; “but do come to +the theatre to-night. I am playing Camille--such a fine part! one of my +greatest successes.” + +“Yes, yes, I’ll come--mayhap, mayhap--but I’ll go now--glad to have seen +you, citizeness. Where does your cousin lodge?” he asked abruptly. + +“Here,” she replied boldly, on the spur of the moment. + +“Good. Let him report himself to-morrow morning at the Conciergerie, and +get his certificate of safety. It is a new decree, and you should have +one, too.” + +“Very well, then. Hector and I will come together, and perhaps Aunt +Marie will come too. Don’t send us to maman guillotine yet awhile, +citizen,” she said lightly; “you will never get such another Camille, +nor yet so good a Celimene.” + +She was gay, artless to the last. She accompanied Heron to the door +herself, chaffing him about his escort. + +“You are an aristo, citizen,” she said, gazing with well-feigned +admiration on the two sleuth-hounds who stood in wait in the anteroom; +“it makes me proud to see so many citizens at my door. Come and see me +play Camille--come to-night, and don’t forget the green-room door--it +will always be kept invitingly open for you.” + +She bobbed him a curtsey, and he walked out, closely followed by his two +men; then at last she closed the door behind them. She stood there for +a while, her ear glued against the massive panels, listening for their +measured tread down the oak staircase. At last it rang more sharply +against the flagstones of the courtyard below; then she was satisfied +that they had gone, and went slowly back to the boudoir. + + + +CHAPTER X. SHADOWS + +The tension on her nerves relaxed; there was the inevitable reaction. +Her knees were shaking under her, and she literally staggered into the +room. + +But Armand was already near her, down on both his knees this time, his +arms clasping the delicate form that swayed like the slender stems of +narcissi in the breeze. + +“Oh! you must go out of Paris at once--at once,” she said through sobs +which no longer would be kept back. + +“He’ll return--I know that he will return--and you will not be safe +until you are back in England.” + +But he could not think of himself or of anything in the future. He had +forgotten Heron, Paris, the world; he could only think of her. + +“I owe my life to you!” he murmured. “Oh, how beautiful you are--how +brave! How I love you!” + +It seemed that he had always loved her, from the moment that first +in his boyish heart he had set up an ideal to worship, and then, last +night, in the box of the theatre--he had his back turned toward the +stage, and was ready to go--her voice had called him back; it had held +him spellbound; her voice, and also her eyes.... He did not know then +that it was Love which then and there had enchained him. Oh, how foolish +he had been! for now he knew that he had loved her with all his might, +with all his soul, from the very instant that his eyes had rested upon +her. + +He babbled along--incoherently--in the intervals of covering her hands +and the hem of her gown with kisses. He stooped right down to the ground +and kissed the arch of her instep; he had become a devotee worshipping +at the shrine of his saint, who had performed a great and a wonderful +miracle. + +Armand the idealist had found his ideal in a woman. That was the great +miracle which the woman herself had performed for him. He found in her +all that he had admired most, all that he had admired in the leader +who hitherto had been the only personification of his ideal. But Jeanne +possessed all those qualities which had roused his enthusiasm in the +noble hero whom he revered. Her pluck, her ingenuity, her calm devotion +which had averted the threatened danger from him! + +What had he done that she should have risked her own sweet life for his +sake? + +But Jeanne did not know. She could not tell. Her nerves now were +somewhat unstrung, and the tears that always came so readily to her eyes +flowed quite unchecked. She could not very well move, for he held her +knees imprisoned in his arms, but she was quite content to remain like +this, and to yield her hands to him so that he might cover them with +kisses. + +Indeed, she did not know at what precise moment love for him had been +born in her heart. Last night, perhaps... she could not say ... but when +they parted she felt that she must see him again... and then today... +perhaps it was the scent of the violets... they were so exquisitely +sweet... perhaps it was his enthusiasm and his talk about England... but +when Heron came she knew that she must save Armand’s life at all cost... +that she would die if they dragged him away to prison. + +Thus these two children philosophised, trying to understand the mystery +of the birth of Love. But they were only children; they did not really +understand. Passion was sweeping them off their feet, because a common +danger had bound them irrevocably to one another. The womanly instinct +to save and to protect had given the young girl strength to bear a +difficult part, and now she loved him for the dangers from which she had +rescued him, and he loved her because she had risked her life for him. + +The hours sped on; there was so much to say, so much that was exquisite +to listen to. The shades of evening were gathering fast; the room, with +its pale-toned hangings and faded tapestries, was sinking into the +arms of gloom. Aunt Marie was no doubt too terrified to stir out of her +kitchen; she did not bring the lamps, but the darkness suited Armand’s +mood, and Jeanne was glad that the gloaming effectually hid the +perpetual blush in her cheeks. + +In the evening air the dying flowers sent their heady fragrance around. +Armand was intoxicated with the perfume of violets that clung to +Jeanne’s fingers, with the touch of her satin gown that brushed his +cheek, with the murmur of her voice that quivered through her tears. + +No noise from the ugly outer world reached this secluded spot. In the +tiny square outside a street lamp had been lighted, and its feeble rays +came peeping in through the lace curtains at the window. They caught the +dainty silhouette of the young girl, playing with the loose tendrils of +her hair around her forehead, and outlining with a thin band of light +the contour of neck and shoulder, making the satin of her gown shimmer +with an opalescent glow. + +Armand rose from his knees. Her eyes were calling to him, her lips were +ready to yield. + +“Tu m’aimes?” he whispered. + +And like a tired child she sank upon his breast. + +He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips; her skin was fragrant as the +flowers of spring, the tears on her cheeks glistened like morning dew. + + + +Aunt Marie came in at last, carrying the lamp. She found them sitting +side by side, like two children, hand in hand, mute with the eloquence +which comes from boundless love. They were under a spell, forgetting +even that they lived, knowing nothing except that they loved. + +The lamp broke the spell, and Aunt Marie’s still trembling voice: + +“Oh, my dear! how did you manage to rid yourself of those brutes?” + +But she asked no other question, even when the lamp showed up quite +clearly the glowing cheeks of Jeanne and the ardent eyes of Armand. In +her heart, long since atrophied, there were a few memories, carefully +put away in a secret cell, and those memories caused the old woman to +understand. + +Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been +broken, but the dream lingered on; they did not see Aunt Marie putting +the room tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door. + +But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition. After +Armand had asked for the hundredth time: “Tu m’aimes?” and Jeanne for +the hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, her fears for him +suddenly returned. + +Something had awakened her from her trance--a heavy footstep, mayhap, in +the street below, the distant roll of a drum, or only the clash of steel +saucepans in Aunt Marie’s kitchen. But suddenly Jeanne was alert, and +with her alertness came terror for the beloved. + +“Your life,” she said--for he had called her his life just then, “your +life--and I was forgetting that it is still in danger... your dear, your +precious life!” + +“Doubly dear now,” he replied, “since I owe it to you.” + +“Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sake--make all +haste to leave Paris... oh, this I beg of you!” she continued more +earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; “every hour you spend +in it brings danger nearer to your door.” + +“I could not leave Paris while you are here.” + +“But I am safe here,” she urged; “quite, quite safe, I assure you. I am +only a poor actress, and the Government takes no heed of us mimes. +Men must be amused, even between the intervals of killing one another. +Indeed, indeed, I should be far safer here now, waiting quietly for +awhile, while you make preparations to go... My hasty departure at this +moment would bring disaster on us both.” + +There was logic in what she said. And yet how could he leave her? now +that he had found this perfect woman--this realisation of his highest +ideals, how could he go and leave her in this awful Paris, with brutes +like Heron forcing their hideous personality into her sacred presence, +threatening that very life he would gladly give his own to keep +inviolate? + +“Listen, sweetheart,” he said after awhile, when presently reason +struggled back for first place in his mind. “Will you allow me to +consult with my chief, with the Scarlet Pimpernel, who is in Paris at +the present moment? I am under his orders; I could not leave France just +now. My life, my entire person are at his disposal. I and my comrades +are here under his orders, for a great undertaking which he has not yet +unfolded to us, but which I firmly believe is framed for the rescue of +the Dauphin from the Temple.” + +She gave an involuntary exclamation of horror. + +“No, no!” she said quickly and earnestly; “as far as you are concerned, +Armand, that has now become an impossibility. Some one has betrayed you, +and you are henceforth a marked man. I think that odious de Batz had a +hand in Heron’s visit of this afternoon. We succeeded in putting these +spies off the scent, but only for a moment... within a few hours--less +perhaps--Heron will repent him of his carelessness; he’ll come back--I +know that he will come back. He may leave me, personally, alone; but +he will be on your track; he’ll drag you to the Conciergerie to report +yourself, and there your true name and history are bound to come to +light. If you succeed in evading him, he will still be on your track. If +the Scarlet Pimpernel keeps you in Paris now, your death will be at his +door.” + +Her voice had become quite hard and trenchant as she said these last +words; womanlike, she was already prepared to hate the man whose +mysterious personality she had hitherto admired, now that the life and +safety of Armand appeared to depend on the will of that elusive hero. + +“You must not be afraid for me, Jeanne,” he urged. “The Scarlet +Pimpernel cares for all his followers; he would never allow me to run +unnecessary risks.” + +She was unconvinced, almost jealous now of his enthusiasm for that +unknown man. Already she had taken full possession of Armand; she had +purchased his life, and he had given her his love. She would share +neither treasure with that nameless leader who held Armand’s allegiance. + +“It is only for a little while, sweetheart,” he reiterated again and +again. “I could not, anyhow, leave Paris whilst I feel that you are +here, maybe in danger. The thought would be horrible. I should go mad if +I had to leave you.” + +Then he talked again of England, of his life there, of the happiness and +peace that were in store for them both. + +“We will go to England together,” he whispered, “and there we will be +happy together, you and I. We will have a tiny house among the Kentish +hills, and its walls will be covered with honeysuckle and roses. At +the back of the house there will be an orchard, and in May, when the +fruit-blossom is fading and soft spring breezes blow among the trees, +showers of sweet-scented petals will envelop us as we walk along, +falling on us like fragrant snow. You will come, sweetheart, will you +not?” + +“If you still wish it, Armand,” she murmured. + +Still wish it! He would gladly go to-morrow if she would come with him. +But, of course, that could not be arranged. She had her contract to +fulfil at the theatre, then there would be her house and furniture to +dispose of, and there was Aunt Marie.... But, of course, Aunt Marie +would come too.... She thought that she could get away some time before +the spring; and he swore that he could not leave Paris until she came +with him. + +It seemed a terrible deadlock, for she could not bear to think of him +alone in those awful Paris streets, where she knew that spies would +always be tracking him. She had no illusions as to the impression which +she had made on Heron; she knew that it could only be a momentary one, +and that Armand would henceforth be in daily, hourly danger. + +At last she promised him that she would take the advice of his chief; +they would both be guided by what he said. Armand would confide in +him to-night, and if it could be arranged she would hurry on her +preparations and, mayhap, be ready to join him in a week. + +“In the meanwhile, that cruel man must not risk your dear life,” she +said. “Remember, Armand, your life belongs to me. Oh, I could hate him +for the love you bear him!” + +“Sh--sh--sh!” he said earnestly. “Dear heart, you must not speak like +that of the man whom, next to your perfect self, I love most upon +earth.” + +“You think of him more than of me. I shall scarce live until I know that +you are safely out of Paris.” + +Though it was horrible to part, yet it was best, perhaps, that he should +go back to his lodgings now, in case Heron sent his spies back to her +door, and since he meant to consult with his chief. She had a vague hope +that if the mysterious hero was indeed the noble-hearted man whom Armand +represented him to be, surely he would take compassion on the anxiety of +a sorrowing woman, and release the man she loved from bondage. + +This thought pleased her and gave her hope. She even urged Armand now to +go. + +“When may I see you to-morrow?” he asked. + +“But it will be so dangerous to meet,” she argued. + +“I must see you. I could not live through the day without seeing you.” + +“The theatre is the safest place.” + +“I could not wait till the evening. May I not come here?” + +“No, no. Heron’s spies may be about.” + +“Where then?” + +She thought it over for a moment. + +“At the stage-door of the theatre at one o’clock,” she said at last. “We +shall have finished rehearsal. Slip into the guichet of the concierge. +I will tell him to admit you, and send my dresser to meet you there; she +will bring you along to my room, where we shall be undisturbed for at +least half an hour.” + +He had perforce to be content with that, though he would so much rather +have seen her here again, where the faded tapestries and soft-toned +hangings made such a perfect background for her delicate charm. He had +every intention of confiding in Blakeney, and of asking his help for +getting Jeanne out of Paris as quickly as may be. + +Thus this perfect hour was past; the most pure, the fullest of joy that +these two young people were ever destined to know. Perhaps they felt +within themselves the consciousness that their great love would rise +anon to yet greater, fuller perfection when Fate had crowned it with +his halo of sorrow. Perhaps, too, it was that consciousness that gave to +their kisses now the solemnity of a last farewell. + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL + +Armand never could say definitely afterwards whither he went when he +left the Square du Roule that evening. No doubt he wandered about the +streets for some time in an absent, mechanical way, paying no heed to +the passers-by, none to the direction in which he was going. + +His mind was full of Jeanne, her beauty, her courage, her attitude in +face of the hideous bloodhound who had come to pollute that charming +old-world boudoir by his loathsome presence. He recalled every word she +uttered, every gesture she made. + +He was a man in love for the first time--wholly, irremediably in love. + +I suppose that it was the pangs of hunger that first recalled him +to himself. It was close on eight o’clock now, and he had fed on his +imaginings--first on anticipation, then on realisation, and lastly on +memory--during the best part of the day. Now he awoke from his day-dream +to find himself tired and hungry, but fortunately not very far from that +quarter of Paris where food is easily obtainable. + +He was somewhere near the Madeleine--a quarter he knew well. Soon he +saw in front of him a small eating-house which looked fairly clean and +orderly. He pushed open its swing-door, and seeing an empty table in a +secluded part of the room, he sat down and ordered some supper. + +The place made no impression upon his memory. He could not have told +you an hour later where it was situated, who had served him, what he had +eaten, or what other persons were present in the dining-room at the time +that he himself entered it. + +Having eaten, however, he felt more like his normal self--more conscious +of his actions. When he finally left the eating-house, he realised, for +instance, that it was very cold--a fact of which he had for the past few +hours been totally unaware. The snow was falling in thin close flakes, +and a biting north-easterly wind was blowing those flakes into his face +and down his collar. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him. It was +a good step yet to Blakeney’s lodgings, where he knew that he was +expected. + +He struck quickly into the Rue St. Honore, avoiding the great open +places where the grim horrors of this magnificent city in revolt against +civilisation were displayed in all their grim nakedness--on the Place +de la Revolution the guillotine, on the Carrousel the open-air camps of +workers under the lash of slave-drivers more cruel than the uncivilised +brutes of the Far West. + +And Armand had to think of Jeanne in the midst of all these horrors. She +was still a petted actress to-day, but who could tell if on the morrow +the terrible law of the “suspect” would not reach her in order to drag +her before a tribunal that knew no mercy, and whose sole justice was a +condemnation? + +The young man hurried on; he was anxious to be among his own comrades, +to hear his chief’s pleasant voice, to feel assured that by all the +sacred laws of friendship Jeanne henceforth would become the special +care of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his league. + +Blakeney lodged in a small house situated on the Quai de l’Ecole, at +the back of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, from whence he had a clear and +uninterrupted view across the river, as far as the irregular block of +buildings of the Chatelet prison and the house of Justice. + +The same tower-clock that two centuries ago had tolled the signal for +the massacre of the Huguenots was even now striking nine. Armand slipped +through the half-open porte cochere, crossed the narrow dark courtyard, +and ran up two flights of winding stone stairs. At the top of these, a +door on his right allowed a thin streak of light to filtrate between its +two folds. An iron bell handle hung beside it; Armand gave it a pull. + +Two minutes later he was amongst his friends. He heaved a great sigh of +content and relief. The very atmosphere here seemed to be different. As +far as the lodging itself was concerned, it was as bare, as devoid of +comfort as those sort of places--so-called chambres garnies--usually +were in these days. The chairs looked rickety and uninviting, the sofa +was of black horsehair, the carpet was threadbare, and in places +in actual holes; but there was a certain something in the air which +revealed, in the midst of all this squalor, the presence of a man of +fastidious taste. + +To begin with, the place was spotlessly clean; the stove, highly +polished, gave forth a pleasing warm glow, even whilst the window, +slightly open, allowed a modicum of fresh air to enter the room. In +a rough earthenware jug on the table stood a large bunch of Christmas +roses, and to the educated nostril the slight scent of perfumes that +hovered in the air was doubly pleasing after the fetid air of the narrow +streets. + +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, also my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings. +They greeted Armand with whole-hearted cheeriness. + +“Where is Blakeney?” asked the young man as soon as he had shaken his +friends by the hand. + +“Present!” came in loud, pleasant accents from the door of an inner room +on the right. + +And there he stood under the lintel of the door, the man against whom +was raised the giant hand of an entire nation--the man for whose head +the revolutionary government of France would gladly pay out all the +savings of its Treasury--the man whom human bloodhounds were tracking, +hot on the scent--for whom the nets of a bitter revenge and relentless +reprisals were constantly being spread. + +Was he unconscious of it, or merely careless? His closest friend, Sir +Andrew Ffoulkes, could not say. Certain it is that, as he now appeared +before Armand, picturesque as ever in perfectly tailored clothes, with +priceless lace at throat and wrists, his slender fingers holding an +enamelled snuff-box and a handkerchief of delicate cambric, his whole +personality that of a dandy rather than a man of action, it seemed +impossible to connect him with the foolhardy escapades which had set one +nation glowing with enthusiasm and another clamouring for revenge. + +But it was the magnetism that emanated from him that could not be +denied; the light that now and then, swift as summer lightning, flashed +out from the depths of the blue eyes usually veiled by heavy, lazy lids, +the sudden tightening of firm lips, the setting of the square jaw, which +in a moment--but only for the space of a second--transformed the entire +face, and revealed the born leader of men. + +Just now there was none of that in the debonnair, easy-going man of the +world who advanced to meet his friend. Armand went quickly up to him, +glad to grasp his hand, slightly troubled with remorse, no doubt, at the +recollection of his adventure of to-day. It almost seemed to him that +from beneath his half-closed lids Blakeney had shot a quick inquiring +glance upon him. The quick flash seemed to light up the young man’s soul +from within, and to reveal it, naked, to his friend. + +It was all over in a moment, and Armand thought that mayhap his +conscience had played him a trick: there was nothing apparent in him--of +this he was sure--that could possibly divulge his secret just yet. + +“I am rather late, I fear,” he said. “I wandered about the streets in +the late afternoon and lost my way in the dark. I hope I have not kept +you all waiting.” + +They all pulled chairs closely round the fire, except Blakeney, who +preferred to stand. He waited awhile until they were all comfortably +settled, and all ready to listen, then: + +“It is about the Dauphin,” he said abruptly without further preamble. + +They understood. All of them had guessed it, almost before the summons +came that had brought them to Paris two days ago. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes +had left his young wife because of that, and Armand had demanded it as a +right to join hands in this noble work. Blakeney had not left France for +over three months now. Backwards and forwards between Paris, or Nantes, +or Orleans to the coast, where his friends would meet him to receive +those unfortunates whom one man’s whole-hearted devotion had rescued +from death; backwards and forwards into the very hearts of those cities +wherein an army of sleuth-hounds were on his track, and the guillotine +was stretching out her arms to catch the foolhardy adventurer. + +Now it was about the Dauphin. They all waited, breathless and eager, +the fire of a noble enthusiasm burning in their hearts. They waited in +silence, their eyes fixed on the leader, lest one single word from him +should fail to reach their ears. + +The full magnetism of the man was apparent now. As he held these +four men at this moment, he could have held a crowd. The man of the +world--the fastidious dandy--had shed his mask; there stood the leader, +calm, serene in the very face of the most deadly danger that had ever +encompassed any man, looking that danger fully in the face, not striving +to belittle it or to exaggerate it, but weighing it in the balance with +what there was to accomplish: the rescue of a martyred, innocent child +from the hands of fiends who were destroying his very soul even more +completely than his body. + +“Everything, I think, is prepared,” resumed Sir Percy after a slight +pause. “The Simons have been summarily dismissed; I learned that to-day. +They remove from the Temple on Sunday next, the nineteenth. Obviously +that is the one day most likely to help us in our operations. As far +as I am concerned, I cannot make any hard-and-fast plans. Chance at the +last moment will have to dictate. But from every one of you I must +have co-operation, and it can only be by your following my directions +implicitly that we can even remotely hope to succeed.” + +He crossed and recrossed the room once or twice before he spoke again, +pausing now and again in his walk in front of a large map of Paris and +its environs that hung upon the wall, his tall figure erect, his hands +behind his back, his eyes fixed before him as if he saw right through +the walls of this squalid room, and across the darkness that overhung +the city, through the grim bastions of the mighty building far away, +where the descendant of an hundred kings lived at the mercy of human +fiends who worked for his abasement. + +The man’s face now was that of a seer and a visionary; the firm lines +were set and rigid as those of an image carved in stone--the statue of +heart-whole devotion, with the self-imposed task beckoning sternly to +follow, there where lurked danger and death. + +“The way, I think, in which we could best succeed would be this,” he +resumed after a while, sitting now on the edge of the table and directly +facing his four friends. The light from the lamp which stood upon the +table behind him fell full upon those four glowing faces fixed eagerly +upon him, but he himself was in shadow, a massive silhouette broadly cut +out against the light-coloured map on the wall beyond. + +“I remain here, of course, until Sunday,” he said, “and will closely +watch my opportunity, when I can with the greatest amount of safety +enter the Temple building and take possession of the child. I shall, of +course choose the moment when the Simons are actually on the move, with +their successors probably coming in at about the same time. God alone +knows,” he added earnestly, “how I shall contrive to get possession of +the child; at the moment I am just as much in the dark about that as you +are.” + +He paused a moment, and suddenly his grave face seemed flooded with +sunshine, a kind of lazy merriment danced in his eyes, effacing all +trace of solemnity within them. + +“La!” he said lightly, “on one point I am not at all in the dark, and +that is that His Majesty King Louis XVII will come out of that ugly +house in my company next Sunday, the nineteenth day of January in this +year of grace seventeen hundred and ninety-four; and this, too, do I +know--that those murderous blackguards shall not lay hands on me whilst +that precious burden is in my keeping. So I pray you, my good Armand, do +not look so glum,” he added with his pleasant, merry laugh; “you’ll need +all your wits about you to help us in our undertaking.” + +“What do you wish me to do, Percy?” said the young man simply. + +“In one moment I will tell you. I want you all to understand the +situation first. The child will be out of the Temple on Sunday, but at +what hour I know not. The later it will be the better would it suit +my purpose, for I cannot get him out of Paris before evening with any +chance of safety. Here we must risk nothing; the child is far better off +as he is now than he would be if he were dragged back after an abortive +attempt at rescue. But at this hour of the night, between nine and ten +o’clock, I can arrange to get him out of Paris by the Villette gate, and +that is where I want you, Ffoulkes, and you, Tony, to be, with some kind +of covered cart, yourselves in any disguise your ingenuity will suggest. +Here are a few certificates of safety; I have been making a collection +of them for some time, as they are always useful.” + +He dived into the wide pocket of his coat and drew forth a number of +cards, greasy, much-fingered documents of the usual pattern which the +Committee of General Security delivered to the free citizens of the +new republic, and without which no one could enter or leave any town or +country commune without being detained as “suspect.” He glanced at them +and handed them over to Ffoulkes. + +“Choose your own identity for the occasion, my good friend,” he said +lightly; “and you too, Tony. You may be stonemasons or coal-carriers, +chimney-sweeps or farm-labourers, I care not which so long as you look +sufficiently grimy and wretched to be unrecognisable, and so long as +you can procure a cart without arousing suspicions, and can wait for me +punctually at the appointed spot.” + +Ffoulkes turned over the cards, and with a laugh handed them over +to Lord Tony. The two fastidious gentlemen discussed for awhile the +respective merits of a chimney-sweep’s uniform as against that of a +coal-carrier. + +“You can carry more grime if you are a sweep,” suggested Blakeney; “and +if the soot gets into your eyes it does not make them smart like coal +does.” + +“But soot adheres more closely,” argued Tony solemnly, “and I know that +we shan’t get a bath for at least a week afterwards.” + +“Certainly you won’t, you sybarite!” asserted Sir Percy with a laugh. + +“After a week soot might become permanent,” mused Sir Andrew, wondering +what, under the circumstance, my lady would say to him. + +“If you are both so fastidious,” retorted Blakeney, shrugging his broad +shoulders, “I’ll turn one of you into a reddleman, and the other into a +dyer. Then one of you will be bright scarlet to the end of his days, as +the reddle never comes off the skin at all, and the other will have to +soak in turpentine before the dye will consent to move.... In either +case... oh, my dear Tony!... the smell....” + +He laughed like a schoolboy in anticipation of a prank, and held his +scented handkerchief to his nose. My Lord Hastings chuckled audibly, and +Tony punched him for this unseemly display of mirth. + +Armand watched the little scene in utter amazement. He had been in +England over a year, and yet he could not understand these Englishmen. +Surely they were the queerest, most inconsequent people in the world. +Here were these men, who were engaged at this very moment in an +enterprise which for cool-headed courage and foolhardy daring had +probably no parallel in history. They were literally taking their lives +in their hands, in all probability facing certain death; and yet they +now sat chaffing and fighting like a crowd of third-form schoolboys, +talking utter, silly nonsense, and making foolish jokes that would have +shamed a Frenchman in his teens. Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompous +de Batz would think of this discussion if he could overhear it. His +contempt, no doubt, for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers would be +increased tenfold. + +Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually dismissed. Sir +Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst had settled their differences +of opinion by solemnly agreeing to represent two over-grimy and +overheated coal-heavers. They chose two certificates of safety that were +made out in the names of Jean Lepetit and Achille Grospierre, labourers. + +“Though you don’t look at all like an Achille, Tony,” was Blakeney’s +parting shot to his friend. + +Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the serious +business of the moment, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said abruptly: + +“Tell us exactly, Blakeney, where you will want the cart to stand on +Sunday.” + +Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and Tony +following him. They stood close to his elbow whilst his slender, nervy +hand wandered along the shiny surface of the varnished paper. At last he +placed his finger on one spot. + +“Here you see,” he said, “is the Villette gate. Just outside it a narrow +street on the right leads down in the direction of the canal. It is just +at the bottom of that narrow street at its junction with the tow-path +there that I want you two and the cart to be. It had better be a +coal-car by the way; they will be unloading coal close by there +to-morrow,” he added with one of his sudden irrepressible outbursts of +merriment. “You and Tony can exercise your muscles coal-heaving, and +incidentally make yourselves known in the neighbourhood as good if +somewhat grimy patriots.” + +“We had better take up our parts at once then,” said Tony. “I’ll take a +fond farewell of my clean shirt to-night.” + +“Yes, you will not see one again for some time, my good Tony. After +your hard day’s work to-morrow you will have to sleep either inside your +cart, if you have already secured one, or under the arches of the canal +bridge, if you have not.” + +“I hope you have an equally pleasant prospect for Hastings,” was my Lord +Tony’s grim comment. + +It was easy to see that he was as happy as a schoolboy about to start +for a holiday. Lord Tony was a true sportsman. Perhaps there was in him +less sentiment for the heroic work which he did under the guidance of +his chief than an inherent passion for dangerous adventures. Sir Andrew +Ffoulkes, on the other hand, thought perhaps a little less of the +adventure, but a great deal of the martyred child in the Temple. He was +just as buoyant, just as keen as his friend, but the leaven of +sentiment raised his sporting instincts to perhaps a higher plane of +self-devotion. + +“Well, now, to recapitulate,” he said, in turn following with his finger +the indicated route on the map. “Tony and I and the coal-cart will await +you on this spot, at the corner of the towpath on Sunday evening at nine +o’clock.” + +“And your signal, Blakeney?” asked Tony. + +“The usual one,” replied Sir Percy, “the seamew’s cry thrice repeated at +brief intervals. But now,” he continued, turning to Armand and Hastings, +who had taken no part in the discussion hitherto, “I want your help a +little further afield.” + +“I thought so,” nodded Hastings. + +“The coal-cart, with its usual miserable nag, will carry us a distance +of fifteen or sixteen kilometres, but no more. My purpose is to cut +along the north of the city, and to reach St. Germain, the nearest point +where we can secure good mounts. There is a farmer just outside the +commune; his name is Achard. He has excellent horses, which I have +borrowed before now; we shall want five, of course, and he has one +powerful beast that will do for me, as I shall have, in addition to +my own weight, which is considerable, to take the child with me on +the pillion. Now you, Hastings and Armand, will have to start early +to-morrow morning, leave Paris by the Neuilly gate, and from there make +your way to St. Germain by any conveyance you can contrive to obtain. At +St. Germain you must at once find Achard’s farm; disguised as labourers +you will not arouse suspicion by so doing. You will find the farmer +quite amenable to money, and you must secure the best horses you can get +for our own use, and, if possible, the powerful mount I spoke of just +now. You are both excellent horse-men, therefore I selected you amongst +the others for this special errand, for you two, with the five horses, +will have to come and meet our coal-cart some seventeen kilometres +out of St. Germain, to where the first sign-post indicates the road to +Courbevoie. Some two hundred metres down this road on the right there is +a small spinney, which will afford splendid shelter for yourselves and +your horses. We hope to be there at about one o’clock after midnight +of Monday morning. Now, is all that quite clear, and are you both +satisfied?” + +“It is quite clear,” exclaimed Hastings placidly; “but I, for one, am +not at all satisfied.” + +“And why not?” + +“Because it is all too easy. We get none of the danger.” + +“Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, you +incorrigible grumbler,” laughed Sir Percy good-humouredly. “Let me tell +you that if you start to-morrow from Paris in that spirit you will run +your head and Armand’s into a noose long before you reach the gate of +Neuilly. I cannot allow either of you to cover your faces with too much +grime; an honest farm labourer should not look over-dirty, and your +chances of being discovered and detained are, at the outset, far greater +than those which Ffoulkes and Tony will run--” + +Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was unfolding +his plan for him and for Lord Hastings--a plan which practically was a +command--he had sat with his arms folded across his chest, his head sunk +upon his breast. When Blakeney had asked if they were satisfied, he +had taken no part in Hastings’ protest nor responded to his leader’s +good-humoured banter. + +Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy’s eyes were +fixed upon him, and they seemed to scorch into his soul. He made a great +effort to appear eager like the others, and yet from the first a chill +had struck at his heart. He could not leave Paris before he had seen +Jeanne. + +He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked his +chief fully in the face. + +“When ought we to leave Paris?” he asked calmly. + +“You MUST leave at daybreak,” replied Blakeney with a slight, almost +imperceptible emphasis on the word of command. “When the gates are first +opened, and the work-people go to and fro at their work, that is the +safest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as soon as may be, or the +farmer may not have a sufficiency of horses available at a moment’s +notice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings’ +British accent should not betray you both. Also you might not get +a conveyance for St. Germain immediately. We must think of every +eventuality, Armand. There is so much at stake.” + +Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked +astonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and Blakeney’s reply +seemed almost like a rebuke--so circumstantial too, and so explanatory. +He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that the merest +wish, the slightest hint from him was understood by his band of devoted +followers, that the long explanation of his orders which he gave to +Armand struck them all with a strange sense of unpleasant surprise. + +Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallen +over the party. + +“We leave at daybreak, of course,” he said, “as soon as the gates are +open. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a lift as far +as St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?” + +“He is a well-known farmer,” replied Blakeney. “You have but to ask.” + +“Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings in +the village that night, and make a fresh start back towards Paris in the +evening of Sunday. Is that right?” + +“Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Pack +some fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten o’clock. Ride +straight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris, +until you come to four cross-roads with a sign-post pointing to +Courbevoie. Turn down there and go along the road until you meet a close +spinney of fir-trees on your right. Make for the interior of that. It +gives splendid shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses a +feed. We’ll join you one hour after midnight. The night will be dark, I +hope, and the moon anyhow will be on the wane.” + +“I think I understand. Anyhow, it’s not difficult, and we’ll be as +careful as may be.” + +“You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you,” concluded +Blakeney. + +He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not made +a movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings and the chief. He +still sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast. + +Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried in +thought. Through the open window there came from the quay beyond the hum +of life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, the +words of command from the drill-sergeant, and through it all the moaning +of the wind and the beating of the sleet against the window-panes. + +A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeney +gave a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he pushed it +further open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll of +drums, and from below the watchman’s cry that seemed such dire mockery: + +“Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful.” + +“Sound advice,” said Blakeney lightly. “Shall we also go to sleep? What +say you all--eh?” + +He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action, +already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a moment ago when +giving instructions to Hastings. His usual debonnair manner was on him +once again, his laziness, his careless insouciance. He was even at +this moment deeply engaged in flicking off a grain of dust from the +immaculate Mechlin ruff at his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over the +tell-tale eyes as if weighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready for +the laugh which never was absent from it very long. + +It was only Ffoulkes’s devoted eyes that were sharp enough to pierce the +mask of light-hearted gaiety which enveloped the soul of his leader at +the present moment. He saw--for the first time in all the years that +he had known Blakeney--a frown across the habitually smooth brow, and +though the lips were parted for a laugh, the lines round mouth and chin +were hard and set. + +With that intuition born of whole-hearted friendship Sir Andrew guessed +what troubled Percy. He had caught the look which the latter had thrown +on Armand, and knew that some explanation would have to pass between the +two men before they parted to-night. Therefore he gave the signal for +the breaking up of the meeting. + +“There is nothing more to say, is there, Blakeney?” he asked. + +“No, my good fellow, nothing,” replied Sir Percy. “I do not know how you +all feel, but I am demmed fatigued.” + +“What about the rags for to-morrow?” queried Hastings. + +“You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the key. +Wigs and all are there. But don’t use false hair if you can help it--it +is apt to shift in a scrimmage.” + +He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and Tony +thought that he was tired. They rose to say good night. Then the three +men went away together, Armand remaining behind. + + + +CHAPTER XII. WHAT LOVE IS + +“Well, now, Armand, what is it?” asked Blakeney, the moment the +footsteps of his friends had died away down the stone stairs, and their +voices had ceased to echo in the distance. + +“You guessed, then, that there was... something?” said the younger man, +after a slight hesitation. + +“Of course.” + +Armand rose, pushing the chair away from him with an impatient nervy +gesture. Burying his hands in the pockets of his breeches, he began +striding up and down the room, a dark, troubled expression in his face, +a deep frown between his eyes. + +Blakeney had once more taken up his favourite position, sitting on the +corner of the table, his broad shoulders interposed between the lamp and +the rest of the room. He was apparently taking no notice of Armand, but +only intent on the delicate operation of polishing his nails. + +Suddenly the young man paused in his restless walk and stood in front of +his friend--an earnest, solemn, determined figure. + +“Blakeney,” he said, “I cannot leave Paris to-morrow.” + +Sir Percy made no reply. He was contemplating the polish which he had +just succeeded in producing on his thumbnail. + +“I must stay here for a while longer,” continued Armand firmly. “I may +not be able to return to England for some weeks. You have the three +others here to help you in your enterprise outside Paris. I am entirely +at your service within the compass of its walls.” + +Still no comment from Blakeney, not a look from beneath the fallen +lids. Armand continued, with a slight tone of impatience apparent in his +voice: + +“You must want some one to help you here on Sunday. I am entirely at +your service... here or anywhere in Paris... but I cannot leave this +city... at any rate, not just yet....” + +Blakeney was apparently satisfied at last with the result of his +polishing operations. He rose, gave a slight yawn, and turned toward the +door. + +“Good night, my dear fellow,” he said pleasantly; “it is time we were +all abed. I am so demmed fatigued.” + +“Percy!” exclaimed the young man hotly. + +“Eh? What is it?” queried the other lazily. + +“You are not going to leave me like this--without a word?” + +“I have said a great many words, my good fellow. I have said ‘good +night,’ and remarked that I was demmed fatigued.” + +He was standing beside the door which led to his bedroom, and now he +pushed it open with his hand. + +“Percy, you cannot go and leave me like this!” reiterated Armand with +rapidly growing irritation. + +“Like what, my dear fellow?” queried Sir Percy with good-humoured +impatience. + +“Without a word--without a sign. What have I done that you should treat +me like a child, unworthy even of attention?” + +Blakeney had turned back and was now facing him, towering above the +slight figure of the younger man. His face had lost none of its gracious +air, and beneath their heavy lids his eyes looked down not unkindly on +his friend. + +“Would you have preferred it, Armand,” he said quietly, “if I had said +the word that your ears have heard even though my lips have not uttered +it?” + +“I don’t understand,” murmured Armand defiantly. + +“What sign would you have had me make?” continued Sir Percy, +his pleasant voice falling calm and mellow on the younger man’s +supersensitive consciousness: “That of branding you, Marguerite’s +brother, as a liar and a cheat?” + +“Blakeney!” retorted the other, as with flaming cheeks and wrathful eyes +he took a menacing step toward his friend; “had any man but you dared to +speak such words to me--” + +“I pray to God, Armand, that no man but I has the right to speak them.” + +“You have no right.” + +“Every right, my friend. Do I not hold your oath?... Are you not +prepared to break it?” + +“I’ll not break my oath to you. I’ll serve and help you in every way +you can command... my life I’ll give to the cause... give me the most +dangerous--the most difficult task to perform.... I’ll do it--I’ll do it +gladly.” + +“I have given you an over-difficult and dangerous task.” + +“Bah! To leave Paris in order to engage horses, while you and the others +do all the work. That is neither difficult nor dangerous.” + +“It will be difficult for you, Armand, because your head is not +sufficiently cool to foresee serious eventualities and to prepare +against them. It is dangerous, because you are a man in love, and a man +in love is apt to run his head--and that of his friends--blindly into a +noose.” + +“Who told you that I was in love?” + +“You yourself, my good fellow. Had you not told me so at the outset,” + he continued, still speaking very quietly and deliberately and never +raising his voice, “I would even now be standing over you, dog-whip in +hand, to thrash you as a defaulting coward and a perjurer .... Bah!” + he added with a return to his habitual bonhomie, “I would no doubt even +have lost my temper with you. Which would have been purposeless and +excessively bad form. Eh?” + +A violent retort had sprung to Armand’s lips. But fortunately at that +very moment his eyes, glowing with anger, caught those of Blakeney fixed +with lazy good-nature upon his. Something of that irresistible dignity +which pervaded the whole personality of the man checked Armand’s +hotheaded words on his lips. + +“I cannot leave Paris to-morrow,” he reiterated more calmly. + +“Because you have arranged to see her again?” + +“Because she saved my life to-day, and is herself in danger.” + +“She is in no danger,” said Blakeney simply, “since she saved the life +of my friend.” + +“Percy!” + +The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just’s very soul. Despite the tumult +of passion which was raging in his heart, he was conscious again of the +magnetic power which bound so many to this man’s service. The words he +had said--simple though they were--had sent a thrill through Armand’s +veins. He felt himself disarmed. His resistance fell before the subtle +strength of an unbendable will; nothing remained in his heart but an +overwhelming sense of shame and of impotence. + +He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his +face in his hands. Blakeney went up to him and placed a kindly hand upon +his shoulder. + +“The difficult task, Armand,” he said gently. + +“Percy, cannot you release me? She saved my life. I have not thanked her +yet.” + +“There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over yonder the +son of kings is being done to death by savage brutes.” + +“I would not hinder you if I stayed.” + +“God knows you have hindered us enough already.” + +“How?” + +“You say she saved your life... then you were in danger... Heron and his +spies have been on your track; your track leads to mine, and I have sworn +to save the Dauphin from the hands of thieves.... A man in love, Armand, +is a deadly danger among us.... Therefore at daybreak you must leave +Paris with Hastings on your difficult and dangerous task.” + +“And if I refuse?” retorted Armand. + +“My good fellow,” said Blakeney earnestly, “in that admirable lexicon +which the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel has compiled for itself there +is no such word as refuse.” + +“But if I do refuse?” persisted the other. + +“You would be offering a tainted name and tarnished honour to the woman +you pretend to love.” + +“And you insist upon my obedience?” + +“By the oath which I hold from you.” + +“But this is cruel--inhuman!” + +“Honour, my good Armand, is often cruel and seldom human. He is a +godlike taskmaster, and we who call ourselves men are all of us his +slaves.” + +“The tyranny comes from you alone. You could release me an you would.” + +“And to gratify the selfish desire of immature passion, you would wish +to see me jeopardise the life of those who place infinite trust in me.” + +“God knows how you have gained their allegiance, Blakeney. To me now you +are selfish and callous.” + +“There is the difficult task you craved for, Armand,” was all the answer +that Blakeney made to the taunt--“to obey a leader whom you no longer +trust.” + +But this Armand could not brook. He had spoken hotly, impetuously, +smarting under the discipline which thwarted his desire, but his heart +was loyal to the chief whom he had reverenced for so long. + +“Forgive me, Percy,” he said humbly; “I am distracted. I don’t think +I quite realised what I was saying. I trust you, of course ... +implicitly... and you need not even fear... I shall not break my oath, +though your orders now seem to me needlessly callous and selfish.... I +will obey... you need not be afraid.” + +“I was not afraid of that, my good fellow.” + +“Of course, you do not understand... you cannot. To you, your honour, +the task which you have set yourself, has been your only fetish.... Love +in its true sense does not exist for you.... I see it now... you do not +know what it is to love.” + +Blakeney made no reply for the moment. He stood in the centre of the +room, with the yellow light of the lamp falling full now upon his tall +powerful frame, immaculately dressed in perfectly-tailored clothes, upon +his long, slender hands half hidden by filmy lace, and upon his face, +across which at this moment a heavy strand of curly hair threw a curious +shadow. At Armand’s words his lips had imperceptibly tightened, his eyes +had narrowed as if they tried to see something that was beyond the range +of their focus. + +Across the smooth brow the strange shadow made by the hair seemed to +find a reflex from within. Perhaps the reckless adventurer, the careless +gambler with life and liberty, saw through the walls of this squalid +room, across the wide, ice-bound river, and beyond even the gloomy pile +of buildings opposite, a cool, shady garden at Richmond, a velvety lawn +sweeping down to the river’s edge, a bower of clematis and roses, with +a carved stone seat half covered with moss. There sat an exquisitely +beautiful woman with great sad eyes fixed on the far-distant horizon. +The setting sun was throwing a halo of gold all round her hair, her +white hands were clasped idly on her lap. + +She gazed out beyond the river, beyond the sunset, toward an unseen +bourne of peace and happiness, and her lovely face had in it a look of +utter hopelessness and of sublime self-abnegation. The air was still. +It was late autumn, and all around her the russet leaves of beech and +chestnut fell with a melancholy hush-sh-sh about her feet. + +She was alone, and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her eyes +and rolled slowly down her cheeks. + +Suddenly a sigh escaped the man’s tightly-pressed lips. With a strange +gesture, wholly unusual to him, he passed his hand right across his +eyes. + +“Mayhap you are right, Armand,” he said quietly; “mayhap I do not know +what it is to love.” + +Armand turned to go. There was nothing more to be said. He knew Percy +well enough by now to realise the finality of his pronouncements. His +heart felt sore, but he was too proud to show his hurt again to a +man who did not understand. All thoughts of disobedience he had put +resolutely aside; he had never meant to break his oath. All that he had +hoped to do was to persuade Percy to release him from it for awhile. + +That by leaving Paris he risked to lose Jeanne he was quite convinced, +but it is nevertheless a true fact that in spite of this he did not +withdraw his love and trust from his chief. He was under the influence +of that same magnetism which enchained all his comrades to the will of +this man; and though his enthusiasm for the great cause had somewhat +waned, his allegiance to its leader was no longer tottering. + +But he would not trust himself to speak again on the subject. + +“I will find the others downstairs,” was all he said, “and will arrange +with Hastings for to-morrow. Good night, Percy.” + +“Good night, my dear fellow. By the way, you have not told me yet who +she is.” + +“Her name is Jeanne Lange,” said St. Just half reluctantly. He had not +meant to divulge his secret quite so fully as yet. + +“The young actress at the Theatre National?” + +“Yes. Do you know her?” + +“Only by name.” + +“She is beautiful, Percy, and she is an angel.... Think of my sister +Marguerite... she, too, was an actress.... Good night, Percy.” + +“Good night.” + +The two men grasped one another by the hand. Armand’s eyes proffered +a last desperate appeal. But Blakeney’s eyes were impassive and +unrelenting, and Armand with a quick sigh finally took his leave. + +For a long while after he had gone Blakeney stood silent and motionless +in the middle of the room. Armand’s last words lingered in his ear: + +“Think of Marguerite!” + +The walls had fallen away from around him--the window, the river +below, the Temple prison had all faded away, merged in the chaos of his +thoughts. + +Now he was no longer in Paris; he heard nothing of the horrors that even +at this hour of the night were raging around him; he did not hear the +call of murdered victims, of innocent women and children crying for +help; he did not see the descendant of St. Louis, with a red cap on +his baby head, stamping on the fleur-de-lys, and heaping insults on the +memory of his mother. All that had faded into nothingness. + +He was in the garden at Richmond, and Marguerite was sitting on the +stone seat, with branches of the rambler roses twining themselves in her +hair. + +He was sitting on the ground at her feet, his head pillowed in her lap, +lazily dreaming whilst at his feet the river wound its graceful curves +beneath overhanging willows and tall stately elms. + +A swan came sailing majestically down the stream, and Marguerite, with +idle, delicate hands, threw some crumbs of bread into the water. Then +she laughed, for she was quite happy, and anon she stooped, and he felt +the fragrance of her lips as she bent over him and savoured the perfect +sweetness of her caress. She was happy because her husband was by her +side. He had done with adventures, with risking his life for others’ +sake. He was living only for her. + +The man, the dreamer, the idealist that lurked behind the adventurous +soul, lived an exquisite dream as he gazed upon that vision. He closed +his eyes so that it might last all the longer, so that through the +open window opposite he should not see the great gloomy walls of the +labyrinthine building packed to overflowing with innocent men, women, +and children waiting patiently and with a smile on their lips for a +cruel and unmerited death; so that he should not see even through the +vista of houses and of streets that grim Temple prison far away, and the +light in one of the tower windows, which illumined the final martyrdom +of a boy-king. + +Thus he stood for fully five minutes, with eyes deliberately closed +and lips tightly set. Then the neighbouring tower-clock of St. Germain +l’Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight. Blakeney woke from his +dream. The walls of his lodging were once more around him, and through +the window the ruddy light of some torch in the street below fought with +that of the lamp. + +He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the night. On +the quay, a little to the left, the outdoor camp was just breaking up +for the night. The people of France in arms against tyranny were allowed +to put away their work for the day and to go to their miserable homes +to gather rest in sleep for the morrow. A band of soldiers, rough and +brutal in their movements, were hustling the women and children. The +little ones, weary, sleepy, and cold, seemed too dazed to move. One +woman had two little children clinging to her skirts; a soldier suddenly +seized one of them by the shoulders and pushed it along roughly in front +of him to get it out of the way. The woman struck at the soldier in a +stupid, senseless, useless way, and then gathered her trembling chicks +under her wing, trying to look defiant. + +In a moment she was surrounded. Two soldiers seized her, and two more +dragged the children away from her. She screamed and the children cried, +the soldiers swore and struck out right and left with their bayonets. +There was a general melee, calls of agony rent the air, rough oaths +drowned the shouts of the helpless. Some women, panic-stricken, started +to run. + +And Blakeney from his window looked down upon the scene. He no longer +saw the garden at Richmond, the lazily-flowing river, the bowers of +roses; even the sweet face of Marguerite, sad and lonely, appeared dim +and far away. + +He looked across the ice-bound river, past the quay where rough soldiers +were brutalising a number of wretched defenceless women, to that grim +Chatelet prison, where tiny lights shining here and there behind barred +windows told the sad tale of weary vigils, of watches through the night, +when dawn would bring martyrdom and death. + +And it was not Marguerite’s blue eyes that beckoned to him now, it was +not her lips that called, but the wan face of a child with matted curls +hanging above a greasy forehead, and small hands covered in grime that +had once been fondled by a Queen. + +The adventurer in him had chased away the dream. + +“While there is life in me I’ll cheat those brutes of prey,” he +murmured. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK + +The night that Armand St. Just spent tossing about on a hard, narrow bed +was the most miserable, agonising one he had ever passed in his life. +A kind of fever ran through him, causing his teeth to chatter and the +veins in his temples to throb until he thought that they must burst. + +Physically he certainly was ill; the mental strain caused by two great +conflicting passions had attacked his bodily strength, and whilst his +brain and heart fought their battles together, his aching limbs found no +repose. + +His love for Jeanne! His loyalty to the man to whom he owed his life, +and to whom he had sworn allegiance and implicit obedience! + +These superacute feelings seemed to be tearing at his very heartstrings, +until he felt that he could no longer lie on the miserable palliasse +which in these squalid lodgings did duty for a bed. + +He rose long before daybreak, with tired back and burning eyes, but +unconscious of any pain save that which tore at his heart. + +The weather, fortunately, was not quite so cold--a sudden and very rapid +thaw had set in; and when after a hurried toilet Armand, carrying a +bundle under his arm, emerged into the street, the mild south wind +struck pleasantly on his face. + +It was then pitch dark. The street lamps had been extinguished long ago, +and the feeble January sun had not yet tinged with pale colour the heavy +clouds that hung over the sky. + +The streets of the great city were absolutely deserted at this hour. It +lay, peaceful and still, wrapped in its mantle of gloom. A thin rain +was falling, and Armand’s feet, as he began to descend the heights of +Montmartre, sank ankle deep in the mud of the road. There was but scanty +attempt at pavements in this outlying quarter of the town, and Armand +had much ado to keep his footing on the uneven and intermittent stones +that did duty for roads in these parts. But this discomfort did not +trouble him just now. One thought--and one alone--was clear in his mind: +he must see Jeanne before he left Paris. + +He did not pause to think how he could accomplish that at this hour of +the day. All he knew was that he must obey his chief, and that he must +see Jeanne. He would see her, explain to her that he must leave Paris +immediately, and beg her to make her preparations quickly, so that she +might meet him as soon as maybe, and accompany him to England straight +away. + +He did not feel that he was being disloyal by trying to see Jeanne. +He had thrown prudence to the winds, not realising that his imprudence +would and did jeopardise, not only the success of his chief’s plans, +but also his life and that of his friends. He had before parting from +Hastings last night arranged to meet him in the neighbourhood of the +Neuilly Gate at seven o’clock; it was only six now. There was plenty of +time for him to rouse the concierge at the house of the Square du Roule, +to see Jeanne for a few moments, to slip into Madame Belhomme’s kitchen, +and there into the labourer’s clothes which he was carrying in the +bundle under his arm, and to be at the gate at the appointed hour. + +The Square du Roule is shut off from the Rue St. Honore, on which it +abuts, by tall iron gates, which a few years ago, when the secluded +little square was a fashionable quarter of the city, used to be kept +closed at night, with a watchman in uniform to intercept midnight +prowlers. Now these gates had been rudely torn away from their sockets, +the iron had been sold for the benefit of the ever-empty Treasury, +and no one cared if the homeless, the starving, or the evil-doer found +shelter under the porticoes of the houses, from whence wealthy or +aristocratic owners had long since thought it wise to flee. + +No one challenged Armand when he turned into the square, and though +the darkness was intense, he made his way fairly straight for the house +where lodged Mademoiselle Lange. + +So far he had been wonderfully lucky. The foolhardiness with which he +had exposed his life and that of his friends by wandering about the +streets of Paris at this hour without any attempt at disguise, though +carrying one under his arm, had not met with the untoward fate which it +undoubtedly deserved. The darkness of the night and the thin sheet of +rain as it fell had effectually wrapped his progress through the lonely +streets in their beneficent mantle of gloom; the soft mud below had +drowned the echo of his footsteps. If spies were on his track, as +Jeanne had feared and Blakeney prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in +evading them. + +He pulled the concierge’s bell, and the latch of the outer door, +manipulated from within, duly sprang open in response. He entered, and +from the lodge the concierge’s voice emerging, muffled from the depths +of pillows and blankets, challenged him with an oath directed at the +unseemliness of the hour. + +“Mademoiselle Lange,” said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he +walked quickly past the lodge making straight for the stairs. + +It seemed to him that from the concierge’s room loud vituperations +followed him, but he took no notice of these; only a short flight of +stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne. + +He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be still in +bed, that he might have some difficulty in rousing Madame Belhomme, that +the latter might not even care to admit him; nor did he reflect on the +glaring imprudence of his actions. He wanted to see Jeanne, and she was +the other side of that wall. + +“He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you?” came in a gruff +voice to him from below. + +He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside +Jeanne’s door. He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing echo of +the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the +door. + +“Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing there?” + +The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his feet +thrust in slippers, and carrying a guttering tallow candle, had appeared +upon the landing. + +He held the candle up so that its feeble flickering rays fell on +Armand’s pale face, and on the damp cloak which fell away from his +shoulders. + +“What are you doing there?” reiterated the concierge with another oath +from his prolific vocabulary. + +“As you see, citizen,” replied Armand politely, “I am ringing +Mademoiselle Lange’s front door bell.” + +“At this hour of the morning?” queried the man with a sneer. + +“I desire to see her.” + +“Then you have come to the wrong house, citizen,” said the concierge +with a rude laugh. + +“The wrong house? What do you mean?” stammered Armand, a little +bewildered. + +“She is not here--quoi!” retorted the concierge, who now turned +deliberately on his heel. “Go and look for her, citizen; it’ll take you +some time to find her.” + +He shuffled off in the direction of the stairs. Armand was vainly trying +to shake himself free from a sudden, an awful sense of horror. + +He gave another vigorous pull at the bell, then with one bound he +overtook the concierge, who was preparing to descend the stairs, and +gripped him peremptorily by the arm. + +“Where is Mademoiselle Lange?” he asked. + +His voice sounded quite strange in his own ear; his throat felt parched, +and he had to moisten his lips with his tongue before he was able to +speak. + +“Arrested,” replied the man. + +“Arrested? When? Where? How?” + +“When--late yesterday evening. Where?--here in her room. How?--by the +agents of the Committee of General Security. She and the old woman! +Basta! that’s all I know. Now I am going back to bed, and you clear out +of the house. You are making a disturbance, and I shall be reprimanded. +I ask you, is this a decent time for rousing honest patriots out of +their morning sleep?” + +He shook his arm free from Armand’s grasp and once more began to +descend. + +Armand stood on the landing like a man who has been stunned by a blow +on the head. His limbs were paralysed. He could not for the moment have +moved or spoken if his life had depended on a sign or on a word. His +brain was reeling, and he had to steady himself with his hand against +the wall or he would have fallen headlong on the floor. He had lived in +a whirl of excitement for the past twenty-four hours; his nerves during +that time had been kept at straining point. Passion, joy, happiness, +deadly danger, and moral fights had worn his mental endurance +threadbare; want of proper food and a sleepless night had almost thrown +his physical balance out of gear. This blow came at a moment when he was +least able to bear it. + +Jeanne had been arrested! Jeanne was in the hands of those brutes, whom +he, Armand, had regarded yesterday with insurmountable loathing! Jeanne +was in prison--she was arrested--she would be tried, condemned, and all +because of him! + +The thought was so awful that it brought him to the verge of mania. He +watched as in a dream the form of the concierge shuffling his way down +the oak staircase; his portly figure assumed Gargantuan proportions, the +candle which he carried looked like the dancing flames of hell, through +which grinning faces, hideous and contortioned, mocked at him and +leered. + +Then suddenly everything was dark. The light had disappeared round the +bend of the stairs; grinning faces and ghoulish visions vanished; he +only saw Jeanne, his dainty, exquisite Jeanne, in the hands of those +brutes. He saw her as he had seen a year and a half ago the victims of +those bloodthirsty wretches being dragged before a tribunal that was +but a mockery of justice; he heard the quick interrogatory, and the +responses from her perfect lips, that exquisite voice of hers veiled by +tones of anguish. He heard the condemnation, the rattle of the tumbril +on the ill-paved streets--saw her there with hands clasped together, her +eyes-- + +Great God! he was really going mad! + +Like a wild creature driven forth he started to run down the stairs, +past the concierge, who was just entering his lodge, and who now turned +in surly anger to watch this man running away like a lunatic or a fool, +out by the front door and into the street. In a moment he was out of +the little square; then like a hunted hare he still ran down the Rue St. +Honore, along its narrow, interminable length. His hat had fallen from +his head, his hair was wild all round his face, the rain weighted the +cloak upon his shoulders; but still he ran. + +His feet made no noise on the muddy pavement. He ran on and on, his +elbows pressed to his sides, panting, quivering, intent but upon one +thing--the goal which he had set himself to reach. + +Jeanne was arrested. He did not know where to look for her, but he did +know whither he wanted to go now as swiftly as his legs would carry him. + +It was still dark, but Armand St. Just was a born Parisian, and he knew +every inch of this quarter, where he and Marguerite had years ago lived. +Down the Rue St. Honore, he had reached the bottom of the interminably +long street at last. He had kept just a sufficiency of reason--or was it +merely blind instinct?--to avoid the places where the night patrols +of the National Guard might be on the watch. He avoided the Place du +Carrousel, also the quay, and struck sharply to his right until he +reached the facade of St. Germain l’Auxerrois. + +Another effort; round the corner, and there was the house at last. +He was like the hunted creature now that has run to earth. Up the two +flights of stone stairs, and then the pull at the bell; a moment of +tense anxiety, whilst panting, gasping, almost choked with the sustained +effort and the strain of the past half-hour, he leaned against the wall, +striving not to fall. + +Then the well-known firm step across the rooms beyond, the open door, +the hand upon his shoulder. + +After that he remembered nothing more. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE CHIEF + +He had not actually fainted, but the exertion of that long run had +rendered him partially unconscious. He knew now that he was safe, that he +was sitting in Blakeney’s room, and that something hot and vivifying was +being poured down his throat. + +“Percy, they have arrested her!” he said, panting, as soon as speech +returned to his paralysed tongue. + +“All right. Don’t talk now. Wait till you are better.” + +With infinite care and gentleness Blakeney arranged some cushions under +Armand’s head, turned the sofa towards the fire, and anon brought his +friend a cup of hot coffee, which the latter drank with avidity. + +He was really too exhausted to speak. He had contrived to tell Blakeney, +and now Blakeney knew, so everything would be all right. The inevitable +reaction was asserting itself; the muscles had relaxed, the nerves were +numbed, and Armand lay back on the sofa with eyes half closed, unable to +move, yet feeling his strength gradually returning to him, his vitality +asserting itself, all the feverish excitement of the past twenty-four +hours yielding at last to a calmer mood. + +Through his half-closed eyes he could see his brother-in-law moving +about the room. Blakeney was fully dressed. In a sleepy kind of way +Armand wondered if he had been to bed at all; certainly his clothes +set on him with their usual well-tailored perfection, and there was no +suggestion in his brisk step and alert movements that he had passed a +sleepless night. + +Now he was standing by the open window. Armand, from where he lay, could +see his broad shoulders sharply outlined against the grey background +of the hazy winter dawn. A wan light was just creeping up from the +east over the city; the noises of the streets below came distinctly to +Armand’s ear. + +He roused himself with one vigorous effort from his lethargy, feeling +quite ashamed of himself and of this breakdown of his nervous system. +He looked with frank admiration on Sir Percy, who stood immovable and +silent by the window--a perfect tower of strength, serene and impassive, +yet kindly in distress. + +“Percy,” said the young man, “I ran all the way from the top of the Rue +St. Honore. I was only breathless. I am quite all right. May I tell you +all about it?” + +Without a word Blakeney closed the window and came across to the sofa; +he sat down beside Armand, and to all outward appearances he was nothing +now but a kind and sympathetic listener to a friend’s tale of woe. Not +a line in his face or a look in his eyes betrayed the thoughts of the +leader who had been thwarted at the outset of a dangerous enterprise, or +of the man, accustomed to command, who had been so flagrantly disobeyed. + +Armand, unconscious of all save of Jeanne and of her immediate need, put +an eager hand on Percy’s arm. + +“Heron and his hell-hounds went back to her lodgings last night,” he +said, speaking as if he were still a little out of breath. “They hoped +to get me, no doubt; not finding me there, they took her. Oh, my God!” + +It was the first time that he had put the whole terrible circumstance +into words, and it seemed to gain in reality by the recounting. The +agony of mind which he endured was almost unbearable; he hid his face in +his hands lest Percy should see how terribly he suffered. + +“I knew that,” said Blakeney quietly. Armand looked up in surprise. + +“How? When did you know it?” he stammered. + +“Last night when you left me. I went down to the Square du Roule. I +arrived there just too late.” + +“Percy!” exclaimed Armand, whose pale face had suddenly flushed scarlet, +“you did that?--last night you--” + +“Of course,” interposed the other calmly; “had I not promised you to +keep watch over her? When I heard the news it was already too late to +make further inquiries, but when you arrived just now I was on the point +of starting out, in order to find out in what prison Mademoiselle Lange +is being detained. I shall have to go soon, Armand, before the guard is +changed at the Temple and the Tuileries. This is the safest time, and +God knows we are all of us sufficiently compromised already.” + +The flush of shame deepened in St. Just’s cheek. There had not been a +hint of reproach in the voice of his chief, and the eyes which regarded +him now from beneath the half-closed lids showed nothing but lazy +bonhomie. + +In a moment now Armand realised all the harm which his recklessness +had done, was still doing to the work of the League. Every one of his +actions since his arrival in Paris two days ago had jeopardised a plan +or endangered a life: his friendship with de Batz, his connection with +Mademoiselle Lange, his visit to her yesterday afternoon, the repetition +of it this morning, culminating in that wild run through the streets of +Paris, when at any moment a spy lurking round a corner might either have +barred his way, or, worse still, have followed him to Blakeney’s door. +Armand, without a thought of any one save of his beloved, might easily +this morning have brought an agent of the Committee of General Security +face to face with his chief. + +“Percy,” he murmured, “can you ever forgive me?” + +“Pshaw, man!” retorted Blakeney lightly; “there is naught to forgive, +only a great deal that should no longer be forgotten; your duty to the +others, for instance, your obedience, and your honour.” + +“I was mad, Percy. Oh! if you only could understand what she means to +me!” + +Blakeney laughed, his own light-hearted careless laugh, which so often +before now had helped to hide what he really felt from the eyes of the +indifferent, and even from those of his friends. + +“No! no!” he said lightly, “we agreed last night, did we not? that in +matters of sentiment I am a cold-blooded fish. But will you at any rate +concede that I am a man of my word? Did I not pledge it last night that +Mademoiselle Lange would be safe? I foresaw her arrest the moment I +heard your story. I hoped that I might reach her before that brute +Heron’s return; unfortunately he forestalled me by less than half an +hour. Mademoiselle Lange has been arrested, Armand; but why should you +not trust me on that account? Have we not succeeded, I and the others, +in worse cases than this one? They mean no harm to Jeanne Lange,” he +added emphatically; “I give you my word on that. They only want her as +a decoy. It is you they want. You through her, and me through you. I +pledge you my honour that she will be safe. You must try and trust me, +Armand. It is much to ask, I know, for you will have to trust me with +what is most precious in the world to you; and you will have to obey me +blindly, or I shall not be able to keep my word.” + +“What do you wish me to do?” + +“Firstly, you must be outside Paris within the hour. Every minute that +you spend inside the city now is full of danger--oh, no! not for you,” + added Blakeney, checking with a good-humoured gesture Armand’s words of +protestation, “danger for the others--and for our scheme tomorrow.” + +“How can I go to St. Germain, Percy, knowing that she--” + +“Is under my charge?” interposed the other calmly. “That should not be +so very difficult. Come,” he added, placing a kindly hand on the other’s +shoulder, “you shall not find me such an inhuman monster after all. But +I must think of the others, you see, and of the child whom I have sworn +to save. But I won’t send you as far as St. Germain. Go down to the room +below and find a good bundle of rough clothes that will serve you as a +disguise, for I imagine that you have lost those which you had on the +landing or the stairs of the house in the Square du Roule. In a tin box +with the clothes downstairs you will find the packet of miscellaneous +certificates of safety. Take an appropriate one, and then start out +immediately for Villette. You understand?” + +“Yes, yes!” said Armand eagerly. “You want me to join Ffoulkes and +Tony.” + +“Yes! You’ll find them probably unloading coal by the canal. Try and get +private speech with them as early as may be, and tell Tony to set out at +once for St. Germain, and to join Hastings there, instead of you, whilst +you take his place with Ffoulkes.” + +“Yes, I understand; but how will Tony reach St. Germain?” + +“La, my good fellow,” said Blakeney gaily, “you may safely trust Tony to +go where I send him. Do you but do as I tell you, and leave him to look +after himself. And now,” he added, speaking more earnestly, “the sooner +you get out of Paris the better it will be for us all. As you see, I am +only sending you to La Villette, because it is not so far, but that I +can keep in personal touch with you. Remain close to the gates for an +hour after nightfall. I will contrive before they close to bring you +news of Mademoiselle Lange.” + +Armand said no more. The sense of shame in him deepened with every +word spoken by his chief. He felt how untrustworthy he had been, how +undeserving of the selfless devotion which Percy was showing him even +now. The words of gratitude died on his lips; he knew that they would be +unwelcome. These Englishmen were so devoid of sentiment, he thought, +and his brother-in-law, with all his unselfish and heroic deeds, was, he +felt, absolutely callous in matters of the heart. + +But Armand was a noble-minded man, and with the true sporting instinct +in him, despite the fact that he was a creature of nerves, highly strung +and imaginative. He could give ungrudging admiration to his chief, even +whilst giving himself up entirely to the sentiment for Jeanne. + +He tried to imbue himself with the same spirit that actuated my Lord +Tony and the other members of the League. How gladly would he have +chaffed and made senseless schoolboy jokes like those which--in face +of their hazardous enterprise and the dangers which they all ran--had +horrified him so much last night. + +But somehow he knew that jokes from him would not ring true. How could +he smile when his heart was brimming over with his love for Jeanne, and +with solicitude on her account? He felt that Percy was regarding him +with a kind of indulgent amusement; there was a look of suppressed +merriment in the depths of those lazy blue eyes. + +So he braced up his nerves, trying his best to look cool and +unconcerned, but he could not altogether hide from his friend the +burning anxiety which was threatening to break his heart. + +“I have given you my word, Armand,” said Blakeney in answer to the +unspoken prayer; “cannot you try and trust me--as the others do? Then +with sudden transition he pointed to the map behind him. + +“Remember the gate of Villette, and the corner by the towpath. Join +Ffoulkes as soon as may be and send Tony on his way, and wait for news +of Mademoiselle Lange some time to-night.” + +“God bless you, Percy!” said Armand involuntarily. “Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye, my dear fellow. Slip on your disguise as quickly as you can, +and be out of the house in a quarter of an hour.” + +He accompanied Armand through the ante-room, and finally closed the door +on him. Then he went back to his room and walked up to the window, which +he threw open to the humid morning air. Now that he was alone the look +of trouble on his face deepened to a dark, anxious frown, and as +he looked out across the river a sigh of bitter impatience and +disappointment escaped his lips. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE + +And now the shades of evening had long since yielded to those of night. +The gate of La Villette, at the northeast corner of the city, was about +to close. Armand, dressed in the rough clothes of a labouring man, was +leaning against a low wall at the angle of the narrow street which abuts +on the canal at its further end; from this point of vantage he could +command a view of the gate and of the life and bustle around it. + +He was dog-tired. After the emotions of the past twenty-four hours, a +day’s hard manual toil to which he was unaccustomed had caused him to +ache in every limb. As soon as he had arrived at the canal wharf in the +early morning he had obtained the kind of casual work that ruled about +here, and soon was told off to unload a cargo of coal which had arrived +by barge overnight. He had set-to with a will, half hoping to kill +his anxiety by dint of heavy bodily exertion. During the course of the +morning he had suddenly become aware of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and of Lord +Anthony Dewhurst working not far away from him, and as fine a pair of +coalheavers as any shipper could desire. + +It was not very difficult in the midst of the noise and activity that +reigned all about the wharf for the three men to exchange a few words +together, and Armand soon communicated the chief’s new instructions +to my Lord Tony, who effectually slipped away from his work some time +during the day. Armand did not even see him go, it had all been so +neatly done. + +Just before five o’clock in the afternoon the labourers were paid off. +It was then too dark to continue work. Armand would have liked to talk +to Sir Andrew, if only for a moment. He felt lonely and desperately +anxious. He had hoped to tire out his nerves as well as his body, but +in this he had not succeeded. As soon as he had given up his tools, his +brain began to work again more busily than ever. It followed Percy in +his peregrinations through the city, trying to discover where those +brutes were keeping Jeanne. + +That task had suddenly loomed up before Armand’s mind with all its +terrible difficulties. How could Percy--a marked man if ever there was +one--go from prison to prison to inquire about Jeanne? The very idea +seemed preposterous. Armand ought never to have consented to such an +insensate plan. The more he thought of it, the more impossible did it +seem that Blakeney could find anything out. + +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was nowhere to be seen. St. Just wandered about in +the dark, lonely streets of this outlying quarter vainly trying to find +the friend in whom he could confide, who, no doubt, would reassure +him as to Blakeney’s probable movements in Paris. Then as the hour +approached for the closing of the city gates Armand took up his stand +at an angle of the street from whence he could see both the gate on one +side of him and the thin line of the canal intersecting the street at +its further end. + +Unless Percy came within the next five minutes the gates would be +closed and the difficulties of crossing the barrier would be increased a +hundredfold. The market gardeners with their covered carts filed out +of the gate one by one; the labourers on foot were returning to their +homes; there was a group of stonemasons, a few road-makers, also a +number of beggars, ragged and filthy, who herded somewhere in the +neighbourhood of the canal. + +In every form, under every disguise, Armand hoped to discover Percy. +He could not stand still for very long, but strode up and down the road +that skirts the fortifications at this point. + +There were a good many idlers about at this hour; some men who had +finished their work, and meant to spend an hour or so in one of the +drinking shops that abounded in the neighbourhood of the wharf; others +who liked to gather a small knot of listeners around them, whilst they +discoursed on the politics of the day, or rather raged against the +Convention, which was all made up of traitors to the people’s welfare. + +Armand, trying manfully to play his part, joined one of the groups that +stood gaping round a street orator. He shouted with the best of them, +waved his cap in the air, and applauded or hissed in unison with the +majority. But his eyes never wandered for long away from the gate whence +Percy must come now at any moment--now or not at all. + +At what precise moment the awful doubt took birth in his mind the young +man could not afterwards have said. Perhaps it was when he heard the +roll of drums proclaiming the closing of the gates, and witnessed the +changing of the guard. + +Percy had not come. He could not come now, and he (Armand) would have +the night to face without news of Jeanne. Something, of course, had +detained Percy; perhaps he had been unable to get definite information +about Jeanne; perhaps the information which he had obtained was too +terrible to communicate. + +If only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had been there, and Armand had had some one +to talk to, perhaps then he would have found sufficient strength of mind +to wait with outward patience, even though his nerves were on the rack. + +Darkness closed in around him, and with the darkness came the full +return of the phantoms that had assailed him in the house of the Square +du Roule when first he had heard of Jeanne’s arrest. The open place +facing the gate had transformed itself into the Place de la Revolution, +the tall rough post that held a flickering oil lamp had become the gaunt +arm of the guillotine, the feeble light of the lamp was the knife that +gleamed with the reflection of a crimson light. + +And Armand saw himself, as in a vision, one of a vast and noisy +throng--they were all pressing round him so that he could not move; they +were brandishing caps and tricolour flags, also pitchforks and scythes. +He had seen such a crowd four years ago rushing towards the Bastille. +Now they were all assembled here around him and around the guillotine. + +Suddenly a distant rattle caught his subconscious ear: the rattle of +wheels on rough cobble-stones. Immediately the crowd began to cheer and +to shout; some sang the “Ca ira!” and others screamed: + +“Les aristos! a la lanterne! a mort! a mort! les aristos!” + +He saw it all quite plainly, for the darkness had vanished, and the +vision was more vivid than even reality could have been. The rattle of +wheels grew louder, and presently the cart debouched on the open place. + +Men and women sat huddled up in the cart; but in the midst of them a +woman stood, and her eyes were fixed upon Armand. She wore her pale-grey +satin gown, and a white kerchief was folded across her bosom. Her brown +hair fell in loose soft curls all round her head. She looked exactly +like the exquisite cameo which Marguerite used to wear. Her hands were +tied with cords behind her back, but between her fingers she held a +small bunch of violets. + +Armand saw it all. It was, of course, a vision, and he knew that it was +one, but he believed that the vision was prophetic. No thought of the +chief whom he had sworn to trust and to obey came to chase away these +imaginings of his fevered fancy. He saw Jeanne, and only Jeanne, +standing on the tumbril and being led to the guillotine. Sir Andrew was +not there, and Percy had not come. Armand believed that a direct message +had come to him from heaven to save his beloved. + +Therefore he forgot his promise--his oath; he forgot those very things +which the leader had entreated him to remember--his duty to the others, +his loyalty, his obedience. Jeanne had first claim on him. It were +the act of a coward to remain in safety whilst she was in such deadly +danger. + +Now he blamed himself severely for having quitted Paris. Even Percy +must have thought him a coward for obeying quite so readily. Maybe the +command had been but a test of his courage, of the strength of his love +for Jeanne. + +A hundred conjectures flashed through his brain; a hundred plans +presented themselves to his mind. It was not for Percy, who did not +know her, to save Jeanne or to guard her. That task was Armand’s, who +worshipped her, and who would gladly die beside her if he failed to +rescue her from threatened death. + +Resolution was not slow in coming. A tower clock inside the city struck +the hour of six, and still no sign of Percy. + +Armand, his certificate of safety in his hand, walked boldly up to the +gate. + +The guard challenged him, but he presented the certificate. There was an +agonising moment when the card was taken from him, and he was detained +in the guard-room while it was being examined by the sergeant in +command. + +But the certificate was in good order, and Armand, covered in coal-dust, +with the perspiration streaming down his face, did certainly not look +like an aristocrat in disguise. It was never very difficult to enter the +great city; if one wished to put one’s head in the lion’s mouth, one was +welcome to do so; the difficulty came when the lion thought fit to close +his jaws. + +Armand, after five minutes of tense anxiety, was allowed to cross the +barrier, but his certificate of safety was detained. He would have to +get another from the Committee of General Security before he would be +allowed to leave Paris again. + +The lion had thought fit to close his jaws. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE WEARY SEARCH + +Blakeney was not at his lodgings when Armand arrived there that evening, +nor did he return, whilst the young man haunted the precincts of St. +Germain l’Auxerrois and wandered along the quays hours and hours at +a stretch, until he nearly dropped under the portico of a house, +and realised that if he loitered longer he might lose consciousness +completely, and be unable on the morrow to be of service to Jeanne. + +He dragged his weary footsteps back to his own lodgings on the heights +of Montmartre. He had not found Percy, he had no news of Jeanne; +it seemed as if hell itself could hold no worse tortures than this +intolerable suspense. + +He threw himself down on the narrow palliasse and, tired nature +asserting herself, at last fell into a heavy, dreamless torpor, like the +sleep of a drunkard, deep but without the beneficent aid of rest. + +It was broad daylight when he awoke. The pale light of a damp, wintry +morning filtered through the grimy panes of the window. Armand jumped +out of bed, aching of limb but resolute of mind. There was no doubt that +Percy had failed in discovering Jeanne’s whereabouts; but where a mere +friend had failed a lover was more likely to succeed. + +The rough clothes which he had worn yesterday were the only ones he had. +They would, of course, serve his purpose better than his own, which +he had left at Blakeney’s lodgings yesterday. In half an hour he was +dressed, looking a fairly good imitation of a labourer out of work. + +He went to a humble eating house of which he knew, and there, having +ordered some hot coffee with a hunk of bread, he set himself to think. + +It was quite a usual thing these days for relatives and friends of +prisoners to go wandering about from prison to prison to find out where +the loved ones happened to be detained. The prisons were over full +just now; convents, monasteries, and public institutions had all been +requisitioned by the Government for the housing of the hundreds of +so-called traitors who had been arrested on the barest suspicion, or at +the mere denunciation of an evil-wisher. + +There were the Abbaye and the Luxembourg, the erstwhile convents of +the Visitation and the Sacre-Coeur, the cloister of the Oratorians, the +Salpetriere, and the St. Lazare hospitals, and there was, of course, +the Temple, and, lastly, the Conciergerie, to which those prisoners were +brought whose trial would take place within the next few days, and whose +condemnation was practically assured. + +Persons under arrest at some of the other prisons did sometimes come +out of them alive, but the Conciergerie was only the ante-chamber of the +guillotine. + +Therefore Armand’s idea was to visit the Conciergerie first. The sooner +he could reassure himself that Jeanne was not in immediate danger the +better would he be able to endure the agony of that heart-breaking +search, that knocking at every door in the hope of finding his beloved. + +If Jeanne was not in the Conciergerie, then there might be some hope +that she was only being temporarily detained, and through Armand’s +excited brain there had already flashed the thought that mayhap the +Committee of General Security would release her if he gave himself up. + +These thoughts, and the making of plans, fortified him mentally and +physically; he even made a great effort to eat and drink, knowing that +his bodily strength must endure if it was going to be of service to +Jeanne. + +He reached the Quai de l’Horloge soon after nine. The grim, irregular +walls of the Chatelet and the house of Justice loomed from out the +mantle of mist that lay on the river banks. Armand skirted the square +clock-tower, and passed through the monumental gateways of the house of +Justice. + +He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls and +corridors of the Tribunal, to which the public had access whenever the +court was sitting. The sittings began at ten, and already the usual +crowd of idlers were assembling--men and women who apparently had no +other occupation save to come day after day to this theatre of horrors +and watch the different acts of the heartrending dramas that were +enacted here with a kind of awful monotony. + +Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and anon +moved slowly up the gigantic flight of stone steps, talking lightly on +indifferent subjects. There was quite a goodly sprinkling of workingmen +amongst this crowd, and Armand in his toil-stained clothes attracted no +attention. + +Suddenly a word reached his ear--just a name flippantly spoken by +spiteful lips--and it changed the whole trend of his thoughts. Since he +had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of Jeanne, and--in +connection with her--of Percy and his vain quest of her. Now that +name spoken by some one unknown brought his mind back to more definite +thoughts of his chief. + +“Capet!” the name--intended as an insult, but actually merely +irrelevant--whereby the uncrowned little King of France was designated +by the revolutionary party. + +Armand suddenly recollected that to-day was Sunday, the 19th of January. +He had lost count of days and of dates lately, but the name, “Capet,” + had brought everything back: the child in the Temple; the conference in +Blakeney’s lodgings; the plans for the rescue of the boy. That was to +take place to-day--Sunday, the 19th. The Simons would be moving from the +Temple, at what hour Blakeney did not know, but it would be today, and +he would be watching his opportunity. + +Now Armand understood everything; a great wave of bitterness swept over +his soul. Percy had forgotten Jeanne! He was busy thinking of the child +in the Temple, and whilst Armand had been eating out his heart with +anxiety, the Scarlet Pimpernel, true only to his mission, and impatient +of all sentiment that interfered with his schemes, had left Jeanne to +pay with her life for the safety of the uncrowned King. + +But the bitterness did not last long; on the contrary, a kind of wild +exultation took its place. If Percy had forgotten, then Armand could +stand by Jeanne alone. It was better so! He would save the loved one; it +was his duty and his right to work for her sake. Never for a moment did +he doubt that he could save her, that his life would be readily accepted +in exchange for hers. + +The crowd around him was moving up the monumental steps, and Armand went +with the crowd. It lacked but a few minutes to ten now; soon the court +would begin to sit. In the olden days, when he was studying for the law, +Armand had often wandered about at will along the corridors of the house +of Justice. He knew exactly where the different prisons were situated +about the buildings, and how to reach the courtyards where the prisoners +took their daily exercise. + +To watch those aristos who were awaiting trial and death taking their +recreation in these courtyards had become one of the sights of +Paris. Country cousins on a visit to the city were brought hither +for entertainment. Tall iron gates stood between the public and the +prisoners, and a row of sentinels guarded these gates; but if one was +enterprising and eager to see, one could glue one’s nose against the +ironwork and watch the ci-devant aristocrats in threadbare +clothes trying to cheat their horror of death by acting a farce of +light-heartedness which their wan faces and tear-dimmed eyes effectually +belied. + +All this Armand knew, and on this he counted. For a little while he +joined the crowd in the Salle des Pas Perdus, and wandered idly up and +down the majestic colonnaded hall. He even at one time formed part of +the throng that watched one of those quick tragedies that were enacted +within the great chamber of the court. A number of prisoners brought +in, in a batch; hurried interrogations, interrupted answers, a +quick indictment, monstrous in its flaring injustice, spoken by +Foucquier-Tinville, the public prosecutor, and listened to in all +seriousness by men who dared to call themselves judges of their fellows. + +The accused had walked down the Champs Elysees without wearing a +tricolour cockade; the other had invested some savings in an English +industrial enterprise; yet another had sold public funds, causing them +to depreciate rather suddenly in the market! + +Sometimes from one of these unfortunates led thus wantonly to butchery +there would come an excited protest, or from a woman screams of agonised +entreaty. But these were quickly silenced by rough blows from the +butt-ends of muskets, and condemnations--wholesale sentences of +death--were quickly passed amidst the cheers of the spectators and the +howls of derision from infamous jury and judge. + +Oh! the mockery of it all--the awful, the hideous ignominy, the blot +of shame that would forever sully the historic name of France. Armand, +sickened with horror, could not bear more than a few minutes of this +monstrous spectacle. The same fate might even now be awaiting Jeanne. +Among the next batch of victims to this sacrilegious butchery he might +suddenly spy his beloved with her pale face and cheeks stained with her +tears. + +He fled from the great chamber, keeping just a sufficiency of presence +of mind to join a knot of idlers who were drifting leisurely towards the +corridors. He followed in their wake and soon found himself in the long +Galerie des Prisonniers, along the flagstones of which two days ago de +Batz had followed his guide towards the lodgings of Heron. + +On his left now were the arcades shut off from the courtyard beyond by +heavy iron gates. Through the ironwork Armand caught sight of a number +of women walking or sitting in the courtyard. He heard a man next to him +explaining to his friend that these were the female prisoners who would +be brought to trial that day, and he felt that his heart must burst at +the thought that mayhap Jeanne would be among them. + +He elbowed his way cautiously to the front rank. Soon he found himself +beside a sentinel who, with a good-humoured jest, made way for him that +he might watch the aristos. Armand leaned against the grating, and his +every sense was concentrated in that of sight. + +At first he could scarcely distinguish one woman from another amongst +the crowd that thronged the courtyard, and the close ironwork hindered +his view considerably. The women looked almost like phantoms in the grey +misty air, gliding slowly along with noiseless tread on the flag-stones. + +Presently, however, his eyes, which mayhap were somewhat dim with tears, +became more accustomed to the hazy grey light and the moving figures +that looked so like shadows. He could distinguish isolated groups now, +women and girls sitting together under the colonnaded arcades, some +reading, others busy, with trembling fingers, patching and darning a +poor, torn gown. Then there were others who were actually chatting and +laughing together, and--oh, the pity of it! the pity and the shame!--a +few children, shrieking with delight, were playing hide and seek in and +out amongst the columns. + +And, between them all, in and out like the children at play, unseen, yet +familiar to all, the spectre of Death, scythe and hour-glass in hand, +wandered, majestic and sure. + +Armand’s very soul was in his eyes. So far he had not yet caught sight +of his beloved, and slowly--very slowly--a ray of hope was filtering +through the darkness of his despair. + +The sentinel, who had stood aside for him, chaffed him for his +intentness. + +“Have you a sweetheart among these aristos, citizen?” he asked. “You +seem to be devouring them with your eyes.” + +Armand, with his rough clothes soiled with coal-dust, his face grimy and +streaked with sweat, certainly looked to have but little in common +with the ci-devant aristos who formed the hulk of the groups in the +courtyard. He looked up; the soldier was regarding him with obvious +amusement, and at sight of Armand’s wild, anxious eyes he gave vent to a +coarse jest. + +“Have I made a shrewd guess, citizen?” he said. “Is she among that lot?” + +“I do not know where she is,” said Armand almost involuntarily. + +“Then why don’t you find out?” queried the soldier. + +The man was not speaking altogether unkindly. Armand, devoured with the +maddening desire to know, threw the last fragment of prudence to the +wind. He assumed a more careless air, trying to look as like a country +bumpkin in love as he could. + +“I would like to find out,” he said, “but I don’t know where to inquire. +My sweetheart has certainly left her home,” he added lightly; “some say +that she has been false to me, but I think that, mayhap, she has been +arrested.” + +“Well, then, you gaby,” said the soldier good-humouredly, “go straight +to La Tournelle; you know where it is?” + +Armand knew well enough, but thought it more prudent to keep up the air +of the ignorant lout. + +“Straight down that first corridor on your right,” explained the other, +pointing in the direction which he had indicated, “you will find the +guichet of La Tournelle exactly opposite to you. Ask the concierge for +the register of female prisoners--every freeborn citizen of the Republic +has the right to inspect prison registers. It is a new decree framed for +safeguarding the liberty of the people. But if you do not press half a +livre in the hand of the concierge,” he added, speaking confidentially, +“you will find that the register will not be quite ready for your +inspection.” + +“Half a livre!” exclaimed Armand, striving to play his part to the end. +“How can a poor devil of a labourer have half a livre to give away?” + +“Well! a few sous will do in that case; a few sous are always welcome +these hard times.” + +Armand took the hint, and as the crowd had drifted away momentarily to +a further portion of the corridor, he contrived to press a few copper +coins into the hand of the obliging soldier. + +Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have covered +the distance that separated him from the guichet there with steps flying +like the wind, but, commending himself for his own prudence, he walked +as slowly as he could along the interminable corridor, past the several +minor courts of justice, and skirting the courtyard where the male +prisoners took their exercise. + +At last, having struck sharply to his left and ascended a short flight +of stairs, he found himself in front of the guichet--a narrow wooden +box, wherein the clerk in charge of the prison registers sat nominally +at the disposal of the citizens of this free republic. + +But to Armand’s almost overwhelming chagrin he found the place entirely +deserted. The guichet was closed down; there was not a soul in sight. +The disappointment was doubly keen, coming as it did in the wake of +hope that had refused to be gainsaid. Armand himself did not realise +how sanguine he had been until he discovered that he must wait and wait +again--wait for hours, all day mayhap, before he could get definite news +of Jeanne. + +He wandered aimlessly in the vicinity of that silent, deserted, cruel +spot, where a closed trapdoor seemed to shut off all his hopes of a +speedy sight of Jeanne. He inquired of the first sentinels whom he came +across at what hour the clerk of the registers would be back at +his post; the soldiers shrugged their shoulders and could give no +information. Then began Armand’s aimless wanderings round La Tournelle, +his fruitless inquiries, his wild, excited search for the hide-bound +official who was keeping from him the knowledge of Jeanne. + +He went back to his sentinel well-wisher by the women’s courtyard, but +found neither consolation nor encouragement there. + +“It is not the hour--quoi?” the soldier remarked with laconic +philosophy. + +It apparently was not the hour when the prison registers were placed at +the disposal of the public. After much fruitless inquiry, Armand at last +was informed by a bon bourgeois, who was wandering about the house of +Justice and who seemed to know its multifarious rules, that the prison +registers all over Paris could only be consulted by the public between +the hours of six and seven in the evening. + +There was nothing for it but to wait. Armand, whose temples were +throbbing, who was footsore, hungry, and wretched, could gain nothing by +continuing his aimless wanderings through the labyrinthine building. +For close upon another hour he stood with his face glued against the +ironwork which separated him from the female prisoners’ courtyard. Once +it seemed to him as if from its further end he caught the sound of that +exquisitely melodious voice which had rung forever in his ear since that +memorable evening when Jeanne’s dainty footsteps had first crossed +the path of his destiny. He strained his eyes to look in the direction +whence the voice had come, but the centre of the courtyard was planted +with a small garden of shrubs, and Armand could not see across it. At +last, driven forth like a wandering and lost soul, he turned back and +out into the streets. The air was mild and damp. The sharp thaw had +persisted through the day, and a thin, misty rain was falling and +converting the ill-paved roads into seas of mud. + +But of this Armand was wholly unconscious. He walked along the quay +holding his cap in his hand, so that the mild south wind should cool his +burning forehead. + +How he contrived to kill those long, weary hours he could not afterwards +have said. Once he felt very hungry, and turned almost mechanically +into an eating-house, and tried to eat and drink. But most of the day he +wandered through the streets, restlessly, unceasingly, feeling neither +chill nor fatigue. The hour before six o’clock found him on the Quai +de l’Horloge in the shadow of the great towers of the Hall of Justice, +listening for the clang of the clock that would sound the hour of his +deliverance from this agonising torture of suspense. + +He found his way to La Tournelle without any hesitation. There before +him was the wooden box, with its guichet open at last, and two stands +upon its ledge, on which were placed two huge leather-bound books. + +Though Armand was nearly an hour before the appointed time, he saw when +he arrived a number of people standing round the guichet. Two soldiers +were there keeping guard and forcing the patient, long-suffering +inquirers to stand in a queue, each waiting his or her turn at the +books. + +It was a curious crowd that stood there, in single file, as if waiting +at the door of the cheaper part of a theatre; men in substantial cloth +clothes, and others in ragged blouse and breeches; there were a few +women, too, with black shawls on their shoulders and kerchiefs round +their wan, tear-stained faces. + +They were all silent and absorbed, submissive under the rough handling +of the soldiery, humble and deferential when anon the clerk of the +registers entered his box, and prepared to place those fateful books at +the disposal of those who had lost a loved one--father, brother, mother, +or wife--and had come to search through those cruel pages. + +From inside his box the clerk disputed every inquirer’s right to consult +the books; he made as many difficulties as he could, demanding the +production of certificates of safety, or permits from the section. He +was as insolent as he dared, and Armand from where he stood could see +that a continuous if somewhat thin stream of coppers flowed from the +hands of the inquirers into those of the official. + +It was quite dark in the passage where the long queue continued to swell +with amazing rapidity. Only on the ledge in front of the guichet there +was a guttering tallow candle at the disposal of the inquirers. + +Now it was Armand’s turn at last. By this time his heart was beating so +strongly and so rapidly that he could not have trusted himself to speak. +He fumbled in his pocket, and without unnecessary preliminaries he +produced a small piece of silver, and pushed it towards the clerk, then +he seized on the register marked “Femmes” with voracious avidity. + +The clerk had with stolid indifference pocketed the half-livre; he +looked on Armand over a pair of large bone-rimmed spectacles, with the +air of an old hawk that sees a helpless bird and yet is too satiated to +eat. He was apparently vastly amused at Armand’s trembling hands, and +the clumsy, aimless way with which he fingered the book and held up the +tallow candle. + +“What date?” he asked curtly in a piping voice. + +“What date?” reiterated Armand vaguely. + +“What day and hour was she arrested?” said the man, thrusting his +beak-like nose closer to Armand’s face. Evidently the piece of silver +had done its work well; he meant to be helpful to this country lout. + +“On Friday evening,” murmured the young man. + +The clerk’s hands did not in character gainsay the rest of his +appearance; they were long and thin, with nails that resembled the +talons of a hawk. Armand watched them fascinated as from above they +turned over rapidly the pages of the book; then one long, grimy finger +pointed to a row of names down a column. + +“If she is here,” said the man curtly, “her name should be amongst +these.” + +Armand’s vision was blurred. He could scarcely see. The row of names was +dancing a wild dance in front of his eyes; perspiration stood out on his +forehead, and his breath came in quick, stertorous gasps. + +He never knew afterwards whether he actually saw Jeanne’s name there in +the book, or whether his fevered brain was playing his aching senses a +cruel and mocking trick. Certain it is that suddenly amongst a row of +indifferent names hers suddenly stood clearly on the page, and to him it +seemed as if the letters were writ out in blood. + + 582. Belhomme, Louise, aged sixty. Discharged. + +And just below, the other entry: + + 583. Lange, Jeanne, aged twenty, actress. Square du Roule + No.5. Suspected of harbouring traitors and ci-devants. + Transferred 29th Nivose to the Temple, cell 29. + +He saw nothing more, for suddenly it seemed to him as if some one held +a vivid scarlet veil in front of his eyes, whilst a hundred claw-like +hands were tearing at his heart and at his throat. + +“Clear out now! it is my turn--what? Are you going to stand there all +night?” + +A rough voice seemed to be speaking these words; rough hands apparently +were pushing him out of the way, and some one snatched the candle out +of his hand; but nothing was real. He stumbled over a corner of a loose +flagstone, and would have fallen, but something seemed to catch hold of +him and to lead him away for a little distance, until a breath of cold +air blew upon his face. + +This brought him back to his senses. + +Jeanne was a prisoner in the Temple; then his place was in the prison of +the Temple, too. It could not be very difficult to run one’s head into +the noose that caught so many necks these days. A few cries of “Vive le +roi!” or “A bas la republique!” and more than one prison door would gape +invitingly to receive another guest. + +The hot blood had rushed into Armand’s head. He did not see clearly +before him, nor did he hear distinctly. There was a buzzing in his ears +as of myriads of mocking birds’ wings, and there was a veil in front +of his eyes--a veil through which he saw faces and forms flitting +ghost-like in the gloom, men and women jostling or being jostled, +soldiers, sentinels; then long, interminable corridors, more crowd and +more soldiers, winding stairs, courtyards and gates; finally the open +street, the quay, and the river beyond. + +An incessant hammering went on in his temples, and that veil never +lifted from before his eyes. Now it was lurid and red, as if stained +with blood; anon it was white like a shroud but it was always there. + +Through it he saw the Pont-au-Change, which he crossed, then far down +on the Quai de l’Ecole to the left the corner house behind St. Germain +l’Auxerrois, where Blakeney lodged--Blakeney, who for the sake of a +stranger had forgotten all about his comrade and Jeanne. + +Through it he saw the network of streets which separated him from the +neighbourhood of the Temple, the gardens of ruined habitations, the +closely-shuttered and barred windows of ducal houses, then the mean +streets, the crowded drinking bars, the tumble-down shops with their +dilapidated awnings. + +He saw with eyes that did not see, heard the tumult of daily life round +him with ears that did not hear. Jeanne was in the Temple prison, +and when its grim gates closed finally for the night, he--Armand, her +chevalier, her lover, her defender--would be within its walls as near to +cell No. 29 as bribery, entreaty, promises would help him to attain. + +Ah! there at last loomed the great building, the pointed bastions cut +through the surrounding gloom as with a sable knife. + +Armand reached the gate; the sentinels challenged him; he replied: + +“Vive le roi!” shouting wildly like one who is drunk. + +He was hatless, and his clothes were saturated with moisture. He tried +to pass, but crossed bayonets barred the way. Still he shouted: + +“Vive le roi!” and “A bas la republique!” + +“Allons! the fellow is drunk!” said one of the soldiers. + +Armand fought like a madman; he wanted to reach that gate. He shouted, +he laughed, and he cried, until one of the soldiers in a fit of rage +struck him heavily on the head. + +Armand fell backwards, stunned by the blow; his foot slipped on the wet +pavement. Was he indeed drunk, or was he dreaming? He put his hand up to +his forehead; it was wet, but whether with the rain or with blood he +did not know; but for the space of one second he tried to collect his +scattered wits. + +“Citizen St. Just!” said a quiet voice at his elbow. + +Then, as he looked round dazed, feeling a firm, pleasant grip on his +arm, the same quiet voice continued calmly: + +“Perhaps you do not remember me, citizen St. Just. I had not the honour +of the same close friendship with you as I had with your charming +sister. My name is Chauvelin. Can I be of any service to you?” + + + +CHAPTER XVII. CHAUVELIN + +Chauvelin! The presence of this man here at this moment made the events +of the past few days seem more absolutely like a dream. Chauvelin!--the +most deadly enemy he, Armand, and his sister Marguerite had in the +world. Chauvelin!--the evil genius that presided over the Secret Service +of the Republic. Chauvelin--the aristocrat turned revolutionary, the +diplomat turned spy, the baffled enemy of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +He stood there vaguely outlined in the gloom by the feeble rays of +an oil lamp fixed into the wall just above. The moisture on his sable +clothes glistened in the flickering light like a thin veil of crystal; +it clung to the rim of his hat, to the folds of his cloak; the ruffles +at his throat and wrist hung limp and soiled. + +He had released Armand’s arm, and held his hands now underneath his +cloak; his pale, deep-set eyes rested gravely on the younger man’s face. + +“I had an idea, somehow,” continued Chauvelin calmly, “that you and I +would meet during your sojourn in Paris. I heard from my friend Heron +that you had been in the city; he, unfortunately, lost your track almost +as soon as he had found it, and I, too, had begun to fear that our +mutual and ever enigmatical friend, the Scarlet Pimpernel, had spirited +you away, which would have been a great disappointment to me.” + +Now he once more took hold of Armand by the elbow, but quite gently, +more like a comrade who is glad to have met another, and is preparing +to enjoy a pleasant conversation for a while. He led the way back to the +gate, the sentinel saluting at sight of the tricolour scarf which was +visible underneath his cloak. Under the stone rampart Chauvelin paused. + +It was quiet and private here. The group of soldiers stood at the +further end of the archway, but they were out of hearing, and their +forms were only vaguely discernible in the surrounding darkness. + +Armand had followed his enemy mechanically like one bewitched and +irresponsible for his actions. When Chauvelin paused he too stood still, +not because of the grip on his arm, but because of that curious numbing +of his will. + +Vague, confused thoughts were floating through his brain, the most +dominant one among them being that Fate had effectually ordained +everything for the best. Here was Chauvelin, a man who hated him, who, +of course, would wish to see him dead. Well, surely it must be an easier +matter now to barter his own life for that of Jeanne; she had only been +arrested on suspicion of harbouring him, who was a known traitor to the +Republic; then, with his capture and speedy death, her supposed guilt +would, he hoped, be forgiven. These people could have no ill-will +against her, and actors and actresses were always leniently dealt with +when possible. Then surely, surely, he could serve Jeanne best by his +own arrest and condemnation, than by working to rescue her from prison. + +In the meanwhile Chauvelin shook the damp from off his cloak, talking +all the time in his own peculiar, gently ironical manner. + +“Lady Blakeney?” he was saying--“I hope that she is well!” + +“I thank you, sir,” murmured Armand mechanically. + +“And my dear friend, Sir Percy Blakeney? I had hoped to meet him in +Paris. Ah! but no doubt he has been busy very busy; but I live in +hopes--I live in hopes. See how kindly Chance has treated me,” he +continued in the same bland and mocking tones. “I was taking a stroll +in these parts, scarce hoping to meet a friend, when, passing the +postern-gate of this charming hostelry, whom should I see but my amiable +friend St. Just striving to gain admission. But, la! here am I talking +of myself, and I am not re-assured as to your state of health. You felt +faint just now, did you not? The air about this building is very dank +and close. I hope you feel better now. Command me, pray, if I can be of +service to you in any way.” + +Whilst Chauvelin talked he had drawn Armand after him into the lodge +of the concierge. The young man now made a great effort to pull himself +vigorously together and to steady his nerves. + +He had his wish. He was inside the Temple prison now, not far from +Jeanne, and though his enemy was older and less vigorous than himself, +and the door of the concierge’s lodge stood wide open, he knew that he +was in-deed as effectually a prisoner already as if the door of one of +the numerous cells in this gigantic building had been bolted and barred +upon him. + +This knowledge helped him to recover his complete presence of mind. No +thought of fighting or trying to escape his fate entered his head for a +moment. It had been useless probably, and undoubtedly it was better so. +If he only could see Jeanne, and assure himself that she would be safe +in consequence of his own arrest, then, indeed, life could hold no +greater happiness for him. + +Above all now he wanted to be cool and calculating, to curb the +excitement which the Latin blood in him called forth at every mention of +the loved one’s name. He tried to think of Percy, of his calmness, his +easy banter with an enemy; he resolved to act as Percy would act under +these circumstances. + +Firstly, he steadied his voice, and drew his well-knit, slim figure +upright. He called to mind all his friends in England, with their rigid +manners, their impassiveness in the face of trying situations. There was +Lord Tony, for instance, always ready with some boyish joke, with boyish +impertinence always hovering on his tongue. Armand tried to emulate Lord +Tony’s manner, and to borrow something of Percy’s calm impudence. + +“Citizen Chauvelin,” he said, as soon as he felt quite sure of the +steadiness of his voice and the calmness of his manner, “I wonder if +you are quite certain that that light grip which you have on my arm +is sufficient to keep me here walking quietly by your side instead +of knocking you down, as I certainly feel inclined to do, for I am a +younger, more vigorous man than you.” + +“H’m!” said Chauvelin, who made pretence to ponder over this difficult +problem; “like you, citizen St. Just, I wonder--” + +“It could easily be done, you know.” + +“Fairly easily,” rejoined the other; “but there is the guard; it is +numerous and strong in this building, and--” + +“The gloom would help me; it is dark in the corridors, and a desperate +man takes risks, remember--” + +“Quite so! And you, citizen St. Just, are a desperate man just now.” + +“My sister Marguerite is not here, citizen Chauvelin. You cannot barter +my life for that of your enemy.” + +“No! no! no!” rejoined Chauvelin blandly; “not for that of my enemy, I +know, but--” + +Armand caught at his words like a drowning man at a reed. + +“For hers!” he exclaimed. + +“For hers?” queried the other with obvious puzzlement. + +“Mademoiselle Lange,” continued Armand with all the egoistic ardour +of the lover who believes that the attention of the entire world is +concentrated upon his beloved. + +“Mademoiselle Lange! You will set her free now that I am in your power.” + +Chauvelin smiled, his usual suave, enigmatical smile. + +“Ah, yes!” he said. “Mademoiselle Lange. I had forgotten.” + +“Forgotten, man?--forgotten that those murderous dogs have arrested +her?--the best, the purest, this vile, degraded country has ever +produced. She sheltered me one day just for an hour. I am a traitor to +the Republic--I own it. I’ll make full confession; but she knew nothing +of this. I deceived her; she is quite innocent, you understand? I’ll +make full confession, but you must set her free.” + +He had gradually worked himself up again to a state of feverish +excitement. Through the darkness which hung about in this small room he +tried to peer in Chauvelin’s impassive face. + +“Easy, easy, my young friend,” said the other placidly; “you seem to +imagine that I have something to do with the arrest of the lady in whom +you take so deep an interest. You forget that now I am but a discredited +servant of the Republic whom I failed to serve in her need. My life is +only granted me out of pity for my efforts, which were genuine if not +successful. I have no power to set any one free.” + +“Nor to arrest me now, in that case!” retorted Armand. + +Chauvelin paused a moment before he replied with a deprecating smile: + +“Only to denounce you, perhaps. I am still an agent of the Committee of +General Security.” + +“Then all is for the best!” exclaimed St. Just eagerly. “You shall +denounce me to the Committee. They will be glad of my arrest, I assure +you. I have been a marked man for some time. I had intended to evade +arrest and to work for the rescue of Mademoiselle Lange; but I will +give up all thought of that--I will deliver myself into your hands +absolutely; nay, more, I will give you my most solemn word of honour +that not only will I make no attempt at escape, but that I will not +allow any one to help me to do so. I will be a passive and willing +prisoner if you, on the other hand, will effect Mademoiselle Lange’s +release.” + +“H’m!” mused Chauvelin again, “it sounds feasible.” + +“It does! it does!” rejoined Armand, whose excitement was at +fever-pitch. “My arrest, my condemnation, my death, will be of vast deal +more importance to you than that of a young and innocent girl against +whom unlikely charges would have to be tricked up, and whose acquittal +mayhap public feeling might demand. As for me, I shall be an easy prey; +my known counter-revolutionary principles, my sister’s marriage with a +foreigner--” + +“Your connection with the Scarlet Pimpernel,” suggested Chauvelin +blandly. + +“Quite so. I should not defend myself--” + +“And your enigmatical friend would not attempt your rescue. C’est +entendu,” said Chauvelin with his wonted blandness. “Then, my dear, +enthusiastic young friend, shall we adjourn to the office of my +colleague, citizen Heron, who is chief agent of the Committee of General +Security, and will receive your--did you say confession?--and note the +conditions under which you place yourself absolutely in the hands of the +Public Prosecutor and subsequently of the executioner. Is that it?” + +Armand was too full of schemes, too full of thoughts of Jeanne to note +the tone of quiet irony with which Chauvelin had been speaking all +along. With the unreasoning egoism of youth he was quite convinced that +his own arrest, his own affairs were as important to this entire nation +in revolution as they were to himself. At moments like these it is +difficult to envisage a desperate situation clearly, and to a young man +in love the fate of the beloved never seems desperate whilst he himself +is alive and ready for every sacrifice for her sake. “My life for hers” + is the sublime if often foolish battle-cry that has so often resulted in +whole-sale destruction. Armand at this moment, when he fondly believed +that he was making a bargain with the most astute, most unscrupulous +spy this revolutionary Government had in its pay--Armand just then had +absolutely forgotten his chief, his friends, the league of mercy and +help to which he belonged. + +Enthusiasm and the spirit of self-sacrifice were carrying him away. He +watched his enemy with glowing eyes as one who looks on the arbiter of +his fate. + +Chauvelin, without another word, beckoned to him to follow. He led the +way out of the lodge, then, turning sharply to his left, he reached the +wide quadrangle with the covered passage running right round it, the +same which de Batz had traversed two evenings ago when he went to visit +Heron. + +Armand, with a light heart and springy step, followed him as if he were +going to a feast where he would meet Jeanne, where he would kneel at +her feet, kiss her hands, and lead her triumphantly to freedom and to +happiness. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. THE REMOVAL + +Chauvelin no longer made any pretence to hold Armand by the arm. By +temperament as well as by profession a spy, there was one subject at +least which he had mastered thoroughly: that was the study of human +nature. Though occasionally an exceptionally complex mental organisation +baffled him--as in the case of Sir Percy Blakeney--he prided himself, +and justly, too, on reading natures like that of Armand St. Just as he +would an open book. + +The excitable disposition of the Latin races he knew out and out; +he knew exactly how far a sentimental situation would lead a young +Frenchman like Armand, who was by disposition chivalrous, and by +temperament essentially passionate. Above all things, he knew when +and how far he could trust a man to do either a sublime action or an +essentially foolish one. + +Therefore he walked along contentedly now, not even looking back to see +whether St. Just was following him. He knew that he did. + +His thoughts only dwelt on the young enthusiast--in his mind he +called him the young fool--in order to weigh in the balance the mighty +possibilities that would accrue from the present sequence of events. +The fixed idea ever working in the man’s scheming brain had already +transformed a vague belief into a certainty. That the Scarlet Pimpernel +was in Paris at the present moment Chauvelin had now become convinced. +How far he could turn the capture of Armand St. Just to the triumph of +his own ends remained to be seen. + +But this he did know: the Scarlet Pimpernel--the man whom he had learned +to know, to dread, and even in a grudging manner to admire--was not like +to leave one of his followers in the lurch. Marguerite’s brother in the +Temple would be the surest decoy for the elusive meddler who still, and +in spite of all care and precaution, continued to baffle the army of +spies set upon his track. + +Chauvelin could hear Armand’s light, elastic footsteps resounding behind +him on the flagstones. A world of intoxicating possibilities surged up +before him. Ambition, which two successive dire failures had atrophied +in his breast, once more rose up buoyant and hopeful. Once he had sworn +to lay the Scarlet Pimpernel by the heels, and that oath was not yet +wholly forgotten; it had lain dormant after the catastrophe of Boulogne, +but with the sight of Armand St. Just it had re-awakened and confronted +him again with the strength of a likely fulfilment. + +The courtyard looked gloomy and deserted. The thin drizzle which still +fell from a persistently leaden sky effectually held every outline of +masonry, of column, or of gate hidden as beneath a shroud. The corridor +which skirted it all round was ill-lighted save by an occasional +oil-lamp fixed in the wall. + +But Chauvelin knew his way well. Heron’s lodgings gave on the second +courtyard, the Square du Nazaret, and the way thither led past the main +square tower, in the top floor of which the uncrowned King of France +eked out his miserable existence as the plaything of a rough cobbler and +his wife. + +Just beneath its frowning bastions Chauvelin turned back towards Armand. +He pointed with a careless hand up-wards to the central tower. + +“We have got little Capet in there,” he said dryly. “Your chivalrous +Scarlet Pimpernel has not ventured in these precincts yet, you see.” + +Armand was silent. He had no difficulty in looking unconcerned; his +thoughts were so full of Jeanne that he cared but little at this moment +for any Bourbon king or for the destinies of France. + +Now the two men reached the postern gate. A couple of sentinels were +standing by, but the gate itself was open, and from within there came +the sound of bustle and of noise, of a good deal of swearing, and also +of loud laughter. + +The guard-room gave on the left of the gate, and the laughter came from +there. It was brilliantly lighted, and Armand, peering in, in the wake +of Chauvelin, could see groups of soldiers sitting and standing about. +There was a table in the centre of the room, and on it a number of jugs +and pewter mugs, packets of cards, and overturned boxes of dice. + +But the bustle did not come from the guard-room; it came from the +landing and the stone stairs beyond. + +Chauvelin, apparently curious, had passed through the gate, and Armand +followed him. The light from the open door of the guard-room cut sharply +across the landing, making the gloom beyond appear more dense and +almost solid. From out the darkness, fitfully intersected by a lanthorn +apparently carried to and fro, moving figures loomed out ghost-like and +weirdly gigantic. Soon Armand distinguished a number of large objects +that encumbered the landing, and as he and Chauvelin left the sharp +light of the guard-room behind them, he could see that the large +objects were pieces of furniture of every shape and size; a wooden +bedstead--dismantled--leaned against the wall, a black horsehair sofa +blocked the way to the tower stairs, and there were numberless chairs +and several tables piled one on the top of the other. + +In the midst of this litter a stout, flabby-cheeked man stood, +apparently giving directions as to its removal to persons at present +unseen. + +“Hola, Papa Simon!” exclaimed Chauvelin jovially; “moving out to-day? +What?” + +“Yes, thank the Lord!--if there be a Lord!” retorted the other curtly. +“Is that you, citizen Chauvelin?” + +“In person, citizen. I did not know you were leaving quite so soon. Is +citizen Heron anywhere about?” + +“Just left,” replied Simon. “He had a last look at Capet just before +my wife locked the brat up in the inner room. Now he’s gone back to his +lodgings.” + +A man carrying a chest, empty of its drawers, on his back now came +stumbling down the tower staircase. Madame Simon followed close on his +heels, steadying the chest with one hand. + +“We had better begin to load up the cart,” she called to her husband +in a high-pitched querulous voice; “the corridor is getting too much +encumbered.” + +She looked suspiciously at Chauvelin and at Armand, and when she +encountered the former’s bland, unconcerned gaze she suddenly shivered +and drew her black shawl closer round her shoulders. + +“Bah!” she said, “I shall be glad to get out of this God-forsaken hole. +I hate the very sight of these walls.” + +“Indeed, the citizeness does not look over robust in health,” said +Chauvelin with studied politeness. “The stay in the tower did not, +mayhap, bring forth all the fruits of prosperity which she had +anticipated.” + +The woman eyed him with dark suspicion lurking in her hollow eyes. + +“I don’t know what you mean, citizen,” she said with a shrug of her wide +shoulders. + +“Oh! I meant nothing,” rejoined Chauvelin, smiling. “I am so interested +in your removal; busy man as I am, it has amused me to watch you. Whom +have you got to help you with the furniture?” + +“Dupont, the man-of-all-work, from the concierge,” said Simon curtly. +“Citizen Heron would not allow any one to come in from the outside.” + +“Rightly too. Have the new commissaries come yet? + +“Only citizen Cochefer. He is waiting upstairs for the others.” + +“And Capet?” + +“He is all safe. Citizen Heron came to see him, and then he told me to +lock the little vermin up in the inner room. Citizen Cochefer had just +arrived by that time, and he has remained in charge.” + +During all this while the man with the chest on his back was waiting +for orders. Bent nearly double, he was grumbling audibly at his +uncomfortable position. + +“Does the citizen want to break my back?” he muttered. + +“We had best get along--quoi?” + +He asked if he should begin to carry the furniture out into the street. + +“Two sous have I got to pay every ten minutes to the lad who holds my +nag,” he said, muttering under his breath; “we shall be all night at +this rate.” + +“Begin to load then,” commanded Simon gruffly. “Here!--begin with this +sofa.” + +“You’ll have to give me a hand with that,” said the man. “Wait a bit; +I’ll just see that everything is all right in the cart. I’ll be back +directly.” + +“Take something with you then as you are going down,” said Madame Simon +in her querulous voice. + +The man picked up a basket of linen that stood in the angle by the door. +He hoisted it on his back and shuffled away with it across the landing +and out through the gate. + +“How did Capet like parting from his papa and maman?” asked Chauvelin +with a laugh. + +“H’m!” growled Simon laconically. “He will find out soon enough how well +off he was under our care.” + +“Have the other commissaries come yet?” + +“No. But they will be here directly. Citizen Cochefer is upstairs +mounting guard over Capet.” + +“Well, good-bye, Papa Simon,” concluded Chauvelin jovially. “Citizeness, +your servant!” + +He bowed with unconcealed irony to the cobbler’s wife, and nodded to +Simon, who expressed by a volley of motley oaths his exact feelings with +regard to all the agents of the Committee of General Security. + +“Six months of this penal servitude have we had,” he said roughly, “and +no thanks or pension. I would as soon serve a ci-devant aristo as your +accursed Committee.” + +The man Dupont had returned. Stolidly, after the fashion of his kind, +he commenced the removal of citizen Simon’s goods. He seemed a clumsy +enough creature, and Simon and his wife had to do most of the work +themselves. + +Chauvelin watched the moving forms for a while, then he shrugged his +shoulders with a laugh of indifference, and turned on his heel. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN + +Heron was not at his lodgings when, at last, after vigorous pulls at +the bell, a great deal of waiting and much cursing, Chauvelin, closely +followed by Armand, was introduced in the chief agent’s office. + +The soldier who acted as servant said that citizen Heron had gone out +to sup, but would surely be home again by eight o’clock. Armand by this +time was so dazed with fatigue that he sank on a chair like a log, and +remained there staring into the fire, unconscious of the flight of time. + +Anon Heron came home. He nodded to Chauvelin, and threw but a cursory +glance on Armand. + +“Five minutes, citizen,” he said, with a rough attempt at an apology. “I +am sorry to keep you waiting, but the new commissaries have arrived who +are to take charge of Capet. The Simons have just gone, and I want to +assure myself that everything is all right in the Tower. Cochefer +has been in charge, but I like to cast an eye over the brat every day +myself.” + +He went out again, slamming the door behind him. His heavy footsteps +were heard treading the flagstones of the corridor, and gradually dying +away in the distance. Armand had paid no heed either to his entrance or +to his exit. He was only conscious of an intense weariness, and would at +this moment gladly have laid his head on the scaffold if on it he could +find rest. + +A white-faced clock on the wall ticked off the seconds one by one. From +the street below came the muffled sounds of wheeled traffic on the soft +mud of the road; it was raining more heavily now, and from time to time +a gust of wind rattled the small windows in their dilapidated frames, or +hurled a shower of heavy drops against the panes. + +The heat from the stove had made Armand drowsy; his head fell forward +on his chest. Chauvelin, with his hands held behind his back, paced +ceaselessly up and down the narrow room. + +Suddenly Armand started--wide awake now. Hurried footsteps on the +flagstones outside, a hoarse shout, a banging of heavy doors, and the +next moment Heron stood once more on the threshold of the room. Armand, +with wide-opened eyes, gazed on him in wonder. The whole appearance of +the man had changed. He looked ten years older, with lank, dishevelled +hair hanging matted over a moist forehead, the cheeks ashen-white, the +full lips bloodless and hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows +of yellow teeth that shook against each other. The whole figure looked +bowed, as if shrunk within itself. + +Chauvelin had paused in his restless walk. He gazed on his colleague, a +frown of puzzlement on his pale, set face. + +“Capet!” he exclaimed, as soon as he had taken in every detail of +Heron’s altered appearance, and seen the look of wild terror that +literally distorted his face. + +Heron could not speak; his teeth were chattering in his mouth, and his +tongue seemed paralysed. Chauvelin went up to him. He was several inches +shorter than his colleague, but at this moment he seemed to be towering +over him like an avenging spirit. He placed a firm hand on the other’s +bowed shoulders. + +“Capet has gone--is that it?” he queried peremptorily. + +The look of terror increased in Heron’s eyes, giving its mute reply. + +“How? When?” + +But for the moment the man was speechless. An almost maniacal fear +seemed to hold him in its grip. With an impatient oath Chauvelin turned +away from him. + +“Brandy!” he said curtly, speaking to Armand. + +A bottle and glass were found in the cupboard. It was St. Just who +poured out the brandy and held it to Heron’s lips. Chauvelin was once +more pacing up and down the room in angry impatience. + +“Pull yourself together, man,” he said roughly after a while, “and try +and tell me what has occurred.” + +Heron had sunk into a chair. He passed a trembling hand once or twice +over his forehead. + +“Capet has disappeared,” he murmured; “he must have been spirited away +while the Simons were moving their furniture. That accursed Cochefer was +completely taken in.” + +Heron spoke in a toneless voice, hardly above a whisper, and like one +whose throat is dry and mouth parched. But the brandy had revived him +somewhat, and his eyes lost their former glassy look. + +“How?” asked Chauvelin curtly. + +“I was just leaving the Tower when he arrived. I spoke to him at the +door. I had seen Capet safely installed in the room, and gave orders +to the woman Simon to let citizen Cochefer have a look at him, too, and +then to lock up the brat in the inner room and install Cochefer in the +antechamber on guard. I stood talking to Cochefer for a few moments in +the antechamber. The woman Simon and the man-of-all-work, Dupont--whom +I know well--were busy with the furniture. There could not have been any +one else concealed about the place--that I’ll swear. Cochefer, after he +took leave of me, went straight into the room; he found the woman Simon +in the act of turning the key in the door of the inner chamber. I have +locked Capet in there,’ she said, giving the key to Cochefer; ‘he will +be quite safe until to-night; when the other commissaries come.’” + +“Didn’t Cochefer go into the room and ascertain whether the woman was +lying?” + +“Yes, he did! He made the woman re-open the door and peeped in over her +shoulder. She said the child was asleep. He vows that he saw the child +lying fully dressed on a rug in the further corner of the room. The +room, of course, was quite empty of furniture and only lighted by one +candle, but there was the rug and the child asleep on it. Cochefer +swears he saw him, and now--when I went up--” + +“Well?” + +“The commissaries were all there--Cochefer and Lasniere, Lorinet and +Legrand. We went into the inner room, and I had a candle in my hand. We +saw the child lying on the rug, just as Cochefer had seen him, and for +a while we took no notice of it. Then some one--I think it was +Lorinet--went to have a closer look at the brat. He took up the candle +and went up to the rug. Then he gave a cry, and we all gathered round +him. The sleeping child was only a bundle of hair and of clothes, a +dummy--what?” + +There was silence now in the narrow room, while the white-faced clock +continued to tick off each succeeding second of time. Heron had once +more buried his head in his hands; a trembling--like an attack of +ague--shook his wide, bony shoulders. Armand had listened to the +narrative with glowing eyes and a beating heart. The details which the +two Terrorists here could not probably understand he had already added +to the picture which his mind had conjured up. + +He was back in thought now in the small lodging in the rear of St. +Germain l’Auxerrois; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, and my Lord Tony and +Hastings, and a man was striding up and down the room, looking out into +the great space beyond the river with the eyes of a seer, and a firm +voice said abruptly: + +“It is about the Dauphin!” + +“Have you any suspicions?” asked Chauvelin now, pausing in his walk +beside Heron, and once more placing a firm, peremptory hand on his +colleague’s shoulder. + +“Suspicions!” exclaimed the chief agent with a loud oath. “Suspicions! +Certainties, you mean. The man sat here but two days ago, in that very +chair, and bragged of what he would do. I told him then that if he +interfered with Capet I would wring his neck with my own hands.” + +And his long, talon-like fingers, with their sharp, grimy nails, closed +and unclosed like those of feline creatures when they hold the coveted +prey. + +“Of whom do you speak?” queried Chauvelin curtly. + +“Of whom? Of whom but that accursed de Batz? His pockets are bulging +with Austrian money, with which, no doubt, he has bribed the Simons and +Cochefer and the sentinels--” + +“And Lorinet and Lasniere and you,” interposed Chauvelin dryly. + +“It is false!” roared Heron, who already at the suggestion was foaming +at the mouth, and had jumped up from his chair, standing at bay as if +prepared to fight for his life. + +“False, is it?” retorted Chauvelin calmly; “then be not so quick, friend +Heron, in slashing out with senseless denunciations right and left. +You’ll gain nothing by denouncing any one just now. This is too +intricate a matter to be dealt with a sledge-hammer. Is any one up in +the Tower at this moment?” he asked in quiet, business-like tones. + +“Yes. Cochefer and the others are still there. They are making wild +schemes to cover their treachery. Cochefer is aware of his own danger, +and Lasniere and the others know that they arrived at the Tower several +hours too late. They are all at fault, and they know it. As for that de +Batz,” he continued with a voice rendered raucous with bitter passion, +“I swore to him two days ago that he should not escape me if he meddled +with Capet. I’m on his track already. I’ll have him before the hour +of midnight, and I’ll torture him--yes! I’ll torture him--the Tribunal +shall give me leave. We have a dark cell down below here where my men +know how to apply tortures worse than the rack--where they know just how +to prolong life long enough to make it unendurable. I’ll torture him! +I’ll torture him!” + +But Chauvelin abruptly silenced the wretch with a curt command; then, +without another word, he walked straight out of the room. + +In thought Armand followed him. The wild desire was suddenly born in him +to run away at this moment, while Heron, wrapped in his own meditations, +was paying no heed to him. Chauvelin’s footsteps had long ago died away +in the distance; it was a long way to the upper floor of the Tower, and +some time would be spent, too, in interrogating the commissaries. This +was Armand’s opportunity. After all, if he were free himself he might +more effectually help to rescue Jeanne. He knew, too, now where to join +his leader. The corner of the street by the canal, where Sir Andrew +Ffoulkes would be waiting with the coal-cart; then there was the spinney +on the road to St. Germain. Armand hoped that, with good luck, he might +yet overtake his comrades, tell them of Jeanne’s plight, and entreat +them to work for her rescue. + +He had forgotten that now he had no certificate of safety, that +undoubtedly he would be stopped at the gates at this hour of the +night; that his conduct proving suspect he would in all probability he +detained, and, mayhap, be brought back to this self-same place within an +hour. He had forgotten all that, for the primeval instinct for freedom +had suddenly been aroused. He rose softly from his chair and crossed +the room. Heron paid no attention to him. Now he had traversed the +antechamber and unlatched the outer door. + +Immediately a couple of bayonets were crossed in front of him, two more +further on ahead scintillated feebly in the flickering light. Chauvelin +had taken his precautions. There was no doubt that Armand St. Just was +effectually a prisoner now. + +With a sigh of disappointment he went back to his place beside the +fire. Heron had not even moved whilst he had made this futile attempt at +escape. Five minutes later Chauvelin re-entered the room. + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY + +“You can leave de Batz and his gang alone, citizen Heron,” said +Chauvelin, as soon as he had closed the door behind him; “he had nothing +to do with the escape of the Dauphin.” + +Heron growled out a few words of incredulity. But Chauvelin shrugged his +shoulders and looked with unutterable contempt on his colleague. Armand, +who was watching him closely, saw that in his hand he held a small piece +of paper, which he had crushed into a shapeless mass. + +“Do not waste your time, citizen,” he said, “in raging against an +empty wind-bag. Arrest de Batz if you like, or leave him alone an you +please--we have nothing to fear from that braggart.” + +With nervous, slightly shaking fingers he set to work to smooth out the +scrap of paper which he held. His hot hands had soiled it and pounded it +until it was a mere rag and the writing on it illegible. But, such as +it was, he threw it down with a blasphemous oath on the desk in front of +Heron’s eyes. + +“It is that accursed Englishman who has been at work again,” he said +more calmly; “I guessed it the moment I heard your story. Set your whole +army of sleuth-hounds on his track, citizen; you’ll need them all.” + +Heron picked up the scrap of torn paper and tried to decipher the +writing on it by the light from the lamp. He seemed almost dazed now +with the awful catastrophe that had befallen him, and the fear that his +own wretched life would have to pay the penalty for the disappearance of +the child. + +As for Armand--even in the midst of his own troubles, and of his own +anxiety for Jeanne, he felt a proud exultation in his heart. The Scarlet +Pimpernel had succeeded; Percy had not failed in his self-imposed +undertaking. Chauvelin, whose piercing eyes were fixed on him at that +moment, smiled with contemptuous irony. + +“As you will find your hands overfull for the next few hours, citizen +Heron,” he said, speaking to his colleague and nodding in the direction +of Armand, “I’ll not trouble you with the voluntary confession this +young citizen desired to make to you. All I need tell you is that he +is an adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel--I believe one of his most +faithful, most trusted officers.” + +Heron roused himself from the maze of gloomy thoughts that were again +paralysing his tongue. He turned bleary, wild eyes on Armand. + +“We have got one of them, then?” he murmured incoherently, babbling like +a drunken man. + +“M’yes!” replied Chauvelin lightly; “but it is too late now for a formal +denunciation and arrest. He cannot leave Paris anyhow, and all that your +men need to do is to keep a close look-out on him. But I should send him +home to-night if I were you.” + +Heron muttered something more, which, however, Armand did not +understand. Chauvelin’s words were still ringing in his ear. Was he, +then, to be set free to-night? Free in a measure, of course, since +spies were to be set to watch him--but free, nevertheless? He could not +understand Chauvelin’s attitude, and his own self-love was not a little +wounded at the thought that he was of such little account that these men +could afford to give him even this provisional freedom. And, of course, +there was still Jeanne. + +“I must, therefore, bid you good-night, citizen,” Chauvelin was saying +in his bland, gently ironical manner. “You will be glad to return to +your lodgings. As you see, the chief agent of the Committee of General +Security is too much occupied just now to accept the sacrifice of your +life which you were prepared so generously to offer him.” + +“I do not understand you, citizen,” retorted Armand coldly, “nor do I +desire indulgence at your hands. You have arrested an innocent woman on +the trumped-up charge that she was harbouring me. I came here to-night +to give myself up to justice so that she might be set free.” + +“But the hour is somewhat late, citizen,” rejoined Chauvelin urbanely. +“The lady in whom you take so fervent an interest is no doubt asleep in +her cell at this hour. It would not be fitting to disturb her now. +She might not find shelter before morning, and the weather is quite +exceptionally unpropitious.” + +“Then, sir,” said Armand, a little bewildered, “am I to understand that +if I hold myself at your disposition Mademoiselle Lange will be set free +as early to-morrow morning as may be?” + +“No doubt, sir--no doubt,” replied Chauvelin with more than his +accustomed blandness; “if you will hold yourself entirely at our +disposition, Mademoiselle Lange will be set free to-morrow. I think +that we can safely promise that, citizen Heron, can we not?” he added, +turning to his colleague. + +But Heron, overcome with the stress of emotions, could only murmur +vague, unintelligible words. + +“Your word on that, citizen Chauvelin?” asked Armand. + +“My word on it an you will accept it.” + +“No, I will not do that. Give me an unconditional certificate of safety +and I will believe you.” + +“Of what use were that to you?” asked Chauvelin. + +“I believe my capture to be of more importance to you than that of +Mademoiselle Lange,” said Armand quietly. + +“I will use the certificate of safety for myself or one of my friends if +you break your word to me anent Mademoiselle Lange.” + +“H’m! the reasoning is not illogical, citizen,” said Chauvelin, whilst a +curious smile played round the corners of his thin lips. “You are quite +right. You are a more valuable asset to us than the charming lady who, I +hope, will for many a day and year to come delight pleasure-loving Paris +with her talent and her grace.” + +“Amen to that, citizen,” said Armand fervently. + +“Well, it will all depend on you, sir! Here,” he added, coolly running +over some papers on Heron’s desk until he found what he wanted, “is an +absolutely unconditional certificate of safety. The Committee of General +Security issue very few of these. It is worth the cost of a human life. +At no barrier or gate of any city can such a certificate be disregarded, +nor even can it be detained. Allow me to hand it to you, citizen, as a +pledge of my own good faith.” + +Smiling, urbane, with a curious look that almost expressed amusement +lurking in his shrewd, pale eyes, Chauvelin handed the momentous +document to Armand. + +The young man studied it very carefully before he slipped it into the +inner pocket of his coat. + +“How soon shall I have news of Mademoiselle Lange?” he asked finally. + +“In the course of to-morrow. I myself will call on you and redeem that +precious document in person. You, on the other hand, will hold yourself +at my disposition. That’s understood, is it not?” + +“I shall not fail you. My lodgings are--” + +“Oh! do not trouble,” interposed Chauvelin, with a polite bow; “we can +find that out for ourselves.” + +Heron had taken no part in this colloquy. Now that Armand prepared to +go he made no attempt to detain him, or to question his colleague’s +actions. He sat by the table like a log; his mind was obviously a blank +to all else save to his own terrors engendered by the events of this +night. + +With bleary, half-veiled eyes he followed Armand’s progress through +the room, and seemed unaware of the loud slamming of the outside door. +Chauvelin had escorted the young man past the first line of sentry, then +he took cordial leave of him. + +“Your certificate will, you will find, open every gate to you. +Good-night, citizen. A demain.” + +“Good-night.” + +Armand’s slim figure disappeared in the gloom. Chauvelin watched him for +a few moments until even his footsteps had died away in the distance; +then he turned back towards Heron’s lodgings. + +“A nous deux,” he muttered between tightly clenched teeth; “a nous deux +once more, my enigmatical Scarlet Pimpernel.” + + + +CHAPTER XXI. BACK TO PARIS + +It was an exceptionally dark night, and the rain was falling in +torrents. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, wrapped in a piece of sacking, had taken +shelter right underneath the coal-cart; even then he was getting wet +through to the skin. + +He had worked hard for two days coal-heaving, and the night before he +had found a cheap, squalid lodging where at any rate he was protected +from the inclemencies of the weather; but to-night he was expecting +Blakeney at the appointed hour and place. He had secured a cart of the +ordinary ramshackle pattern used for carrying coal. Unfortunately there +were no covered ones to be obtained in the neighbourhood, and equally +unfortunately the thaw had set in with a blustering wind and driving +rain, which made waiting in the open air for hours at a stretch and in +complete darkness excessively unpleasant. + +But for all these discomforts Sir Andrew Ffoulkes cared not one jot. In +England, in his magnificent Suffolk home, he was a confirmed sybarite, +in whose service every description of comfort and luxury had to +be enrolled. Here tonight in the rough and tattered clothes of a +coal-heaver, drenched to the skin, and crouching under the body of +a cart that hardly sheltered him from the rain, he was as happy as a +schoolboy out for a holiday. + +Happy, but vaguely anxious. + +He had no means of ascertaining the time. So many of the church-bells +and clock towers had been silenced recently that not one of those +welcome sounds penetrated to the dreary desolation of this canal wharf, +with its abandoned carts standing ghostlike in a row. Darkness had set +in very early in the afternoon, and the heavers had given up work soon +after four o’clock. + +For about an hour after that a certain animation had still reigned round +the wharf, men crossing and going, one or two of the barges moving in or +out alongside the quay. But for some time now darkness and silence had +been the masters in this desolate spot, and that time had seemed to Sir +Andrew an eternity. He had hobbled and tethered his horse, and stretched +himself out at full length under the cart. Now and again he had crawled +out from under this uncomfortable shelter and walked up and down in +ankle-deep mud, trying to restore circulation in his stiffened limbs; +now and again a kind of torpor had come over him, and he had fallen into +a brief and restless sleep. He would at this moment have given half his +fortune for knowledge of the exact time. + +But through all this weary waiting he was never for a moment in doubt. +Unlike Armand St. Just, he had the simplest, most perfect faith in his +chief. He had been Blakeney’s constant companion in all these adventures +for close upon four years now; the thought of failure, however vague, +never once entered his mind. + +He was only anxious for his chief’s welfare. He knew that he would +succeed, but he would have liked to have spared him much of the physical +fatigue and the nerve-racking strain of these hours that lay between +the daring deed and the hope of safety. Therefore he was conscious of +an acute tingling of his nerves, which went on even during the brief +patches of fitful sleep, and through the numbness that invaded his whole +body while the hours dragged wearily and slowly along. + +Then, quite suddenly, he felt wakeful and alert; quite a while--even +before he heard the welcome signal--he knew, with a curious, subtle +sense of magnetism, that the hour had come, and that his chief was +somewhere near by, not very far. + +Then he heard the cry--a seamew’s call--repeated thrice at intervals, +and five minutes later something loomed out of the darkness quite close +to the hind wheels of the cart. + +“Hist! Ffoulkes!” came in a soft whisper, scarce louder than the wind. + +“Present!” came in quick response. + +“Here, help me to lift the child into the cart. He is asleep, and has +been a dead weight on my arm for close on an hour now. Have you a dry +bit of sacking or something to lay him on?” + +“Not very dry, I am afraid.” + +With tender care the two men lifted the sleeping little King of France +into the rickety cart. Blakeney laid his cloak over him, and listened +for awhile to the slow regular breathing of the child. + +“St. Just is not here--you know that?” said Sir Andrew after a while. + +“Yes, I knew it,” replied Blakeney curtly. + +It was characteristic of these two men that not a word about the +adventure itself, about the terrible risks and dangers of the past few +hours, was exchanged between them. The child was here and was safe, +and Blakeney knew the whereabouts of St. Just--that was enough for Sir +Andrew Ffoulkes, the most devoted follower, the most perfect friend the +Scarlet Pimpernel would ever know. + +Ffoulkes now went to the horse, detached the nose-bag, and undid the +nooses of the hobble and of the tether. + +“Will you get in now, Blakeney?” he said; “we are ready.” + +And in unbroken silence they both got into the cart; Blakeney sitting +on its floor beside the child, and Ffoulkes gathering the reins in his +hands. + +The wheels of the cart and the slow jog-trot of the horse made scarcely +any noise in the mud of the roads, what noise they did make was +effectually drowned by the soughing of the wind in the bare branches of +the stunted acacia trees that edged the towpath along the line of the +canal. + +Sir Andrew had studied the topography of this desolate neighbourhood +well during the past twenty-four hours; he knew of a detour that would +enable him to avoid the La Villette gate and the neighbourhood of the +fortifications, and yet bring him out soon on the road leading to St. +Germain. + +Once he turned to ask Blakeney the time. + +“It must be close on ten now,” replied Sir Percy. “Push your nag along, +old man. Tony and Hastings will be waiting for us.” + +It was very difficult to see clearly even a metre or two ahead, but the +road was a straight one, and the old nag seemed to know it almost as +well and better than her driver. She shambled along at her own pace, +covering the ground very slowly for Ffoulkes’s burning impatience. Once +or twice he had to get down and lead her over a rough piece of ground. +They passed several groups of dismal, squalid houses, in some of which +a dim light still burned, and as they skirted St. Ouen the church clock +slowly tolled the hour of midnight. + +But for the greater part of the way derelict, uncultivated spaces of +terrains vagues, and a few isolated houses lay between the road and the +fortifications of the city. The darkness of the night, the late hour, +the soughing of the wind, were all in favour of the adventurers; and +a coal-cart slowly trudging along in this neighbourhood, with two +labourers sitting in it, was the least likely of any vehicle to attract +attention. + +Past Clichy, they had to cross the river by the rickety wooden bridge +that was unsafe even in broad daylight. They were not far from their +destination now. Half a dozen kilometres further on they would be +leaving Courbevoie on their left, and then the sign-post would come +in sight. After that the spinney just off the road, and the welcome +presence of Tony, Hastings, and the horses. Ffoulkes got down in order +to make sure of the way. He walked at the horse’s head now, fearful lest +he missed the cross-roads and the sign-post. + +The horse was getting over-tired; it had covered fifteen kilometres, and +it was close on three o’clock of Monday morning. + +Another hour went by in absolute silence. Ffoulkes and Blakeney took +turns at the horse’s head. Then at last they reached the cross-roads; +even through the darkness the sign-post showed white against the +surrounding gloom. + +“This looks like it,” murmured Sir Andrew. He turned the horse’s +head sharply towards the left, down a narrower road, and leaving the +sign-post behind him. He walked slowly along for another quarter of an +hour, then Blakeney called a halt. + +“The spinney must be sharp on our right now,” he said. + +He got down from the cart, and while Ffoulkes remained beside the horse, +he plunged into the gloom. A moment later the cry of the seamew rang out +three times into the air. It was answered almost immediately. + +The spinney lay on the right of the road. Soon the soft sounds that to a +trained ear invariably betray the presence of a number of horses reached +Ffoulkes’ straining senses. He took his old nag out of the shafts, and +the shabby harness from off her, then he turned her out on the piece +of waste land that faced the spinney. Some one would find her in the +morning, her and the cart with the shabby harness laid in it, and, +having wondered if all these things had perchance dropped down from +heaven, would quietly appropriate them, and mayhap thank much-maligned +heaven for its gift. + +Blakeney in the meanwhile had lifted the sleeping child out of the cart. +Then he called to Sir Andrew and led the way across the road and into +the spinney. + +Five minutes later Hastings received the uncrowned King of France in his +arms. + +Unlike Ffoulkes, my Lord Tony wanted to hear all about the adventure +of this afternoon. A thorough sportsman, he loved a good story of +hairbreadth escapes, of dangers cleverly avoided, risks taken and +conquered. + +“Just in ten words, Blakeney,” he urged entreatingly; “how did you +actually get the boy away?” + +Sir Percy laughed--despite himself--at the young man’s eagerness. + +“Next time we meet, Tony,” he begged; “I am so demmed fatigued, and +there’s this beastly rain--” + +“No, no--now! while Hastings sees to the horses. I could not exist long +without knowing, and we are well sheltered from the rain under this +tree.” + +“Well, then, since you will have it,” he began with a laugh, which +despite the weariness and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had +forced itself to his lips, “I have been sweeper and man-of-all-work at +the Temple for the past few weeks, you must know--” + +“No!” ejaculated my Lord Tony lustily. “By gum!” + +“Indeed, you old sybarite, whilst you were enjoying yourself heaving +coal on the canal wharf, I was scrubbing floors, lighting fires, and +doing a number of odd jobs for a lot of demmed murdering villains, +and”--he added under his breath--“incidentally, too, for our league. +Whenever I had an hour or two off duty I spent them in my lodgings, and +asked you all to come and meet me there.” + +“By Gad, Blakeney! Then the day before yesterday?--when we all met--” + +“I had just had a bath--sorely needed, I can tell you. I had been +cleaning boots half the day, but I had heard that the Simons were +removing from the Temple on the Sunday, and had obtained an order from +them to help them shift their furniture.” + +“Cleaning boots!” murmured my Lord Tony with a chuckle. “Well! and +then?” + +“Well, then everything worked out splendidly. You see by that time I was +a well-known figure in the Temple. Heron knew me well. I used to be his +lanthorn-bearer when at nights he visited that poor mite in his prison. +It was ‘Dupont, here! Dupont there!’ all day long. ‘Light the fire in +the office, Dupont! Dupont, brush my coat! Dupont, fetch me a light!’ +When the Simons wanted to move their household goods they called loudly +for Dupont. I got a covered laundry cart, and I brought a dummy with +me to substitute for the child. Simon himself knew nothing of this, but +Madame was in my pay. The dummy was just splendid, with real hair on its +head; Madame helped me to substitute it for the child; we laid it on the +sofa and covered it over with a rug, even while those brutes Heron and +Cochefer were on the landing outside, and we stuffed His Majesty the +King of France into a linen basket. The room was badly lighted, and +any one would have been deceived. No one was suspicious of that type of +trickery, so it went off splendidly. I moved the furniture of the Simons +out of the Tower. His Majesty King Louis XVII was still concealed in the +linen basket. I drove the Simons to their new lodgings--the man still +suspects nothing--and there I helped them to unload the furniture--with +the exception of the linen basket, of course. After that I drove my +laundry cart to a house I knew of and collected a number of linen +baskets, which I had arranged should be in readiness for me. Thus loaded +up I left Paris by the Vincennes gate, and drove as far as Bagnolet, +where there is no road except past the octroi, where the officials might +have proved unpleasant. So I lifted His Majesty out of the basket and +we walked on hand in hand in the darkness and the rain until the poor +little feet gave out. Then the little fellow--who has been wonderfully +plucky throughout, indeed, more a Capet than a Bourbon--snuggled up in +my arms and went fast asleep, and--and--well, I think that’s all, for +here we are, you see.” + +“But if Madame Simon had not been amenable to bribery?” suggested Lord +Tony after a moment’s silence. + +“Then I should have had to think of something else.” + +“If during the removal of the furniture Heron had remained resolutely in +the room?” + +“Then, again, I should have had to think of something else; but remember +that in life there is always one supreme moment when Chance--who is +credited to have but one hair on her head--stands by you for a brief +space of time; sometimes that space is infinitesimal--one minute, a few +seconds--just the time to seize Chance by that one hair. So I pray you +all give me no credit in this or any other matter in which we all work +together, but the quickness of seizing Chance by the hair during the +brief moment when she stands by my side. If Madame Simon had been +un-amenable, if Heron had remained in the room all the time, if Cochefer +had had two looks at the dummy instead of one--well, then, something +else would have helped me, something would have occurred; something--I +know not what--but surely something which Chance meant to be on our +side, if only we were quick enough to seize it--and so you see how +simple it all is.” + +So simple, in fact, that it was sublime. The daring, the pluck, the +ingenuity and, above all, the super-human heroism and endurance which +rendered the hearers of this simple narrative, simply told, dumb with +admiration. + +Their thoughts now were beyond verbal expression. + +“How soon was the hue and cry for the child about the streets?” asked +Tony, after a moment’s silence. + +“It was not out when I left the gates of Paris,” said Blakeney +meditatively; “so quietly has the news of the escape been kept, that I +am wondering what devilry that brute Heron can be after. And now no more +chattering,” he continued lightly; “all to horse, and you, Hastings, +have a care. The destinies of France, mayhap, will be lying asleep in +your arms.” + +“But you, Blakeney?” exclaimed the three men almost simultaneously. + +“I am not going with you. I entrust the child to you. For God’s sake +guard him well! Ride with him to Mantes. You should arrive there at +about ten o’clock. One of you then go straight to No.9 Rue la Tour. Ring +the bell; an old man will answer it. Say the one word to him, ‘Enfant’; +he will reply, ‘De roi!’ Give him the child, and may Heaven bless you +all for the help you have given me this night!” + +“But you, Blakeney?” reiterated Tony with a note of deep anxiety in his +fresh young voice. + +“I am straight for Paris,” he said quietly. + +“Impossible!” + +“Therefore feasible.” + +“But why? Percy, in the name of Heaven, do you realise what you are +doing?” + +“Perfectly.” + +“They’ll not leave a stone unturned to find you--they know by now, +believe me, that your hand did this trick.” + +“I know that.” + +“And yet you mean to go back?” + +“And yet I am going back.” + +“Blakeney!” + +“It’s no use, Tony. Armand is in Paris. I saw him in the corridor of the +Temple prison in the company of Chauvelin.” + +“Great God!” exclaimed Lord Hastings. + +The others were silent. What was the use of arguing? One of themselves +was in danger. Armand St. Just, the brother of Marguerite Blakeney! Was +it likely that Percy would leave him in the lurch. + +“One of us will stay with you, of course?” asked Sir Andrew after +awhile. + +“Yes! I want Hastings and Tony to take the child to Mantes, then to make +all possible haste for Calais, and there to keep in close touch with the +Day-Dream; the skipper will contrive to open communication. Tell him to +remain in Calais waters. I hope I may have need of him soon. + +“And now to horse, both of you,” he added gaily. “Hastings, when you +are ready, I will hand up the child to you. He will be quite safe on the +pillion with a strap round him and you.” + +Nothing more was said after that. The orders were given, there was +nothing to do but to obey; and the uncrowned King of France was not +yet out of danger. Hastings and Tony led two of the horses out of the +spinney; at the roadside they mounted, and then the little lad for whose +sake so much heroism, such selfless devotion had been expended, was +hoisted up, still half asleep, on the pillion in front of my Lord +Hastings. + +“Keep your arm round him,” admonished Blakeney; “your horse looks quiet +enough. But put on speed as far as Mantes, and may Heaven guard you +both!” + +The two men pressed their heels to their horses’ flanks, the beasts +snorted and pawed the ground anxious to start. There were a few +whispered farewells, two loyal hands were stretched out at the last, +eager to grasp the leader’s hand. + +Then horses and riders disappeared in the utter darkness which comes +before the dawn. + +Blakeney and Ffoulkes stood side by side in silence for as long as the +pawing of hoofs in the mud could reach their ears, then Ffoulkes asked +abruptly: + +“What do you want me to do, Blakeney?” + +“Well, for the present, my dear fellow, I want you to take one of the +three horses we have left in the spinney, and put him into the shafts of +our old friend the coal-cart; then I am afraid that you must go back the +way we came.” + +“Yes?” + +“Continue to heave coal on the canal wharf by La Villette; it is the +best way to avoid attention. After your day’s work keep your cart and +horse in readiness against my arrival, at the same spot where you +were last night. If after having waited for me like this for three +consecutive nights you neither see nor hear anything from me, go back +to England and tell Marguerite that in giving my life for her brother I +gave it for her!” + +“Blakeney--!” + +“I spoke differently to what I usually do, is that it?” he interposed, +placing his firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am degenerating, +Ffoulkes--that’s what it is. Pay no heed to it. I suppose that carrying +that sleeping child in my arms last night softened some nerves in my +body. I was so infinitely sorry for the poor mite, and vaguely wondered +if I had not saved it from one misery only to plunge it in another. +There was such a fateful look on that wan little face, as if destiny had +already writ its veto there against happiness. It came on me then how +futile were our actions, if God chooses to interpose His will between us +and our desires.” + +Almost as he left off speaking the rain ceased to patter down against +the puddles in the road. Overhead the clouds flew by at terrific speed, +driven along by the blustering wind. It was less dark now, and Sir +Andrew, peering through the gloom, could see his leader’s face. It was +singularly pale and hard, and the deep-set lazy eyes had in them just +that fateful look which he himself had spoken of just now. + +“You are anxious about Armand, Percy?” asked Ffoulkes softly. + +“Yes. He should have trusted me, as I had trusted him. He missed me at +the Villette gate on Friday, and without a thought left me--left us all +in the lurch; he threw himself into the lion’s jaws, thinking that he +could help the girl he loved. I knew that I could save her. She is in +comparative safety even now. The old woman, Madame Belhomme, had been +freely released the day after her arrest, but Jeanne Lange is still in +the house in the Rue de Charonne. You know it, Ffoulkes. I got her there +early this morning. It was easy for me, of course: ‘Hola, Dupont! +my boots, Dupont!’ ‘One moment, citizen, my daughter--’ ‘Curse thy +daughter, bring me my boots!’ and Jeanne Lange walked out of the Temple +prison her hand in that of that lout Dupont.” + +“But Armand does not know that she is in the Rue de Charonne?” + +“No. I have not seen him since that early morning on Saturday when he +came to tell me that she had been arrested. Having sworn that he would +obey me, he went to meet you and Tony at La Villette, but returned to +Paris a few hours later, and drew the undivided attention of all the +committees on Jeanne Lange by his senseless, foolish inquiries. But +for his action throughout the whole of yesterday I could have smuggled +Jeanne out of Paris, got her to join you at Villette, or Hastings in St. +Germain. But the barriers were being closely watched for her, and I had +the Dauphin to think of. She is in comparative safety; the people in +the Rue de Charonne are friendly for the moment; but for how long? Who +knows? I must look after her of course. And Armand! Poor old Armand! The +lion’s jaws have snapped over him, and they hold him tight. Chauvelin +and his gang are using him as a decoy to trap me, of course. All that +had not happened if Armand had trusted me.” + +He sighed a quick sigh of impatience, almost of regret. Ffoulkes was the +one man who could guess the bitter disappointment that this had meant. +Percy had longed to be back in England soon, back to Marguerite, to a +few days of unalloyed happiness and a few days of peace. + +Now Armand’s actions had retarded all that; they were a deliberate bar +to the future as it had been mapped out by a man who foresaw everything, +who was prepared for every eventuality. + +In this case, too, he had been prepared, but not for the want of trust +which had brought on disobedience akin to disloyalty. That absolutely +unforeseen eventuality had changed Blakeney’s usual irresponsible gaiety +into a consciousness of the inevitable, of the inexorable decrees of +Fate. + +With an anxious sigh, Sir Andrew turned away from his chief and went +back to the spinney to select for his own purpose one of the three +horses which Hastings and Tony had unavoidably left behind. + +“And you, Blakeney--how will you go back to that awful Paris?” he said, +when he had made his choice and was once more back beside Percy. + +“I don’t know yet,” replied Blakeney, “but it would not be safe to ride. +I’ll reach one of the gates on this side of the city and contrive to +slip in somehow. I have a certificate of safety in my pocket in case I +need it. + +“We’ll leave the horses here,” he said presently, whilst he was helping +Sir Andrew to put the horse in the shafts of the coal-cart; “they cannot +come to much harm. Some poor devil might steal them, in order to escape +from those vile brutes in the city. If so, God speed him, say I. I’ll +compensate my friend the farmer of St. Germain for their loss at +an early opportunity. And now, good-bye, my dear fellow! Some time +to-night, if possible, you shall hear direct news of me--if not, then +to-morrow or the day after that. Good-bye, and Heaven guard you!” + +“God guard you, Blakeney!” said Sir Andrew fervently. + +He jumped into the cart and gathered up the reins. His heart was heavy +as lead, and a strange mist had gathered in his eyes, blurring the last +dim vision which he had of his chief standing all alone in the gloom, +his broad, magnificent figure looking almost weirdly erect and defiant, +his head thrown back, and his kind, lazy eyes watching the final +departure of his most faithful comrade and friend. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION + +Blakeney had more than one pied-a-terre in Paris, and never stayed +longer than two or three days in any of these. It was not difficult for +a single man, be he labourer or bourgeois, to obtain a night’s lodging, +even in these most troublous times, and in any quarter of Paris, +provided the rent--out of all proportion to the comfort and +accommodation given--was paid ungrudgingly and in advance. + +Emigration and, above all, the enormous death-roll of the past eighteen +months, had emptied the apartment houses of the great city, and those +who had rooms to let were only too glad of a lodger, always providing +they were not in danger of being worried by the committees of their +section. + +The laws framed by these same committees now demanded that all keepers +of lodging or apartment houses should within twenty-four hours give +notice at the bureau of their individual sections of the advent of new +lodgers, together with a description of the personal appearance of +such lodgers, and an indication of their presumed civil status and +occupation. But there was a margin of twenty-four hours, which could +on pressure be extended to forty-eight, and, therefore, any one could +obtain shelter for forty-eight hours, and have no questions asked, +provided he or she was willing to pay the exorbitant sum usually asked +under the circumstances. + +Thus Blakeney had no difficulty in securing what lodgings he wanted when +he once more found himself inside Paris at somewhere about noon of that +same Monday. + +The thought of Hastings and Tony speeding on towards Mantes with the +royal child safely held in Hastings’ arms had kept his spirits buoyant +and caused him for a while to forget the terrible peril in which Armand +St. Just’s thoughtless egoism had placed them both. + +Blakeney was a man of abnormal physique and iron nerve, else he could +never have endured the fatigues of the past twenty-four hours, from +the moment when on the Sunday afternoon he began to play his part of +furniture-remover at the Temple, to that when at last on Monday at noon +he succeeded in persuading the sergeant at the Maillot gate that he +was an honest stonemason residing at Neuilly, who was come to Paris in +search of work. + +After that matters became more simple. Terribly foot-sore, though +he would never have admitted it, hungry and weary, he turned into an +unpretentious eating-house and ordered some dinner. The place when he +entered was occupied mostly by labourers and workmen, dressed very much +as he was himself, and quite as grimy as he had become after having +driven about for hours in a laundry-cart and in a coal-cart, and having +walked twelve kilometres, some of which he had covered whilst carrying a +sleeping child in his arms. + +Thus, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., the friend and companion of the Prince +of Wales, the most fastidious fop the salons of London and Bath had +ever seen, was in no way distinguishable outwardly from the tattered, +half-starved, dirty, and out-at-elbows products of this fraternising and +equalising Republic. + +He was so hungry that the ill-cooked, badly-served meal tempted him to +eat; and he ate on in silence, seemingly more interested in boiled beef +than in the conversation that went on around him. But he would not have +been the keen and daring adventurer that he was if he did not all the +while keep his ears open for any fragment of news that the desultory +talk of his fellow-diners was likely to yield to him. + +Politics were, of course, discussed; the tyranny of the sections, the +slavery that this free Republic had brought on its citizens. The +names of the chief personages of the day were all mentioned in turns +Focquier-Tinville, Santerre, Danton, Robespierre. Heron and his +sleuth-hounds were spoken of with execrations quickly suppressed, but of +little Capet not one word. + +Blakeney could not help but infer that Chauvelin, Heron and the +commissaries in charge were keeping the escape of the child a secret for +as long as they could. + +He could hear nothing of Armand’s fate, of course. The arrest--if arrest +there had been--was not like to be bruited abroad just now. Blakeney +having last seen Armand in Chauvelin’s company, whilst he himself was +moving the Simons’ furniture, could not for a moment doubt that the +young man was imprisoned,--unless, indeed, he was being allowed a +certain measure of freedom, whilst his every step was being spied on, so +that he might act as a decoy for his chief. + +At thought of that all weariness seemed to vanish from Blakeney’s +powerful frame. He set his lips firmly together, and once again the +light of irresponsible gaiety danced in his eyes. + +He had been in as tight a corner as this before now; at Boulogne his +beautiful Marguerite had been used as a decoy, and twenty-four hours +later he had held her in his arms on board his yacht the Day-Dream. As +he would have put it in his own forcible language: + +“Those d--d murderers have not got me yet.” + +The battle mayhap would this time be against greater odds than before, +but Blakeney had no fear that they would prove overwhelming. + +There was in life but one odd that was overwhelming, and that was +treachery. + +But of that there could be no question. + +In the afternoon Blakeney started off in search of lodgings for the +night. He found what would suit him in the Rue de l’Arcade, which +was equally far from the House of Justice as it was from his former +lodgings. Here he would be safe for at least twenty-four hours, after +which he might have to shift again. But for the moment the landlord +of the miserable apartment was over-willing to make no fuss and ask +no questions, for the sake of the money which this aristo in disguise +dispensed with a lavish hand. + +Having taken possession of his new quarters and snatched a few hours of +sound, well-deserved rest, until the time when the shades of evening +and the darkness of the streets would make progress through the city +somewhat more safe, Blakeney sallied forth at about six o’clock having a +threefold object in view. + +Primarily, of course, the threefold object was concentrated on Armand. +There was the possibility of finding out at the young man’s lodgings in +Montmartre what had become of him; then there were the usual inquiries +that could be made from the registers of the various prisons; and, +thirdly, there was the chance that Armand had succeeded in sending some +kind of message to Blakeney’s former lodgings in the Rue St. Germain +l’Auxerrois. + +On the whole, Sir Percy decided to leave the prison registers alone +for the present. If Armand had been actually arrested, he would almost +certainly be confined in the Chatelet prison, where he would be closer +to hand for all the interrogatories to which, no doubt, he would be +subjected. + +Blakeney set his teeth and murmured a good, sound, British oath when +he thought of those interrogatories. Armand St. Just, highly strung, +a dreamer and a bundle of nerves--how he would suffer under the mental +rack of questions and cross-questions, cleverly-laid traps to catch +information from him unawares! + +His next objective, then, was Armand’s former lodging, and from +six o’clock until close upon eight Sir Percy haunted the slopes of +Montmartre, and more especially the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Croix +Blanche, where Armand had lodged these former days. At the house itself +he could not inquire as yet; obviously it would not have been safe; +tomorrow, perhaps, when he knew more, but not tonight. His keen eyes had +already spied at least two figures clothed in the rags of out-of-work +labourers like himself, who had hung with suspicious persistence in this +same neighbourhood, and who during the two hours that he had been in +observation had never strayed out of sight of the house in the Rue de la +Croix Blanche. + +That these were two spies on the watch was, of course, obvious; +but whether they were on the watch for St. Just or for some other +unfortunate wretch it was at this stage impossible to conjecture. + +Then, as from the Tour des Dames close by the clock solemnly struck the +hour of eight, and Blakeney prepared to wend his way back to another +part of the city, he suddenly saw Armand walking slowly up the street. + +The young man did not look either to right or left; he held his head +forward on his chest, and his hands were hidden underneath his cloak. +When he passed immediately under one of the street lamps Blakeney caught +sight of his face; it was pale and drawn. Then he turned his head, +and for the space of two seconds his eyes across the narrow street +encountered those of his chief. He had the presence of mind not to make +a sign or to utter a sound; he was obviously being followed, but in +that brief moment Sir Percy had seen in the young man’s eyes a look that +reminded him of a hunted creature. + +“What have those brutes been up to with him, I wonder?” he muttered +between clenched teeth. + +Armand soon disappeared under the doorway of the same house where he +had been lodging all along. Even as he did so Blakeney saw the two spies +gather together like a pair of slimy lizards, and whisper excitedly +one to another. A third man, who obviously had been dogging Armand’s +footsteps, came up and joined them after a while. + +Blakeney could have sworn loudly and lustily, had it been possible to +do so without attracting attention. The whole of Armand’s history in +the past twenty-four hours was perfectly clear to him. The young man had +been made free that he might prove a decoy for more important game. + +His every step was being watched, and he still thought Jeanne Lange in +immediate danger of death. The look of despair in his face proclaimed +these two facts, and Blakeney’s heart ached for the mental torture which +his friend was enduring. He longed to let Armand know that the woman he +loved was in comparative safety. + +Jeanne Lange first, and then Armand himself; and the odds would be very +heavy against the Scarlet Pimpernel! But that Marguerite should not have +to mourn an only brother, of that Sir Percy made oath. + +He now turned his steps towards his own former lodgings by St. Germain +l’Auxerrois. It was just possible that Armand had succeeded in leaving a +message there for him. It was, of course, equally possible that when he +did so Heron’s men had watched his movements, and that spies would be +stationed there, too, on the watch. + +But that risk must, of course, be run. Blakeney’s former lodging was the +one place that Armand would know of to which he could send a message to +his chief, if he wanted to do so. Of course, the unfortunate young man +could not have known until just now that Percy would come back to Paris, +but he might guess it, or wish it, or only vaguely hope for it; he +might want to send a message, he might long to communicate with his +brother-in-law, and, perhaps, feel sure that the latter would not leave +him in the lurch. + +With that thought in his mind, Sir Percy was not likely to give up the +attempt to ascertain for himself whether Armand had tried to communicate +with him or not. As for spies--well, he had dodged some of them often +enough in his time--the risks that he ran to-night were no worse than +the ones to which he had so successfully run counter in the Temple +yesterday. + +Still keeping up the slouchy gait peculiar to the out-at-elbows working +man of the day, hugging the houses as he walked along the streets, +Blakeney made slow progress across the city. But at last he reached the +facade of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, and turning sharply to his right he +soon came in sight of the house which he had only quitted twenty-four +hours ago. + +We all know that house--all of us who are familiar with the Paris of +those terrible days. It stands quite detached--a vast quadrangle, +facing the Quai de l’Ecole and the river, backing on the Rue St. +Germain l’Auxerrois, and shouldering the Carrefour des Trois Manes. +The porte-cochere, so-called, is but a narrow doorway, and is actually +situated in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. + +Blakeney made his way cautiously right round the house; he peered up and +down the quay, and his keen eyes tried to pierce the dense gloom that +hung at the corners of the Pont Neuf immediately opposite. Soon he +assured himself that for the present, at any rate, the house was not +being watched. + +Armand presumably had not yet left a message for him here; but he might +do so at any time now that he knew that his chief was in Paris and on +the look-out for him. + +Blakeney made up his mind to keep this house in sight. This art of +watching he had acquired to a masterly extent, and could have taught +Heron’s watch-dogs a remarkable lesson in it. At night, of course, it +was a comparatively easy task. There were a good many unlighted doorways +along the quay, whilst a street lamp was fixed on a bracket in the wall +of the very house which he kept in observation. + +Finding temporary shelter under various doorways, or against the dank +walls of the houses, Blakeney set himself resolutely to a few hours’ +weary waiting. A thin, drizzly rain fell with unpleasant persistence, +like a damp mist, and the thin blouse which he wore soon became wet +through and clung hard and chilly to his shoulders. + +It was close on midnight when at last he thought it best to give up +his watch and to go back to his lodgings for a few hours’ sleep; but at +seven o’clock the next morning he was back again at his post. + +The porte-cochere of his former lodging-house was not yet open; he +took up his stand close beside it. His woollen cap pulled well over his +forehead, the grime cleverly plastered on his hair and face, his lower +jaw thrust forward, his eyes looking lifeless and bleary, all gave him +an expression of sly villainy, whilst the short clay pipe struck at +a sharp angle in his mouth, his hands thrust into the pockets of his +ragged breeches, and his bare feet in the mud of the road, gave the +final touch to his representation of an out-of-work, ill-conditioned, +and supremely discontented loafer. + +He had not very long to wait. Soon the porte-cochere of the house was +opened, and the concierge came out with his broom, making a show of +cleaning the pavement in front of the door. Five minutes later a lad, +whose clothes consisted entirely of rags, and whose feet and head were +bare, came rapidly up the street from the quay, and walked along looking +at the houses as he went, as if trying to decipher their number. The +cold grey dawn was just breaking, dreary and damp, as all the past days +had been. Blakeney watched the lad as he approached, the small, naked +feet falling noiselessly on the cobblestones of the road. When the boy +was quite close to him and to the house, Blakeney shifted his position +and took the pipe out of his mouth. + +“Up early, my son!” he said gruffly. + +“Yes,” said the pale-faced little creature; “I have a message to deliver +at No. 9 Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. It must be somewhere near here.” + +“It is. You can give me the message.” + +“Oh, no, citizen!” said the lad, into whose pale, circled eyes a look of +terror had quickly appeared. “It is for one of the lodgers in No. 9. I +must give it to him.” + +With an instinct which he somehow felt could not err at this moment, +Blakeney knew that the message was one from Armand to himself; a written +message, too, since--instinctively when he spoke--the boy clutched at +his thin shirt, as if trying to guard something precious that had been +entrusted to him. + +“I will deliver the message myself, sonny,” said Blakeney gruffly. +“I know the citizen for whom it is intended. He would not like the +concierge to see it.” + +“Oh! I would not give it to the concierge,” said the boy. “I would take +it upstairs myself.” + +“My son,” retorted Blakeney, “let me tell you this. You are going to +give that message up to me and I will put five whole livres into your +hand.” + +Blakeney, with all his sympathy aroused for this poor pale-faced lad, +put on the airs of a ruffianly bully. He did not wish that message to +be taken indoors by the lad, for the concierge might get hold of it, +despite the boy’s protests and tears, and after that Blakeney would +perforce have to disclose himself before it would be given up to him. +During the past week the concierge had been very amenable to bribery. +Whatever suspicions he had had about his lodger he had kept to himself +for the sake of the money which he received; but it was impossible to +gauge any man’s trend of thought these days from one hour to the next. +Something--for aught Blakeney knew--might have occurred in the past +twenty-four hours to change an amiable and accommodating lodging-house +keeper into a surly or dangerous spy. + +Fortunately, the concierge had once more gone within; there was no one +abroad, and if there were, no one probably would take any notice of a +burly ruffian brow-beating a child. + +“Allons!” he said gruffly, “give me the letter, or that five livres goes +back into my pocket.” + +“Five livres!” exclaimed the child with pathetic eagerness. “Oh, +citizen!” + +The thin little hand fumbled under the rags, but it reappeared again +empty, whilst a faint blush spread over the hollow cheeks. + +“The other citizen also gave me five livres,” he said humbly. “He lodges +in the house where my mother is concierge. It is in the Rue de la Croix +Blanche. He has been very kind to my mother. I would rather do as he +bade me.” + +“Bless the lad,” murmured Blakeney under his breath; “his loyalty +redeems many a crime of this God-forsaken city. Now I suppose I shall +have to bully him, after all.” + +He took his hand out of his breeches pocket; between two very dirty +fingers he held a piece of gold. The other hand he placed quite roughly +on the lad’s chest. + +“Give me the letter,” he said harshly, “or--” + +He pulled at the ragged blouse, and a scrap of soiled paper soon fell +into his hand. The lad began to cry. + +“Here,” said Blakeney, thrusting the piece of gold into the thin small +palm, “take this home to your mother, and tell your lodger that a big, +rough man took the letter away from you by force. Now run, before I kick +you out of the way.” + +The lad, terrified out of his poor wits, did not wait for further +commands; he took to his heels and ran, his small hand clutching the +piece of gold. Soon he had disappeared round the corner of the street. + +Blakeney did not at once read the paper; he thrust it quickly into his +breeches pocket and slouched away slowly down the street, and thence +across the Place du Carrousel, in the direction of his new lodgings in +the Rue de l’Arcade. + +It was only when he found himself alone in the narrow, squalid room +which he was occupying that he took the scrap of paper from his pocket +and read it slowly through. It said: + + + +Percy, you cannot forgive me, nor can I ever forgive myself, but if you +only knew what I have suffered for the past two days you would, I think, +try and forgive. I am free and yet a prisoner; my every footstep is +dogged. What they ultimately mean to do with me I do not know. And +when I think of Jeanne I long for the power to end mine own miserable +existence. Percy! she is still in the hands of those fiends.... I saw +the prison register; her name written there has been like a burning +brand on my heart ever since. She was still in prison the day that you +left Paris; to-morrow, to-night mayhap, they will try her, condemn her, +torture her, and I dare not go to see you, for I would only be bringing +spies to your door. But will you come to me, Percy? It should be safe in +the hours of the night, and the concierge is devoted to me. To-night at +ten o’clock she will leave the porte-cochere unlatched. If you find it +so, and if on the ledge of the window immediately on your left as you +enter you find a candle alight, and beside it a scrap of paper with your +initials S. P. traced on it, then it will be quite safe for you to come +up to my room. It is on the second landing--a door on your right--that +too I will leave on the latch. But in the name of the woman you love +best in all the world come at once to me then, and bear in mind, Percy, +that the woman I love is threatened with immediate death, and that I am +powerless to save her. Indeed, believe me, I would gladly die even now +but for the thought of Jeanne, whom I should be leaving in the hands +of those fiends. For God’s sake, Percy, remember that Jeanne is all the +world to me. + + + +“Poor old Armand,” murmured Blakeney with a kindly smile directed at the +absent friend, “he won’t trust me even now. He won’t trust his Jeanne in +my hands. Well,” he added after a while, “after all, I would not entrust +Marguerite to anybody else either.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE OVERWHELMING ODDS + +At half-past ten that same evening, Blakeney, still clad in a workman’s +tattered clothes, his feet bare so that he could tread the streets +unheard, turned into the Rue de la Croix Blanche. + +The porte-cochere of the house where Armand lodged had been left on the +latch; not a soul was in sight. Peering cautiously round, he slipped +into the house. On the ledge of the window, immediately on his left when +he entered, a candle was left burning, and beside it there was a scrap +of paper with the initials S. P. roughly traced in pencil. No one +challenged him as he noiselessly glided past it, and up the narrow +stairs that led to the upper floor. Here, too, on the second landing +the door on the right had been left on the latch. He pushed it open and +entered. + +As is usual even in the meanest lodgings in Paris houses, a small +antechamber gave between the front door and the main room. When Percy +entered the antechamber was unlighted, but the door into the inner room +beyond was ajar. Blakeney approached it with noiseless tread, and gently +pushed it open. + +That very instant he knew that the game was up; he heard the footsteps +closing up behind him, saw Armand, deathly pale, leaning against the +wall in the room in front of him, and Chauvelin and Heron standing guard +over him. + +The next moment the room and the antechamber were literally alive with +soldiers--twenty of them to arrest one man. + +It was characteristic of that man that when hands were laid on him +from every side he threw back his head and laughed--laughed mirthfully, +light-heartedly, and the first words that escaped his lips were: + +“Well, I am d--d!” + +“The odds are against you, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin to him in +English, whilst Heron at the further end of the room was growling like a +contented beast. + +“By the Lord, sir,” said Percy with perfect sang-froid, “I do believe +that for the moment they are.” + +“Have done, my men--have done!” he added, turning good-humouredly to the +soldiers round him. “I never fight against overwhelming odds. Twenty to +one, eh? I could lay four of you out easily enough, perhaps even six, +but what then?” + +But a kind of savage lust seemed to have rendered these men temporarily +mad, and they were being egged on by Heron. The mysterious Englishman, +about whom so many eerie tales were told! Well, he had supernatural +powers, and twenty to one might be nothing to him if the devil was on +his side. Therefore a blow on his forearm with the butt-end of a bayonet +was useful for disabling his right hand, and soon the left arm with a +dislocated shoulder hung limp by his side. Then he was bound with cords. + +The vein of luck had given out. The gambler had staked more than usual +and had lost; but he knew how to lose, just as he had always known how +to win. + +“Those d--d brutes are trussing me like a fowl,” he murmured with +irrepressible gaiety at the last. + +Then the wrench on his bruised arms as they were pulled roughly back by +the cords caused the veil of unconsciousness to gather over his eyes. + +“And Jeanne was safe, Armand,” he shouted with a last desperate effort; +“those devils have lied to you and tricked you into this ... Since +yesterday she is out of prison... in the house... you know....” + +After that he lost consciousness. + + + +And this occurred on Tuesday, January 21st, in the year 1794, or, in +accordance with the new calendar, on the 2nd Pluviose, year II of the +Republic. + +It is chronicled in the Moniteur of the 3rd Pluviose that, “on the +previous evening, at half-past ten of the clock, the Englishman known +as the Scarlet Pimpernel, who for three years has conspired against the +safety of the Republic, was arrested through the patriotic exertions +of citizen Chauvelin, and conveyed to the Conciergerie, where he now +lies--sick, but closely guarded. Long live the Republic!” + + + + +PART II. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE NEWS + +The grey January day was falling, drowsy, and dull into the arms of +night. + +Marguerite, sitting in the dusk beside the fire in her small boudoir, +shivered a little as she drew her scarf closer round her shoulders. + +Edwards, the butler, entered with the lamp. The room looked peculiarly +cheery now, with the delicate white panelling of the wall glowing under +the soft kiss of the flickering firelight and the steadier glow of the +rose-shaded lamp. + +“Has the courier not arrived yet, Edwards?” asked Marguerite, fixing the +impassive face of the well-drilled servant with her large purple-rimmed +eyes. + +“Not yet, m’lady,” he replied placidly. + +“It is his day, is it not?” + +“Yes, m’lady. And the forenoon is his time. But there have been heavy +rains, and the roads must be rare muddy. He must have been delayed, +m’lady.” + +“Yes, I suppose so,” she said listlessly. “That will do, Edwards. No, +don’t close the shutters. I’ll ring presently.” + +The man went out of the room as automatically as he had come. He closed +the door behind him, and Marguerite was once more alone. + +She picked up the book which she had fingered idly before the light gave +out. She tried once more to fix her attention on this tale of love and +adventure written by Mr. Fielding; but she had lost the thread of the +story, and there was a mist between her eyes and the printed pages. + +With an impatient gesture she threw down the book and passed her hand +across her eyes, then seemed astonished to find that her hand was wet. + +She rose and went to the window. The air outside had been singularly +mild all day; the thaw was persisting, and a south wind came across the +Channel--from France. + +Marguerite threw open the casement and sat down on the wide sill, +leaning her head against the window-frame, and gazing out into the fast +gathering gloom. From far away, at the foot of the gently sloping lawns, +the river murmured softly in the night; in the borders to the right and +left a few snowdrops still showed like tiny white specks through the +surrounding darkness. Winter had begun the process of slowly shedding +its mantle, coquetting with Spring, who still lingered in the land of +Infinity. Gradually the shadows drew closer and closer; the reeds and +rushes on the river bank were the first to sink into their embrace, then +the big cedars on the lawn, majestic and defiant, but yielding still +unconquered to the power of night. + +The tiny stars of snowdrop blossoms vanished one by one, and at last the +cool, grey ribbon of the river surface was wrapped under the mantle of +evening. + +Only the south wind lingered on, soughing gently in the drowsy reeds, +whispering among the branches of the cedars, and gently stirring the +tender corollas of the sleeping snowdrops. + +Marguerite seemed to open out her lungs to its breath. It had come all +the way from France, and on its wings had brought something of Percy--a +murmur as if he had spoken--a memory that was as intangible as a dream. + +She shivered again, though of a truth it was not cold. The courier’s +delay had completely unsettled her nerves. Twice a week he came +especially from Dover, and always he brought some message, some token +which Percy had contrived to send from Paris. They were like tiny scraps +of dry bread thrown to a starving woman, but they did just help to keep +her heart alive--that poor, aching, disappointed heart that so longed +for enduring happiness which it could never get. + +The man whom she loved with all her soul, her mind and her body, did +not belong to her; he belonged to suffering humanity over there in +terror-stricken France, where the cries of the innocent, the persecuted, +the wretched called louder to him than she in her love could do. + +He had been away three months now, during which time her starving heart +had fed on its memories, and the happiness of a brief visit from him six +weeks ago, when--quite unexpectedly--he had appeared before her... home +between two desperate adventures that had given life and freedom to a +number of innocent people, and nearly cost him his--and she had lain in +his arms in a swoon of perfect happiness. + +But he had gone away again as suddenly as he had come, and for six weeks +now she had lived partly in anticipation of the courier with messages +from him, and partly on the fitful joy engendered by these messages. +To-day she had not even that, and the disappointment seemed just now +more than she could bear. + +She felt unaccountably restless, and could she but have analysed her +feelings--had she dared so to do--she would have realised that the +weight which oppressed her heart so that she could hardly breathe, was +one of vague yet dark foreboding. + +She closed the window and returned to her seat by the fire, taking up +her hook with the strong resolution not to allow her nerves to get the +better of her. But it was difficult to pin one’s attention down to the +adventures of Master Tom Jones when one’s mind was fully engrossed with +those of Sir Percy Blakeney. + +The sound of carriage wheels on the gravelled forecourt in the front of +the house suddenly awakened her drowsy senses. She threw down the book, +and with trembling hands clutched the arms of her chair, straining +her ears to listen. A carriage at this hour--and on this damp winter’s +evening! She racked her mind wondering who it could be. + +Lady Ffoulkes was in London, she knew. Sir Andrew, of course, was in +Paris. His Royal Highness, ever a faithful visitor, would surely not +venture out to Richmond in this inclement weather--and the courier +always came on horseback. + +There was a murmur of voices; that of Edwards, mechanical and placid, +could be heard quite distinctly saying: + +“I’m sure that her ladyship will be at home for you, m’lady. But I’ll go +and ascertain.” + +Marguerite ran to the door and with joyful eagerness tore it open. + +“Suzanne!” she called “my little Suzanne! I thought you were in London. +Come up quickly! In the boudoir--yes. Oh! what good fortune hath brought +you?” + +Suzanne flew into her arms, holding the friend whom she loved so well +close and closer to her heart, trying to hide her face, which was wet +with tears, in the folds of Marguerite’s kerchief. + +“Come inside, my darling,” said Marguerite. “Why, how cold your little +hands are!” + +She was on the point of turning back to her boudoir, drawing Lady +Ffoulkes by the hand, when suddenly she caught sight of Sir Andrew, who +stood at a little distance from her, at the top of the stairs. + +“Sir Andrew!” she exclaimed with unstinted gladness. + +Then she paused. The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving them dry +and parted. She suddenly felt as if some fearful talons had gripped her +heart and were tearing at it with sharp, long nails; the blood flew from +her cheeks and from her limbs, leaving her with a sense of icy numbness. + +She backed into the room, still holding Suzanne’s hand, and drawing her +in with her. Sir Andrew followed them, then closed the door behind him. +At last the word escaped Marguerite’s parched lips: + +“Percy! Something has happened to him! He is dead?” + +“No, no!” exclaimed Sir Andrew quickly. + +Suzanne put her loving arms round her friend and drew her down into the +chair by the fire. She knelt at her feet on the hearthrug, and pressed +her own burning lips on Marguerite’s icy-cold hands. Sir Andrew stood +silently by, a world of loving friendship, of heart-broken sorrow, in +his eyes. + +There was silence in the pretty white-panelled room for a while. +Marguerite sat with her eyes closed, bringing the whole armoury of her +will power to bear her up outwardly now. + +“Tell me!” she said at last, and her voice was toneless and dull, like +one that came from the depths of a grave--“tell me--exactly--everything. +Don’t be afraid. I can bear it. Don’t be afraid.” + +Sir Andrew remained standing, with bowed head and one hand resting on +the table. In a firm, clear voice he told her the events of the past few +days as they were known to him. All that he tried to hide was Armand’s +disobedience, which, in his heart, he felt was the primary cause of the +catastrophe. He told of the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple, the +midnight drive in the coal-cart, the meeting with Hastings and Tony in +the spinney. He only gave vague explanations of Armand’s stay in Paris +which caused Percy to go back to the city, even at the moment when his +most daring plan had been so successfully carried through. + +“Armand, I understand, has fallen in love with a beautiful woman in +Paris, Lady Blakeney,” he said, seeing that a strange, puzzled look had +appeared in Marguerite’s pale face. “She was arrested the day before the +rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple. Armand could not join us. He felt +that he could not leave her. I am sure that you will understand.” + +Then as she made no comment, he resumed his narrative: + +“I had been ordered to go back to La Villette, and there to resume my +duties as a labourer in the day-time, and to wait for Percy during the +night. The fact that I had received no message from him for two days had +made me somewhat worried, but I have such faith in him, such belief in +his good luck and his ingenuity, that I would not allow myself to be +really anxious. Then on the third day I heard the news.” + +“What news?” asked Marguerite mechanically. + +“That the Englishman who was known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had been +captured in a house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche, and had been +imprisoned in the Conciergerie.” + +“The Rue de la Croix Blanche? Where is that?” + +“In the Montmartre quarter. Armand lodged there. Percy, I imagine, was +working to get him away; and those brutes captured him.” + +“Having heard the news, Sir Andrew, what did you do?” + +“I went into Paris and ascertained its truth.” + +“And there is no doubt of it?” + +“Alas, none! I went to the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. Armand +had disappeared. I succeeded in inducing the concierge to talk. She +seems to have been devoted to her lodger. Amidst tears she told me +some of the details of the capture. Can you bear to hear them, Lady +Blakeney?” + +“Yes--tell me everything--don’t be afraid,” she reiterated with the same +dull monotony. + +“It appears that early on the Tuesday morning the son of the +concierge--a lad about fifteen--was sent off by her lodger with a +message to No. 9 Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. That was the house where +Percy was staying all last week, where he kept disguises and so on +for us all, and where some of our meetings were held. Percy evidently +expected that Armand would try and communicate with him at that address, +for when the lad arrived in front of the house he was accosted--so +he says--by a big, rough workman, who browbeat him into giving up the +lodger’s letter, and finally pressed a piece of gold into his hand. The +workman was Blakeney, of course. I imagine that Armand, at the time that +he wrote the letter, must have been under the belief that Mademoiselle +Lange was still in prison; he could not know then that Blakeney had +already got her into comparative safety. In the letter he must have +spoken of the terrible plight in which he stood, and also of his fears +for the woman whom he loved. Percy was not the man to leave a comrade +in the lurch! He would not be the man whom we all love and admire, whose +word we all obey, for whose sake we would gladly all of us give our +life--he would not be that man if he did not brave even certain dangers +in order to be of help to those who call on him. Armand called and Percy +went to him. He must have known that Armand was being spied upon, for +Armand, alas! was already a marked man, and the watch-dogs of +those infernal committees were already on his heels. Whether these +sleuth-hounds had followed the son of the concierge and seen him give +the letter to the workman in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, or whether +the concierge in the Rue de la Croix Blanche was nothing but a spy of +Heron’s, or, again whether the Committee of General Security kept +a company of soldiers in constant alert in that house, we shall, of +course, never know. All that I do know is that Percy entered that +fatal house at half-past ten, and that a quarter of an hour later the +concierge saw some of the soldiers descending the stairs, carrying +a heavy burden. She peeped out of her lodge, and by the light in the +corridor she saw that the heavy burden was the body of a man bound +closely with ropes: his eyes were closed, his clothes were stained with +blood. He was seemingly unconscious. The next day the official organ +of the Government proclaimed the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and +there was a public holiday in honour of the event.” + +Marguerite had listened to this terrible narrative dry-eyed and silent. +Now she still sat there, hardly conscious of what went on around her--of +Suzanne’s tears, that fell unceasingly upon her fingers--of Sir Andrew, +who had sunk into a chair, and buried his head in his hands. She was +hardly conscious that she lived; the universe seemed to have stood still +before this awful, monstrous cataclysm. + +But, nevertheless, she was the first to return to the active realities +of the present. + +“Sir Andrew,” she said after a while, “tell me, where are my Lords Tony +and Hastings?” + +“At Calais, madam,” he replied. “I saw them there on my way hither. +They had delivered the Dauphin safely into the hands of his adherents at +Mantes, and were awaiting Blakeney’s further orders, as he had commanded +them to do.” + +“Will they wait for us there, think you?” + +“For us, Lady Blakeney?” he exclaimed in puzzlement. + +“Yes, for us, Sir Andrew,” she replied, whilst the ghost of a smile +flitted across her drawn face; “you had thought of accompanying me to +Paris, had you not?” + +“But Lady Blakeney--” + +“Ah! I know what you would say, Sir Andrew. You will speak of dangers, +of risks, of death, mayhap; you will tell me that I as a woman can do +nothing to help my husband--that I could be but a hindrance to him, just +as I was in Boulogne. But everything is so different now. Whilst those +brutes planned his capture he was clever enough to outwit them, but now +they have actually got him, think you they’ll let him escape? They’ll +watch him night and day, my friend, just as they watched the unfortunate +Queen; but they’ll not keep him months, weeks, or even days in +prison--even Chauvelin now will no longer attempt to play with the +Scarlet Pimpernel. They have him, and they will hold him until such time +as they take him to the guillotine.” + +Her voice broke in a sob; her self-control was threatening to leave her. +She was but a woman, young and passionately in love with the man who +was about to die an ignominious death, far away from his country, his +kindred, his friends. + +“I cannot let him die alone, Sir Andrew; he will be longing for me, +and--and, after all, there is you, and my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings +and the others; surely--surely we are not going to let him die, not like +that, and not alone.” + +“You are right, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew earnestly; “we are not +going to let him die, if human agency can do aught to save him. Already +Tony, Hastings and I have agreed to return to Paris. There are one or +two hidden places in and around the city known only to Percy and to +the members of the League where he must find one or more of us if he +succeeds in getting away. All the way between Paris and Calais we have +places of refuge, places where any of us can hide at a given moment; +where we can find disguises when we want them, or horses in an +emergency. No! no! we are not going to despair, Lady Blakeney; there are +nineteen of us prepared to lay down our lives for the Scarlet Pimpernel. +Already I, as his lieutenant, have been selected as the leader of as +determined a gang as has ever entered on a work of rescue before. We +leave for Paris to-morrow, and if human pluck and devotion can destroy +mountains then we’ll destroy them. Our watchword is: ‘God save the +Scarlet Pimpernel.’” + +He knelt beside her chair and kissed the cold fingers which, with a sad +little smile, she held out to him. + +“And God bless you all!” she murmured. + +Suzanne had risen to her feet when her husband knelt; now he stood up +beside her. The dainty young woman hardly more than a child--was doing +her best to restrain her tears. + +“See how selfish I am,” said Marguerite. “I talk calmly of taking your +husband from you, when I myself know the bitterness of such partings.” + +“My husband will go where his duty calls him,” said Suzanne with +charming and simple dignity. “I love him with all my heart, because +he is brave and good. He could not leave his comrade, who is also his +chief, in the lurch. God will protect him, I know. I would not ask him +to play the part of a coward.” + +Her brown eyes glowed with pride. She was the true wife of a soldier, +and with all her dainty ways and childlike manners she was a splendid +woman and a staunch friend. Sir Percy Blakeney had saved her entire +family from death, the Comte and Comtesse de Tournai, the Vicomte, her +brother, and she herself all owed their lives to the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +This she was not like to forget. + +“There is but little danger for us, I fear me,” said Sir Andrew lightly; +“the revolutionary Government only wants to strike at a head, it cares +nothing for the limbs. Perhaps it feels that without our leader we are +enemies not worthy of persecution. If there are any dangers, so much +the better,” he added; “but I don’t anticipate any, unless we succeed in +freeing our chief; and having freed him, we fear nothing more.” + +“The same applies to me, Sir Andrew,” rejoined Marguerite earnestly. +“Now that they have captured Percy, those human fiends will care naught +for me. If you succeed in freeing Percy I, like you, will have nothing +more to fear, and if you fail--” + +She paused and put her small, white hand on Sir Andrew’s arm. + +“Take me with you, Sir Andrew,” she entreated; “do not condemn me to +the awful torture of weary waiting, day after day, wondering, guessing, +never daring to hope, lest hope deferred be more hard to bear than +dreary hopelessness.” + +Then as Sir Andrew, very undecided, yet half inclined to yield, +stood silent and irresolute, she pressed her point, gently but firmly +insistent. + +“I would not be in the way, Sir Andrew; I would know how to efface +myself so as not to interfere with your plans. But, oh!” she added, +while a quivering note of passion trembled in her voice, “can’t you +see that I must breathe the air that he breathes else I shall stifle or +mayhap go mad?” + +Sir Andrew turned to his wife, a mute query in his eyes. + +“You would do an inhuman and a cruel act,” said Suzanne with seriousness +that sat quaintly on her baby face, “if you did not afford your +protection to Marguerite, for I do believe that if you did not take her +with you to-morrow she would go to Paris alone.” + +Marguerite thanked her friend with her eyes. Suzanne was a child +in nature, but she had a woman’s heart. She loved her husband, and, +therefore, knew and understood what Marguerite must be suffering now. + +Sir Andrew no longer could resist the unfortunate woman’s earnest +pleading. Frankly, he thought that if she remained in England while +Percy was in such deadly peril she ran the grave risk of losing her +reason before the terrible strain of suspense. He knew her to be a woman +of courage, and one capable of great physical endurance; and really he +was quite honest when he said that he did not believe there would be +much danger for the headless League of the Scarlet Pimpernel unless they +succeeded in freeing their chief. And if they did succeed, then indeed +there would be nothing to fear, for the brave and loving wife who, like +every true woman does, and has done in like circumstances since the +beginning of time, was only demanding with passionate insistence the +right to share the fate, good or ill, of the man whom she loved. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. PARIS ONCE MORE + +Sir Andrew had just come in. He was trying to get a little warmth into +his half-frozen limbs, for the cold had set in again, and this time with +renewed vigour, and Marguerite was pouring out a cup of hot coffee which +she had been brewing for him. She had not asked for news. She knew that +he had none to give her, else he had not worn that wearied, despondent +look in his kind face. + +“I’ll just try one more place this evening,” he said as soon as he had +swallowed some of the hot coffee--“a restaurant in the Rue de la Harpe; +the members of the Cordeliers’ Club often go there for supper, and they +are usually well informed. I might glean something definite there.” + +“It seems very strange that they are so slow in bringing him to trial,” + said Marguerite in that dull, toneless voice which had become habitual +to her. “When you first brought me the awful news that... I made sure +that they would bring him to trial at once, and was in terror lest we +arrived here too late to--to see him.” + +She checked herself quickly, bravely trying to still the quiver of her +voice. + +“And of Armand?” she asked. + +He shook his head sadly. + +“With regard to him I am at a still greater loss,” he said: “I cannot +find his name on any of the prison registers, and I know that he is not +in the Conciergerie. They have cleared out all the prisoners from there; +there is only Percy--” + +“Poor Armand!” she sighed; “it must be almost worse for him than for +any of us; it was his first act of thoughtless disobedience that brought +all this misery upon our heads.” + +She spoke sadly but quietly. Sir Andrew noted that there was no +bitterness in her tone. But her very quietude was heart-breaking; there +was such an infinity of despair in the calm of her eyes. + +“Well! though we cannot understand it all, Lady Blakeney,” he said with +forced cheerfulness, “we must remember one thing--that whilst there is +life there is hope.” + +“Hope!” she exclaimed with a world of pathos in her sigh, her large eyes +dry and circled, fixed with indescribable sorrow on her friend’s face. + +Ffoulkes turned his head away, pretending to busy himself with +the coffee-making utensils. He could not bear to see that look of +hopelessness in her face, for in his heart he could not find the +wherewithal to cheer her. Despair was beginning to seize on him too, and +this he would not let her see. + +They had been in Paris three days now, and it was six days since +Blakeney had been arrested. Sir Andrew and Marguerite had found +temporary lodgings inside Paris, Tony and Hastings were just outside the +gates, and all along the route between Paris and Calais, at St. Germain, +at Mantes, in the villages between Beauvais and Amiens, wherever money +could obtain friendly help, members of the devoted League of the Scarlet +Pimpernel lay in hiding, waiting to aid their chief. + +Ffoulkes had ascertained that Percy was kept a close prisoner in the +Conciergerie, in the very rooms occupied by Marie Antoinette during the +last months of her life. He left poor Marguerite to guess how closely +that elusive Scarlet Pimpernel was being guarded, the precautions +surrounding him being even more minute than those which had made the +unfortunate Queen’s closing days a martyrdom for her. + +But of Armand he could glean no satisfactory news, only the negative +probability that he was not detained in any of the larger prisons of +Paris, as no register which he, Ffoulkes, so laboriously consulted bore +record of the name of St. Just. + +Haunting the restaurants and drinking booths where the most advanced +Jacobins and Terrorists were wont to meet, he had learned one or two +details of Blakeney’s incarceration which he could not possibly impart +to Marguerite. The capture of the mysterious Englishman known as the +Scarlet Pimpernel had created a great deal of popular satisfaction; +but it was obvious that not only was the public mind not allowed to +associate that capture with the escape of little Capet from the Temple, +but it soon became clear to Ffoulkes that the news of that escape was +still being kept a profound secret. + +On one occasion he had succeeded in spying on the Chief Agent of the +Committee of General Security, whom he knew by sight, while the latter +was sitting at dinner in the company of a stout, florid man with +pock-marked face and podgy hands covered with rings. + +Sir Andrew marvelled who this man might be. Heron spoke to him in +ambiguous phrases that would have been unintelligible to any one who did +not know the circumstances of the Dauphin’s escape and the part that +the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had played in it. But to Sir Andrew +Ffoulkes, who--cleverly disguised as a farrier, grimy after his day’s +work--was straining his ears to listen whilst apparently consuming huge +slabs of boiled beef, it soon became clear that the chief agent and his +fat friend were talking of the Dauphin and of Blakeney. + +“He won’t hold out much longer, citizen,” the chief agent was saying in +a confident voice; “our men are absolutely unremitting in their task. +Two of them watch him night and day; they look after him well, and +practically never lose sight of him, but the moment he tries to get any +sleep one of them rushes into the cell with a loud banging of bayonet +and sabre, and noisy tread on the flagstones, and shouts at the top of +his voice: ‘Now then, aristo, where’s the brat? Tell us now, and you +shall be down and go to sleep.’ I have done it myself all through one +day just for the pleasure of it. It’s a little tiring for you to have to +shout a good deal now, and sometimes give the cursed Englishman a good +shake-up. He has had five days of it, and not one wink of sleep during +that time--not one single minute of rest--and he only gets enough food +to keep him alive. I tell you he can’t last. Citizen Chauvelin had a +splendid idea there. It will all come right in a day or two.” + +“H’m!” grunted the other sulkily; “those Englishmen are tough.” + +“Yes!” retorted Heron with a grim laugh and a leer of savagery that made +his gaunt face look positively hideous--“you would have given out after +three days, friend de Batz, would you not? And I warned you, didn’t I? I +told you if you tampered with the brat I would make you cry in mercy to +me for death.” + +“And I warned you,” said the other imperturbably, “not to worry so much +about me, but to keep your eyes open for those cursed Englishmen.” + +“I am keeping my eyes open for you, nevertheless, my friend. If I +thought you knew where the vermin’s spawn was at this moment I would--” + +“You would put me on the same rack that you or your precious friend, +Chauvelin, have devised for the Englishman. But I don’t know where the +lad is. If I did I would not be in Paris.” + +“I know that,” assented Heron with a sneer; “you would soon be after the +reward--over in Austria, what?--but I have your movements tracked day +and night, my friend. I dare say you are as anxious as we are as to the +whereabouts of the child. Had he been taken over the frontier you would +have been the first to hear of it, eh? No,” he added confidently, and +as if anxious to reassure himself, “my firm belief is that the original +idea of these confounded Englishmen was to try and get the child over +to England, and that they alone know where he is. I tell you it won’t +be many days before that very withered Scarlet Pimpernel will order +his followers to give little Capet up to us. Oh! they are hanging about +Paris some of them, I know that; citizen Chauvelin is convinced that the +wife isn’t very far away. Give her a sight of her husband now, say I, +and she’ll make the others give the child up soon enough.” + +The man laughed like some hyena gloating over its prey. Sir Andrew +nearly betrayed himself then. He had to dig his nails into his own flesh +to prevent himself from springing then and there at the throat of that +wretch whose monstrous ingenuity had invented torture for the fallen +enemy far worse than any that the cruelties of medieval Inquisitions had +devised. + +So they would not let him sleep! A simple idea born in the brain of a +fiend. Heron had spoken of Chauvelin as the originator of the devilry; +a man weakened deliberately day by day by insufficient food, and the +horrible process of denying him rest. It seemed inconceivable that +human, sentient beings should have thought of such a thing. Perspiration +stood up in beads on Sir Andrew’s brow when he thought of his friend, +brought down by want of sleep to--what? His physique was splendidly +powerful, but could it stand against such racking torment for long? And +the clear, the alert mind, the scheming brain, the reckless daring--how +soon would these become enfeebled by the slow, steady torture of an +utter want of rest? + +Ffoulkes had to smother a cry of horror, which surely must have drawn +the attention of that fiend on himself had he not been so engrossed in +the enjoyment of his own devilry. As it is, he ran out of the stuffy +eating-house, for he felt as if its fetid air must choke him. + +For an hour after that he wandered about the streets, not daring to face +Marguerite, lest his eyes betrayed some of the horror which was shaking +his very soul. + +That was twenty-four hours ago. To-day he had learnt little else. It was +generally known that the Englishman was in the Conciergerie prison, that +he was being closely watched, and that his trial would come on within +the next few days; but no one seemed to know exactly when. The public +was getting restive, demanding that trial and execution to which every +one seemed to look forward as to a holiday. In the meanwhile the escape +of the Dauphin had been kept from the knowledge of the public; Heron and +his gang, fearing for their lives, had still hopes of extracting from +the Englishman the secret of the lad’s hiding-place, and the means they +employed for arriving at this end was worthy of Lucifer and his host of +devils in hell. + +From other fragments of conversation which Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had +gleaned that same evening, it seemed to him that in order to hide their +defalcations Heron and the four commissaries in charge of little Capet +had substituted a deaf and dumb child for the escaped little prisoner. +This miserable small wreck of humanity was reputed to be sick and kept +in a darkened room, in bed, and was in that condition exhibited to any +member of the Convention who had the right to see him. A partition had +been very hastily erected in the inner room once occupied by the Simons, +and the child was kept behind that partition, and no one was allowed to +come too near to him. Thus the fraud was succeeding fairly well. Heron +and his accomplices only cared to save their skins, and the wretched +little substitute being really ill, they firmly hoped that he would +soon die, when no doubt they would bruit abroad the news of the death of +Capet, which would relieve them of further responsibility. + +That such ideas, such thoughts, such schemes should have engendered in +human minds it is almost impossible to conceive, and yet we know from +no less important a witness than Madame Simon herself that the child who +died in the Temple a few weeks later was a poor little imbecile, a deaf +and dumb child brought hither from one of the asylums and left to die in +peace. There was nobody but kindly Death to take him out of his misery, +for the giant intellect that had planned and carried out the rescue of +the uncrowned King of France, and which alone might have had the power +to save him too, was being broken on the rack of enforced sleeplessness. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. THE BITTEREST FOE + +That same evening Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, having announced his intention +of gleaning further news of Armand, if possible, went out shortly after +seven o’clock, promising to be home again about nine. + +Marguerite, on the other hand, had to make her friend a solemn promise +that she would try and eat some supper which the landlady of these +miserable apartments had agreed to prepare for her. So far they had been +left in peaceful occupation of these squalid lodgings in a tumble-down +house on the Quai de la Ferraille, facing the house of Justice, the grim +walls of which Marguerite would watch with wide-open dry eyes for as +long as the grey wintry light lingered over them. + +Even now, though the darkness had set in, and snow, falling in close, +small flakes, threw a thick white veil over the landscape, she sat at +the open window long after Sir Andrew had gone out, watching the few +small flicks of light that blinked across from the other side of the +river, and which came from the windows of the Chatelet towers. The +windows of the Conciergerie she could not see, for these gave on one of +the inner courtyards; but there was a melancholy consolation even in the +gazing on those walls that held in their cruel, grim embrace all that +she loved in the world. + +It seemed so impossible to think of Percy--the laughter-loving, +irresponsible, light-hearted adventurer--as the prey of those fiends who +would revel in their triumph, who would crush him, humiliate him, insult +him--ye gods alive! even torture him, perhaps--that they might break the +indomitable spirit that would mock them even on the threshold of death. + +Surely, surely God would never allow such monstrous infamy as the +deliverance of the noble soaring eagle into the hands of those preying +jackals! Marguerite--though her heart ached beyond what human nature +could endure, though her anguish on her husband’s account was doubled by +that which she felt for her brother--could not bring herself to give +up all hope. Sir Andrew said it rightly; while there was life there +was hope. While there was life in those vigorous limbs, spirit in that +daring mind, how could puny, rampant beasts gain the better of the +immortal soul? As for Armand--why, if Percy were free she would have no +cause to fear for Armand. + +She sighed a sigh of deep, of passionate regret and longing. If she +could only see her husband; if she could only look for one second into +those laughing, lazy eyes, wherein she alone knew how to fathom the +infinity of passion that lay within their depths; if she could but once +feel his--ardent kiss on her lips, she could more easily endure this +agonising suspense, and wait confidently and courageously for the issue. + +She turned away from the window, for the night was getting bitterly +cold. From the tower of St. Germain l’Auxerrois the clock slowly struck +eight. Even as the last sound of the historic bell died away in the +distance she heard a timid knocking at the door. + +“Enter!” she called unthinkingly. + +She thought it was her landlady, come up with more wood, mayhap, for +the fire, so she did not turn to the door when she heard it being slowly +opened, then closed again, and presently a soft tread on the threadbare +carpet. + +“May I crave your kind attention, Lady Blakeney?” said a harsh voice, +subdued to tones of ordinary courtesy. + +She quickly repressed a cry of terror. How well she knew that voice! +When last she heard it it was at Boulogne, dictating that infamous +letter--the weapon wherewith Percy had so effectually foiled his enemy. +She turned and faced the man who was her bitterest foe--hers in the +person of the man she loved. + +“Chauvelin!” she gasped. + +“Himself at your service, dear lady,” he said simply. + +He stood in the full light of the lamp, his trim, small figure boldly +cut out against the dark wall beyond. He wore the usual sable-coloured +clothes which he affected, with the primly-folded jabot and cuffs edged +with narrow lace. + +Without waiting for permission from her he quietly and deliberately +placed his hat and cloak on a chair. Then he turned once more +toward her, and made a movement as if to advance into the room; but +instinctively she put up a hand as if to ward off the calamity of his +approach. + +He shrugged his shoulders, and the shadow of a smile, that had neither +mirth nor kindliness in it, hovered round the corners of his thin lips. + +“Have I your permission to sit?” he asked. + +“As you will,” she replied slowly, keeping her wide-open eyes fixed +upon him as does a frightened bird upon the serpent whom it loathes and +fears. + +“And may I crave a few moments of your undivided attention, Lady +Blakeney?” he continued, taking a chair, and so placing it beside the +table that the light of the lamp when he sat remained behind him and his +face was left in shadow. + +“Is it necessary?” asked Marguerite. + +“It is,” he replied curtly, “if you desire to see and speak with your +husband--to be of use to him before it is too late.” + +“Then, I pray you, speak, citizen, and I will listen.” + +She sank into a chair, not heeding whether the light of the lamp fell +on her face or not, whether the lines in her haggard cheeks, or her +tear-dimmed eyes showed plainly the sorrow and despair that had traced +them. She had nothing to hide from this man, the cause of all the +tortures which she endured. She knew that neither courage nor sorrow +would move him, and that hatred for Percy--personal deadly hatred for +the man who had twice foiled him--had long crushed the last spark of +humanity in his heart. + +“Perhaps, Lady Blakeney,” he began after a slight pause and in his +smooth, even voice, “it would interest you to hear how I succeeded in +procuring for myself this pleasure of an interview with you?” + +“Your spies did their usual work, I suppose,” she said coldly. + +“Exactly. We have been on your track for three days, and yesterday +evening an unguarded movement on the part of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes gave us +the final clue to your whereabouts.” + +“Of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes?” she asked, greatly puzzled. + +“He was in an eating-house, cleverly disguised, I own, trying to glean +information, no doubt as to the probable fate of Sir Percy Blakeney. +As chance would have it, my friend Heron, of the Committee of +General Security, chanced to be discussing with reprehensible +openness--er--certain--what shall I say?--certain measures which, at my +advice, the Committee of Public Safety have been forced to adopt with a +view to--” + +“A truce on your smooth-tongued speeches, citizen Chauvelin,” she +interposed firmly. “Sir Andrew Ffoulkes has told me naught of this--so I +pray you speak plainly and to the point, if you can.” + +He bowed with marked irony. + +“As you please,” he said. “Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, hearing certain matters +of which I will tell you anon, made a movement which betrayed him to +one of our spies. At a word from citizen Heron this man followed on +the heels of the young farrier who had shown such interest in the +conversation of the Chief Agent. Sir Andrew, I imagine, burning with +indignation at what he had heard, was perhaps not quite so cautious as +he usually is. Anyway, the man on his track followed him to this door. +It was quite simple, as you see. As for me, I had guessed a week ago +that we would see the beautiful Lady Blakeney in Paris before long. When +I knew where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes lodged, I had no difficulty in guessing +that Lady Blakeney would not be far off.” + +“And what was there in citizen Heron’s conversation last night,” she +asked quietly, “that so aroused Sir Andrew’s indignation?” + +“He has not told you?” “Oh! it is very simple. Let me tell you, Lady +Blakeney, exactly how matters stand. Sir Percy Blakeney--before lucky +chance at last delivered him into our hands--thought fit, as no doubt +you know, to meddle with our most important prisoner of State.” + +“A child. I know it, sir--the son of a murdered father whom you and your +friends were slowly doing to death.” + +“That is as it may be, Lady Blakeney,” rejoined Chauvelin calmly; “but +it was none of Sir Percy Blakeney’s business. This, however, he chose +to disregard. He succeeded in carrying little Capet from the Temple, and +two days later we had him under lock, and key.” + +“Through some infamous and treacherous trick, sir,” she retorted. + +Chauvelin made no immediate reply; his pale, inscrutable eyes were fixed +upon her face, and the smile of irony round his mouth appeared more +strongly marked than before. + +“That, again, is as it may be,” he said suavely; “but anyhow for the +moment we have the upper hand. Sir Percy is in the Conciergerie, guarded +day and night, more closely than Marie Antoinette even was guarded.” + +“And he laughs at your bolts and bars, sir,” she rejoined proudly. +“Remember Calais, remember Boulogne. His laugh at your discomfiture, +then, must resound in your ear even to-day.” + +“Yes; but for the moment laughter is on our side. Still we are willing +to forego even that pleasure, if Sir Percy will but move a finger +towards his own freedom.” + +“Again some infamous letter?” she asked with bitter contempt; “some +attempt against his honour?” + +“No, no, Lady Blakeney,” he interposed with perfect blandness. “Matters +are so much simpler now, you see. We hold Sir Percy at our mercy. +We could send him to the guillotine to-morrow, but we might be +willing--remember, I only say we might--to exercise our prerogative of +mercy if Sir Percy Blakeney will on his side accede to a request from +us.” + +“And that request?” + +“Is a very natural one. He took Capet away from us, and it is but +credible that he knows at the present moment exactly where the child is. +Let him instruct his followers--and I mistake not, Lady Blakeney, there +are several of them not very far from Paris just now--let him, I say, +instruct these followers of his to return the person of young Capet to +us, and not only will we undertake to give these same gentlemen a safe +conduct back to England, but we even might be inclined to deal somewhat +less harshly with the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel himself.” + +She laughed a harsh, mirthless, contemptuous laugh. + +“I don’t think that I quite understand,” she said after a moment or +two, whilst he waited calmly until her out-break of hysterical mirth +had subsided. “You want my husband--the Scarlet Pimpernel, citizen--to +deliver the little King of France to you after he has risked his life +to save the child out of your clutches? Is that what you are trying to +say?” + +“It is,” rejoined Chauvelin complacently, “just what we have been saying +to Sir Percy Blakeney for the past six days, madame.” + +“Well! then you have had your answer, have you not?” + +“Yes,” he replied slowly; “but the answer has become weaker day by day.” + +“Weaker? I don’t understand.” + +“Let me explain, Lady Blakeney,” said Chauvelin, now with measured +emphasis. He put both elbows on the table and leaned well forward, +peering into her face, lest one of its varied expressions escaped +him. “Just now you taunted me with my failure in Calais, and again +at Boulogne, with a proud toss of the head, which I own is excessive +becoming; you threw the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel in my face like a +challenge which I no longer dare to accept. ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel,’ you +would say to me, ‘stands for loyalty, for honour, and for indomitable +courage. Think you he would sacrifice his honour to obtain your mercy? +Remember Boulogne and your discomfiture!’ All of which, dear lady, is +perfectly charming and womanly and enthusiastic, and I, bowing my humble +head, must own that I was fooled in Calais and baffled in Boulogne. +But in Boulogne I made a grave mistake, and one from which I learned a +lesson, which I am putting into practice now.” + +He paused a while as if waiting for her reply. His pale, keen eyes +had already noted that with every phrase he uttered the lines in her +beautiful face became more hard and set. A look of horror was gradually +spreading over it, as if the icy-cold hand of death had passed over her +eyes and cheeks, leaving them rigid like stone. + +“In Boulogne,” resumed Chauvelin quietly, satisfied that his words were +hitting steadily at her heart--“in Boulogne Sir Percy and I did +not fight an equal fight. Fresh from a pleasant sojourn in his own +magnificent home, full of the spirit of adventure which puts the essence +of life into a man’s veins, Sir Percy Blakeney’s splendid physique was +pitted against my feeble powers. Of course I lost the battle. I made the +mistake of trying to subdue a man who was in the zenith of his strength, +whereas now--” + +“Yes, citizen Chauvelin,” she said, “whereas now--” + +“Sir Percy Blakeney has been in the prison of the Conciergerie for +exactly one week, Lady Blakeney,” he replied, speaking very slowly, and +letting every one of his words sink individually into her mind. “Even +before he had time to take the bearings of his cell or to plan on his +own behalf one of those remarkable escapes for which he is so justly +famous, our men began to work on a scheme which I am proud to say +originated with myself. A week has gone by since then, Lady Blakeney, +and during that time a special company of prison guard, acting under the +orders of the Committee of General Security and of Public Safety, have +questioned the prisoner unremittingly--unremittingly, remember--day and +night. Two by two these men take it in turns to enter the prisoner’s +cell every quarter of an hour--lately it has had to be more often--and +ask him the one question, ‘Where is little Capet?’ Up to now we have +received no satisfactory reply, although we have explained to Sir Percy +that many of his followers are honouring the neighbourhood of Paris with +their visit, and that all we ask for from him are instructions to +those gallant gentlemen to bring young Capet back to us. It is all very +simple, unfortunately the prisoner is somewhat obstinate. At first, +even, the idea seemed to amuse him; he used to laugh and say that he +always had the faculty of sleeping with his eyes open. But our soldiers +are untiring in their efforts, and the want of sleep as well as of a +sufficiency of food and of fresh air is certainly beginning to tell on +Sir Percy Blakeney’s magnificent physique. I don’t think that it will be +very long before he gives way to our gentle persuasions; and in any case +now, I assure you, dear lady, that we need not fear any attempt on +his part to escape. I doubt if he could walk very steadily across this +room--” + +Marguerite had sat quite silent and apparently impassive all the while +that Chauvelin had been speaking; even now she scarcely stirred. Her +face expressed absolutely nothing but deep puzzlement. There was a frown +between her brows, and her eyes, which were always of such liquid +blue, now looked almost black. She was trying to visualise that which +Chauvelin had put before her: a man harassed day and night, unceasingly, +unremittingly, with one question allowed neither respite nor sleep--his +brain, soul, and body fagged out at every hour, every moment of the day +and night, until mind and body and soul must inevitably give way under +anguish ten thousand times more unendurable than any physical torment +invented by monsters in barbaric times. + +That man thus harassed, thus fagged out, thus martyrised at all hours of +the day and night, was her husband, whom she loved with every fibre of +her being, with every throb of her heart. + +Torture? Oh, no! these were advanced and civilised times that could +afford to look with horror on the excesses of medieval days. This was +a revolution that made for progress, and challenged the opinion of the +world. The cells of the Temple of La Force or the Conciergerie held no +secret inquisition with iron maidens and racks and thumbscrews; but +a few men had put their tortuous brains together, and had said one to +another: “We want to find out from that man where we can lay our hands +on little Capet, so we won’t let him sleep until he has told us. It +is not torture--oh, no! Who would dare to say that we torture our +prisoners? It is only a little horseplay, worrying to the prisoner, no +doubt; but, after all, he can end the unpleasantness at any moment. He +need but to answer our question, and he can go to sleep as comfortably +as a little child. The want of sleep is very trying, the want of proper +food and of fresh air is very weakening; the prisoner must give way +sooner or later--” + +So these fiends had decided it between them, and they had put their idea +into execution for one whole week. Marguerite looked at Chauvelin as she +would on some monstrous, inscrutable Sphinx, marveling if God--even in +His anger--could really have created such a fiendish brain, or, having +created it, could allow it to wreak such devilry unpunished. + +Even now she felt that he was enjoying the mental anguish which he had +put upon her, and she saw his thin, evil lips curled into a smile. + +“So you came to-night to tell me all this?” she asked as soon as +she could trust herself to speak. Her impulse was to shriek out her +indignation, her horror of him, into his face. She longed to call down +God’s eternal curse upon this fiend; but instinctively she held herself +in check. Her indignation, her words of loathing would only have added +to his delight. + +“You have had your wish,” she added coldly; “now, I pray you, go.” + +“Your pardon, Lady Blakeney,” he said with all his habitual blandness; +“my object in coming to see you tonight was twofold. Methought that I +was acting as your friend in giving you authentic news of Sir Percy, and +in suggesting the possibility of your adding your persuasion to ours.” + +“My persuasion? You mean that I--” + +“You would wish to see your husband, would you not, Lady Blakeney?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I pray you command me. I will grant you the permission whenever +you wish to go.” + +“You are in the hope, citizen,” she said, “that I will do my best to +break my husband’s spirit by my tears or my prayers--is that it?” + +“Not necessarily,” he replied pleasantly. “I assure you that we can +manage to do that ourselves, in time.” + +“You devil!” The cry of pain and of horror was involuntarily wrung from +the depths of her soul. “Are you not afraid that God’s hand will strike +you where you stand?” + +“No,” he said lightly; “I am not afraid, Lady Blakeney. You see, I do +not happen to believe in God. Come!” he added more seriously, “have I +not proved to you that my offer is disinterested? Yet I repeat it even +now. If you desire to see Sir Percy in prison, command me, and the doors +shall be open to you.” + +She waited a moment, looking him straight and quite dispassionately in +the face; then she said coldly: + +“Very well! I will go.” + +“When?” he asked. + +“This evening.” + +“Just as you wish. I would have to go and see my friend Heron first, and +arrange with him for your visit.” + +“Then go. I will follow in half an hour.” + +“C’est entendu. Will you be at the main entrance of the Conciergerie +at half-past nine? You know it, perhaps--no? It is in the Rue de la +Barillerie, immediately on the right at the foot of the great staircase +of the house of Justice.” + +“Of the house of Justice!” she exclaimed involuntarily, a world of +bitter contempt in her cry. Then she added in her former matter-of-fact +tones: + +“Very good, citizen. At half-past nine I will be at the entrance you +name.” + +“And I will be at the door prepared to escort you.” + +He took up his hat and coat and bowed ceremoniously to her. Then he +turned to go. At the door a cry from her--involuntarily enough, God +knows!--made him pause. + +“My interview with the prisoner,” she said, vainly trying, poor soul! to +repress that quiver of anxiety in her voice, “it will be private?” + +“Oh, yes! Of course,” he replied with a reassuring smile. “Au revoir, +Lady Blakeney! Half-past nine, remember--” + +She could no longer trust herself to look on him as he finally took his +departure. She was afraid--yes, absolutely afraid that her fortitude +would give way--meanly, despicably, uselessly give way; that she would +suddenly fling herself at the feet of that sneering, inhuman wretch, +that she would pray, implore--Heaven above! what might she not do in +the face of this awful reality, if the last lingering shred of vanishing +reason, of pride, and of courage did not hold her in check? + +Therefore she forced herself not to look on that departing, sable-clad +figure, on that evil face, and those hands that held Percy’s fate +in their cruel grip; but her ears caught the welcome sound of his +departure--the opening and shutting of the door, his light footstep +echoing down the stone stairs. + +When at last she felt that she was really alone she uttered a loud cry +like a wounded doe, and falling on her knees she buried her face in +her hands in a passionate fit of weeping. Violent sobs shook her entire +frame; it seemed as if an overwhelming anguish was tearing at her +heart--the physical pain of it was almost unendurable. And yet even +through this paroxysm of tears her mind clung to one root idea: when she +saw Percy she must be brave and calm, be able to help him if he wanted +her, to do his bidding if there was anything that she could do, or any +message that she could take to the others. Of hope she had none. The +last lingering ray of it had been extinguished by that fiend when he +said, “We need not fear that he will escape. I doubt if he could walk +very steadily across this room now.” + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE CONCIERGERIE + +Marguerite, accompanied by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, walked rapidly along +the quay. It lacked ten minutes to the half hour; the night was dark and +bitterly cold. Snow was still falling in sparse, thin flakes, and lay +like a crisp and glittering mantle over the parapets of the bridges and +the grim towers of the Chatelet prison. + +They walked on silently now. All that they had wanted to say to one +another had been said inside the squalid room of their lodgings when Sir +Andrew Ffoulkes had come home and learned that Chauvelin had been. + +“They are killing him by inches, Sir Andrew,” had been the heartrending +cry which burst from Marguerite’s oppressed heart as soon as her hands +rested in the kindly ones of her best friend. “Is there aught that we +can do?” + +There was, of course, very little that could be done. One or two fine +steel files which Sir Andrew gave her to conceal beneath the folds of +her kerchief; also a tiny dagger with sharp, poisoned blade, which for a +moment she held in her hand hesitating, her eyes filling with tears, her +heart throbbing with unspeakable sorrow. + +Then slowly--very slowly--she raised the small, death-dealing instrument +to her lips, and reverently kissed the narrow blade. + +“If it must be!” she murmured, “God in His mercy will forgive!” + +She sheathed the dagger, and this, too, she hid in the folds of her +gown. + +“Can you think of anything else, Sir Andrew, that he might want?” she +asked. “I have money in plenty, in case those soldiers--” + +Sir Andrew sighed, and turned away from her so as to hide the +hopelessness which he felt. Since three days now he had been exhausting +every conceivable means of getting at the prison guard with bribery +and corruption. But Chauvelin and his friends had taken excellent +precautions. The prison of the Conciergerie, situated as it was in the +very heart of the labyrinthine and complicated structure of the Chatelet +and the house of Justice, and isolated from every other group of cells +in the building, was inaccessible save from one narrow doorway which +gave on the guard-room first, and thence on the inner cell beyond. Just +as all attempts to rescue the late unfortunate Queen from that prison +had failed, so now every attempt to reach the imprisoned Scarlet +Pimpernel was equally doomed to bitter disappointment. + +The guard-room was filled with soldiers day and night; the windows of +the inner cell, heavily barred, were too small to admit of the passage +of a human body, and they were raised twenty feet from the corridor +below. Sir Andrew had stood in the corridor two days ago, he had looked +on the window behind which he knew that his friend must be eating out +his noble heart in a longing for liberty, and he had realised then that +every effort at help from the outside was foredoomed to failure. + +“Courage, Lady Blakeney,” he said to Marguerite, when anon they had +crossed the Pont au Change, and were wending their way slowly along the +Rue de la Barillerie; “remember our proud dictum: the Scarlet Pimpernel +never fails! and also this, that whatever messages Blakeney gives you +for us, whatever he wishes us to do, we are to a man ready to do it, and +to give our lives for our chief. Courage! Something tells me that a man +like Percy is not going to die at the hands of such vermin as Chauvelin +and his friends.” + +They had reached the great iron gates of the house of Justice. +Marguerite, trying to smile, extended her trembling hand to this +faithful, loyal comrade. + +“I’ll not be far,” he said. “When you come out do not look to the right +or left, but make straight for home; I’ll not lose sight of you for a +moment, and as soon as possible will overtake you. God bless you both.” + +He pressed his lips on her cold little hand, and watched her tall, +elegant figure as she passed through the great gates until the veil +of falling snow hid her from his gaze. Then with a deep sigh of bitter +anguish and sorrow he turned away and was soon lost in the gloom. + +Marguerite found the gate at the bottom of the monumental stairs open +when she arrived. Chauvelin was standing immediately inside the building +waiting for her. + +“We are prepared for your visit, Lady Blakeney,” he said, “and the +prisoner knows that you are coming.” + +He led the way down one of the numerous and interminable corridors of +the building, and she followed briskly, pressing her hand against her +bosom there where the folds of her kerchief hid the steel files and the +precious dagger. + +Even in the gloom of these ill-lighted passages she realised that she +was surrounded by guards. There were soldiers everywhere; two had stood +behind the door when first she entered, and had immediately closed +it with a loud clang behind her; and all the way down the corridors, +through the half-light engendered by feebly flickering lamps, she caught +glimpses of the white facings on the uniforms of the town guard, or +occasionally the glint of steel of a bayonet. Presently Chauvelin paused +beside a door, which he had just reached. His hand was on the latch, for +it did not appear to be locked, and he turned toward Marguerite. + +“I am very sorry, Lady Blakeney,” he said in simple, deferential tones, +“that the prison authorities, who at my request are granting you this +interview at such an unusual hour, have made a slight condition to your +visit.” + +“A condition?” she asked. “What is it?” + +“You must forgive me,” he said, as if purposely evading her question, +“for I give you my word that I had nothing to do with a regulation that +you might justly feel was derogatory to your dignity. If you will kindly +step in here a wardress in charge will explain to you what is required.” + +He pushed open the door, and stood aside ceremoniously in order to allow +her to pass in. She looked on him with deep puzzlement and a look of +dark suspicion in her eyes. But her mind was too much engrossed with +the thought of her meeting with Percy to worry over any trifle that +might--as her enemy had inferred--offend her womanly dignity. + +She walked into the room, past Chauvelin, who whispered as she went by: + +“I will wait for you here. And, I pray you, if you have aught to +complain of summon me at once.” + +Then he closed the door behind her. The room in which Marguerite now +found herself was a small unventilated quadrangle, dimly lighted by a +hanging lamp. A woman in a soiled cotton gown and lank grey hair brushed +away from a parchment-like forehead rose from the chair in which she +had been sitting when Marguerite entered, and put away some knitting on +which she had apparently been engaged. + +“I was to tell you, citizeness,” she said the moment the door had been +closed and she was alone with Marguerite, “that the prison authorities +have given orders that I should search you before you visit the +prisoner.” + +She repeated this phrase mechanically like a child who has been taught +to say a lesson by heart. She was a stoutish middle-aged woman, with +that pasty, flabby skin peculiar to those who live in want of fresh +air; but her small, dark eyes were not unkindly, although they shifted +restlessly from one object to another as if she were trying to avoid +looking the other woman straight in the face. + +“That you should search me!” reiterated Marguerite slowly, trying to +understand. + +“Yes,” replied the woman. “I was to tell you to take off your clothes, +so that I might look them through and through. I have often had to do +this before when visitors have been allowed inside the prison, so it is +no use your trying to deceive me in any way. I am very sharp at +finding out if any one has papers, or files or ropes concealed in an +underpetticoat. Come,” she added more roughly, seeing that Marguerite +had remained motionless in the middle of the room; “the quicker you are +about it the sooner you will be taken to see the prisoner.” + +These words had their desired effect. The proud Lady Blakeney, inwardly +revolting at the outrage, knew that resistance would be worse than +useless. Chauvelin was the other side of the door. A call from the woman +would bring him to her assistance, and Marguerite was only longing to +hasten the moment when she could be with her husband. + +She took off her kerchief and her gown and calmly submitted to the +woman’s rough hands as they wandered with sureness and accuracy to the +various pockets and folds that might conceal prohibited articles. The +woman did her work with peculiar stolidity; she did not utter a word +when she found the tiny steel files and placed them on a table beside +her. In equal silence she laid the little dagger beside them, and the +purse which contained twenty gold pieces. These she counted in front +of Marguerite and then replaced them in the purse. Her face expressed +neither surprise, nor greed nor pity. She was obviously beyond the reach +of bribery--just a machine paid by the prison authorities to do this +unpleasant work, and no doubt terrorised into doing it conscientiously. + +When she had satisfied herself that Marguerite had nothing further +concealed about her person, she allowed her to put her dress on once +more. She even offered to help her on with it. When Marguerite was +fully dressed she opened the door for her. Chauvelin was standing in the +passage waiting patiently. At sight of Marguerite, whose pale, set face +betrayed nothing of the indignation which she felt, he turned quick, +inquiring eyes on the woman. + +“Two files, a dagger and a purse with twenty louis,” said the latter +curtly. + +Chauvelin made no comment. He received the information quite placidly, +as if it had no special interest for him. Then he said quietly: + +“This way, citizeness!” + +Marguerite followed him, and two minutes later he stood beside a heavy +nail-studded door that had a small square grating let into one of the +panels, and said simply: + +“This is it.” + +Two soldiers of the National Guard were on sentry at the door, two +more were pacing up and down outside it, and had halted when citizen +Chauvelin gave his name and showed his tricolour scarf of office. +From behind the small grating in the door a pair of eyes peered at the +newcomers. + +“Qui va la?” came the quick challenge from the guard-room within. + +“Citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety,” was the prompt +reply. + +There was the sound of grounding of arms, of the drawing of bolts and +the turning of a key in a complicated lock. The prison was kept locked +from within, and very heavy bars had to be moved ere the ponderous door +slowly swung open on its hinges. + +Two steps led up into the guard-room. Marguerite mounted them with the +same feeling of awe and almost of reverence as she would have mounted +the steps of a sacrificial altar. + +The guard-room itself was more brilliantly lighted than the corridor +outside. The sudden glare of two or three lamps placed about the room +caused her momentarily to close her eyes that were aching with many shed +and unshed tears. The air was rank and heavy with the fumes of tobacco, +of wine and stale food. A large barred window gave on the corridor +immediately above the door. + +When Marguerite felt strong enough to look around her, she saw that +the room was filled with soldiers. Some were sitting, others standing, +others lay on rugs against the wall, apparently asleep. There was one +who appeared to be in command, for with a word he checked the noise that +was going on in the room when she entered, and then he said curtly: + +“This way, citizeness!” + +He turned to an opening in the wall on the left, the stone-lintel of +a door, from which the door itself had been removed; an iron bar +ran across the opening, and this the sergeant now lifted, nodding to +Marguerite to go within. + +Instinctively she looked round for Chauvelin. + +But he was nowhere to be seen. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CAGED LION + +Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who allowed +Marguerite through the barrier into the prisoner’s cell? Had the wan +face of this beautiful woman stirred within his heart the last chord of +gentleness that was not wholly atrophied by the constant cruelties, the +excesses, the mercilessness which his service under this fraternising +republic constantly demanded of him? + +Perhaps some recollection of former years, when first he served his King +and country, recollection of wife or sister or mother pleaded within +him in favour of this sorely-stricken woman with the look of unspeakable +sorrow in her large blue eyes. + +Certain it is that as soon as Marguerite passed the barrier he put +himself on guard against it with his back to the interior of the cell +and to her. + +Marguerite had paused on the threshold. + +After the glaring light of the guard-room the cell seemed dark, and at +first she could hardly see. The whole length of the long, narrow cubicle +lay to her left, with a slight recess at its further end, so that from +the threshold of the doorway she could not see into the distant corner. +Swift as a lightning flash the remembrance came back to her of proud +Marie Antoinette narrowing her life to that dark corner where the +insolent eyes of the rabble soldiery could not spy her every movement. + +Marguerite stepped further into the room. Gradually by the dim light of +an oil lamp placed upon a table in the recess she began to distinguish +various objects: one or two chairs, another table, and a small but very +comfortable-looking camp bedstead. + +Just for a few seconds she only saw these inanimate things, then she +became conscious of Percy’s presence. + +He sat on a chair, with his left arm half-stretched out upon the table, +his head hidden in the bend of the elbow. + +Marguerite did not utter a cry; she did not even tremble. Just for one +brief instant she closed her eyes, so as to gather up all her courage +before she dared to look again. Then with a steady and noiseless step +she came quite close to him. She knelt on the flagstones at his feet and +raised reverently to her lips the hand that hung nerveless and limp by +his side. + +He gave a start; a shiver seemed to go right through him; he half raised +his head and murmured in a hoarse whisper: + +“I tell you that I do not know, and if I did--” + +She put her arms round him and pillowed her head upon his breast. He +turned his head slowly toward her, and now his eyes--hollowed and rimmed +with purple--looked straight into hers. + +“My beloved,” he said, “I knew that you would come.” His arms closed +round her. There was nothing of lifelessness or of weariness in the +passion of that embrace; and when she looked up again it seemed to her +as if that first vision which she had had of him with weary head bent, +and wan, haggard face was not reality, only a dream born of her own +anxiety for him, for now the hot, ardent blood coursed just as swiftly +as ever through his veins, as if life--strong, tenacious, pulsating +life--throbbed with unabated vigour in those massive limbs, and behind +that square, clear brow as though the body, but half subdued, had +transferred its vanishing strength to the kind and noble heart that was +beating with the fervour of self-sacrifice. + +“Percy,” she said gently, “they will only give us a few moments +together. They thought that my tears would break your spirit where their +devilry had failed.” + +He held her glance with his own, with that close, intent look which +binds soul to soul, and in his deep blue eyes there danced the restless +flames of his own undying mirth: + +“La! little woman,” he said with enforced lightness, even whilst his +voice quivered with the intensity of passion engendered by her presence, +her nearness, the perfume of her hair, “how little they know you, eh? +Your brave, beautiful, exquisite soul, shining now through your glorious +eyes, would defy the machinations of Satan himself and his horde. Close +your dear eyes, my love. I shall go mad with joy if I drink their beauty +in any longer.” + +He held her face between his two hands, and indeed it seemed as if he +could not satiate his soul with looking into her eyes. In the midst of +so much sorrow, such misery and such deadly fear, never had Marguerite +felt quite so happy, never had she felt him so completely her own. The +inevitable bodily weakness, which of necessity had invaded even his +splendid physique after a whole week’s privations, had made a severe +breach in the invincible barrier of self-control with which the soul of +the inner man was kept perpetually hidden behind a mask of indifference +and of irresponsibility. + +And yet the agony of seeing the lines of sorrow so plainly writ on the +beautiful face of the woman he worshipped must have been the keenest +that the bold adventurer had ever experienced in the whole course of his +reckless life. It was he--and he alone--who was making her suffer; +her for whose sake he would gladly have shed every drop of his blood, +endured every torment, every misery and every humiliation; her whom he +worshipped only one degree less than he worshipped his honour and the +cause which he had made his own. + +Yet, in spite of that agony, in spite of the heartrending pathos of her +pale wan face, and through the anguish of seeing her tears, the ruling +passion--strong in death--the spirit of adventure, the mad, wild, +devil-may-care irresponsibility was never wholly absent. + +“Dear heart,” he said with a quaint sigh, whilst he buried his face in +the soft masses of her hair, “until you came I was so d--d fatigued.” + +He was laughing, and the old look of boyish love of mischief illumined +his haggard face. + +“Is it not lucky, dear heart,” he said a moment or two later, “that +those brutes do not leave me unshaved? I could not have faced you with a +week’s growth of beard round my chin. By dint of promises and bribery +I have persuaded one of that rabble to come and shave me every morning. +They will not allow me to handle a razor my-self. They are afraid I +should cut my throat--or one of theirs. But mostly I am too d--d sleepy +to think of such a thing.” + +“Percy!” she exclaimed with tender and passionate reproach. + +“I know--I know, dear,” he murmured, “what a brute I am! Ah, God did +a cruel thing the day that He threw me in your path. To think that +once--not so very long ago--we were drifting apart, you and I. You would +have suffered less, dear heart, if we had continued to drift.” + +Then as he saw that his bantering tone pained her, he covered her hands +with kisses, entreating her forgiveness. + +“Dear heart,” he said merrily, “I deserve that you should leave me to +rot in this abominable cage. They haven’t got me yet, little woman, you +know; I am not yet dead--only d--d sleepy at times. But I’ll cheat them +even now, never fear.” + +“How, Percy--how?” she moaned, for her heart was aching with intolerable +pain; she knew better than he did the precautions which were being taken +against his escape, and she saw more clearly than he realised it himself +the terrible barrier set up against that escape by ever encroaching +physical weakness. + +“Well, dear,” he said simply, “to tell you the truth I have not yet +thought of that all-important ‘how.’ I had to wait, you see, until you +came. I was so sure that you would come! I have succeeded in putting on +paper all my instructions for Ffoulkes and the others. I will give them +to you anon. I knew that you would come, and that I could give them to +you; until then I had but to think of one thing, and that was of keeping +body and soul together. My chance of seeing you was to let them have +their will with me. Those brutes were sure, sooner or later, to bring +you to me, that you might see the caged fox worn down to imbecility, +eh? That you might add your tears to their persuasion, and succeed where +they have failed.” + +He laughed lightly with an unstrained note of gaiety, only Marguerite’s +sensitive ears caught the faint tone of bitterness which rang through +the laugh. + +“Once I know that the little King of France is safe,” he said, “I can +think of how best to rob those d--d murderers of my skin.” + +Then suddenly his manner changed. He still held her with one arm closely +to, him, but the other now lay across the table, and the slender, +emaciated hand was tightly clutched. He did not look at her, but +straight ahead; the eyes, unnaturally large now, with their deep purple +rims, looked far ahead beyond the stone walls of this grim, cruel +prison. + +The passionate lover, hungering for his beloved, had vanished; there +sat the man with a purpose, the man whose firm hand had snatched men and +women and children from death, the reckless enthusiast who tossed his +life against an ideal. + +For a while he sat thus, while in his drawn and haggard face she could +trace every line formed by his thoughts--the frown of anxiety, the +resolute setting of the lips, the obstinate look of will around the firm +jaw. Then he turned again to her. + +“My beautiful one,” he said softly, “the moments are very precious. God +knows I could spend eternity thus with your dear form nestling against +my heart. But those d--d murderers will only give us half an hour, and I +want your help, my beloved, now that I am a helpless cur caught in their +trap. Will you listen attentively, dear heart, to what I am going to +say? + +“Yes, Percy, I will listen,” she replied. + +“And have you the courage to do just what I tell you, dear?” + +“I would not have courage to do aught else,” she said simply. + +“It means going from hence to-day, dear heart, and perhaps not meeting +again. Hush-sh-sh, my beloved,” he said, tenderly placing his thin hand +over her mouth, from which a sharp cry of pain had well-nigh escaped; +“your exquisite soul will be with me always. Try--try not to give way to +despair. Why! your love alone, which I see shining from your dear eyes, +is enough to make a man cling to life with all his might. Tell me! will +you do as I ask you?” + +And she replied firmly and courageously: + +“I will do just what you ask, Percy.” + +“God bless you for your courage, dear. You will have need of it.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT + +The next instant he was kneeling on the floor and his hands were +wandering over the small, irregular flagstones immediately underneath +the table. Marguerite had risen to her feet; she watched her husband +with intent and puzzled eyes; she saw him suddenly pass his slender +fingers along a crevice between two flagstones, then raise one of these +slightly and from beneath it extract a small bundle of papers, each +carefully folded and sealed. Then he replaced the stone and once more +rose to his knees. + +He gave a quick glance toward the doorway. That corner of his cell, the +recess wherein stood the table, was invisible to any one who had not +actually crossed the threshold. Reassured that his movements could not +have been and were not watched, he drew Marguerite closer to him. + +“Dear heart,” he whispered, “I want to place these papers in your care. +Look upon them as my last will and testament. I succeeded in fooling +those brutes one day by pretending to be willing to accede to their +will. They gave me pen and ink and paper and wax, and I was to write out +an order to my followers to bring the Dauphin hither. They left me in +peace for one quarter of an hour, which gave me time to write three +letters--one for Armand and the other two for Ffoulkes, and to hide them +under the flooring of my cell. You see, dear, I knew that you would come +and that I could give them to you then.” + +He paused, and that ghost of a smile once more hovered round his lips. +He was thinking of that day when he had fooled Heron and Chauvelin into +the belief that their devilry had succeeded, and that they had brought +the reckless adventurer to his knees. He smiled at the recollection +of their wrath when they knew that they had been tricked, and after +a quarter of an hour’s anxious waiting found a few sheets of paper +scribbled over with incoherent words or satirical verse, and the +prisoner having apparently snatched ten minutes’ sleep, which seemingly +had restored to him quite a modicum of his strength. + +But of this he told Marguerite nothing, nor of the insults and the +humiliation which he had had to bear in consequence of that trick. He +did not tell her that directly afterwards the order went forth that +the prisoner was to be kept on bread and water in the future, nor that +Chauvelin had stood by laughing and jeering while... + +No! he did not tell her all that; the recollection of it all had still +the power to make him laugh; was it not all a part and parcel of that +great gamble for human lives wherein he had held the winning cards +himself for so long? + +“It is your turn now,” he had said even then to his bitter enemy. + +“Yes!” Chauvelin had replied, “our turn at last. And you will not bend +my fine English gentleman, we’ll break you yet, never fear.” + +It was the thought of it all, of that hand to hand, will to will, spirit +to spirit struggle that lighted up his haggard face even now, gave him a +fresh zest for life, a desire to combat and to conquer in spite of all, +in spite of the odds that had martyred his body but left the mind, the +will, the power still unconquered. + +He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her fingers +tightly in his, and compelling her gaze with the ardent excitement of +his own. + +“This first letter is for Ffoulkes,” he said. “It relates to the final +measures for the safety of the Dauphin. They are my instructions to +those members of the League who are in or near Paris at the present +moment. Ffoulkes, I know, must be with you--he was not likely, God bless +his loyalty, to let you come to Paris alone. Then give this letter to +him, dear heart, at once, to-night, and tell him that it is my express +command that he and the others shall act in minute accordance with my +instructions.” + +“But the Dauphin surely is safe now,” she urged. “Ffoulkes and the +others are here in order to help you.” + +“To help me, dear heart?” he interposed earnestly. “God alone can do +that now, and such of my poor wits as these devils do not succeed in +crushing out of me within the next ten days.” + +Ten days! + +“I have waited a week, until this hour when I could place this packet in +your hands; another ten days should see the Dauphin out of France--after +that, we shall see.” + +“Percy,” she exclaimed in an agony of horror, “you cannot endure this +another day--and live!” + +“Nay!” he said in a tone that was almost insolent in its proud defiance, +“there is but little that a man cannot do an he sets his mind to it. For +the rest, ‘tis in God’s hands!” he added more gently. “Dear heart! you +swore that you would be brave. The Dauphin is still in France, and until +he is out of it he will not really be safe; his friends wanted to keep +him inside the country. God only knows what they still hope; had I been +free I should not have allowed him to remain so long; now those good +people at Mantes will yield to my letter and to Ffoulkes’ earnest +appeal--they will allow one of our League to convey the child safely out +of France, and I’ll wait here until I know that he is safe. If I tried +to get away now, and succeeded--why, Heaven help us! the hue and cry +might turn against the child, and he might be captured before I could +get to him. Dear heart! dear, dear heart! try to understand. The safety +of that child is bound with mine honour, but I swear to you, my sweet +love, that the day on which I feel that that safety is assured I will +save mine own skin--what there is left of it--if I can!” + +“Percy!” she cried with a sudden outburst of passionate revolt, “you +speak as if the safety of that child were of more moment than your own. +Ten days!--but, God in Heaven! have you thought how I shall live these +ten days, whilst slowly, inch by inch, you give your dear, your precious +life for a forlorn cause? + +“I am very tough, m’dear,” he said lightly; “‘tis not a question of +life. I shall only be spending a few more very uncomfortable days in +this d--d hole; but what of that?” + +Her eyes spoke the reply; her eyes veiled with tears, that wandered +with heart-breaking anxiety from the hollow circles round his own to +the lines of weariness about the firm lips and jaw. He laughed at her +solicitude. + +“I can last out longer than these brutes have any idea of,” he said +gaily. + +“You cheat yourself, Percy,” she rejoined with quiet earnestness. “Every +day that you spend immured between these walls, with that ceaseless +nerve-racking torment of sleeplessness which these devils have devised +for the breaking of your will--every day thus spent diminishes +your power of ultimately saving yourself. You see, I speak +calmly--dispassionately--I do not even urge my claims upon your life. +But what you must weigh in the balance is the claim of all those for +whom in the past you have already staked your life, whose lives you have +purchased by risking your own. What, in comparison with your noble life, +is that of the puny descendant of a line of decadent kings? Why should +it be sacrificed--ruthlessly, hopelessly sacrificed that a boy might +live who is as nothing to the world, to his country--even to his own +people?” + +She had tried to speak calmly, never raising her voice beyond a whisper. +Her hands still clutched that paper, which seemed to sear her fingers, +the paper which she felt held writ upon its smooth surface the +death-sentence of the man she loved. + +But his look did not answer her firm appeal; it was fixed far away +beyond the prison walls, on a lonely country road outside Paris, with +the rain falling in a thin drizzle, and leaden clouds overhead chasing +one another, driven by the gale. + +“Poor mite,” he murmured softly; “he walked so bravely by my side, until +the little feet grew weary; then he nestled in my arms and slept until +we met Ffoulkes waiting with the cart. He was no King of France just +then, only a helpless innocent whom Heaven aided me to save.” + +Marguerite bowed her head in silence. There was nothing more that she +could say, no plea that she could urge. Indeed, she had understood, as +he had begged her to understand. She understood that long ago he had +mapped out the course of his life, and now that that course happened to +lead up a Calvary of humiliation and of suffering he was not likely to +turn back, even though, on the summit, death already was waiting and +beckoning with no uncertain hand; not until he could murmur, in the wake +of the great and divine sacrifice itself, the sublime words: + +“It is accomplished.” + +“But the Dauphin is safe enough now,” was all that she said, after that +one moment’s silence when her heart, too, had offered up to God the +supreme abnegation of self, and calmly faced a sorrow which threatened +to break it at last. + +“Yes!” he rejoined quietly, “safe enough for the moment. But he would +be safer still if he were out of France. I had hoped to take him one day +with me to England. But in this plan damnable Fate has interfered. +His adherents wanted to get him to Vienna, and their wish had best be +fulfilled now. In my instructions to Ffoulkes I have mapped out a simple +way for accomplishing the journey. Tony will be the one best suited to +lead the expedition, and I want him to make straight for Holland; the +Northern frontiers are not so closely watched as are the Austrian ones. +There is a faithful adherent of the Bourbon cause who lives at Delft, +and who will give the shelter of his name and home to the fugitive King +of France until he can be conveyed to Vienna. He is named Nauudorff. +Once I feel that the child is safe in his hands I will look after +myself, never fear.” + +He paused, for his strength, which was only factitious, born of the +excitement that Marguerite’s presence had called forth, was threatening +to give way. His voice, though he had spoken in a whisper all along, was +very hoarse, and his temples were throbbing with the sustained effort to +speak. + +“If those friends had only thought of denying me food instead of sleep,” + he murmured involuntarily, “I could have held out until--” + +Then with characteristic swiftness his mood changed in a moment. His +arms closed round Marguerite once more with a passion of self-reproach. + +“Heaven forgive me for a selfish brute,” he said, whilst the ghost of +a smile once more lit up the whole of his face. “Dear soul, I must +have forgotten your sweet presence, thus brooding over my own troubles, +whilst your loving heart has a graver burden--God help me!--than it can +possibly bear. Listen, my beloved, for I don’t know how many minutes +longer they intend to give us, and I have not yet spoken to you about +Armand--” + +“Armand!” she cried. + +A twinge of remorse had gripped her. For fully ten minutes now she had +relegated all thoughts of her brother to a distant cell of her memory. + +“We have no news of Armand,” she said. “Sir Andrew has searched all the +prison registers. Oh! were not my heart atrophied by all that it has +endured this past sennight it would feel a final throb of agonising pain +at every thought of Armand.” + +A curious look, which even her loving eyes failed to interpret, passed +like a shadow over her husband’s face. But the shadow lifted in a +moment, and it was with a reassuring smile that he said to her: + +“Dear heart! Armand is comparatively safe for the moment. Tell +Ffoulkes not to search the prison registers for him, rather to seek out +Mademoiselle Lange. She will know where to find Armand.” + +“Jeanne Lange!” she exclaimed with a world of bitterness in the tone of +her voice, “the girl whom Armand loved, it seems, with a passion greater +than his loyalty. Oh! Sir Andrew tried to disguise my brother’s +folly, but I guessed what he did not choose to tell me. It was his +disobedience, his want of trust, that brought this unspeakable misery on +us all.” + +“Do not blame him overmuch, dear heart. Armand was in love, and love +excuses every sin committed in its name. Jeanne Lange was arrested and +Armand lost his reason temporarily. The very day on which I rescued the +Dauphin from the Temple I had the good fortune to drag the little lady +out of prison. I had given my promise to Armand that she should be safe, +and I kept my word. But this Armand did not know--or else--” + +He checked himself abruptly, and once more that strange, enigmatical +look crept into his eyes. + +“I took Jeanne Lange to a place of comparative safety,” he said after a +slight pause, “but since then she has been set entirely free.” + +“Free?” + +“Yes. Chauvelin himself brought me the news,” he replied with a quick, +mirthless laugh, wholly unlike his usual light-hearted gaiety. “He had +to ask me where to find Jeanne, for I alone knew where she was. As for +Armand, they’ll not worry about him whilst I am here. Another reason why +I must bide a while longer. But in the meanwhile, dear, I pray you find +Mademoiselle Lange; she lives at No. 5 Square du Roule. Through her +I know that you can get to see Armand. This second letter,” he added, +pressing a smaller packet into her hand, “is for him. Give it to him, +dear heart; it will, I hope, tend to cheer him. I fear me the poor lad +frets; yet he only sinned because he loved, and to me he will always be +your brother--the man who held your affection for all the years before +I came into your life. Give him this letter, dear; they are my +instructions to him, as the others are for Ffoulkes; but tell him to +read them when he is all alone. You will do that, dear heart, will you +not?” + +“Yes, Percy,” she said simply. “I promise.” + +Great joy, and the expression of intense relief, lit up his face, whilst +his eyes spoke the gratitude which he felt. + +“Then there is one thing more,” he said. “There are others in this cruel +city, dear heart, who have trusted me, and whom I must not fail--Marie +de Marmontel and her brother, faithful servants of the late queen; they +were on the eve of arrest when I succeeded in getting them to a place +of comparative safety; and there are others there, too all of these +poor victims have trusted me implicitly. They are waiting for me there, +trusting in my promise to convey them safely to England. Sweetheart, you +must redeem my promise to them. You will?--you will? Promise me that you +will--” + +“I promise, Percy,” she said once more. + +“Then go, dear, to-morrow, in the late afternoon, to No. 98, Rue de +Charonne. It is a narrow house at the extreme end of that long street +which abuts on the fortifications. The lower part of the house is +occupied by a dealer in rags and old clothes. He and his wife and +family are wretchedly poor, but they are kind, good souls, and for +a consideration and a minimum of risk to themselves they will always +render service to the English milors, whom they believe to be a band of +inveterate smugglers. Ffoulkes and all the others know these people +and know the house; Armand by the same token knows it too. Marie de +Marmontel and her brother are there, and several others; the old +Comte de Lezardiere, the Abbe de Firmont; their names spell suffering, +loyalty, and hopelessness. I was lucky enough to convey them safely +to that hidden shelter. They trust me implicitly, dear heart. They are +waiting for me there, trusting in my promise to them. Dear heart, you +will go, will you not?” + +“Yes, Percy,” she replied. “I will go; I have promised.” + +“Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old clothes +dealer will supply the necessary disguises; he has a covered cart which +he uses for his business, and which you can borrow from him. Ffoulkes +will drive the little party to Achard’s farm in St. Germain, where other +members of the League should be in waiting for the final journey to +England. Ffoulkes will know how to arrange for everything; he was always +my most able lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appoint +Hastings to lead the party. But you, dear heart, must do as you wish. +Achard’s farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: if... +I know--I know, dear,” he added with infinite tenderness. “See I do not +even suggest that you should leave me. Ffoulkes will be with you, and +I know that neither he nor you would go even if I commanded. Either +Achard’s farm, or even the house in the Rue de Charonne, would be quite +safe for you, dear, under Ffoulkes’s protection, until the time when I +myself can carry you back--you, my precious burden--to England in mine +own arms, or until... Hush-sh-sh, dear heart,” he entreated, smothering +with a passionate kiss the low moan of pain which had escaped her lips; +“it is all in God’s hands now; I am in a tight corner--tighter than ever +I have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those brutes have not +yet paid the full price for my life. Tell me, dear heart, that you have +understood--that you will do all that I asked. Tell me again, my dear, +dear love; it is the very essence of life to hear your sweet lips murmur +this promise now.” + +And for the third time she reiterated firmly: + +“I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I promise +on your precious life to do what you ask.” + +He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment there +came from the guard-room beyond the sound of a harsh voice, saying +peremptorily: + +“That half-hour is nearly over, sergeant; ‘tis time you interfered.” + +“Three minutes more, citizen,” was the curt reply. + +“Three minutes, you devils,” murmured Blakeney between set teeth, whilst +a sudden light which even Marguerite’s keen gaze failed to interpret +leapt into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter into her hand. + +Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were close +one to the other, so near to him did he draw her, so tightly did he +hold her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers were pressed +firmly on hers. + +“Put this in your kerchief, my beloved,” he whispered. “Let it rest on +your exquisite bosom where I so love to pillow my head. Keep it there +until the last hour when it seems to you that nothing more can come +between me and shame.... Hush-sh-sh, dear,” he added with passionate +tenderness, checking the hot protest that at the word “shame” had sprung +to her lips, “I cannot explain more fully now. I do not know what may +happen. I am only a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutes +might not devise for bringing the untamed adventurer to his knees. For +the next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, on +his way to safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to me. I can +from between these four walls follow him and his escort step by step. +Well, dear, I am but a man, already brought to shameful weakness by mere +physical discomfort--the want of sleep--such a trifle after all; but +in case my reason tottered--God knows what I might do--then give this +packet to Ffoulkes--it contains my final instructions--and he will know +how to act. Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open the packet +unless--unless mine own dishonour seems to you imminent--unless I have +yielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one of the +others orders to exchange the Dauphin’s life for mine; then, when mine +own handwriting hath proclaimed me a coward, then and then only, give +this packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that when you and +he have mastered its contents you will act exactly as I have commanded. +Promise me that, dear, in your own sweet name, which may God bless, and +in that of Ffoulkes, our loyal friend.” + +Through the sobs that well-nigh choked her she murmured the promise he +desired. + +His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable reaction +after the long and sustained effort, but the vigour of the spirit was +untouched, the fervour, the enthusiasm. + +“Dear heart,” he murmured, “do not look on me with those dear, scared +eyes of yours. If there is aught that puzzles you in what I said, try +and trust me a while longer. Remember, I must save the Dauphin at all +costs; mine honour is bound with his safety. What happens to me after +that matters but little, yet I wish to live for your dear sake.” + +He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The haggard +look had completely vanished from his face, the eyes were lighted +up from within, the very soul of reckless daring and immortal gaiety +illumined his whole personality. + +“Do not look so sad, little woman,” he said with a strange and sudden +recrudescence of power; “those d--d murderers have not got me yet--even +now.” + +Then he went down like a log. + +The effort had been too prolonged--weakened nature reasserted her rights +and he lost consciousness. Marguerite, helpless and almost distraught +with grief, had yet the strength of mind not to call for assistance. +She pillowed the loved one’s head upon her breast, she kissed the dear, +tired eyes, the poor throbbing temples. The unutterable pathos of +seeing this man, who was always the personification of extreme vitality, +energy, and boundless endurance and pluck, lying thus helpless, like a +tired child, in her arms, was perhaps the saddest moment of this day of +sorrow. But in her trust she never wavered for one instant. Much that he +had said had puzzled her; but the word “shame” coming from his own lips +as a comment on himself never caused her the slightest pang of fear. She +had quickly hidden the tiny packet in her kerchief. She would act point +by point exactly as he had ordered her to do, and she knew that Ffoulkes +would never waver either. + +Her heart ached well-nigh to breaking point. That which she could not +understand had increased her anguish tenfold. If she could only have +given way to tears she could have borne this final agony more easily. +But the solace of tears was not for her; when those loved eyes once more +opened to consciousness they should see hers glowing with courage and +determination. + +There had been silence for a few minutes in the little cell. The +soldiery outside, inured to their hideous duty, thought no doubt that +the time had come for them to interfere. The iron bar was raised and +thrown back with a loud crash, the butt-ends of muskets were grounded +against the floor, and two soldiers made noisy irruption into the cell. + +“Hola, citizen! Wake up,” shouted one of the men; “you have not told us +yet what you have done with Capet!” + +Marguerite uttered a cry of horror. Instinctively her arms were +interposed between the unconscious man and these inhuman creatures, with +a beautiful gesture of protecting motherhood. + +“He has fainted,” she said, her voice quivering with indignation. “My +God! are you devils that you have not one spark of manhood in you?” + +The men shrugged their shoulders, and both laughed brutally. They had +seen worse sights than these, since they served a Republic that ruled +by bloodshed and by terror. They were own brothers in callousness and +cruelty to those men who on this self-same spot a few months ago had +watched the daily agony of a martyred Queen, or to those who had rushed +into the Abbaye prison on that awful day in September, and at a word +from their infamous leaders had put eighty defenceless prisoners--men, +women, and children--to the sword. + +“Tell him to say what he has done with Capet,” said one of the soldiers +now, and this rough command was accompanied with a coarse jest that sent +the blood flaring up into Marguerite’s pale cheeks. + +The brutal laugh, the coarse words which accompanied it, the insult +flung at Marguerite, had penetrated to Blakeney’s slowly returning +consciousness. With sudden strength, that appeared almost supernatural, +he jumped to his feet, and before any of the others could interfere he +had with clenched fist struck the soldier a full blow on the mouth. + +The man staggered back with a curse, the other shouted for help; in a +moment the narrow place swarmed with soldiers; Marguerite was roughly +torn away from the prisoner’s side, and thrust into the far corner of +the cell, from where she only saw a confused mass of blue coats and +white belts, and--towering for one brief moment above what seemed to +her fevered fancy like a veritable sea of heads--the pale face of her +husband, with wide dilated eyes searching the gloom for hers. + +“Remember!” he shouted, and his voice for that brief moment rang out +clear and sharp above the din. + +Then he disappeared behind the wall of glistening bayonets, of blue +coats and uplifted arms; mercifully for her she remembered nothing more +very clearly. She felt herself being dragged out of the cell, the iron +bar being thrust down behind her with a loud clang. Then in a vague, +dreamy state of semi-unconsciousness she saw the heavy bolts being drawn +back from the outer door, heard the grating of the key in the monumental +lock, and the next moment a breath of fresh air brought the sensation of +renewed life into her. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. AFTERWARDS + +“I am sorry, Lady Blakeney,” said a harsh, dry voice close to her; “the +incident at the end of your visit was none of our making, remember.” + +She turned away, sickened with horror at thought of contact with this +wretch. She had heard the heavy oaken door swing to behind her on its +ponderous hinges, and the key once again turn in the lock. She felt as +if she had suddenly been thrust into a coffin, and that clods of earth +were being thrown upon her breast, oppressing her heart so that she +could not breathe. + +Had she looked for the last time on the man whom she loved beyond +everything else on earth, whom she worshipped more ardently day by day? +Was she even now carrying within the folds of her kerchief a message +from a dying man to his comrades? + +Mechanically she followed Chauvelin down the corridor and along the +passages which she had traversed a brief half-hour ago. From some +distant church tower a clock tolled the hour of ten. It had then really +only been little more than thirty brief minutes since first she had +entered this grim building, which seemed less stony than the monsters +who held authority within it; to her it seemed that centuries had gone +over her head during that time. She felt like an old woman, unable to +straighten her back or to steady her limbs; she could only dimly see +some few paces ahead the trim figure of Chauvelin walking with measured +steps, his hands held behind his back, his head thrown up with what +looked like triumphant defiance. + +At the door of the cubicle where she had been forced to submit to the +indignity of being searched by a wardress, the latter was now standing, +waiting with characteristic stolidity. In her hand she held the steel +files, the dagger and the purse which, as Marguerite passed, she held +out to her. + +“Your property, citizeness,” she said placidly. + +She emptied the purse into her own hand, and solemnly counted out the +twenty pieces of gold. She was about to replace them all into the purse, +when Marguerite pressed one of them back into her wrinkled hand. + +“Nineteen will be enough, citizeness,” she said; “keep one for yourself, +not only for me, but for all the poor women who come here with their +heart full of hope, and go hence with it full of despair.” + +The woman turned calm, lack-lustre eyes on her, and silently pocketed +the gold piece with a grudgingly muttered word of thanks. + +Chauvelin during this brief interlude, had walked thoughtlessly on +ahead. Marguerite, peering down the length of the narrow corridor, spied +his sable-clad figure some hundred metres further on as it crossed the +dim circle of light thrown by one of the lamps. + +She was about to follow, when it seemed to her as if some one was moving +in the darkness close beside her. The wardress was even now in the act +of closing the door of her cubicle, and there were a couple of soldiers +who were disappearing from view round one end of the passage, whilst +Chauvelin’s retreating form was lost in the gloom at the other. + +There was no light close to where she herself was standing, and the +blackness around her was as impenetrable as a veil; the sound of a human +creature moving and breathing close to her in this intense darkness +acted weirdly on her overwrought nerves. + +“Qui va la?” she called. + +There was a more distinct movement among the shadows this time, as of +a swift tread on the flagstones of the corridor. All else was silent +round, and now she could plainly hear those footsteps running rapidly +down the passage away from her. She strained her eyes to see more +clearly, and anon in one of the dim circles of light on ahead she spied +a man’s figure--slender and darkly clad--walking quickly yet furtively +like one pursued. As he crossed the light the man turned to look back. +It was her brother Armand. + +Her first instinct was to call to him; the second checked that call upon +her lips. + +Percy had said that Armand was in no danger; then why should he be +sneaking along the dark corridors of this awful house of Justice if he +was free and safe? + +Certainly, even at a distance, her brother’s movements suggested to +Marguerite that he was in danger of being seen. He cowered in the +darkness, tried to avoid the circles of light thrown by the lamps in the +passage. At all costs Marguerite felt that she must warn him that the +way he was going now would lead him straight into Chauvelin’s arms, and +she longed to let him know that she was close by. + +Feeling sure that he would recognise her voice, she made pretence to +turn back to the cubicle through the door of which the wardress had +already disappeared, and called out as loudly as she dared: + +“Good-night, citizeness!” + +But Armand--who surely must have heard--did not pause at the sound. +Rather was he walking on now more rapidly than before. In less than a +minute he would be reaching the spot where Chauvelin stood waiting for +Marguerite. That end of the corridor, however, received no light from +any of the lamps; strive how she might, Marguerite could see nothing now +either of Chauvelin or of Armand. + +Blindly, instinctively, she ran forward, thinking only to reach Armand, +and to warn him to turn back before it was too late; before he found +himself face to face with the most bitter enemy he and his nearest and +dearest had ever had. But as she at last came to a halt at the end of +the corridor, panting with the exertion of running and the fear for +Armand, she almost fell up against Chauvelin, who was standing there +alone and imperturbable, seemingly having waited patiently for her. She +could only dimly distinguish his face, the sharp features and thin cruel +mouth, but she felt--more than she actually saw--his cold steely eyes +fixed with a strange expression of mockery upon her. + +But of Armand there was no sign, and she--poor soul!--had difficulty +in not betraying the anxiety which she felt for her brother. Had the +flagstones swallowed him up? A door on the right was the only one that +gave on the corridor at this point; it led to the concierge’s lodge, +and thence out into the courtyard. Had Chauvelin been dreaming, sleeping +with his eyes open, whilst he stood waiting for her, and had Armand +succeeded in slipping past him under cover of the darkness and through +that door to safety that lay beyond these prison walls? + +Marguerite, miserably agitated, not knowing what to think, looked +somewhat wild-eyed on Chauvelin; he smiled, that inscrutable, mirthless +smile of his, and said blandly: + +“Is there aught else that I can do for you, citizeness? This is your +nearest way out. No doubt Sir Andrew will be waiting to escort you +home.” + +Then as she--not daring either to reply or to question--walked straight +up to the door, he hurried forward, prepared to open it for her. But +before he did so he turned to her once again: + +“I trust that your visit has pleased you, Lady Blakeney,” he said +suavely. “At what hour do you desire to repeat it to-morrow?” + +“To-morrow?” she reiterated in a vague, absent manner, for she was still +dazed with the strange incident of Armand’s appearance and his flight. + +“Yes. You would like to see Sir Percy again to-morrow, would you not? I +myself would gladly pay him a visit from time to time, but he does not +care for my company. My colleague, citizen Heron, on the other hand, +calls on him four times in every twenty-four hours; he does so a few +moments before the changing of the guard, and stays chatting with Sir +Percy until after the guard is changed, when he inspects the men and +satisfies himself that no traitor has crept in among them. All the men +are personally known to him, you see. These hours are at five in the +morning and again at eleven, and then again at five and eleven in the +evening. My friend Heron, as you see, is zealous and assiduous, and, +strangely enough, Sir Percy does not seem to view his visit with any +displeasure. Now at any other hour of the day, Lady Blakeney, I pray +you command me and I will arrange that citizen Heron grant you a second +interview with the prisoner.” + +Marguerite had only listened to Chauvelin’s lengthy speech with half an +ear; her thoughts still dwelt on the past half-hour with its bitter joy +and its agonising pain; and fighting through her thoughts of Percy there +was the recollection of Armand which so disquieted her. But though she +had only vaguely listened to what Chauvelin was saying, she caught the +drift of it. + +Madly she longed to accept his suggestion. The very thought of seeing +Percy on the morrow was solace to her aching heart; it could feed on +hope to-night instead of on its own bitter pain. But even during this +brief moment of hesitancy, and while her whole being cried out for this +joy that her enemy was holding out to her, even then in the gloom ahead +of her she seemed to see a vision of a pale face raised above a crowd +of swaying heads, and of the eyes of the dreamer searching for her own, +whilst the last sublime cry of perfect self-devotion once more echoed in +her ear: + +“Remember!” + +The promise which she had given him, that would she fulfil. The burden +which he had laid on her shoulders she would try to bear as heroically +as he was bearing his own. Aye, even at the cost of the supreme sorrow +of never resting again in the haven of his arms. + +But in spite of sorrow, in spite of anguish so terrible that she could +not imagine Death itself to have a more cruel sting, she wished above +all to safeguard that final, attenuated thread of hope which was wound +round the packet that lay hidden on her breast. + +She wanted, above all, not to arouse Chauvelin’s suspicions by markedly +refusing to visit the prisoner again--suspicions that might lead to +her being searched once more and the precious packet filched from her. +Therefore she said to him earnestly now: + +“I thank you, citizen, for your solicitude on my behalf, but you will +understand, I think, that my visit to the prisoner has been almost more +than I could bear. I cannot tell you at this moment whether to-morrow I +should be in a fit state to repeat it.” + +“As you please,” he replied urbanely. “But I pray you to remember one +thing, and that is--” + +He paused a moment while his restless eyes wandered rapidly over her +face, trying, as it were, to get at the soul of this woman, at her +innermost thoughts, which he felt were hidden from him. + +“Yes, citizen,” she said quietly; “what is it that I am to remember?” + +“That it rests with you, Lady Blakeney, to put an end to the present +situation.” + +“How?” + +“Surely you can persuade Sir Percy’s friends not to leave their chief +in durance vile. They themselves could put an end to his troubles +to-morrow.” + +“By giving up the Dauphin to you, you mean?” she retorted coldly. + +“Precisely.” + +“And you hoped--you still hope that by placing before me the picture of +your own fiendish cruelty against my husband you will induce me to act +the part of a traitor towards him and a coward before his followers?” + +“Oh!” he said deprecatingly, “the cruelty now is no longer mine. +Sir Percy’s release is in your hands, Lady Blakeney--in that of his +followers. I should only be too willing to end the present intolerable +situation. You and your friends are applying the last turn of the +thumbscrew, not I--” + +She smothered the cry of horror that had risen to her lips. The man’s +cold-blooded sophistry was threatening to make a breach in her armour of +self-control. + +She would no longer trust herself to speak, but made a quick movement +towards the door. + +He shrugged his shoulders as if the matter were now entirely out of his +control. Then he opened the door for her to pass out, and as her skirts +brushed against him he bowed with studied deference, murmuring a cordial +“Good-night!” + +“And remember, Lady Blakeney,” he added politely, “that should you at +any time desire to communicate with me at my rooms, 19, Rue Dupuy, I +hold myself entirely at your service.” + +Then as her tall, graceful figure disappeared in the outside gloom +he passed his thin hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the last +lingering signs of triumphant irony: + +“The second visit will work wonders, I think, my fine lady,” he murmured +under his breath. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. AN INTERLUDE + +It was close on midnight now, and still they sat opposite one another, +he the friend and she the wife, talking over that brief half-hour that +had meant an eternity to her. + +Marguerite had tried to tell Sir Andrew everything; bitter as it was to +put into actual words the pathos and misery which she had witnessed, +yet she would hide nothing from the devoted comrade whom she knew Percy +would trust absolutely. To him she repeated every word that Percy had +uttered, described every inflection of his voice, those enigmatical +phrases which she had not understood, and together they cheated one +another into the belief that hope lingered somewhere hidden in those +words. + +“I am not going to despair, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew firmly; +“and, moreover, we are not going to disobey. I would stake my life that +even now Blakeney has some scheme in his mind which is embodied in the +various letters which he has given you, and which--Heaven help us +in that case!--we might thwart by disobedience. Tomorrow in the late +afternoon I will escort you to the Rue de Charonne. It is a house that +we all know well, and which Armand, of course, knows too. I had already +inquired there two days ago to ascertain whether by chance St. Just was +not in hiding there, but Lucas, the landlord and old-clothes dealer, +knew nothing about him.” + +Marguerite told him about her swift vision of Armand in the dark +corridor of the house of Justice. + +“Can you understand it, Sir Andrew?” she asked, fixing her deep, +luminous eyes inquiringly upon him. + +“No, I cannot,” he said, after an almost imperceptible moment of +hesitancy; “but we shall see him to-morrow. I have no doubt that +Mademoiselle Lange will know where to find him; and now that we know +where she is, all our anxiety about him, at any rate, should soon be at +an end.” + +He rose and made some allusion to the lateness of the hour. Somehow it +seemed to her that her devoted friend was trying to hide his innermost +thoughts from her. She watched him with an anxious, intent gaze. + +“Can you understand it all, Sir Andrew?” she reiterated with a pathetic +note of appeal. + +“No, no!” he said firmly. “On my soul, Lady Blakeney, I know no more of +Armand than you do yourself. But I am sure that Percy is right. The boy +frets because remorse must have assailed him by now. Had he but obeyed +implicitly that day, as we all did--” + +But he could not frame the whole terrible proposition in words. Bitterly +as he himself felt on the subject of Armand, he would not add yet +another burden to this devoted woman’s heavy load of misery. + +“It was Fate, Lady Blakeney,” he said after a while. “Fate! a damnable +fate which did it all. Great God! to think of Blakeney in the hands +of those brutes seems so horrible that at times I feel as if the whole +thing were a nightmare, and that the next moment we shall both wake +hearing his merry voice echoing through this room.” + +He tried to cheer her with words of hope that he knew were but chimeras. +A heavy weight of despondency lay on his heart. The letter from his +chief was hidden against his breast; he would study it anon in the +privacy of his own apartment so as to commit every word to memory that +related to the measures for the ultimate safety of the child-King. After +that it would have to be destroyed, lest it fell into inimical hands. + +Soon he bade Marguerite good-night. She was tired out, body and soul, +and he--her faithful friend--vaguely wondered how long she would be able +to withstand the strain of so much sorrow, such unspeakable misery. + +When at last she was alone Marguerite made brave efforts to compose +her nerves so as to obtain a certain modicum of sleep this night. But, +strive how she might, sleep would not come. How could it, when before +her wearied brain there rose constantly that awful vision of Percy in +the long, narrow cell, with weary head bent over his arm, and those +friends shouting persistently in his ear: + +“Wake up, citizen! Tell us, where is Capet?” + +The fear obsessed her that his mind might give way; for the mental agony +of such intense weariness must be well-nigh impossible to bear. In the +dark, as she sat hour after hour at the open window, looking out in the +direction where through the veil of snow the grey walls of the Chatelet +prison towered silent and grim, she seemed to see his pale, drawn face +with almost appalling reality; she could see every line of it, and could +study it with the intensity born of a terrible fear. + +How long would the ghostly glimmer of merriment still linger in the +eyes? When would the hoarse, mirthless laugh rise to the lips, that +awful laugh that proclaims madness? Oh! she could have screamed now with +the awfulness of this haunting terror. Ghouls seemed to be mocking +her out of the darkness, every flake of snow that fell silently on the +window-sill became a grinning face that taunted and derided; every cry +in the silence of the night, every footstep on the quay below turned to +hideous jeers hurled at her by tormenting fiends. + +She closed the window quickly, for she feared that she would go mad. +For an hour after that she walked up and down the room making violent +efforts to control her nerves, to find a glimmer of that courage which +she promised Percy that she would have. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. SISTERS + +The morning found her fagged out, but more calm. Later on she managed +to drink some coffee, and having washed and dressed, she prepared to go +out. + +Sir Andrew appeared in time to ascertain her wishes. + +“I promised Percy to go to the Rue de Charonne in the late afternoon,” + she said. “I have some hours to spare, and mean to employ them in trying +to find speech with Mademoiselle Lange.” + +“Blakeney has told you where she lives?” + +“Yes. In the Square du Roule. I know it well. I can be there in half an +hour.” + +He, of course, begged to be allowed to accompany her, and anon they were +walking together quickly up toward the Faubourg St. Honore. The snow had +ceased falling, but it was still very cold, but neither Marguerite nor +Sir Andrew were conscious of the temperature or of any outward signs +around them. They walked on silently until they reached the torn-down +gates of the Square du Roule; there Sir Andrew parted from Marguerite +after having appointed to meet her an hour later at a small eating-house +he knew of where they could have some food together, before starting on +their long expedition to the Rue de Charonne. + +Five minutes later Marguerite Blakeney was shown in by worthy Madame +Belhomme, into the quaint and pretty drawing-room with its soft-toned +hangings and old-world air of faded grace. Mademoiselle Lange was +sitting there, in a capacious armchair, which encircled her delicate +figure with its frame-work of dull old gold. + +She was ostensibly reading when Marguerite was announced, for an open +book lay on a table beside her; but it seemed to the visitor that mayhap +the young girl’s thoughts had played truant from her work, for her pose +was listless and apathetic, and there was a look of grave trouble upon +the childlike face. + +She rose when Marguerite entered, obviously puzzled at the unexpected +visit, and somewhat awed at the appearance of this beautiful woman with +the sad look in her eyes. + +“I must crave your pardon, mademoiselle,” said Lady Blakeney as soon as +the door had once more closed on Madame Belhomme, and she found herself +alone with the young girl. “This visit at such an early hour must seem +to you an intrusion. But I am Marguerite St. Just, and--” + +Her smile and outstretched hand completed the sentence. + +“St. Just!” exclaimed Jeanne. + +“Yes. Armand’s sister!” + +A swift blush rushed to the girl’s pale cheeks; her brown eyes expressed +unadulterated joy. Marguerite, who was studying her closely, was +conscious that her poor aching heart went out to this exquisite child, +the far-off innocent cause of so much misery. + +Jeanne, a little shy, a little confused and nervous in her movements, +was pulling a chair close to the fire, begging Marguerite to sit. Her +words came out all the while in short jerky sentences, and from time to +time she stole swift shy glances at Armand’s sister. + +“You will forgive me, mademoiselle,” said Marguerite, whose simple and +calm manner quickly tended to soothe Jeanne Lange’s confusion; “but I +was so anxious about my brother--I do not know where to find him.” + +“And so you came to me, madame?” + +“Was I wrong?” + +“Oh, no! But what made you think that--that I would know?” + +“I guessed,” said Marguerite with a smile. “You had heard about me +then?” + +“Oh, yes!” + +“Through whom? Did Armand tell you about me?” + +“No, alas! I have not seen him this past fortnight, since you, +mademoiselle, came into his life; but many of Armand’s friends are in +Paris just now; one of them knew, and he told me.” + +The soft blush had now overspread the whole of the girl’s face, even +down to her graceful neck. She waited to see Marguerite comfortably +installed in an armchair, then she resumed shyly: + +“And it was Armand who told me all about you. He loves you so dearly.” + +“Armand and I were very young children when we lost our parents,” said +Marguerite softly, “and we were all in all to each other then. And until +I married he was the man I loved best in all the world.” + +“He told me you were married--to an Englishman.” + +“Yes?” + +“He loves England too. At first he always talked of my going there with +him as his wife, and of the happiness we should find there together.” + +“Why do you say ‘at first’?” + +“He talks less about England now.” + +“Perhaps he feels that now you know all about it, and that you +understand each other with regard to the future.” + +“Perhaps.” + +Jeanne sat opposite to Marguerite on a low stool by the fire. Her elbows +were resting on her knees, and her face just now was half-hidden by the +wealth of her brown curls. She looked exquisitely pretty sitting +like this, with just the suggestion of sadness in the listless pose. +Marguerite had come here to-day prepared to hate this young girl, who in +a few brief days had stolen not only Armand’s heart, but his allegiance +to his chief, and his trust in him. Since last night, when she had seen +her brother sneak silently past her like a thief in the night, she had +nurtured thoughts of ill-will and anger against Jeanne. + +But hatred and anger had melted at the sight of this child. Marguerite, +with the perfect understanding born of love itself, had soon realised +the charm which a woman like Mademoiselle Lange must of necessity +exercise over a chivalrous, enthusiastic nature like Armand’s. The +sense of protection--the strongest perhaps that exists in a good man’s +heart--would draw him irresistibly to this beautiful child, with the +great, appealing eyes, and the look of pathos that pervaded the entire +face. Marguerite, looking in silence on the dainty picture before her, +found it in her heart to forgive Armand for disobeying his chief when +those eyes beckoned to him in a contrary direction. + +How could he, how could any chivalrous man endure the thought of this +delicate, fresh flower lying crushed and drooping in the hands of +monsters who respected neither courage nor purity? And Armand had been +more than human, or mayhap less, if he had indeed consented to leave the +fate of the girl whom he had sworn to love and protect in other hands +than his own. + +It seemed almost as if Jeanne was conscious of the fixity of +Marguerite’s gaze, for though she did not turn to look at her, the flush +gradually deepened in her cheeks. + +“Mademoiselle Lange,” said Marguerite gently, “do you not feel that you +can trust me?” + +She held out her two hands to the girl, and Jeanne slowly turned to her. +The next moment she was kneeling at Marguerite’s feet, and kissing +the beautiful kind hands that had been stretched out to her with such +sisterly love. + +“Indeed, indeed, I do trust you,” she said, and looked with tear-dimmed +eyes in the pale face above her. “I have longed for some one in whom I +could confide. I have been so lonely lately, and Armand--” + +With an impatient little gesture she brushed away the tears which had +gathered in her eyes. + +“What has Armand been doing?” asked Marguerite with an encouraging +smile. + +“Oh, nothing to grieve me!” replied the young girl eagerly, “for he +is kind and good, and chivalrous and noble. Oh, I love him with all my +heart! I loved him from the moment that I set eyes on him, and then +he came to see me--perhaps you know! And he talked so beautiful about +England, and so nobly about his leader the Scarlet Pimpernel--have you +heard of him?” + +“Yes,” said Marguerite, smiling. “I have heard of him.” + +“It was that day that citizen Heron came with his soldiers! Oh! you do +not know citizen Heron. He is the most cruel man in France. In Paris +he is hated by every one, and no one is safe from his spies. He came to +arrest Armand, but I was able to fool him and to save Armand. And after +that,” she added with charming naivete, “I felt as if, having saved +Armand’s life, he belonged to me--and his love for me had made me his.” + +“Then I was arrested,” she continued after a slight pause, and at the +recollection of what she had endured then her fresh voice still trembled +with horror. + +“They dragged me to prison, and I spent two days in a dark cell, +where--” + +She hid her face in her hands, whilst a few sobs shook her whole frame; +then she resumed more calmly: + +“I had seen nothing of Armand. I wondered where he was, and I knew +that he would be eating out his heart with anxiety for me. But God was +watching over me. At first I was transferred to the Temple prison, and +there a kind creature--a sort of man-of-all work in the prison took +compassion on me. I do not know how he contrived it, but one morning +very early he brought me some filthy old rags which he told me to put +on quickly, and when I had done that he bade me follow him. Oh! he was a +very dirty, wretched man himself, but he must have had a kind heart. He +took me by the hand and made me carry his broom and brushes. Nobody took +much notice of us, the dawn was only just breaking, and the passages +were very dark and deserted; only once some soldiers began to chaff him +about me: ‘C’est ma fille--quoi?’ he said roughly. I very nearly laughed +then, only I had the good sense to restrain myself, for I knew that my +freedom, and perhaps my life, depended on my not betraying myself. My +grimy, tattered guide took me with him right through the interminable +corridors of that awful building, whilst I prayed fervently to God for +him and for myself. We got out by one of the service stairs and exit, +and then he dragged me through some narrow streets until we came to a +corner where a covered cart stood waiting. My kind friend told me to get +into the cart, and then he bade the driver on the box take me straight +to a house in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. Oh! I was infinitely +grateful to the poor creature who had helped me to get out of that awful +prison, and I would gladly have given him some money, for I am sure he +was very poor; but I had none by me. He told me that I should be quite +safe in the house in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, and begged me to +wait there patiently for a few days until I heard from one who had my +welfare at heart, and who would further arrange for my safety.” + +Marguerite had listened silently to this narrative so naively told by +this child, who obviously had no idea to whom she owed her freedom and +her life. While the girl talked, her mind could follow with unspeakable +pride and happiness every phase of that scene in the early dawn, when +that mysterious, ragged man-of-all-work, unbeknown even to the woman +whom he was saving, risked his own noble life for the sake of her whom +his friend and comrade loved. + +“And did you never see again the kind man to whom you owe your life?” + she asked. + +“No!” replied Jeanne. “I never saw him since; but when I arrived at +the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois I was told by the good people who took +charge of me that the ragged man-of-all-work had been none other than +the mysterious Englishman whom Armand reveres, he whom they call the +Scarlet Pimpernel.” + +“But you did not stay very long in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, did +you?” + +“No. Only three days. The third day I received a communique from +the Committee of General Security, together with an unconditional +certificate of safety. It meant that I was free--quite free. Oh! I could +scarcely believe it. I laughed and I cried until the people in the house +thought that I had gone mad. The past few days had been such a horrible +nightmare.” + +“And then you saw Armand again?” + +“Yes. They told him that I was free. And he came here to see me. He +often comes; he will be here anon.” + +“But are you not afraid on his account and your own? He is--he must be +still--‘suspect’; a well-known adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel, he +would be safer out of Paris.” + +“No! oh, no! Armand is in no danger. He, too, has an unconditional +certificate of safety.” + +“An unconditional certificate of safety?” asked Marguerite, whilst a +deep frown of grave puzzlement appeared between her brows. “What does +that mean?” + +“It means that he is free to come and go as he likes; that neither he +nor I have anything to fear from Heron and his awful spies. Oh! but for +that sad and careworn look on Armand’s face we could be so happy; but +he is so unlike himself. He is Armand and yet another; his look at times +quite frightens me.” + +“Yet you know why he is so sad,” said Marguerite in a strange, toneless +voice which she seemed quite unable to control, for that tonelessness +came from a terrible sense of suffocation, of a feeling as if her +heart-strings were being gripped by huge, hard hands. + +“Yes, I know,” said Jeanne half hesitatingly, as if knowing, she was +still unconvinced. + +“His chief, his comrade, the friend of whom you speak, the Scarlet +Pimpernel, who risked his life in order to save yours, mademoiselle, is +a prisoner in the hands of those that hate him.” + +Marguerite had spoken with sudden vehemence. There was almost an appeal +in her voice now, as if she were trying not to convince Jeanne only, but +also herself, of something that was quite simple, quite straightforward, +and yet which appeared to be receding from her, an intangible something, +a spirit that was gradually yielding to a force as yet unborn, to a +phantom that had not yet emerged from out chaos. + +But Jeanne seemed unconscious of all this. Her mind was absorbed in +Armand, the man whom she loved in her simple, whole-hearted way, and who +had seemed so different of late. + +“Oh, yes!” she said with a deep, sad sigh, whilst the ever-ready tears +once more gathered in her eyes, “Armand is very unhappy because of him. +The Scarlet Pimpernel was his friend; Armand loved and revered him. +Did you know,” added the girl, turning large, horror-filled eyes on +Marguerite, “that they want some information from him about the Dauphin, +and to force him to give it they--they--” + +“Yes, I know,” said Marguerite. + +“Can you wonder, then, that Armand is unhappy. Oh! last night, after he +went from me, I cried for hours, just because he had looked so sad. He +no longer talks of happy England, of the cottage we were to have, and of +the Kentish orchards in May. He has not ceased to love me, for at times +his love seems so great that I tremble with a delicious sense of fear. +But oh! his love for me no longer makes him happy.” + +Her head had gradually sunk lower and lower on her breast, her voice +died down in a murmur broken by heartrending sighs. Every generous +impulse in Marguerite’s noble nature prompted her to take that sorrowing +child in her arms, to comfort her if she could, to reassure her if +she had the power. But a strange icy feeling had gradually invaded her +heart, even whilst she listened to the simple unsophisticated talk of +Jeanne Lange. Her hands felt numb and clammy, and instinctively she +withdrew away from the near vicinity of the girl. She felt as if the +room, the furniture in it, even the window before her were dancing +a wild and curious dance, and that from everywhere around strange +whistling sounds reached her ears, which caused her head to whirl and +her brain to reel. + +Jeanne had buried her head in her hands. She was crying--softly, almost +humbly at first, as if half ashamed of her grief; then, suddenly it +seemed, as if she could not contain herself any longer, a heavy sob +escaped her throat and shook her whole delicate frame with its +violence. Sorrow no longer would be gainsaid, it insisted on physical +expression--that awful tearing of the heart-strings which leaves the +body numb and panting with pain. + +In a moment Marguerite had forgotten; the dark and shapeless phantom +that had knocked at the gate of her soul was relegated back into +chaos. It ceased to be, it was made to shrivel and to burn in the great +seething cauldron of womanly sympathy. What part this child had played +in the vast cataclysm of misery which had dragged a noble-hearted +enthusiast into the dark torture-chamber, whence the only outlet led +to the guillotine, she--Marguerite Blakeney--did not know; what part +Armand, her brother, had played in it, that she would not dare to guess; +all that she knew was that here was a loving heart that was filled with +pain--a young, inexperienced soul that was having its first tussle with +the grim realities of life--and every motherly instinct in Marguerite +was aroused. + +She rose and gently drew the young girl up from her knees, and then +closer to her; she pillowed the grief-stricken head against her +shoulder, and murmured gentle, comforting words into the tiny ear. + +“I have news for Armand,” she whispered, “that will comfort him, a +message--a letter from his friend. You will see, dear, that when Armand +reads it he will become a changed man; you see, Armand acted a little +foolishly a few days ago. His chief had given him orders which he +disregarded--he was so anxious about you--he should have obeyed; and +now, mayhap, he feels that his disobedience may have been the--the +innocent cause of much misery to others; that is, no doubt, the reason +why he is so sad. The letter from his friend will cheer him, you will +see.” + +“Do you really think so, madame?” murmured Jeanne, in whose tear-stained +eyes the indomitable hopefulness of youth was already striving to shine. + +“I am sure of it,” assented Marguerite. + +And for the moment she was absolutely sincere. The phantom had entirely +vanished. She would even, had he dared to re-appear, have mocked and +derided him for his futile attempt at turning the sorrow in her heart to +a veritable hell of bitterness. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. LITTLE MOTHER + +The two women, both so young still, but each of them with a mark of +sorrow already indelibly graven in her heart, were clinging to one +another, bound together by the strong bond of sympathy. And but for +the sadness of it all it were difficult to conjure up a more beautiful +picture than that which they presented as they stood side by side; +Marguerite, tall and stately as an exquisite lily, with the crown of +her ardent hair and the glory of her deep blue eyes, and Jeanne Lange, +dainty and delicate, with the brown curls and the child-like droop of +the soft, moist lips. + +Thus Armand saw them when, a moment or two later, he entered unannounced. +He had pushed open the door and looked on the two women silently for a +second or two; on the girl whom he loved so dearly, for whose sake +he had committed the great, the unpardonable sin which would send him +forever henceforth, Cain-like, a wanderer on the face of the earth; +and the other, his sister, her whom a Judas act would condemn to lonely +sorrow and widowhood. + +He could have cried out in an agony of remorse, and it was the groan +of acute soul anguish which escaped his lips that drew Marguerite’s +attention to his presence. + +Even though many things that Jeanne Lange had said had prepared her for +a change in her brother, she was immeasurably shocked by his appearance. +He had always been slim and rather below the average in height, but +now his usually upright and trim figure seemed to have shrunken within +itself; his clothes hung baggy on his shoulders, his hands appeared +waxen and emaciated, but the greatest change was in his face, in the +wide circles round the eyes, that spoke of wakeful nights, in the hollow +cheeks, and the mouth that had wholly forgotten how to smile. + +Percy after a week’s misery immured in a dark and miserable prison, +deprived of food and rest, did not look such a physical wreck as did +Armand St. Just, who was free. + +Marguerite’s heart reproached her for what she felt had been neglect, +callousness on her part. Mutely, within herself, she craved his +forgiveness for the appearance of that phantom which should never have +come forth from out that chaotic hell which had engendered it. + +“Armand!” she cried. + +And the loving arms that had guided his baby footsteps long ago, the +tender hands that had wiped his boyish tears, were stretched out with +unalterable love toward him. + +“I have a message for you, dear,” she said gently--“a letter from him. +Mademoiselle Jeanne allowed me to wait here for you until you came.” + +Silently, like a little shy mouse, Jeanne had slipped out of the room. +Her pure love for Armand had ennobled every one of her thoughts, and her +innate kindliness and refinement had already suggested that brother +and sister would wish to be alone. At the door she had turned and met +Armand’s look. That look had satisfied her; she felt that in it she +had read the expression of his love, and to it she had responded with a +glance that spoke of hope for a future meeting. + +As soon as the door had closed on Jeanne Lange, Armand, with an impulse +that refused to be checked, threw himself into his sister’s arms. The +present, with all its sorrows, its remorse and its shame, had sunk away; +only the past remained--the unforgettable past, when Marguerite +was “little mother”--the soother, the comforter, the healer, the +ever-willing receptacle wherein he had been wont to pour the burden of +his childish griefs, of his boyish escapades. + +Conscious that she could not know everything--not yet, at any rate--he +gave himself over to the rapture of this pure embrace, the last +time, mayhap, that those fond arms would close round him in unmixed +tenderness, the last time that those fond lips would murmur words of +affection and of comfort. + +To-morrow those same lips would, perhaps, curse the traitor, and the +small hand be raised in wrath, pointing an avenging finger on the Judas. + +“Little mother,” he whispered, babbling like a child, “it is good to see +you again.” + +“And I have brought you a message from Percy,” she said, “a letter which +he begged me to give you as soon as may be.” + +“You have seen him?” he asked. + +She nodded silently, unable to speak. Not now, not when her nerves were +strung to breaking pitch, would she trust herself to speak of that awful +yesterday. She groped in the folds of her gown and took the packet which +Percy had given her for Armand. It felt quite bulky in her hand. + +“There is quite a good deal there for you to read, dear,” she said. +“Percy begged me to give you this, and then to let you read it when you +were alone.” + +She pressed the packet into his hand. Armand’s face was ashen pale. He +clung to her with strange, nervous tenacity; the paper which he held in +one hand seemed to sear his fingers as with a branding-iron. + +“I will slip away now,” she said, for strangely enough since Percy’s +message had been in Armand’s hands she was once again conscious of +that awful feeling of iciness round her heart, a sense of numbness that +paralysed her very thoughts. + +“You will make my excuses to Mademoiselle Lange,” she said, trying to +smile. “When you have read, you will wish to see her alone.” + +Gently she disengaged herself from Armand’s grasp and made for the door. +He appeared dazed, staring down at that paper which was scorching his +fingers. Only when her hand was on the latch did he seem to realise that +she was going. + +“Little mother,” came involuntarily to his lips. + +She came straight back to him and took both his wrists in her small +hands. She was taller than he, and his head was slightly bent forward. +Thus she towered over him, loving but strong, her great, earnest eyes +searching his soul. + +“When shall I see you again, little mother?” he asked. + +“Read your letter, dear,” she replied, “and when you have read it, if +you care to impart its contents to me, come to-night to my lodgings, +Quai de la Ferraille, above the saddler’s shop. But if there is aught +in it that you do not wish me to know, then do not come; I shall +understand. Good-bye, dear.” + +She took his head between her two cold hands, and as it was still bowed +she placed a tender kiss, as of a long farewell, upon his hair. + +Then she went out of the room. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LETTER + +Armand sat in the armchair in front of the fire. His head rested against +one hand; in the other he held the letter written by the friend whom he +had betrayed. + +Twice he had read it now, and already was every word of that minute, +clear writing graven upon the innermost fibres of his body, upon the +most secret cells of his brain. + + + +Armand, I know. I knew even before Chauvelin came to me, and stood there +hoping to gloat over the soul-agony a man who finds that he has been +betrayed by his dearest friend. But that d--d reprobate did not get +that satisfaction, for I was prepared. Not only do I know, Armand, but +I UNDERSTAND. I, who do not know what love is, have realised how small a +thing is honour, loyalty, or friendship when weighed in the balance of a +loved one’s need. + +To save Jeanne you sold me to Heron and his crowd. We are men, Armand, +and the word forgiveness has only been spoken once these past two +thousand years, and then it was spoken by Divine lips. But Marguerite +loves you, and mayhap soon you will be all that is left her to love +on this earth. Because of this she must never know.... As for you, +Armand--well, God help you! But meseems that the hell which you are +enduring now is ten thousand times worse than mine. I have heard your +furtive footsteps in the corridor outside the grated window of this +cell, and would not then have exchanged my hell for yours. Therefore, +Armand, and because Marguerite loves you, I would wish to turn to you in +the hour that I need help. I am in a tight corner, but the hour may +come when a comrade’s hand might mean life to me. I have thought of you, +Armand partly because having taken more than my life, your own belongs +to me, and partly because the plan which I have in my mind will carry +with it grave risks for the man who stands by me. + +I swore once that never would I risk a comrade’s life to save mine own; +but matters are so different now... we are both in hell, Armand, and I +in striving to get out of mine will be showing you a way out of yours. + +Will you retake possession of your lodgings in the Rue de la Croix +Blanche? I should always know then where to find you in an emergency. +But if at any time you receive another letter from me, be its contents +what they may, act in accordance with the letter, and send a copy of +it at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. Keep in close touch with them +both. Tell her I so far forgave your disobedience (there was nothing +more) that I may yet trust my life and mine honour in your hands. + +I shall have no means of ascertaining definitely whether you will do all +that I ask; but somehow, Armand, I know that you will. + + + +For the third time Armand read the letter through. + +“But, Armand,” he repeated, murmuring the words softly under his +breath, “I know that you will.” + +Prompted by some indefinable instinct, moved by a force that compelled, +he allowed himself to glide from the chair on to the floor, on to his +knees. + +All the pent-up bitterness, the humiliation, the shame of the past few +days, surged up from his heart to his lips in one great cry of pain. + +“My God!” he whispered, “give me the chance of giving my life for him.” + +Alone and unwatched, he gave himself over for a few moments to the +almost voluptuous delight of giving free rein to his grief. The hot +Latin blood in him, tempestuous in all its passions, was firing his +heart and brain now with the glow of devotion and of self-sacrifice. + +The calm, self-centred Anglo-Saxon temperament--the almost fatalistic +acceptance of failure without reproach yet without despair, which +Percy’s letter to him had evidenced in so marked a manner--was, mayhap, +somewhat beyond the comprehension of this young enthusiast, with pure +Gallic blood in his veins, who was ever wont to allow his most +elemental passions to sway his actions. But though he did not altogether +understand, Armand St. Just could fully appreciate. All that was noble +and loyal in him rose triumphant from beneath the devastating ashes of +his own shame. + +Soon his mood calmed down, his look grew less wan and haggard. Hearing +Jeanne’s discreet and mouselike steps in the next room, he rose quickly +and hid the letter in the pocket of his coat. + +She came in and inquired anxiously about Marguerite; a hurriedly +expressed excuse from him, however, satisfied her easily enough. She +wanted to be alone with Armand, happy to see that he held his head more +erect to-day, and that the look as of a hunted creature had entirely +gone from his eyes. + +She ascribed this happy change to Marguerite, finding it in her heart to +be grateful to the sister for having accomplished what the fiancee had +failed to do. + +For awhile they remained together, sitting side by side, speaking +at times, but mostly silent, seeming to savour the return of truant +happiness. Armand felt like a sick man who has obtained a sudden +surcease from pain. He looked round him with a kind of melancholy +delight on this room which he had entered for the first time less than a +fortnight ago, and which already was so full of memories. + +Those first hours spent at the feet of Jeanne Lange, how exquisite they +had been, how fleeting in the perfection of their happiness! Now they +seemed to belong to a far distant past, evanescent like the perfume +of violets, swift in their flight like the winged steps of youth. +Blakeney’s letter had effectually taken the bitter sting from out +his remorse, but it had increased his already over-heavy load of +inconsolable sorrow. + +Later in the day he turned his footsteps in the direction of the river, +to the house in the Quai de la Ferraille above the saddler’s shop. +Marguerite had returned alone from the expedition to the Rue de +Charonne. Whilst Sir Andrew took charge of the little party of fugitives +and escorted them out of Paris, she came back to her lodgings in order +to collect her belongings, preparatory to taking up her quarters in the +house of Lucas, the old-clothes dealer. She returned also because she +hoped to see Armand. + +“If you care to impart the contents of the letter to me, come to my +lodgings to-night,” she had said. + +All day a phantom had haunted her, the phantom of an agonising +suspicion. + +But now the phantom had vanished never to return. Armand was sitting +close beside her, and he told her that the chief had selected him +amongst all the others to stand by him inside the walls of Paris until +the last. + +“I shall mayhap,” thus closed that precious document, “have no means +of ascertaining definitely whether you will act in accordance with this +letter. But somehow, Armand, I know that you will.” + +“I know that you will, Armand,” reiterated Marguerite fervently. + +She had only been too eager to be convinced; the dread and dark +suspicion which had been like a hideous poisoned sting had only vaguely +touched her soul; it had not gone in very deeply. How could it, when in +its death-dealing passage it encountered the rampart of tender, almost +motherly love? + +Armand, trying to read his sister’s thoughts in the depths of her blue +eyes, found the look in them limpid and clear. Percy’s message to Armand +had reassured her just as he had intended that it should do. Fate had +dealt over harshly with her as it was, and Blakeney’s remorse for the +sorrow which he had already caused her, was scarcely less keen than +Armand’s. He did not wish her to bear the intolerable burden of hatred +against her brother; and by binding St. Just close to him at the +supreme hour of danger he hoped to prove to the woman whom he loved so +passionately that Armand was worthy of trust. + + + +PART III. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. THE LAST PHASE + +“Well? How is it now?” + +“The last phase, I think.” + +“He will yield?” + +“He must.” + +“Bah! you have said it yourself often enough; those English are tough.” + +“It takes time to hack them to pieces, perhaps. In this case even you, +citizen Chauvelin, said that it would take time. Well, it has taken just +seventeen days, and now the end is in sight.” + +It was close on midnight in the guard-room which gave on the innermost +cell of the Conciergerie. Heron had just visited the prisoner as was +his wont at this hour of the night. He had watched the changing of the +guard, inspected the night-watch, questioned the sergeant in charge, and +finally he had been on the point of retiring to his own new quarters +in the house of Justice, in the near vicinity of the Conciergerie, when +citizen Chauvelin entered the guard-room unexpectedly and detained his +colleague with the peremptory question: + +“How is it now?” + +“If you are so near the end, citizen Heron,” he now said, sinking his +voice to a whisper, “why not make a final effort and end it to-night?” + +“I wish I could; the anxiety is wearing me out more’n him,” he added with a +jerky movement of the head in direction of the inner cell. + +“Shall I try?” rejoined Chauvelin grimly. + +“Yes, an you wish.” + +Citizen Heron’s long limbs were sprawling on a guard-room chair. In this +low narrow room he looked like some giant whose body had been carelessly +and loosely put together by a ‘prentice hand in the art of manufacture. +His broad shoulders were bent, probably under the weight of anxiety +to which he had referred, and his head, with the lank, shaggy hair +overshadowing the brow, was sunk deep down on his chest. + +Chauvelin looked on his friend and associate with no small measure +of contempt. He would no doubt have preferred to conclude the present +difficult transaction entirely in his own way and alone; but equally +there was no doubt that the Committee of Public Safety did not trust +him quite so fully as it used to do before the fiasco at Calais and the +blunders of Boulogne. Heron, on the other hand, enjoyed to its outermost +the confidence of his colleagues; his ferocious cruelty and his +callousness were well known, whilst physically, owing to his great +height and bulky if loosely knit frame, he had a decided advantage over +his trim and slender friend. + +As far as the bringing of prisoners to trial was concerned, the chief +agent of the Committee of General Security had been given a perfectly +free hand by the decree of the 27th Nivose. At first, therefore, he +had experienced no difficulty when he desired to keep the Englishman in +close confinement for a time without hurrying on that summary trial and +condemnation which the populace had loudly demanded, and to which they +felt that they were entitled to as a public holiday. The death of the +Scarlet Pimpernel on the guillotine had been a spectacle promised by +every demagogue who desired to purchase a few votes by holding out +visions of pleasant doings to come; and during the first few days the +mob of Paris was content to enjoy the delights of expectation. + +But now seventeen days had gone by and still the Englishman was not +being brought to trial. The pleasure-loving public was waxing impatient, +and earlier this evening, when citizen Heron had shown himself in the +stalls of the national theatre, he was greeted by a crowded audience +with decided expressions of disapproval and open mutterings of: + +“What of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” + +It almost looked as if he would have to bring that accursed Englishman +to the guillotine without having wrested from him the secret which he +would have given a fortune to possess. Chauvelin, who had also been +present at the theatre, had heard the expressions of discontent; hence +his visit to his colleague at this late hour of the night. + +“Shall I try?” he had queried with some impatience, and a deep sigh of +satisfaction escaped his thin lips when the chief agent, wearied and +discouraged, had reluctantly agreed. + +“Let the men make as much noise as they like,” he added with an +enigmatical smile. “The Englishman and I will want an accompaniment to +our pleasant conversation.” + +Heron growled a surly assent, and without another word Chauvelin turned +towards the inner cell. As he stepped in he allowed the iron bar to fall +into its socket behind him. Then he went farther into the room until the +distant recess was fully revealed to him. His tread had been furtive and +almost noiseless. Now he paused, for he had caught sight of the prisoner. +For a moment he stood quite still, with hands clasped behind his back in +his wonted attitude--still save for a strange, involuntary twitching +of his mouth, and the nervous clasping and interlocking of his fingers +behind his back. He was savouring to its utmost fulsomeness the +supremest joy which animal man can ever know--the joy of looking on a +fallen enemy. + +Blakeney sat at the table with one arm resting on it, the emaciated +hand tightly clutched, the body leaning forward, the eyes looking into +nothingness. + +For the moment he was unconscious of Chauvelin’s presence, and the +latter could gaze on him to the full content of his heart. + +Indeed, to all outward appearances there sat a man whom privations of +every sort and kind, the want of fresh air, of proper food, above all, +of rest, had worn down physically to a shadow. There was not a particle +of colour in cheeks or lips, the skin was grey in hue, the eyes looked +like deep caverns, wherein the glow of fever was all that was left of +life. + +Chauvelin looked on in silence, vaguely stirred by something that +he could not define, something that right through his triumphant +satisfaction, his hatred and final certainty of revenge, had roused in +him a sense almost of admiration. + +He gazed on the noiseless figure of the man who had endured so much for +an ideal, and as he gazed it seemed to him as if the spirit no longer +dwelt in the body, but hovered round in the dank, stuffy air of the +narrow cell above the head of the lonely prisoner, crowning it with +glory that was no longer of this earth. + +Of this the looker-on was conscious despite himself, of that and of the +fact that stare as he might, and with perception rendered doubly keen +by hate, he could not, in spite of all, find the least trace of mental +weakness in that far-seeing gaze which seemed to pierce the prison +walls, nor could he see that bodily weakness had tended to subdue the +ruling passions. + +Sir Percy Blakeney--a prisoner since seventeen days in close, solitary +confinement, half-starved, deprived of rest, and of that mental and +physical activity which had been the very essence of life to him +hitherto--might be outwardly but a shadow of his former brilliant self, +but nevertheless he was still that same elegant English gentleman, that +prince of dandies whom Chauvelin had first met eighteen months ago at +the most courtly Court in Europe. His clothes, despite constant wear +and the want of attention from a scrupulous valet, still betrayed the +perfection of London tailoring; he had put them on with meticulous care, +they were free from the slightest particle of dust, and the filmy folds +of priceless Mechlin still half-veiled the delicate whiteness of his +shapely hands. + +And in the pale, haggard face, in the whole pose of body and of arm, +there was still the expression of that indomitable strength of will, +that reckless daring, that almost insolent challenge to Fate; it was +there untamed, uncrushed. Chauvelin himself could not deny to himself +its presence or its force. He felt that behind that smooth brow, which +looked waxlike now, the mind was still alert, scheming, plotting, +striving for freedom, for conquest and for power, and rendered even +doubly keen and virile by the ardour of supreme self-sacrifice. + +Chauvelin now made a slight movement and suddenly Blakeney became +conscious of his presence, and swift as a flash a smile lit up his wan +face. + +“Why! if it is not my engaging friend Monsieur Chambertin,” he said +gaily. + +He rose and stepped forward in the most approved fashion prescribed by +the elaborate etiquette of the time. But Chauvelin smiled grimly and a +look of almost animal lust gleamed in his pale eyes, for he had noted +that as he rose Sir Percy had to seek the support of the table, even +whilst a dull film appeared to gather over his eyes. + +The gesture had been quick and cleverly disguised, but it had been there +nevertheless--that and the livid hue that overspread the face as if +consciousness was threatening to go. All of which was sufficient still +further to assure the looker-on that that mighty physical strength was +giving way at last, that strength which he had hated in his enemy almost +as much as he had hated the thinly veiled insolence of his manner. + +“And what procures me, sir, the honour of your visit?” continued +Blakeney, who had--at any rate, outwardly soon recovered himself, and +whose voice, though distinctly hoarse and spent, rang quite cheerfully +across the dank narrow cell. + +“My desire for your welfare, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin with equal +pleasantry. + +“La, sir; but have you not gratified that desire already, to an extent +which leaves no room for further solicitude? But I pray you, will you +not sit down?” he continued, turning back toward the table. “I was about +to partake of the lavish supper which your friends have provided for me. +Will you not share it, sir? You are most royally welcome, and it will +mayhap remind you of that supper we shared together in Calais, eh? when +you, Monsieur Chambertin, were temporarily in holy orders.” + +He laughed, offering his enemy a chair, and pointed with inviting +gesture to the hunk of brown bread and the mug of water which stood on +the table. + +“Such as it is, sir,” he said with a pleasant smile, “it is yours to +command.” + +Chauvelin sat down. He held his lower lip tightly between his teeth, so +tightly that a few drops of blood appeared upon its narrow surface. He +was making vigorous efforts to keep his temper under control, for he +would not give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him resent his +insolence. He could afford to keep calm now that victory was at last +in sight, now that he knew that he had but to raise a finger, and those +smiling, impudent lips would be closed forever at last. + +“Sir Percy,” he resumed quietly, “no doubt it affords you a certain +amount of pleasure to aim your sarcastic shafts at me. I will not +begrudge you that pleasure; in your present position, sir, your shafts +have little or no sting.” + +“And I shall have but few chances left to aim them at your charming +self,” interposed Blakeney, who had drawn another chair close to the +table and was now sitting opposite his enemy, with the light of the lamp +falling full on his own face, as if he wished his enemy to know that he +had nothing to hide, no thought, no hope, no fear. + +“Exactly,” said Chauvelin dryly. “That being the case, Sir Percy, what +say you to no longer wasting the few chances which are left to you for +safety? The time is getting on. You are not, I imagine, quite as hopeful +as you were even a week ago,... you have never been over-comfortable in +this cell, why not end this unpleasant state of affairs now--once and +for all? You’ll not have cause to regret it. My word on it.” + +Sir Percy leaned back in his chair. He yawned loudly and ostentatiously. + +“I pray you, sir, forgive me,” he said. “Never have I been so d--d +fatigued. I have not slept for more than a fortnight.” + +“Exactly, Sir Percy. A night’s rest would do you a world of good.” + +“A night, sir?” exclaimed Blakeney with what seemed like an echo of his +former inimitable laugh. “La! I should want a week.” + +“I am afraid we could not arrange for that, but one night would greatly +refresh you.” + +“You are right, sir, you are right; but those d--d fellows in the next +room make so much noise.” + +“I would give strict orders that perfect quietude reigned in the +guard-room this night,” said Chauvelin, murmuring softly, and there +was a gentle purr in his voice, “and that you were left undisturbed for +several hours. I would give orders that a comforting supper be served to +you at once, and that everything be done to minister to your wants.” + +“That sounds d--d alluring, sir. Why did you not suggest this before?” + +“You were so--what shall I say--so obstinate, Sir Percy?” + +“Call it pig-headed, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,” retorted Blakeney +gaily, “truly you would oblige me.” + +“In any case you, sir, were acting in direct opposition to your own +interests.” + +“Therefore you came,” concluded Blakeney airily, “like the good +Samaritan to take compassion on me and my troubles, and to lead me +straight away to comfort, a good supper and a downy bed.” + +“Admirably put, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin blandly; “that is exactly my +mission.” + +“How will you set to work, Monsieur Chambertin?” + +“Quite easily, if you, Sir Percy, will yield to the persuasion of my +friend citizen Heron.” + +“Ah!” + +“Why, yes! He is anxious to know where little Capet is. A reasonable +whim, you will own, considering that the disappearance of the child is +causing him grave anxiety.” + +“And you, Monsieur Chambertin?” queried Sir Percy with that suspicion of +insolence in his manner which had the power to irritate his enemy even +now. “And yourself, sir; what are your wishes in the matter?” + +“Mine, Sir Percy?” retorted Chauvelin. “Mine? Why, to tell you the +truth, the fate of little Capet interests me but little. Let him rot in +Austria or in our prisons, I care not which. He’ll never trouble France +overmuch, I imagine. The teachings of old Simon will not tend to make a +leader or a king out of the puny brat whom you chose to drag out of our +keeping. My wishes, sir, are the annihilation of your accursed League, +and the lasting disgrace, if not the death, of its chief.” + +He had spoken more hotly than he had intended, but all the pent-up +rage of the past eighteen months, the recollections of Calais and of +Boulogne, had all surged up again in his mind, because despite the +closeness of these prison walls, despite the grim shadow of starvation +and of death that beckoned so close at hand, he still encountered a pair +of mocking eyes, fixed with relentless insolence upon him. + +Whilst he spoke Blakeney had once more leaned forward, resting his +elbows upon the table. Now he drew nearer to him the wooden platter +on which reposed that very uninviting piece of dry bread. With solemn +intentness he proceeded to break the bread into pieces; then he offered +the platter to Chauvelin. + +“I am sorry,” he said pleasantly, “that I cannot offer you more dainty fare, +sir, but this is all that your friends have supplied me with to-day.” + +He crumbled some of the dry bread in his slender fingers, then started +munching the crumbs with apparent relish. He poured out some water into +the mug and drank it. Then he said with a light laugh: + +“Even the vinegar which that ruffian Brogard served us at Calais was +preferable to this, do you not imagine so, my good Monsieur Chambertin?” + +Chauvelin made no reply. Like a feline creature on the prowl, he was +watching the prey that had so nearly succumbed to his talons. Blakeney’s +face now was positively ghastly. The effort to speak, to laugh, to +appear unconcerned, was apparently beyond his strength. His cheeks and +lips were livid in hue, the skin clung like a thin layer of wax to the +bones of cheek and jaw, and the heavy lids that fell over the eyes had +purple patches on them like lead. + +To a system in such an advanced state of exhaustion the stale water and +dusty bread must have been terribly nauseating, and Chauvelin himself +callous and thirsting for vengeance though he was, could hardly bear to +look calmly on the martyrdom of this man whom he and his colleagues were +torturing in order to gain their own ends. + +An ashen hue, which seemed like the shadow of the hand of death, passed +over the prisoner’s face. Chauvelin felt compelled to avert his gaze. A +feeling that was almost akin to remorse had stirred a hidden chord in his +heart. The feeling did not last--the heart had been too long atrophied +by the constantly recurring spectacles of cruelties, massacres, and +wholesale hecatombs perpetrated in the past eighteen months in the name +of liberty and fraternity to be capable of a sustained effort in +the direction of gentleness or of pity. Any noble instinct in these +revolutionaries had long ago been drowned in a whirlpool of exploits +that would forever sully the records of humanity; and this keeping of +a fellow-creature on the rack in order to wring from him a Judas-like +betrayal was but a complement to a record of infamy that had ceased by +its very magnitude to weigh upon their souls. + +Chauvelin was in no way different from his colleagues; the crimes in +which he had had no hand he had condoned by continuing to serve the +Government that had committed them, and his ferocity in the present case +was increased a thousandfold by his personal hatred for the man who had +so often fooled and baffled him. + +When he looked round a second or two later that ephemeral fit of remorse +did its final vanishing; he had once more encountered the pleasant +smile, the laughing if ashen-pale face of his unconquered foe. + +“Only a passing giddiness, my dear sir,” said Sir Percy lightly. “As you +were saying--” + +At the airily-spoken words, at the smile that accompanied them, +Chauvelin had jumped to his feet. There was something almost +supernatural, weird, and impish about the present situation, about this +dying man who, like an impudent schoolboy, seemed to be mocking Death +with his tongue in his cheek, about his laugh that appeared to find its +echo in a widely yawning grave. + +“In the name of God, Sir Percy,” he said roughly, as he brought +his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, “this situation is +intolerable. Bring it to an end to-night!” + +“Why, sir?” retorted Blakeney, “methought you and your kind did not +believe in God.” + +“No. But you English do.” + +“We do. But we do not care to hear His name on your lips.” + +“Then in the name of the wife whom you love--” + +But even before the words had died upon his lips, Sir Percy, too, had +risen to his feet. + +“Have done, man--have done,” he broke in hoarsely, and despite weakness, +despite exhaustion and weariness, there was such a dangerous look in +his hollow eyes as he leaned across the table that Chauvelin drew back a +step or two, and--vaguely fearful--looked furtively towards the opening +into the guard-room. “Have done,” he reiterated for the third time; “do +not name her, or by the living God whom you dared to invoke I’ll find +strength yet to smite you in the face.” + +But Chauvelin, after that first moment of almost superstitious fear, had +quickly recovered his sang-froid. + +“Little Capet, Sir Percy,” he said, meeting the other’s threatening +glance with an imperturbable smile, “tell me where to find him, and +you may yet live to savour the caresses of the most beautiful woman in +England.” + +He had meant it as a taunt, the final turn of the thumb-screw applied to +a dying man, and he had in that watchful, keen mind of his well weighed +the full consequences of the taunt. + +The next moment he had paid to the full the anticipated price. Sir Percy +had picked up the pewter mug from the table--it was half-filled with +brackish water--and with a hand that trembled but slightly he hurled it +straight at his opponent’s face. + +The heavy mug did not hit citizen Chauvelin; it went crashing against +the stone wall opposite. But the water was trickling from the top of his +head all down his eyes and cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders with a look +of benign indulgence directed at his enemy, who had fallen back into his +chair exhausted with the effort. + +Then he took out his handkerchief and calmly wiped the water from his +face. + +“Not quite so straight a shot as you used to be, Sir Percy,” he said +mockingly. + +“No, sir--apparently--not.” + +The words came out in gasps. He was like a man only partly conscious. +The lips were parted, the eyes closed, the head leaning against the high +back of the chair. For the space of one second Chauvelin feared that his +zeal had outrun his prudence, that he had dealt a death-blow to a man +in the last stage of exhaustion, where he had only wished to fan the +flickering flame of life. Hastily--for the seconds seemed precious--he +ran to the opening that led into the guard-room. + +“Brandy--quick!” he cried. + +Heron looked up, roused from the semi-somnolence in which he had lain +for the past half-hour. He disentangled his long limbs from out the +guard-room chair. + +“Eh?” he queried. “What is it?” + +“Brandy,” reiterated Chauvelin impatiently; “the prisoner has fainted.” + +“Bah!” retorted the other with a callous shrug of the shoulders, “you +are not going to revive him with brandy, I imagine.” + +“No. But you will, citizen Heron,” rejoined the other dryly, “for if you +do not he’ll be dead in an hour!” + +“Devils in hell!” exclaimed Heron, “you have not killed him? You--you +d--d fool!” + +He was wide awake enough now; wide awake and shaking with fury. Almost +foaming at the mouth and uttering volleys of the choicest oaths, he +elbowed his way roughly through the groups of soldiers who were crowding +round the centre table of the guard-room, smoking and throwing dice or +playing cards. They made way for him as hurriedly as they could, for it +was not safe to thwart the citizen agent when he was in a rage. + +Heron walked across to the opening and lifted the iron bar. With scant +ceremony he pushed his colleague aside and strode into the cell, whilst +Chauvelin, seemingly not resenting the other’s ruffianly manners and +violent language, followed close upon his heel. + +In the centre of the room both men paused, and Heron turned with a surly +growl to his friend. + +“You vowed he would be dead in an hour,” he said reproachfully. + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +“It does not look like it now certainly,” he said dryly. + +Blakeney was sitting--as was his wont--close to the table, with one arm +leaning on it, the other, tightly clenched, resting upon his knee. A +ghost of a smile hovered round his lips. + +“Not in an hour, citizen Heron,” he said, and his voice flow was scarce +above a whisper, “nor yet in two.” + +“You are a fool, man,” said Heron roughly. “You have had seventeen days +of this. Are you not sick of it?” + +“Heartily, my dear friend,” replied Blakeney a little more firmly. + +“Seventeen days,” reiterated the other, nodding his shaggy head; “you +came here on the 2nd of Pluviose, today is the 19th.” + +“The 19th Pluviose?” interposed Sir Percy, and a strange gleam suddenly +flashed in his eyes. “Demn it, sir, and in Christian parlance what may +that day be?” + +“The 7th of February at your service, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin +quietly. + +“I thank you, sir. In this d--d hole I had lost count of time.” + +Chauvelin, unlike his rough and blundering colleague, had been watching +the prisoner very closely for the last moment or two, conscious of a +subtle, undefinable change that had come over the man during those +few seconds while he, Chauvelin, had thought him dying. The pose was +certainly the old familiar one, the head erect, the hand clenched, the +eyes looking through and beyond the stone walls; but there was an air +of listlessness in the stoop of the shoulders, and--except for that one +brief gleam just now--a look of more complete weariness round the hollow +eyes! To the keen watcher it appeared as if that sense of living power, +of unconquered will and defiant mind was no longer there, and as if he +himself need no longer fear that almost supersensual thrill which had a +while ago kindled in him a vague sense of admiration--almost of remorse. + +Even as he gazed, Blakeney slowly turned his eyes full upon him. +Chauvelin’s heart gave a triumphant bound. + +With a mocking smile he met the wearied look, the pitiable appeal. His +turn had come at last--his turn to mock and to exult. He knew that what +he was watching now was no longer the last phase of a long and noble +martyrdom; it was the end--the inevitable end--that for which he had +schemed and striven, for which he had schooled his heart to ferocity +and callousness that were devilish in their intensity. It was the end +indeed, the slow descent of a soul from the giddy heights of attempted +self-sacrifice, where it had striven to soar for a time, until the body +and the will both succumbed together and dragged it down with them into +the abyss of submission and of irreparable shame. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. SUBMISSION + +Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two human +jackals stood motionless over their captured prey. + +A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin’s eyes, and even Heron, dull and +brutal though he was, had become vaguely conscious of the great change +that had come over the prisoner. + +Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had once +more rested both his elbows on the table; his head fell heavy and almost +lifeless downward in his arms. + +“Curse you, man!” cried Heron almost involuntarily. “Why in the name of +hell did you wait so long?” + +Then, as the prisoner made no reply, but only raised his head slightly, +and looked on the other two men with dulled, wearied eyes, Chauvelin +interposed calmly: + +“More than a fortnight has been wasted in useless obstinacy, Sir Percy. +Fortunately it is not too late.” + +“Capet?” said Heron hoarsely, “tell us, where is Capet?” + +He leaned across the table, his eyes were bloodshot with the keenness +of his excitement, his voice shook with the passionate desire for the +crowning triumph. + +“If you’ll only not worry me,” murmured the prisoner; and the whisper +came so laboriously and so low that both men were forced to bend their +ears close to the scarcely moving lips; “if you will let me sleep and +rest, and leave me in peace--” + +“The peace of the grave, man,” retorted Chauvelin roughly; “if you will +only speak. Where is Capet?” + +“I cannot tell you; the way is long, the road--intricate.” + +“Bah!” + +“I’ll lead you to him, if you will give me rest.” + +“We don’t want you to lead us anywhere,” growled Heron with a smothered +curse; “tell us where Capet is; we’ll find him right enough.” + +“I cannot explain; the way is intricate; the place off the beaten track, +unknown except to me and my friends.” + +Once more that shadow, which was so like the passing of the hand of +Death, overspread the prisoner’s face; his head rolled back against the +chair. + +“He’ll die before he can speak,” muttered Chauvelin under his breath. +“You usually are well provided with brandy, citizen Heron.” + +The latter no longer demurred. He saw the danger as clearly as did his +colleague. It had been hell’s own luck if the prisoner were to die now +when he seemed ready to give in. He produced a flask from the pocket of +his coat, and this he held to Blakeney’s lips. + +“Beastly stuff,” murmured the latter feebly. “I think I’d sooner +faint--than drink.” + +“Capet? where is Capet?” reiterated Heron impatiently. + +“One--two--three hundred leagues from here. I must let one of my friends +know; he’ll communicate with the others; they must be prepared,” replied +the prisoner slowly. + +Heron uttered a blasphemous oath. + +“Where is Capet? Tell us where Capet is, or--” + +He was like a raging tiger that had thought to hold its prey and +suddenly realised that it was being snatched from him. He raised his +fist, and without doubt the next moment he would have silenced forever +the lips that held the precious secret, but Chauvelin fortunately was +quick enough to seize his wrist. + +“Have a care, citizen,” he said peremptorily; “have a care! You called +me a fool just now when you thought I had killed the prisoner. It is his +secret we want first; his death can follow afterwards.” + +“Yes, but not in this d--d hole,” murmured Blakeney. + +“On the guillotine if you’ll speak,” cried Heron, whose exasperation was +getting the better of his self-interest, “but if you’ll not speak then +it shall be starvation in this hole--yes, starvation,” he growled, +showing a row of large and uneven teeth like those of some mongrel cur, +“for I’ll have that door walled in to-night, and not another living soul +shall cross this threshold again until your flesh has rotted on your +bones and the rats have had their fill of you.” + +The prisoner raised his head slowly, a shiver shook him as if caused by +ague, and his eyes, that appeared almost sightless, now looked with a +strange glance of horror on his enemy. + +“I’ll die in the open,” he whispered, “not in this d--d hole.” + +“Then tell us where Capet is.” + +“I cannot; I wish to God I could. But I’ll take you to him, I swear I +will. I’ll make my friends give him up to you. Do you think that I would +not tell you now, if I could.” + +Heron, whose every instinct of tyranny revolted against this thwarting +of his will, would have continued to heckle the prisoner even now, had +not Chauvelin suddenly interposed with an authoritative gesture. + +“You’ll gain nothing this way, citizen,” he said quietly; “the man’s +mind is wandering; he is probably quite unable to give you clear +directions at this moment.” + +“What am I to do, then?” muttered the other roughly. + +“He cannot live another twenty-four hours now, and would only grow more +and more helpless as time went on.” + +“Unless you relax your strict regime with him.” + +“And if I do we’ll only prolong this situation indefinitely; and in the +meanwhile how do we know that the brat is not being spirited away out of +the country?” + +The prisoner, with his head once more buried in his arms, had fallen +into a kind of torpor, the only kind of sleep that the exhausted system +would allow. With a brutal gesture Heron shook him by the shoulder. + +“He,” he shouted, “none of that, you know. We have not settled the +matter of young Capet yet.” + +Then, as the prisoner made no movement, and the chief agent indulged +in one of his favourite volleys of oaths, Chauvelin placed a peremptory +hand on his colleague’s shoulder. + +“I tell you, citizen, that this is no use,” he said firmly. “Unless you +are prepared to give up all thoughts of finding Capet, you must try and +curb your temper, and try diplomacy where force is sure to fail.” + +“Diplomacy?” retorted the other with a sneer. “Bah! it served you well +at Boulogne last autumn, did it not, citizen Chauvelin?” + +“It has served me better now,” rejoined the other imperturbably. “You +will own, citizen, that it is my diplomacy which has placed within your +reach the ultimate hope of finding Capet.” + +“H’m!” muttered the other, “you advised us to starve the prisoner. Are +we any nearer to knowing his secret?” + +“Yes. By a fortnight of weariness, of exhaustion and of starvation, you +are nearer to it by the weakness of the man whom in his full strength +you could never hope to conquer.” + +“But if the cursed Englishman won’t speak, and in the meanwhile dies on +my hands--” + +“He won’t do that if you will accede to his wish. Give him some good +food now, and let him sleep till dawn.” + +“And at dawn he’ll defy me again. I believe now that he has some scheme +in his mind, and means to play us a trick.” + +“That, I imagine, is more than likely,” retorted Chauvelin dryly; +“though,” he added with a contemptuous nod of the head directed at the +huddled-up figure of his once brilliant enemy, “neither mind nor body +seem to me to be in a sufficiently active state just now for hatching +plot or intrigue; but even if--vaguely floating through his clouded +mind--there has sprung some little scheme for evasion, I give you my +word, citizen Heron, that you can thwart him completely, and gain all +that you desire, if you will only follow my advice.” + +There had always been a great amount of persuasive power in citizen +Chauvelin, ex-envoy of the revolutionary Government of France at the +Court of St. James, and that same persuasive eloquence did not fail now +in its effect on the chief agent of the Committee of General Security. +The latter was made of coarser stuff than his more brilliant colleague. +Chauvelin was like a wily and sleek panther that is furtive in its +movements, that will lure its prey, watch it, follow it with stealthy +footsteps, and only pounce on it when it is least wary, whilst Heron was +more like a raging bull that tosses its head in a blind, irresponsible +fashion, rushes at an obstacle without gauging its resisting powers, +and allows its victim to slip from beneath its weight through the very +clumsiness and brutality of its assault. + +Still Chauvelin had two heavy black marks against him--those of his +failures at Calais and Boulogne. Heron, rendered cautious both by the +deadly danger in which he stood and the sense of his own incompetence to +deal with the present situation, tried to resist the other’s authority +as well as his persuasion. + +“Your advice was not of great use to citizen Collot last autumn at +Boulogne,” he said, and spat on the ground by way of expressing both his +independence and his contempt. + +“Still, citizen Heron,” retorted Chauvelin with unruffled patience, “it +is the best advice that you are likely to get in the present emergency. +You have eyes to see, have you not? Look on your prisoner at this +moment. Unless something is done, and at once, too, he will be past +negotiating with in the next twenty-four hours; then what will follow?” + +He put his thin hand once more on his colleague’s grubby coat-sleeve, +he drew him closer to himself away from the vicinity of that huddled +figure, that captive lion, wrapped in a torpid somnolence that looked +already so like the last long sleep. + +“What will follow, citizen Heron?” he reiterated, sinking his voice to +a whisper; “sooner or later some meddlesome busybody who sits in the +Assembly of the Convention will get wind that little Capet is no longer +in the Temple prison, that a pauper child was substituted for him, and +that you, citizen Heron, together with the commissaries in charge, +have thus been fooling the nation and its representatives for over a +fortnight. What will follow then, think you?” + +And he made an expressive gesture with his outstretched fingers across +his throat. + +Heron found no other answer but blasphemy. + +“I’ll make that cursed Englishman speak yet,” he said with a fierce +oath. + +“You cannot,” retorted Chauvelin decisively. “In his present state he is +incapable of it, even if he would, which also is doubtful.” + +“Ah! then you do think that he still means to cheat us?” + +“Yes, I do. But I also know that he is no longer in a physical state +to do it. No doubt he thinks that he is. A man of that type is sure to +overvalue his own strength; but look at him, citizen Heron. Surely you +must see that we have nothing to fear from him now.” + +Heron now was like a voracious creature that has two victims lying ready +for his gluttonous jaws. He was loath to let either of them go. He hated +the very thought of seeing the Englishman being led out of this narrow +cell, where he had kept a watchful eye over him night and day for a +fortnight, satisfied that with every day, every hour, the chances of +escape became more improbable and more rare; at the same time there was +the possibility of the recapture of little Capet, a possibility which +made Heron’s brain reel with the delightful vista of it, and which might +never come about if the prisoner remained silent to the end. + +“I wish I were quite sure,” he said sullenly, “that you were body and +soul in accord with me.” + +“I am in accord with you, citizen Heron,” rejoined the other +earnestly--“body and soul in accord with you. Do you not believe that +I hate this man--aye! hate him with a hatred ten thousand times more +strong than yours? I want his death--Heaven or hell alone know how I +long for that--but what I long for most is his lasting disgrace. For +that I have worked, citizen Heron--for that I advised and helped you. +When first you captured this man you wanted summarily to try him, to +send him to the guillotine amidst the joy of the populace of Paris, +and crowned with a splendid halo of martyrdom. That man, citizen Heron, +would have baffled you, mocked you, and fooled you even on the steps of +the scaffold. In the zenith of his strength and of insurmountable good +luck you and all your myrmidons and all the assembled guard of Paris +would have had no power over him. The day that you led him out of this +cell in order to take him to trial or to the guillotine would have been +that of your hopeless discomfiture. Having once walked out of this cell +hale, hearty and alert, be the escort round him ever so strong, he never +would have re-entered it again. Of that I am as convinced as that I am +alive. I know the man; you don’t. Mine are not the only fingers through +which he has slipped. Ask citizen Collot d’Herbois, ask Sergeant Bibot +at the barrier of Menilmontant, ask General Santerre and his guards. +They all have a tale to tell. Did I believe in God or the devil, I +should also believe that this man has supernatural powers and a host of +demons at his beck and call.” + +“Yet you talk now of letting him walk out of this cell to-morrow?” + +“He is a different man now, citizen Heron. On my advice you placed +him on a regime that has counteracted the supernatural power by simple +physical exhaustion, and driven to the four winds the host of demons who +no doubt fled in the face of starvation.” + +“If only I thought that the recapture of Capet was as vital to you as it +is to me,” said Heron, still unconvinced. + +“The capture of Capet is just as vital to me as it is to you,” rejoined +Chauvelin earnestly, “if it is brought about through the instrumentality +of the Englishman.” + +He paused, looking intently on his colleague, whose shifty eyes +encountered his own. Thus eye to eye the two men at last understood one +another. + +“Ah!” said Heron with a snort, “I think I understand.” + +“I am sure that you do,” responded Chauvelin dryly. “The disgrace of +this cursed Scarlet Pimpernel and his League is as vital to me, and +more, as the capture of Capet is to you. That is why I showed you the +way how to bring that meddlesome adventurer to his knees; that is why I +will help you now both to find Capet and with his aid and to wreak what +reprisals you like on him in the end.” + +Heron before he spoke again cast one more look on the prisoner. The +latter had not stirred; his face was hidden, but the hands, emaciated, +nerveless and waxen, like those of the dead, told a more eloquent tale, +mayhap, then than the eyes could do. The chief agent of the Committee of +General Security walked deliberately round the table until he stood once +more close beside the man from whom he longed with passionate ardour +to wrest an all-important secret. With brutal, grimy hand he raised the +head that lay, sunken and inert, against the table; with callous eyes he +gazed attentively on the face that was then revealed to him, he looked +on the waxen flesh, the hollow eyes, the bloodless lips; then he +shrugged his wide shoulders, and with a laugh that surely must have +caused joy in hell, he allowed the wearied head to fall back against the +outstretched arms, and turned once again to his colleague. + +“I think you are right, citizen Chauvelin,” he said; “there is not much +supernatural power here. Let me hear your advice.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAUVELIN’S ADVICE + +Citizen Chauvelin had drawn his colleague with him to the end of the +cell that was farthest away from the recess, and the table at which the +prisoner was sitting. + +Here the noise and hubbub that went on constantly in the guard room +would effectually drown a whispered conversation. Chauvelin called to +the sergeant to hand him a couple of chairs over the barrier. These he +placed against the wall opposite the opening, and beckoning Heron to sit +down, he did likewise, placing himself close to his colleague. + +From where the two men now sat they could see both into the guard-room +opposite them and into the recess at the furthermost end of the cell. + +“First of all,” began Chauvelin after a while, and sinking his voice to +a whisper, “let me understand you thoroughly, citizen Heron. Do you want +the death of the Englishman, either to-day or to-morrow, either in this +prison or on the guillotine? For that now is easy of accomplishment; or +do you want, above all, to get hold of little Capet?” + +“It is Capet I want,” growled Heron savagely under his breath. “Capet! +Capet! My own neck is dependent on my finding Capet. Curse you, have I +not told you that clearly enough?” + +“You have told it me very clearly, citizen Heron; but I wished to make +assurance doubly sure, and also make you understand that I, too, want +the Englishman to betray little Capet into your hands. I want that more +even than I do his death.” + +“Then in the name of hell, citizen, give me your advice.” + +“My advice to you, citizen Heron, is this: Give your prisoner now just +a sufficiency of food to revive him--he will have had a few moments’ +sleep--and when he has eaten, and, mayhap, drunk a glass of wine, he +will, no doubt, feel a recrudescence of strength, then give him pen and +ink and paper. He must, as he says, write to one of his followers, who, +in his turn, I suppose, will communicate with the others, bidding them +to be prepared to deliver up little Capet to us; the letter must make +it clear to that crowd of English gentlemen that their beloved chief +is giving up the uncrowned King of France to us in exchange for his own +safety. But I think you will agree with me, citizen Heron, that it would +not be over-prudent on our part to allow that same gallant crowd to be +forewarned too soon of the proposed doings of their chief. Therefore, +I think, we’ll explain to the prisoner that his follower, whom he will +first apprise of his intentions, shall start with us to-morrow on our +expedition, and accompany us until its last stage, when, if it is found +necessary, he may be sent on ahead, strongly escorted of course, and +with personal messages from the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel to the members +of his League.” + +“What will be the good of that?” broke in Heron viciously. “Do you want +one of his accursed followers to be ready to give him a helping hand on +the way if he tries to slip through our fingers?” + +“Patience, patience, my good Heron!” rejoined Chauvelin with a placid +smile. “Hear me out to the end. Time is precious. You shall offer what +criticism you will when I have finished, but not before.” + +“Go on, then. I listen.” + +“I am not only proposing that one member of the Scarlet Pimpernel League +shall accompany us to-morrow,” continued Chauvelin, “but I would also +force the prisoner’s wife--Marguerite Blakeney--to follow in our train.” + +“A woman? Bah! What for?” + +“I will tell you the reason of this presently. In her case I should not +let the prisoner know beforehand that she too will form a part of our +expedition. Let this come as a pleasing surprise for him. She could join +us on our way out of Paris.” + +“How will you get hold of her?” + +“Easily enough. I know where to find her. I traced her myself a few days +ago to a house in the Rue de Charonne, and she is not likely to have +gone away from Paris while her husband was at the Conciergerie. But this +is a digression, let me proceed more consecutively. The letter, as +I have said, being written to-night by the prisoner to one of his +followers, I will myself see that it is delivered into the right hands. +You, citizen Heron, will in the meanwhile make all arrangements for +the journey. We ought to start at dawn, and we ought to be prepared, +especially during the first fifty leagues of the way, against organised +attack in case the Englishman leads us into an ambush.” + +“Yes. He might even do that, curse him!” muttered Heron. + +“He might, but it is unlikely. Still it is best to be prepared. Take +a strong escort, citizen, say twenty or thirty men, picked and trained +soldiers who would make short work of civilians, however well-armed they +might be. There are twenty members--including the chief--in that Scarlet +Pimpernel League, and I do not quite see how from this cell the prisoner +could organise an ambuscade against us at a given time. Anyhow, that is +a matter for you to decide. I have still to place before you a scheme +which is a measure of safety for ourselves and our men against ambush as +well as against trickery, and which I feel sure you will pronounce quite +adequate.” + +“Let me hear it, then!” + +“The prisoner will have to travel by coach, of course. You can travel +with him, if you like, and put him in irons, and thus avert all chances +of his escaping on the road. But”--and here Chauvelin made a long pause, +which had the effect of holding his colleague’s attention still more +closely--“remember that we shall have his wife and one of his friends +with us. Before we finally leave Paris tomorrow we will explain to +the prisoner that at the first attempt to escape on his part, at the +slightest suspicion that he has tricked us for his own ends or is +leading us into an ambush--at the slightest suspicion, I say--you, +citizen Heron, will order his friend first, and then Marguerite Blakeney +herself, to be summarily shot before his eyes.” + +Heron gave a long, low whistle. Instinctively he threw a furtive, +backward glance at the prisoner, then he raised his shifty eyes to his +colleague. + +There was unbounded admiration expressed in them. One blackguard had met +another--a greater one than himself--and was proud to acknowledge him as +his master. + +“By Lucifer, citizen Chauvelin,” he said at last, “I should never have +thought of such a thing myself.” + +Chauvelin put up his hand with a gesture of self-deprecation. + +“I certainly think that measure ought to be adequate,” he said with a +gentle air of assumed modesty, “unless you would prefer to arrest the +woman and lodge her here, keeping her here as an hostage.” + +“No, no!” said Heron with a gruff laugh; “that idea does not appeal +to me nearly so much as the other. I should not feel so secure on the +way.... I should always be thinking that that cursed woman had been +allowed to escape.... No! no! I would rather keep her under my own +eye--just as you suggest, citizen Chauvelin... and under the prisoner’s, +too,” he added with a coarse jest. “If he did not actually see her, +he might be more ready to try and save himself at her expense. But, of +course, he could not see her shot before his eyes. It is a perfect plan, +citizen, and does you infinite credit; and if the Englishman tricked +us,” he concluded with a fierce and savage oath, “and we did not find +Capet at the end of the journey, I would gladly strangle his wife and +his friend with my own hands.” + +“A satisfaction which I would not begrudge you, citizen,” said Chauvelin +dryly. “Perhaps you are right... the woman had best be kept under your +own eye... the prisoner will never risk her safety on that, I would +stake my life. We’ll deliver our final ‘either--or’ the moment that +she has joined our party, and before we start further on our way. Now, +citizen Heron, you have heard my advice; are you prepared to follow it?” + +“To the last letter,” replied the other. + +And their two hands met in a grasp of mutual understanding--two hands +already indelibly stained with much innocent blood, more deeply stained +now with seventeen past days of inhumanity and miserable treachery to +come. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAPITULATION + +What occurred within the inner cell of the Conciergerie prison within +the next half-hour of that 16th day of Pluviose in the year II of the +Republic is, perhaps, too well known to history to need or bear overfull +repetition. + +Chroniclers intimate with the inner history of those infamous days have +told us how the chief agent of the Committee of General Security gave +orders one hour after midnight that hot soup, white bread and wine be +served to the prisoner, who for close on fourteen days previously had +been kept on short rations of black bread and water; the sergeant in +charge of the guard-room watch for the night also received strict orders +that that same prisoner was on no account to be disturbed until the hour +of six in the morning, when he was to be served with anything in the way +of breakfast that he might fancy. + +All this we know, and also that citizen Heron, having given all +necessary orders for the morning’s expedition, returned to the +Conciergerie, and found his colleague Chauvelin waiting for him in the +guard-room. + +“Well?” he asked with febrile impatience--“the prisoner?” + +“He seems better and stronger,” replied Chauvelin. + +“Not too well, I hope?” + +“No, no, only just well enough.” + +“You have seen him--since his supper?” + +“Only from the doorway. It seems he ate and drank hardly at all, and the +sergeant had some difficulty in keeping him awake until you came.” + +“Well, now for the letter,” concluded Heron with the same marked +feverishness of manner which sat so curiously on his uncouth +personality. “Pen, ink and paper, sergeant!” he commanded. + +“On the table, in the prisoner’s cell, citizen,” replied the sergeant. + +He preceded the two citizens across the guard-room to the doorway, and +raised for them the iron bar, lowering it back after them. + +The next moment Heron and Chauvelin were once more face to face with +their prisoner. + +Whether by accident or design the lamp had been so placed that as the +two men approached its light fell full upon their faces, while that of +the prisoner remained in shadow. He was leaning forward with both +elbows on the table, his thin, tapering fingers toying with the pen and +ink-horn which had been placed close to his hand. + +“I trust that everything has been arranged for your comfort, Sir Percy?” + Chauvelin asked with a sarcastic little smile. + +“I thank you, sir,” replied Blakeney politely. + +“You feel refreshed, I hope?” + +“Greatly so, I assure you. But I am still demmed sleepy; and if you +would kindly be brief--” + +“You have not changed your mind, sir?” queried Chauvelin, and a note of +anxiety, which he vainly tried to conceal, quivered in his voice. + +“No, my good M. Chambertin,” replied Blakeney with the same urbane +courtesy, “I have not changed my mind.” + +A sigh of relief escaped the lips of both the men. The prisoner +certainly had spoken in a clearer and firmer voice; but whatever renewed +strength wine and food had imparted to him he apparently did not mean to +employ in renewed obstinacy. Chauvelin, after a moment’s pause, resumed +more calmly: + +“You are prepared to direct us to the place where little Capet lies +hidden?” + +“I am prepared to do anything, sir, to get out of this d--d hole.” + +“Very well. My colleague, citizen Heron, has arranged for an escort +of twenty men picked from the best regiment of the Garde de Paris to +accompany us--yourself, him and me--to wherever you will direct us. Is +that clear?” + +“Perfectly, sir.” + +“You must not imagine for a moment that we, on the other hand, guarantee +to give you your life and freedom even if this expedition prove +unsuccessful.” + +“I would not venture on suggesting such a wild proposition, sir,” said +Blakeney placidly. + +Chauvelin looked keenly on him. There was something in the tone of that +voice that he did not altogether like--something that reminded him of an +evening at Calais, and yet again of a day at Boulogne. He could not read +the expression in the eyes, so with a quick gesture he pulled the lamp +forward so that its light now fell full on the face of the prisoner. + +“Ah! that is certainly better, is it not, my dear M. Chambertin?” said +Sir Percy, beaming on his adversary with a pleasant smile. + +His face, though still of the same ashen hue, looked serene if +hopelessly wearied; the eyes seemed to mock. But this Chauvelin decided +in himself must have been a trick of his own overwrought fancy. After a +brief moment’s pause he resumed dryly: + +“If, however, the expedition turns out successful in every way--if +little Capet, without much trouble to our escort, falls safe and sound +into our hands--if certain contingencies which I am about to tell +you all fall out as we wish--then, Sir Percy, I see no reason why the +Government of this country should not exercise its prerogative of mercy +towards you after all.” + +“An exercise, my dear M. Chambertin, which must have wearied through +frequent repetition,” retorted Blakeney with the same imperturbable +smile. + +“The contingency at present is somewhat remote; when the time comes +we’ll talk this matter over.... I will make no promise... and, anyhow, +we can discuss it later.” + +“At present we are but wasting our valuable time over so trifling a +matter.... If you’ll excuse me, sir... I am so demmed fatigued--” + +“Then you will be glad to have everything settled quickly, I am sure.” + +“Exactly, sir.” + +Heron was taking no part in the present conversation. He knew that his +temper was not likely to remain within bounds, and though he had nothing +but contempt for his colleague’s courtly manners, yet vaguely in his +stupid, blundering way he grudgingly admitted that mayhap it was better +to allow citizen Chauvelin to deal with the Englishman. There was always +the danger that if his own violent temper got the better of him, he +might even at this eleventh hour order this insolent prisoner to summary +trial and the guillotine, and thus lose the final chance of the more +important capture. + +He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with his +big head sunk between his broad shoulders, his shifty, prominent eyes +wandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that of the other +man. + +But now he gave a grunt of impatience. + +“We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin,” he muttered. “I have still +a great deal to see to if we are to start at dawn. Get the d--d letter +written, and--” + +The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur. +Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders, paid no further heed to him; +he turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner. + +“I see with pleasure, Sir Percy,” he said, “that we thoroughly +understand one another. Having had a few hours’ rest you will, I know, +feel quite ready for the expedition. Will you kindly indicate to me the +direction in which we will have to travel?” + +“Northwards all the way.” + +“Towards the coast?” + +“The place to which we must go is about seven leagues from the sea.” + +“Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, Crecy, +and so on?” + +“Precisely.” + +“As far as the forest of Boulogne, shall we say?” + +“Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to trust to +my guidance.” + +“We might go there now, Sir Percy, and leave you here.” + +“You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues is not +far from the coast. He might slip through your fingers.” + +“And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send you +to the guillotine.” + +“Quite so,” rejoined the prisoner placidly. “Methought, sir, that we +had decided that I should lead this little expedition? Surely,” he +added, “it is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as my share in this +betrayal.” + +“You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that as +settled. We go as far as Crecy, and thence place ourselves entirely in +your hands.” + +“The journey should not take more than three days, sir.” + +“During which you will travel in a coach in the company of my friend +Heron.” + +“I could have chosen pleasanter company, sir; still, it will serve.” + +“This being settled, Sir Percy. I understand that you desire to +communicate with one of your followers.” + +“Some one must let the others know... those who have the Dauphin in +their charge.” + +“Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that you +have decided to deliver the Dauphin into our hands in exchange for your +own safety.” + +“You said just now that this you would not guarantee,” interposed +Blakeney quietly. + +“If all turns out well,” retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt, +“and if you will write the exact letter which I shall dictate, we might +even give you that guarantee.” + +“The quality of your mercy, sir, passes belief.” + +“Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour of +the communication?” + +“My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. He +can let the others know.” + +Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He paused awhile, hesitating. Would +Sir Percy Blakeney be ready--if his own safety demanded it--to sacrifice +the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous “either--or” that was to +be put to him, by-and-by, would he choose his own life and leave +Armand St. Just to perish? It was not for Chauvelin--or any man of his +stamp--to judge of what Blakeney would do under such circumstances, and +had it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would have +hesitated still more at the present juncture. + +But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage for +the final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel through the +disgrace of its chief. There was the wife--Marguerite Blakeney--sister +of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close +affection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in that +handful which Chauvelin already held. + +Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other’s hesitation. He did not +even look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, and +made ready to write. + +“What do you wish me to say?” he asked simply. + +“Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?” + queried Heron roughly. + +Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quickly +re-assured him. + +“Better than any one else,” he said firmly. “Will you write at my +dictation, Sir Percy? + +“I am waiting to do so, my dear sir.” + +“Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue.” + +And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it left +Blakeney’s pen. + +“‘I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and also +M. Chauvelin--’ Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H, +A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right-- ‘have made this prison a +perfect hell for me.’” + +Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling. + +“You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!” he said; “I have really +been most comfortable.” + +“I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manner +as I can,” retorted Chauvelin dryly. + +“I thank you, sir. Pray proceed.” + +“...‘a perfect hell for me,’” resumed the other. “Have you that? ... +‘and I have been forced to give way. To-morrow we start from here at +dawn; and I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he can find the +Dauphin. But the authorities demand that one of my followers, one who +has once been a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, shall +accompany me on this expedition. I therefore ask you’--or ‘desire you’ +or ‘beg you’--whichever you prefer, Sir Percy...” + +“‘Ask you’ will do quite nicely. This is really very interesting, you +know.” + +“... ‘to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, and you +would be required to be at the main gate of the house of Justice at six +o’clock precisely. I have an assurance from the authorities that your +life should be in-violate, but if you refuse to accompany me, the +guillotine will await me on the morrow.’” + +“‘The guillotine will await me on the morrow.’ That sounds quite +cheerful, does it not, M. Chambertin?” said the prisoner, who had not +evinced the slightest surprise at the wording of the letter whilst he +wrote at the other’s dictation. “Do you know, I quite enjoyed writing +this letter; it so reminded me of happy days in Boulogne.” + +Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a retort +from him would have been undignified, more especially as just at this +moment there came from the guard room the sound of men’s voices talking +and laughing, the occasional clang of steel, or of a heavy boot +against the tiled floor, the rattling of dice, or a sudden burst of +laughter--sounds, in fact, that betokened the presence of a number of +soldiers close by. + +Chauvelin contented himself with a nod in the direction of the +guard-room. + +“The conditions are somewhat different now,” he said placidly, “from +those that reigned in Boulogne. But will you not sign your letter, Sir +Percy?” + +“With pleasure, sir,” responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate flourish +of the pen he appended his name to the missive. + +Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx by +their keenness. He took up the completed letter, read it through very +carefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind the very words which +he himself had dictated; he studied the signature, and looked vainly for +a mark or a sign that might convey a different sense to that which he +had intended. Finally, finding none, he folded the letter up with his +own hand, and at once slipped it in the pocket of his coat. + +“Take care, M. Chambertin,” said Blakeney lightly; “it will burn a hole +in that elegant vest of yours.” + +“It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy,” retorted Chauvelin +blandly; “an you will furnish me with citizen St. Just’s present +address, I will myself convey the letter to him at once.” + +“At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he’ll be abed. But his +address, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix Blanche, on the first floor, +the door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know the room well, +citizen Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And now,” he added with a +loud and ostentatious yawn, “shall we all to bed? We start at dawn, you +said, and I am so d--d fatigued.” + +Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his matured +plans, despite all the precautions that he meant to take for the success +of this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange sense of fear creeping +into his bones. Half an hour ago he had seen a man in what looked +like the last stage of utter physical exhaustion, a hunched up figure, +listless and limp, hands that twitched nervously, the face as of a dying +man. Now those outward symptoms were still there certainly; the face by +the light of the lamp still looked livid, the lips bloodless, the hands +emaciated and waxen, but the eyes!--they were still hollow, with heavy +lids still purple, but in their depths there was a curious, mysterious +light, a look that seemed to see something that was hidden to natural +sight. + +Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious of +this, but the Committee’s agent was sprawling on a chair, sucking a +short-stemmed pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction on the +prisoner. + +“The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and I, +citizen Chauvelin,” he said complacently. + +“You think that everything is quite satisfactory?” asked the other with +anxious stress on his words. + +“Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give final +orders for to-morrow, but I shall sleep in the guard-room.” + +“And I on that inviting bed,” interposed the prisoner lightly, as he +rose to his feet. “Your servant, citizens!” + +He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two men +prepared to go. Chauvelin took a final long look at the man whom he +firmly believed he had at last brought down to abject disgrace. + +Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures--one +slender hand was on the table. Chauvelin saw that it was leaning rather +heavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a final mocking +laugh sped him and his colleague on their way, the tall figure of the +conquered lion swayed like a stalwart oak that is forced to bend to the +mighty fury of an all-compelling wind. + +With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, and +together the two men walked out of the cell. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. KILL HIM! + +Two hours after midnight Armand St. Just was wakened from sleep by a +peremptory pull at his bell. In these days in Paris but one meaning +could as a rule be attached to such a summons at this hour of the night, +and Armand, though possessed of an unconditional certificate of +safety, sat up in bed, quite convinced that for some reason which would +presently be explained to him he had once more been placed on the list +of the “suspect,” and that his trial and condemnation on a trumped-up +charge would follow in due course. + +Truth to tell, he felt no fear at the prospect, and only a very little +sorrow. The sorrow was not for himself; he regretted neither life nor +happiness. Life had become hateful to him since happiness had fled with +it on the dark wings of dishonour; sorrow such as he felt was only for +Jeanne! She was very young, and would weep bitter tears. She would be +unhappy, because she truly loved him, and because this would be the +first cup of bitterness which life was holding out to her. But she +was very young, and sorrow would not be eternal. It was better so. He, +Armand St. Just, though he loved her with an intensity of passion that +had been magnified and strengthened by his own overwhelming shame, +had never really brought his beloved one single moment of unalloyed +happiness. + +From the very first day when he sat beside her in the tiny boudoir +of the Square du Roule, and the heavy foot fall of Heron and his +bloodhounds broke in on their first kiss, down to this hour which he +believed struck his own death-knell, his love for her had brought more +tears to her dear eyes than smiles to her exquisite mouth. + +Her he had loved so dearly, that for her sweet sake he had sacrificed +honour, friendship and truth; to free her, as he believed, from the +hands of impious brutes he had done a deed that cried Cain-like for +vengeance to the very throne of God. For her he had sinned, and because +of that sin, even before it was committed, their love had been blighted, +and happiness had never been theirs. + +Now it was all over. He would pass out of her life, up the steps of the +scaffold, tasting as he mounted them the most entire happiness that he +had known since that awful day when he became a Judas. + +The peremptory summons, once more repeated, roused him from his +meditations. He lit a candle, and without troubling to slip any of his +clothes on, he crossed the narrow ante-chamber, and opened the door that +gave on the landing. + +“In the name of the people!” + +He had expected to hear not only those words, but also the grounding of +arms and the brief command to halt. He had expected to see before him +the white facings of the uniform of the Garde de Paris, and to feel +himself roughly pushed back into his lodging preparatory to the search +being made of all his effects and the placing of irons on his wrists. + +Instead of this, it was a quiet, dry voice that said without undue +harshness: + +“In the name of the people!” + +And instead of the uniforms, the bayonets and the scarlet caps with +tricolour cockades, he was confronted by a slight, sable-clad figure, +whose face, lit by the flickering light of the tallow candle, looked +strangely pale and earnest. + +“Citizen Chauvelin!” gasped Armand, more surprised than frightened at +this unexpected apparition. + +“Himself, citizen, at your service,” replied Chauvelin with his quiet, +ironical manner. “I am the bearer of a letter for you from Sir Percy +Blakeney. Have I your permission to enter?” + +Mechanically Armand stood aside, allowing the other man to pass in. He +closed the door behind his nocturnal visitor, then, taper in hand, he +preceded him into the inner room. + +It was the same one in which a fortnight ago a fighting lion had been +brought to his knees. Now it lay wrapped in gloom, the feeble light of +the candle only lighting Armand’s face and the white frill of his shirt. +The young man put the taper down on the table and turned to his visitor. + +“Shall I light the lamp?” he asked. + +“Quite unnecessary,” replied Chauvelin curtly. “I have only a letter to +deliver, and after that to ask you one brief question.” + +From the pocket of his coat he drew the letter which Blakeney had +written an hour ago. + +“The prisoner wrote this in my presence,” he said as he handed the +letter over to Armand. “Will you read it?” + +Armand took it from him, and sat down close to the table; leaning +forward he held the paper near the light, and began to read. He read +the letter through very slowly to the end, then once again from the +beginning. He was trying to do that which Chauvelin had wished to do +an hour ago; he was trying to find the inner meaning which he felt must +inevitably lie behind these words which Percy had written with his own +hand. + +That these bare words were but a blind to deceive the enemy Armand never +doubted for a moment. In this he was as loyal as Marguerite would have +been herself. Never for a moment did the suspicion cross his mind that +Blakeney was about to play the part of a coward, but he, Armand, felt +that as a faithful friend and follower he ought by instinct to know +exactly what his chief intended, what he meant him to do. + +Swiftly his thoughts flew back to that other letter, the one which +Marguerite had given him--the letter full of pity and of friendship +which had brought him hope and a joy and peace which he had thought at +one time that he would never know again. And suddenly one sentence in +that letter stood out so clearly before his eyes that it blurred the +actual, tangible ones on the paper which even now rustled in his hand. + + + +But if at any time you receive another letter from me--be its contents +what they may--act in accordance with the letter, but send a copy of it +at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. + + + +Now everything seemed at once quite clear; his duty, his next actions, +every word that he would speak to Chauvelin. Those that Percy had +written to him were already indelibly graven on his memory. + +Chauvelin had waited with his usual patience, silent and imperturbable, +while the young man read. Now when he saw that Armand had finished, he +said quietly: + +“Just one question, citizen, and I need not detain you longer. But first +will you kindly give me back that letter? It is a precious document +which will for ever remain in the archives of the nation.” + +But even while he spoke Armand, with one of those quick intuitions +that come in moments of acute crisis, had done just that which he felt +Blakeney would wish him to do. He had held the letter close to the +candle. A corner of the thin crisp paper immediately caught fire, and +before Chauvelin could utter a word of anger, or make a movement to +prevent the conflagration, the flames had licked up fully one half of +the letter, and Armand had only just time to throw the remainder on the +floor and to stamp out the blaze with his foot. + +“I am sorry, citizen,” he said calmly; “an accident.” + +“A useless act of devotion,” interposed Chauvelin, who already had +smothered the oath that had risen to his lips. “The Scarlet Pimpernel’s +actions in the present matter will not lose their merited publicity +through the foolish destruction of this document.” + +“I had no thought, citizen,” retorted the young man, “of commenting on +the actions of my chief, or of trying to deny them that publicity which +you seem to desire for them almost as much as I do.” + +“More, citizen, a great deal more! The impeccable Scarlet Pimpernel, +the noble and gallant English gentleman, has agreed to deliver into our +hands the uncrowned King of France--in exchange for his own life and +freedom. Methinks that even his worst enemy would not wish for a better +ending to a career of adventure, and a reputation for bravery unequalled +in Europe. But no more of this, time is pressing, I must help citizen +Heron with his final preparations for his journey. You, of course, +citizen St. Just, will act in accordance with Sir Percy Blakeney’s +wishes?” + +“Of course,” replied Armand. + +“You will present yourself at the main entrance of the house of Justice +at six o’clock this morning.” + +“I will not fail you.” + +“A coach will be provided for you. You will follow the expedition as +hostage for the good faith of your chief.” + +“I quite understand.” + +“H’m! That’s brave! You have no fear, citizen St. Just?” + +“Fear of what, sir?” + +“You will be a hostage in our hands, citizen; your life a guarantee that +your chief has no thought of playing us false. Now I was thinking of--of +certain events--which led to the arrest of Sir Percy Blakeney.” + +“Of my treachery, you mean,” rejoined the young man calmly, even +though his face had suddenly become pale as death. “Of the damnable +lie wherewith you cheated me into selling my honour, and made me what I +am--a creature scarce fit to walk upon this earth.” + +“Oh!” protested Chauvelin blandly. + +“The damnable lie,” continued Armand more vehemently, “that hath made me +one with Cain and the Iscariot. When you goaded me into the hellish act, +Jeanne Lange was already free.” + +“Free--but not safe.” + +“A lie, man! A lie! For which you are thrice accursed. Great God, is it +not you that should have cause for fear? Methinks were I to strangle you +now I should suffer less of remorse.” + +“And would be rendering your ex-chief but a sorry service,” interposed +Chauvelin with quiet irony. “Sir Percy Blakeney is a dying man, citizen +St. Just; he’ll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance +by six o’clock this morning. This is a private understanding between +citizen Heron and myself. We agreed to it before I came to see you.” + +“Oh, you take care of your own miserable skin well enough! But you need +not be afraid of me--I take my orders from my chief, and he has not +ordered me to kill you.” + +“That was kind of him. Then we may count on you? You are not afraid?” + +“Afraid that the Scarlet Pimpernel would leave me in the lurch because +of the immeasurable wrong I have done to him?” retorted Armand, proud +and defiant in the name of his chief. “No, sir, I am not afraid of that; +I have spent the last fortnight in praying to God that my life might yet +be given for his.” + +“H’m! I think it most unlikely that your prayers will be granted, +citizen; prayers, I imagine, so very seldom are; but I don’t know, I +never pray myself. In your case, now, I should say that you have not the +slightest chance of the Deity interfering in so pleasant a manner. Even +were Sir Percy Blakeney prepared to wreak personal revenge on you, he +would scarcely be so foolish as to risk the other life which we shall +also hold as hostage for his good faith.” + +“The other life?” + +“Yes. Your sister, Lady Blakeney, will also join the expedition +to-morrow. This Sir Percy does not yet know; but it will come as a +pleasant surprise for him. At the slightest suspicion of false play on +Sir Percy’s part, at his slightest attempt at escape, your life and that +of your sister are forfeit; you will both be summarily shot before his +eyes. I do not think that I need be more precise, eh, citizen St. Just?” + +The young man was quivering with passion. A terrible loathing for +himself, for his crime which had been the precursor of this terrible +situation, filled his soul to the verge of sheer physical nausea. A red +film gathered before his eyes, and through it he saw the grinning face +of the inhuman monster who had planned this hideous, abominable thing. +It seemed to him as if in the silence and the hush of the night, above +the feeble, flickering flame that threw weird shadows around, a group of +devils were surrounding him, and were shouting, “Kill him! Kill him now! +Rid the earth of this hellish brute!” + +No doubt if Chauvelin had exhibited the slightest sign of fear, if he +had moved an inch towards the door, Armand, blind with passion, driven +to madness by agonising remorse more even than by rage, would have +sprung at his enemy’s throat and crushed the life out of him as he would +out of a venomous beast. But the man’s calm, his immobility, recalled +St. Just to himself. Reason, that had almost yielded to passion again, +found strength to drive the enemy back this time, to whisper a warning, +an admonition, even a reminder. Enough harm, God knows, had been done +by tempestuous passion already. And God alone knew what terrible +consequences its triumph now might bring in its trial, and striking on +Armand’s buzzing ears Chauvelin’s words came back as a triumphant and +mocking echo: + +“He’ll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance by six +o’clock.” + +The red film lifted, the candle flickered low, the devils vanished, only +the pale face of the Terrorist gazed with gentle irony out of the gloom. + +“I think that I need not detain you any longer, citizen, St. Just,” he +said quietly; “you can get three or four hours’ rest yet before you need +make a start, and I still have a great many things to see to. I wish you +good-night, citizen.” + +“Good-night,” murmured Armand mechanically. + +He took the candle and escorted his visitor back to the door. He waited +on the landing, taper in hand, while Chauvelin descended the narrow, +winding stairs. + +There was a light in the concierge’s lodge. No doubt the woman had +struck it when the nocturnal visitor had first demanded admittance. His +name and tricolour scarf of office had ensured him the full measure of +her attention, and now she was evidently sitting up waiting to let him +out. + +St. Just, satisfied that Chauvelin had finally gone, now turned back to +his own rooms. + + + +CHAPTER XL. GOD HELP US ALL + +He carefully locked the outer door. Then he lit the lamp, for the candle +gave but a flickering light, and he had some important work to do. + +Firstly, he picked up the charred fragment of the letter, and smoothed +it out carefully and reverently as he would a relic. Tears had gathered +in his eyes, but he was not ashamed of them, for no one saw them; but +they eased his heart, and helped to strengthen his resolve. It was a +mere fragment that had been spared by the flame, but Armand knew every +word of the letter by heart. + +He had pen, ink and paper ready to his hand, and from memory wrote out +a copy of it. To this he added a covering letter from himself to +Marguerite: + + + +This--which I had from Percy through the hands of Chauvelin--I neither +question nor understand.... He wrote the letter, and I have no thought +but to obey. In his previous letter to me he enjoined me, if ever he +wrote to me again, to obey him implicitly, and to communicate with you. +To both these commands do I submit with a glad heart. But of this must I +give you warning, little mother--Chauvelin desires you also to accompany +us to-morrow.... Percy does not know this yet, else he would never +start. But those fiends fear that his readiness is a blind... and that +he has some plan in his head for his own escape and the continued safety +of the Dauphin.... This plan they hope to frustrate through holding you +and me as hostages for his good faith. God only knows how gladly I would +give my life for my chief... but your life, dear little mother... is +sacred above all.... I think that I do right in warning you. God help us +all. + + + +Having written the letter, he sealed it, together with the copy of +Percy’s letter which he had made. Then he took up the candle and went +downstairs. + +There was no longer any light in the concierge’s lodge, and Armand had +some difficulty in making himself heard. At last the woman came to the +door. She was tired and cross after two interruptions of her night’s +rest, but she had a partiality for her young lodger, whose pleasant ways +and easy liberality had been like a pale ray of sunshine through the +squalor of every-day misery. + +“It is a letter, citoyenne,” said Armand, with earnest entreaty, “for my +sister. She lives in the Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications, and +must have it within an hour; it is a matter of life and death to her, to +me, and to another who is very dear to us both.” + +The concierge threw up her hands in horror. + +“Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications,” she exclaimed, “and within +an hour! By the Holy Virgin, citizen, that is impossible. Who will take +it? There is no way.” + +“A way must be found, citoyenne,” said Armand firmly, “and at once; it +is not far, and there are five golden louis waiting for the messenger!” + +Five golden louis! The poor, hardworking woman’s eyes gleamed at the +thought. Five louis meant food for at least two months if one was +careful, and-- + +“Give me the letter, citizen,” she said, “time to slip on a warm +petticoat and a shawl, and I’ll go myself. It’s not fit for the boy to +go at this hour.” + +“You will bring me back a line from my sister in reply to this,” said +Armand, whom circumstances had at last rendered cautious. “Bring it up +to my rooms that I may give you the five louis in exchange.” + +He waited while the woman slipped back into her room. She heard him +speaking to her boy; the same lad who a fortnight ago had taken the +treacherous letter which had lured Blakeney to the house into the fatal +ambuscade that had been prepared for him. Everything reminded Armand of +that awful night, every hour that he had since spent in the house had +been racking torture to him. Now at last he was to leave it, and on an +errand which might help to ease the load of remorse from his heart. + +The woman was soon ready. Armand gave her final directions as to how to +find the house; then she took the letter and promised to be very quick, +and to bring back a reply from the lady. + +Armand accompanied her to the door. The night was dark, a thin drizzle +was falling; he stood and watched until the woman’s rapidly walking +figure was lost in the misty gloom. + +Then with a heavy sigh he once more went within. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD + +In a small upstairs room in the Rue de Charonne, above the shop of +Lucas the old-clothes dealer, Marguerite sat with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. +Armand’s letter, with its message and its warning, lay open on the table +between them, and she had in her hand the sealed packet which Percy had +given her just ten days ago, and which she was only to open if all hope +seemed to be dead, if nothing appeared to stand any longer between that +one dear life and irretrievable shame. + +A small lamp placed on the table threw a feeble yellow light on the +squalid, ill-furnished room, for it lacked still an hour or so before +dawn. Armand’s concierge had brought her lodger’s letter, and Marguerite +had quickly despatched a brief reply to him, a reply that held love and +also encouragement. + +Then she had summoned Sir Andrew. He never had a thought of leaving her +during these days of dire trouble, and he had lodged all this while in a +tiny room on the top-most floor of this house in the Rue de Charonne. + +At her call he had come down very quickly, and now they sat together at +the table, with the oil-lamp illumining their pale, anxious faces; she +the wife and he the friend holding a consultation together in this most +miserable hour that preceded the cold wintry dawn. + +Outside a thin, persistent rain mixed with snow pattered against the +small window panes, and an icy wind found out all the crevices in +the worm-eaten woodwork that would afford it ingress to the room. But +neither Marguerite nor Ffoulkes was conscious of the cold. They had +wrapped their cloaks round their shoulders, and did not feel the chill +currents of air that caused the lamp to flicker and to smoke. + +“I can see now,” said Marguerite in that calm voice which comes so +naturally in moments of infinite despair--“I can see now exactly what +Percy meant when he made me promise not to open this packet until it +seemed to me--to me and to you, Sir Andrew--that he was about to play +the part of a coward. A coward! Great God!” She checked the sob that had +risen to her throat, and continued in the same calm manner and quiet, +even voice: + +“You do think with me, do you not, that the time has come, and that we +must open this packet?” + +“Without a doubt, Lady Blakeney,” replied Ffoulkes with equal +earnestness. “I would stake my life that already a fortnight ago +Blakeney had that same plan in his mind which he has now matured. +Escape from that awful Conciergerie prison with all the precautions so +carefully taken against it was impossible. I knew that alas! from the +first. But in the open all might yet be different. I’ll not believe it +that a man like Blakeney is destined to perish at the hands of those +curs.” + +She looked on her loyal friend with tear-dimmed eyes through which shone +boundless gratitude and heart-broken sorrow. + +He had spoken of a fortnight! It was ten days since she had seen Percy. +It had then seemed as if death had already marked him with its grim +sign. Since then she had tried to shut away from her mind the terrible +visions which her anguish constantly conjured up before her of his +growing weakness, of the gradual impairing of that brilliant intellect, +the gradual exhaustion of that mighty physical strength. + +“God bless you, Sir Andrew, for your enthusiasm and for your trust,” she +said with a sad little smile; “but for you I should long ago have +lost all courage, and these last ten days--what a cycle of misery they +represent--would have been maddening but for your help and your loyalty. +God knows I would have courage for everything in life, for everything +save one, but just that, his death; that would be beyond my +strength--neither reason nor body could stand it. Therefore, I am so +afraid, Sir Andrew,” she added piteously. + +“Of what, Lady Blakeney?” + +“That when he knows that I too am to go as hostage, as Armand says in +his letter, that my life is to be guarantee for his, I am afraid that he +will draw back--that he will--my God!” she cried with sudden fervour, +“tell me what to do!” + +“Shall we open the packet?” asked Ffoulkes gently, “and then just make +up our minds to act exactly as Blakeney has enjoined us to do, neither +more nor less, but just word for word, deed for deed, and I believe that +that will be right--whatever may betide--in the end.” + +Once more his quiet strength, his earnestness and his faith comforted +her. She dried her eyes and broke open the seal. There were two separate +letters in the packet, one unaddressed, obviously intended for her and +Ffoulkes, the other was addressed to M. le baron Jean de Batz, 15, Rue +St. Jean de Latran a Paris. + +“A letter addressed to that awful Baron de Batz,” said Marguerite, +looking with puzzled eyes on the paper as she turned it over and over in +her hand, “to that bombastic windbag! I know him and his ways well! What +can Percy have to say to him?” + +Sir Andrew too looked puzzled. But neither of them had the mind to waste +time in useless speculations. Marguerite unfolded the letter which was +intended for her, and after a final look on her friend, whose kind face +was quivering with excitement, she began slowly to read aloud: + + + +I need not ask either of you two to trust me, knowing that you will. But +I could not die inside this hole like a rat in a trap--I had to try and +free myself, at the worst to die in the open beneath God’s sky. You two +will understand, and understanding you will trust me to the end. Send +the enclosed letter at once to its address. And you, Ffoulkes, my most +sincere and most loyal friend, I beg with all my soul to see to the +safety of Marguerite. Armand will stay by me--but you, Ffoulkes, do not +leave her, stand by her. As soon as you read this letter--and you will +not read it until both she and you have felt that hope has fled and I +myself am about to throw up the sponge--try and persuade her to make +for the coast as quickly as may be.... At Calais you can open up +communications with the Day-Dream in the usual way, and embark on her at +once. Let no member of the League remain on French soil one hour longer +after that. Then tell the skipper to make for Le Portel--the place which +he knows--and there to keep a sharp outlook for another three nights. +After that make straight for home, for it will be no use waiting any +longer. I shall not come. These measures are for Marguerite’s safety, +and for you all who are in France at this moment. Comrade, I entreat you +to look on these measures as on my dying wish. To de Batz I have given +rendezvous at the Chapelle of the Holy Sepulchre, just outside the park +of the Chateau d’Ourde. He will help me to save the Dauphin, and if +by good luck he also helps me to save myself I shall be within seven +leagues of Le Portel, and with the Liane frozen as she is I could reach +the coast. + +But Marguerite’s safety I leave in your hands, Ffoulkes. Would that I +could look more clearly into the future, and know that those devils +will not drag her into danger. Beg her to start at once for Calais +immediately you have both read this. I only beg, I do not command. I +know that you, Ffoulkes, will stand by her whatever she may wish to do. +God’s blessing be for ever on you both. + + + +Marguerite’s voice died away in the silence that still lay over this +deserted part of the great city and in this squalid house where she and +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had found shelter these last ten days. The agony +of mind which they had here endured, never doubting, but scarcely ever +hoping, had found its culmination at last in this final message, which +almost seemed to come to them from the grave. + +It had been written ten days ago. A plan had then apparently formed in +Percy’s mind which he had set forth during the brief half-hour’s respite +which those fiends had once given him. Since then they had never given +him ten consecutive minutes’ peace; since then ten days had gone by; how +much power, how much vitality had gone by too on the leaden wings of all +those terrible hours spent in solitude and in misery? + +“We can but hope, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew Ffoulkes after a +while, “that you will be allowed out of Paris; but from what Armand +says--” + +“And Percy does not actually send me away,” she rejoined with a pathetic +little smile. + +“No. He cannot compel you, Lady Blakeney. You are not a member of the +League.” + +“Oh, yes, I am!” she retorted firmly; “and I have sworn obedience, just +as all of you have done. I will go, just as he bids me, and you, Sir +Andrew, you will obey him too?” + +“My orders are to stand by you. That is an easy task.” + +“You know where this place is?” she asked--“the Chateau d’Ourde?” + +“Oh, yes, we all know it! It is empty, and the park is a wreck; the +owner fled from it at the very outbreak of the revolution; he left some +kind of steward nominally in charge, a curious creature, half imbecile; +the chateau and the chapel in the forest just outside the grounds have +oft served Blakeney and all of us as a place of refuge on our way to the +coast.” + +“But the Dauphin is not there?” she said. + +“No. According to the first letter which you brought me from Blakeney +ten days ago, and on which I acted, Tony, who has charge of the Dauphin, +must have crossed into Holland with his little Majesty to-day.” + +“I understand,” she said simply. “But then--this letter to de Batz?” + +“Ah, there I am completely at sea! But I’ll deliver it, and at once too, +only I don’t like to leave you. Will you let me get you out of Paris +first? I think just before dawn it could be done. We can get the cart +from Lucas, and if we could reach St. Germain before noon, I could come +straight back then and deliver the letter to de Batz. This, I feel, I +ought to do myself; but at Achard’s farm I would know that you were safe +for a few hours.” + +“I will do whatever you think right, Sir Andrew,” she said simply; +“my will is bound up with Percy’s dying wish. God knows I would rather +follow him now, step by step,--as hostage, as prisoner--any way so long +as I can see him, but--” + +She rose and turned to go, almost impassive now in that great calm born +of despair. + +A stranger seeing her now had thought her indifferent. She was very +pale, and deep circles round her eyes told of sleepless nights and +days of mental misery, but otherwise there was not the faintest outward +symptom of that terrible anguish which was rending her heartstrings. Her +lips did not quiver, and the source of her tears had been dried up ten +days ago. + +“Ten minutes and I’ll be ready, Sir Andrew,” she said. “I have but few +belongings. Will you the while see Lucas about the cart?” + +He did as she desired. Her calm in no way deceived him; he knew that she +must be suffering keenly, and would suffer more keenly still while she +would be trying to efface her own personal feelings all through that +coming dreary journey to Calais. + +He went to see the landlord about the horse and cart, and a quarter of +an hour later Marguerite came downstairs ready to start. She found Sir +Andrew in close converse with an officer of the Garde de Paris, whilst +two soldiers of the same regiment were standing at the horse’s head. + +When she appeared in the doorway Sir Andrew came at once up to her. + +“It is just as I feared, Lady Blakeney,” he said; “this man has been +sent here to take charge of you. Of course, he knows nothing beyond the +fact that his orders are to convey you at once to the guard-house of the +Rue Ste. Anne, where he is to hand you over to citizen Chauvelin of the +Committee of Public Safety.” + +Sir Andrew could not fail to see the look of intense relief which, in +the midst of all her sorrow, seemed suddenly to have lighted up the +whole of Marguerite’s wan face. The thought of wending her own way to +safety whilst Percy, mayhap, was fighting an uneven fight with death +had been well-nigh intolerable; but she had been ready to obey without +a murmur. Now Fate and the enemy himself had decided otherwise. She felt +as if a load had been lifted from her heart. + +“I will at once go and find de Batz,” Sir Andrew contrived to whisper +hurriedly. “As soon as Percy’s letter is safely in his hands I will make +my way northwards and communicate with all the members of the League, on +whom the chief has so strictly enjoined to quit French soil immediately. +We will proceed to Calais first and open up communication with the +Day-Dream in the usual way. The others had best embark on board her, and +the skipper shall then make for the known spot of Le Portel, of which +Percy speaks in his letter. I myself will go by land to Le Portel, and +thence, if I have no news of you or of the expedition, I will slowly +work southwards in the direction of the Chateau d’Ourde. That is all +that I can do. If you can contrive to let Percy or even Armand know my +movements, do so by all means. I know that I shall be doing right, for, +in a way, I shall be watching over you and arranging for your safety, as +Blakeney begged me to do. God bless you, Lady Blakeney, and God save the +Scarlet Pimpernel!” + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and she intimated to the officer that +she was ready. He had a hackney coach waiting for her lower down the +street. To it she walked with a firm step, and as she entered it she +waved a last farewell to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. ANNE + +The little cortege was turning out of the great gates of the house of +Justice. It was intensely cold; a bitter north-easterly gale was blowing +from across the heights of Montmartre, driving sleet and snow and +half-frozen rain into the faces of the men, and finding its way up their +sleeves, down their collars and round the knees of their threadbare +breeches. + +Armand, whose fingers were numb with the cold, could scarcely feel the +reins in his hands. Chauvelin was riding close beside him, but the two +men had not exchanged one word since the moment when the small troop +of some twenty mounted soldiers had filed up inside the courtyard, and +Chauvelin, with a curt word of command, had ordered one of the troopers +to take Armand’s horse on the lead. + +A hackney coach brought up the rear of the cortege, with a man riding +at either door and two more following at a distance of twenty paces. +Heron’s gaunt, ugly face, crowned with a battered, sugar-loaf hat, +appeared from time to time at the window of the coach. He was no +horseman, and, moreover, preferred to keep the prisoner closely under +his own eye. The corporal had told Armand that the prisoner was with +citizen Heron inside the coach--in irons. Beyond that the soldiers could +tell him nothing; they knew nothing of the object of this expedition. +Vaguely they might have wondered in their dull minds why this particular +prisoner was thus being escorted out of the Conciergerie prison with so +much paraphernalia and such an air of mystery, when there were thousands +of prisoners in the city and the provinces at the present moment who +anon would be bundled up wholesale into carts to be dragged to the +guillotine like a flock of sheep to the butchers. + +But even if they wondered they made no remarks among themselves. +Their faces, blue with the cold, were the perfect mirrors of their own +unconquerable stolidity. + +The tower clock of Notre Dame struck seven when the small cavalcade +finally moved slowly out of the monumental gates. In the east the wan +light of a February morning slowly struggled out of the surrounding +gloom. Now the towers of many churches loomed ghostlike against the dull +grey sky, and down below, on the right, the frozen river, like a smooth +sheet of steel, wound its graceful curves round the islands and past the +facade of the Louvres palace, whose walls looked grim and silent, like +the mausoleum of the dead giants of the past. + +All around the great city gave signs of awakening; the business of the +day renewed its course every twenty-four hours, despite the tragedies of +death and of dishonour that walked with it hand in hand. From the Place +de La Revolution the intermittent roll of drums came from time to time +with its muffled sound striking the ear of the passer-by. Along the quay +opposite an open-air camp was already astir; men, women, and children +engaged in the great task of clothing and feeding the people of France, +armed against tyranny, were bending to their task, even before the +wintry dawn had spread its pale grey tints over the narrower streets of +the city. + +Armand shivered under his cloak. This silent ride beneath the leaden sky, +through the veil of half-frozen rain and snow, seemed like a dream to +him. And now, as the outriders of the little cavalcade turned to cross +the Pont au Change, he saw spread out on his left what appeared like the +living panorama of these three weeks that had just gone by. He could +see the house of the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois where Percy had lodged +before he carried through the rescue of the little Dauphin. Armand could +even see the window at which the dreamer had stood, weaving noble dreams +that his brilliant daring had turned into realities, until the hand of a +traitor had brought him down to--to what? Armand would not have dared at +this moment to look back at that hideous, vulgar hackney coach wherein +that proud, reckless adventurer, who had defied Fate and mocked Death, +sat, in chains, beside a loathsome creature whose very propinquity was +an outrage. + +Now they were passing under the very house on the Quai de La Ferraille, +above the saddler’s shop, the house where Marguerite had lodged ten days +ago, whither Armand had come, trying to fool himself into the belief +that the love of “little mother” could be deceived into blindness +against his own crime. He had tried to draw a veil before those eyes +which he had scarcely dared encounter, but he knew that that veil +must lift one day, and then a curse would send him forth, outlawed and +homeless, a wanderer on the face of the earth. + +Soon as the little cortege wended its way northwards it filed out +beneath the walls of the Temple prison; there was the main gate with its +sentry standing at attention, there the archway with the guichet of the +concierge, and beyond it the paved courtyard. Armand closed his eyes +deliberately; he could not bear to look. + +No wonder that he shivered and tried to draw his cloak closer around +him. Every stone, every street corner was full of memories. The chill +that struck to the very marrow of his bones came from no outward cause; +it was the very hand of remorse that, as it passed over him, froze the +blood in his veins and made the rattle of those wheels behind him sound +like a hellish knell. + +At last the more closely populated quarters of the city were left +behind. On ahead the first section of the guard had turned into the Rue +St. Anne. The houses became more sparse, intersected by narrow pieces of +terrains vagues, or small weed-covered bits of kitchen garden. + +Then a halt was called. + +It was quite light now. As light as it would ever be beneath this leaden +sky. Rain and snow still fell in gusts, driven by the blast. + +Some one ordered Armand to dismount. It was probably Chauvelin. He did +as he was told, and a trooper led him to the door of an irregular brick +building that stood isolated on the right, extended on either side by +a low wall, and surrounded by a patch of uncultivated land, which now +looked like a sea of mud. + +On ahead was the line of fortifications dimly outlined against the grey +of the sky, and in between brown, sodden earth, with here and there +a detached house, a cabbage patch, a couple of windmills deserted and +desolate. + +The loneliness of an unpopulated outlying quarter of the great mother +city, a useless limb of her active body, an ostracised member of her +vast family. + +Mechanically Armand had followed the soldier to the door of the +building. Here Chauvelin was standing, and bade him follow. A smell of +hot coffee hung in the dark narrow passage in front. Chauvelin led the +way to a room on the left. + +Still that smell of hot coffee. Ever after it was associated in Armand’s +mind with this awful morning in the guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne, +when the rain and snow beat against the windows, and he stood there in +the low guard-room shivering and half-numbed with cold. + +There was a table in the middle of the room, and on it stood cups of +hot coffee. Chauvelin bade him drink, suggesting, not unkindly, that the +warm beverage would do him good. Armand advanced further into the room, +and saw that there were wooden benches all round against the wall. On +one of these sat his sister Marguerite. + +When she saw him she made a sudden, instinctive movement to go to him, +but Chauvelin interposed in his usual bland, quiet manner. + +“Not just now, citizeness,” he said. + +She sat down again, and Armand noted how cold and stony seemed her eyes, +as if life within her was at a stand-still, and a shadow that was almost +like death had atrophied every emotion in her. + +“I trust you have not suffered too much from the cold, Lady Blakeney,” + resumed Chauvelin politely; “we ought not to have kept you waiting here +for so long, but delay at departure is sometimes inevitable.” + +She made no reply, only acknowledging his reiterated inquiry as to her +comfort with an inclination of the head. + +Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the moment he +felt less chilled. He held the cup between his two hands, and gradually +some warmth crept into his bones. + +“Little mother,” he said in English, “try and drink some of this, it +will do you good.” + +“Thank you, dear,” she replied. “I have had some. I am not cold.” + +Then a door at the end of the room was pushed open, and Heron stalked +in. + +“Are we going to be all day in this confounded hole?” he queried +roughly. + +Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she started +at the sight of the wretch, and seemed immediately to shrink still +further within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly luminous and dilated, +rested on him like those of a captive bird upon an approaching cobra. + +But Chauvelin was not to be shaken out of his suave manner. + +“One moment, citizen Heron,” he said; “this coffee is very comforting. +Is the prisoner with you?” he added lightly. + +Heron nodded in the direction of the other room. + +“In there,” he said curtly. + +“Then, perhaps, if you will be so good, citizen, to invite him thither, +I could explain to him his future position and our own.” + +Heron muttered something between his fleshy lips, then he turned back +towards the open door, solemnly spat twice on the threshold, and nodded +his gaunt head once or twice in a manner which apparently was understood +from within. + +“No, sergeant, I don’t want you,” he said gruffly; “only the prisoner.” + +A second or two later Sir Percy Blakeney stood in the doorway; his hands +were behind his back, obviously hand-cuffed, but he held himself very +erect, though it was clear that this caused him a mighty effort. As soon +as he had crossed the threshold his quick glance had swept right round +the room. + +He saw Armand, and his eyes lit up almost imperceptibly. + +Then he caught sight of Marguerite, and his pale face took on suddenly a +more ashen hue. + +Chauvelin was watching him with those keen, light-coloured eyes of his. +Blakeney, conscious of this, made no movement, only his lips tightened, +and the heavy lids fell over the hollow eyes, completely hiding their +glance. + +But what even the most astute, most deadly enemy could not see was that +subtle message of understanding that passed at once between Marguerite +and the man she loved; it was a magnetic current, intangible, invisible +to all save to her and to him. She was prepared to see him, prepared to +see in him all that she had feared; the weakness, the mental exhaustion, +the submission to the inevitable. Therefore she had also schooled her +glance to express to him all that she knew she would not be allowed to +say--the reassurance that she had read his last letter, that she had +obeyed it to the last word, save where Fate and her enemy had interfered +with regard to herself. + +With a slight, imperceptible movement--imperceptible to every one save +to him, she had seemed to handle a piece of paper in her kerchief, then +she had nodded slowly, with her eyes--steadfast, reassuring--fixed upon +him, and his glance gave answer that he had understood. + +But Chauvelin and Heron had seen nothing of this. They were satisfied +that there had been no communication between the prisoner and his wife +and friend. + +“You are no doubt surprised, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin after a while, +“to see Lady Blakeney here. She, as well as citizen St. Just, will +accompany our expedition to the place where you will lead us. We none +of us know where that place is--citizen Heron and myself are entirely in +your hands--you might be leading us to certain death, or again to a spot +where your own escape would be an easy matter to yourself. You will +not be surprised, therefore, that we have thought fit to take certain +precautions both against any little ambuscade which you may have +prepared for us, or against your making one of those daring attempts at +escape for which the noted Scarlet Pimpernel is so justly famous.” + +He paused, and only Heron’s low chuckle of satisfaction broke the +momentary silence that followed. Blakeney made no reply. Obviously he +knew exactly what was coming. He knew Chauvelin and his ways, knew the +kind of tortuous conception that would find origin in his brain; the +moment that he saw Marguerite sitting there he must have guessed that +Chauvelin once more desired to put her precious life in the balance of +his intrigues. + +“Citizen Heron is impatient, Sir Percy,” resumed Chauvelin after a +while, “so I must be brief. Lady Blakeney, as well as citizen St. Just, +will accompany us on this expedition to whithersoever you may lead +us. They will be the hostages which we will hold against your own good +faith. At the slightest suspicion--a mere suspicion perhaps--that you +have played us false, at a hint that you have led us into an ambush, or +that the whole of this expedition has been but a trick on your part to +effect your own escape, or if merely our hope of finding Capet at the +end of our journey is frustrated, the lives of our two hostages belong +to us, and your friend and your wife will be summarily shot before your +eyes.” + +Outside the rain pattered against the window-panes, the gale whistled +mournfully among the stunted trees, but within this room not a sound +stirred the deadly stillness of the air, and yet at this moment hatred +and love, savage lust and sublime self-abnegation--the most power full +passions the heart of man can know--held three men here enchained; each +a slave to his dominant passion, each ready to stake his all for the +satisfaction of his master. Heron was the first to speak. + +“Well!” he said with a fierce oath, “what are we waiting for? The +prisoner knows how he stands. Now we can go.” + +“One moment, citizen,” interposed Chauvelin, his quiet manner +contrasting strangely with his colleague’s savage mood. “You have quite +understood, Sir Percy,” he continued, directly addressing the prisoner, +“the conditions under which we are all of us about to proceed on this +journey?” + +“All of us?” said Blakeney slowly. “Are you taking it for granted then +that I accept your conditions and that I am prepared to proceed on the +journey?” + +“If you do not proceed on the journey,” cried Heron with savage fury, +“I’ll strangle that woman with my own hands--now!” + +Blakeney looked at him for a moment or two through half-closed lids, and +it seemed then to those who knew him well, to those who loved him and +to the man who hated him, that the mighty sinews almost cracked with +the passionate desire to kill. Then the sunken eyes turned slowly to +Marguerite, and she alone caught the look--it was a mere flash, of a +humble appeal for pardon. + +It was all over in a second; almost immediately the tension on the +pale face relaxed, and into the eyes there came that look of +acceptance--nearly akin to fatalism--an acceptance of which the strong +alone are capable, for with them it only comes in the face of the +inevitable. + +Now he shrugged his broad shoulders, and once more turning to Heron he +said quietly: + +“You leave me no option in that case. As you have remarked before, +citizen Heron, why should we wait any longer? Surely we can now go.” + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. THE DREARY JOURNEY + +Rain! Rain! Rain! Incessant, monotonous and dreary! The wind had changed +round to the southwest. It blew now in great gusts that sent weird, +sighing sounds through the trees, and drove the heavy showers into the +faces of the men as they rode on, with heads bent forward against the +gale. + +The rain-sodden bridles slipped through their hands, bringing out sores +and blisters on their palms; the horses were fidgety, tossing their +heads with wearying persistence as the wet trickled into their ears, or +the sharp, intermittent hailstones struck their sensitive noses. + +Three days of this awful monotony, varied only by the halts at wayside +inns, the changing of troops at one of the guard-houses on the way, the +reiterated commands given to the fresh squad before starting on the next +lap of this strange, momentous way; and all the while, audible above +the clatter of horses’ hoofs, the rumbling of coach-wheels--two closed +carriages, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses; which were changed at +every halt. A soldier on each box urged them to a good pace to keep up +with the troopers, who were allowed to go at an easy canter or light +jog-trot, whatever might prove easiest and least fatiguing. And from +time to time Heron’s shaggy, gaunt head would appear at the window of +one of the coaches, asking the way, the distance to the next city or +to the nearest wayside inn; cursing the troopers, the coachman, his +colleague and every one concerned, blaspheming against the interminable +length of the road, against the cold and against the wet. + +Early in the evening on the second day of the journey he had met with an +accident. The prisoner, who presumably was weak and weary, and not over +steady on his feet, had fallen up against him as they were both about to +re-enter the coach after a halt just outside Amiens, and citizen Heron +had lost his footing in the slippery mud of the road. His head came in +violent contact with the step, and his right temple was severely cut. +Since then he had been forced to wear a bandage across the top of his +face, under his sugar-loaf hat, which had added nothing to his beauty, +but a great deal to the violence of his temper. He wanted to push the +men on, to force the pace, to shorten the halts; but Chauvelin knew +better than to allow slackness and discontent to follow in the wake of +over-fatigue. + +The soldiers were always well rested and well fed, and though the delay +caused by long and frequent halts must have been just as irksome to him +as it was to Heron, yet he bore it imperturbably, for he would have had +no use on this momentous journey for a handful of men whose enthusiasm +and spirit had been blown away by the roughness of the gale, or drowned +in the fury of the constant downpour of rain. + +Of all this Marguerite had been conscious in a vague, dreamy kind of +way. She seemed to herself like the spectator in a moving panoramic +drama, unable to raise a finger or to do aught to stop that final, +inevitable ending, the cataclysm of sorrow and misery that awaited her, +when the dreary curtain would fall on the last act, and she and all the +other spectators--Armand, Chauvelin, Heron, the soldiers--would slowly +wend their way home, leaving the principal actor behind the fallen +curtain, which never would be lifted again. + +After that first halt in the guard-room of the Rue Ste. Anne she had +been bidden to enter a second hackney coach, which, followed the other +at a distance of fifty metres or so, and was, like that other, closely +surrounded by a squad of mounted men. + +Armand and Chauvelin rode in this carriage with her; all day she sat +looking out on the endless monotony of the road, on the drops of rain +that pattered against the window-glass, and ran down from it like a +perpetual stream of tears. + +There were two halts called during the day--one for dinner and one +midway through the afternoon--when she and Armand would step out of +the coach and be led--always with soldiers close around them--to some +wayside inn, where some sort of a meal was served, where the atmosphere +was close and stuffy and smelt of onion soup and of stale cheese. + +Armand and Marguerite would in most cases have a room to themselves, +with sentinels posted outside the door, and they would try and eat +enough to keep body and soul together, for they would not allow their +strength to fall away before the end of the journey was reached. + +For the night halt--once at Beauvais and the second night at +Abbeville--they were escorted to a house in the interior of the city, +where they were accommodated with moderately clean lodgings. Sentinels, +however, were always at their doors; they were prisoners in all but +name, and had little or no privacy; for at night they were both so tired +that they were glad to retire immediately, and to lie down on the hard +beds that had been provided for them, even if sleep fled from their +eyes, and their hearts and souls were flying through the city in search +of him who filled their every thought. + +Of Percy they saw little or nothing. In the daytime food was evidently +brought to him in the carriage, for they did not see him get down, and +on those two nights at Beauvais and Abbeville, when they caught sight of +him stepping out of the coach outside the gates of the barracks, he was +so surrounded by soldiers that they only saw the top of his head and his +broad shoulders towering above those of the men. + +Once Marguerite had put all her pride, all her dignity by, and asked +citizen Chauvelin for news of her husband. + +“He is well and cheerful, Lady Blakeney,” he had replied with his +sarcastic smile. “Ah!” he added pleasantly, “those English are +remarkable people. We, of Gallic breed, will never really understand +them. Their fatalism is quite Oriental in its quiet resignation to the +decree of Fate. Did you know, Lady Blakeney, that when Sir Percy was +arrested he did not raise a hand. I thought, and so did my colleague, +that he would have fought like a lion. And now, that he has no doubt +realised that quiet submission will serve him best in the end, he is +as calm on this journey as I am myself. In fact,” he concluded +complacently, “whenever I have succeeded in peeping into the coach I +have invariably found Sir Percy Blakeney fast asleep.” + +“He--” she murmured, for it was so difficult to speak to this callous +wretch, who was obviously mocking her in her misery--“he--you--you are +not keeping him in irons?” + +“No! Oh no!” replied Chauvelin with perfect urbanity. “You see, now +that we have you, Lady Blakeney, and citizen St. Just with us we have no +reason to fear that that elusive Pimpernel will spirit himself away.” + +A hot retort had risen to Armand’s lips. The warm Latin blood in him +rebelled against this intolerable situation, the man’s sneers in the +face of Marguerite’s anguish. But her restraining, gentle hand had +already pressed his. What was the use of protesting, of insulting this +brute, who cared nothing for the misery which he had caused so long as +he gained his own ends? + +And Armand held his tongue and tried to curb his temper, tried to +cultivate a little of that fatalism which Chauvelin had said was +characteristic of the English. He sat beside his sister, longing to +comfort her, yet feeling that his very presence near her was an outrage +and a sacrilege. She spoke so seldom to him, even when they were alone, +that at times the awful thought which had more than once found birth in +his weary brain became crystallised and more real. Did Marguerite guess? +Had she the slightest suspicion that the awful cataclysm to which they +were tending with every revolution of the creaking coach-wheels had been +brought about by her brother’s treacherous hand? + +And when that thought had lodged itself quite snugly in his mind he +began to wonder whether it would not be far more simple, far more easy, +to end his miserable life in some manner that might suggest itself on +the way. When the coach crossed one of those dilapidated, parapetless +bridges, over abysses fifty metres deep, it might be so easy to throw +open the carriage door and to take one final jump into eternity. + +So easy--but so damnably cowardly. + +Marguerite’s near presence quickly brought him back to himself. His life +was no longer his own to do with as he pleased; it belonged to the chief +whom he had betrayed, to the sister whom he must endeavour to protect. + +Of Jeanne now he thought but little. He had put even the memory of her +by--tenderly, like a sprig of lavender pressed between the faded leaves +of his own happiness. His hand was no longer fit to hold that of any +pure woman--his hand had on it a deep stain, immutable, like the brand +of Cain. + +Yet Marguerite beside him held his hand and together they looked out on +that dreary, dreary road and listened to of the patter of the rain and +the rumbling of the wheels of that other coach on ahead--and it was all +so dismal and so horrible, the rain, the soughing of the wind in the +stunted trees, this landscape of mud and desolation, this eternally grey +sky. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. THE HALT AT CRECY + +“Now, then, citizen, don’t go to sleep; this is Crecy, our last halt!” + +Armand woke up from his last dream. They had been moving steadily on +since they left Abbeville soon after dawn; the rumble of the wheels, the +swaying and rocking of the carriage, the interminable patter of the rain +had lulled him into a kind of wakeful sleep. + +Chauvelin had already alighted from the coach. He was helping Marguerite +to descend. Armand shook the stiffness from his limbs and followed in +the wake of his sister. Always those miserable soldiers round them, with +their dank coats of rough blue cloth, and the red caps on their heads! +Armand pulled Marguerite’s hand through his arm, and dragged her with +him into the house. + +The small city lay damp and grey before them; the rough pavement of the +narrow street glistened with the wet, reflecting the dull, leaden sky +overhead; the rain beat into the puddles; the slate-roofs shone in the +cold wintry light. + +This was Crecy! The last halt of the journey, so Chauvelin had said. The +party had drawn rein in front of a small one-storied building that had a +wooden verandah running the whole length of its front. + +The usual low narrow room greeted Armand and Marguerite as they entered; +the usual mildewed walls, with the colour wash flowing away in streaks +from the unsympathetic beam above; the same device, “Liberte, Egalite, +Fraternite!” scribbled in charcoal above the black iron stove; the usual +musty, close atmosphere, the usual smell of onion and stale cheese, +the usual hard straight benches and central table with its soiled and +tattered cloth. + +Marguerite seemed dazed and giddy; she had been five hours in +that stuffy coach with nothing to distract her thoughts except the +rain-sodden landscape, on which she had ceaselessly gazed since the +early dawn. + +Armand led her to the bench, and she sank down on it, numb and inert, +resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. + +“If it were only all over!” she sighed involuntarily. “Armand, at times +now I feel as if I were not really sane--as if my reason had already +given way! Tell me, do I seem mad to you at times?” + +He sat down beside her and tried to chafe her little cold hands. + +There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for permission +Chauvelin entered the room. + +“My humble apologies to you, Lady Blakeney,” he said in his usual suave +manner, “but our worthy host informs me that this is the only room in +which he can serve a meal. Therefore I am forced to intrude my presence +upon you.” + +Though he spoke with outward politeness, his tone had become more +peremptory, less bland, and he did not await Marguerite’s reply before +he sat down opposite to her and continued to talk airily. + +“An ill-conditioned fellow, our host,” he said--“quite reminds me of +our friend Brogard at the Chat Gris in Calais. You remember him, Lady +Blakeney?” + +“My sister is giddy and over-tired,” interposed Armand firmly. “I pray +you, citizen, to have some regard for her.” + +“All regard in the world, citizen St. Just,” protested Chauvelin +jovially. “Methought that those pleasant reminiscences would cheer +her. Ah! here comes the soup,” he added, as a man in blue blouse and +breeches, with sabots on his feet, slouched into the room, carrying a +tureen which he incontinently placed upon the table. “I feel sure that +in England Lady Blakeney misses our excellent croutes-au-pot, the glory +of our bourgeois cookery--Lady Blakeney, a little soup?” + +“I thank you, sir,” she murmured. + +“Do try and eat something, little mother,” Armand whispered in her ear; +“try and keep up your strength for his sake, if not for mine.” + +She turned a wan, pale face to him, and tried to smile. + +“I’ll try, dear,” she said. + +“You have taken bread and meat to the citizens in the coach?” Chauvelin +called out to the retreating figure of mine host. + +“H’m!” grunted the latter in assent. + +“And see that the citizen soldiers are well fed, or there will be +trouble.” + +“H’m!” grunted the man again. After which he banged the door to behind +him. + +“Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight,” explained +Chauvelin lightly, “now that we have reached the last, most important +stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy’s mid-day meal in the +interior of the coach.” + +He ate his soup with a relish, ostentatiously paying many small +attentions to Marguerite all the time. He ordered meat for her--bread, +butter--asked if any dainties could be got. He was apparently in the +best of tempers. + +After he had eaten and drunk he rose and bowed ceremoniously to her. + +“Your pardon, Lady Blakeney,” he said, “but I must confer with the +prisoner now, and take from him full directions for the continuance of +our journey. After that I go to the guard-house, which is some distance +from here, right at the other end of the city. We pick up a fresh squad +here, twenty hardened troopers from a cavalry regiment usually stationed +at Abbeville. They have had work to do in this town, which is a hot-bed +of treachery. I must go inspect the men and the sergeant who will be in +command. Citizen Heron leaves all these inspections to me; he likes to +stay by his prisoner. In the meanwhile you will be escorted back to your +coach, where I pray you to await my arrival, when we change guard first, +then proceed on our way.” + +Marguerite was longing to ask him many questions; once again she +would have smothered her pride and begged for news of her husband, +but Chauvelin did not wait. He hurried out of the room, and Armand and +Marguerite could hear him ordering the soldiers to take them forthwith +back to the coach. + +As they came out of the inn they saw the other coach some fifty metres +further up the street. The horses that had done duty since leaving +Abbeville had been taken out, and two soldiers in ragged shirts, and +with crimson caps set jauntily over their left ear, were leading the two +fresh horses along. The troopers were still mounting guard round both +the coaches; they would be relieved presently. + +Marguerite would have given ten years of her life at this moment for the +privilege of speaking to her husband, or even of seeing him--of seeing +that he was well. A quick, wild plan sprang up in her mind that she +would bribe the sergeant in command to grant her wish while citizen +Chauvelin was absent. The man had not an unkind face, and he must be +very poor--people in France were very poor these days, though the rich +had been robbed and luxurious homes devastated ostensibly to help the +poor. + +She was about to put this sudden thought into execution when Heron’s +hideous face, doubly hideous now with that bandage of doubtful +cleanliness cutting across his brow, appeared at the carriage window. + +He cursed violently and at the top of his voice. + +“What are those d--d aristos doing out there?” he shouted. + +“Just getting into the coach, citizen,” replied the sergeant promptly. + +And Armand and Marguerite were immediately ordered back into the coach. + +Heron remained at the window for a few moments longer; he had a +toothpick in his hand which he was using very freely. + +“How much longer are we going to wait in this cursed hole?” he called +out to the sergeant. + +“Only a few moments longer, citizen. Citizen Chauvelin will be back soon +with the guard.” + +A quarter of an hour later the clatter of cavalry horses on the rough, +uneven pavement drew Marguerite’s attention. She lowered the carriage +window and looked out. Chauvelin had just returned with the new escort. +He was on horseback; his horse’s bridle, since he was but an indifferent +horseman, was held by one of the troopers. + +Outside the inn he dismounted; evidently he had taken full command of +the expedition, and scarcely referred to Heron, who spent most of his +time cursing at the men or the weather when he was not lying half-asleep +and partially drunk in the inside of the carriage. + +The changing of the guard was now accomplished quietly and in perfect +order. The new escort consisted of twenty mounted men, including a +sergeant and a corporal, and of two drivers, one for each coach. The +cortege now was filed up in marching order; ahead a small party of +scouts, then the coach with Marguerite and Armand closely surrounded by +mounted men, and at a short distance the second coach with citizen Heron +and the prisoner equally well guarded. + +Chauvelin superintended all the arrangements himself. He spoke for some +few moments with the sergeant, also with the driver of his own coach. He +went to the window of the other carriage, probably in order to consult +with citizen Heron, or to take final directions from the prisoner, +for Marguerite, who was watching him, saw him standing on the step and +leaning well forward into the interior, whilst apparently he was taking +notes on a small tablet which he had in his hand. + +A small knot of idlers had congregated in the narrow street; men in +blouses and boys in ragged breeches lounged against the verandah of +the inn and gazed with inexpressive, stolid eyes on the soldiers, the +coaches, the citizen who wore the tricolour scarf. They had seen this +sort of thing before now--aristos being conveyed to Paris under arrest, +prisoners on their way to or from Amiens. They saw Marguerite’s pale +face at the carriage window. It was not the first woman’s face they had +seen under like circumstances, and there was no special interest about +this aristo. They were smoking or spitting, or just lounging idly +against the balustrade. Marguerite wondered if none of them had wife, +sister, or mother, or child; if every sympathy, every kind of feeling in +these poor wretches had been atrophied by misery or by fear. + +At last everything was in order and the small party ready to start. + +“Does any one here know the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, close by the +park of the Chateau d’Ourde?” asked Chauvelin, vaguely addressing the +knot of gaffers that stood closest to him. + +The men shook their heads. Some had dimly heard of the Chateau d’Ourde; +it was some way in the interior of the forest of Boulogne, but no one +knew about a chapel; people did not trouble about chapels nowadays. With +the indifference so peculiar to local peasantry, these men knew no more +of the surrounding country than the twelve or fifteen league circle that +was within a walk of their sleepy little town. + +One of the scouts on ahead turned in his saddle and spoke to citizen +Chauvelin: + +“I think I know the way pretty well; citizen Chauvelin,” he said; “at +any rate, I know it as far as the forest of Boulogne.” + +Chauvelin referred to his tablets. + +“That’s good,” he said; “then when you reach the mile-stone that stands +on this road at the confine of the forest, bear sharply to your +right and skirt the wood until you see the hamlet of--Le--something. +Le--Le--yes--Le Crocq--that’s it in the valley below.” + +“I know Le Crocq, I think,” said the trooper. + +“Very well, then; at that point it seems that a wide road strikes at +right angles into the interior of the forest; you follow that until a +stone chapel with a colonnaded porch stands before you on your left, and +the walls and gates of a park on your right. That is so, is it not, Sir +Percy?” he added, once more turning towards the interior of the coach. + +Apparently the answer satisfied him, for he gave the quick word of +command, “En avant!” then turned back towards his own coach and finally +entered it. + +“Do you know the Chateau d’Ourde, citizen St. Just?” he asked abruptly +as soon as the carriage began to move. + +Armand woke--as was habitual with him these days--from some gloomy +reverie. + +“Yes, citizen,” he replied. “I know it.” + +“And the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre?” + +“Yes. I know it too.” + +Indeed, he knew the chateau well, and the little chapel in the forest, +whither the fisher-folk from Portel and Boulogne came on a pilgrimage +once a year to lay their nets on the miracle-working relic. The chapel +was disused now. Since the owner of the chateau had fled no one had +tended it, and the fisher-folk were afraid to wander out, lest their +superstitious faith be counted against them by the authorities, who had +abolished le bon Dieu. + +But Armand had found refuge there eighteen months ago, on his way to +Calais, when Percy had risked his life in order to save him--Armand--from +death. He could have groaned aloud with the anguish of this +recollection. But Marguerite’s aching nerves had thrilled at the name. + +The Chateau d’Ourde! The Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre! That was the +place which Percy had mentioned in his letter, the place where he had +given rendezvous to de Batz. Sir Andrew had said that the Dauphin could +not possibly be there, yet Percy was leading his enemies thither, +and had given the rendezvous there to de Batz. And this despite that +whatever plans, whatever hopes, had been born in his mind when he was +still immured in the Conciergerie prison must have been set at naught by +the clever counter plot of Chauvelin and Heron. + +“At the merest suspicion that you have played us false, at a hint that +you have led us into an ambush, or if merely our hopes of finding Capet +at the end of the journey are frustrated, the lives of your wife and of +your friend are forfeit to us, and they will both be shot before your +eyes.” + +With these words, with this precaution, those cunning fiends had +effectually not only tied the schemer’s hands, but forced him either to +deliver the child to them or to sacrifice his wife and his friend. + +The impasse was so horrible that she could not face it even in her +thoughts. A strange, fever-like heat coursed through her veins, yet +left her hands icy-cold; she longed for, yet dreaded, the end of the +journey--that awful grappling with the certainty of coming death. +Perhaps, after all, Percy, too, had given up all hope. Long ago he had +consecrated his life to the attainment of his own ideals; and there +was a vein of fatalism in him; perhaps he had resigned himself to the +inevitable, and his only desire now was to give up his life, as he had +said, in the open, beneath God’s sky, to draw his last breath with the +storm-clouds tossed through infinity above him, and the murmur of the +wind in the trees to sing him to rest. + +Crecy was gradually fading into the distance, wrapped in a mantle of +damp and mist. For a long while Marguerite could see the sloping slate +roofs glimmering like steel in the grey afternoon light, and the quaint +church tower with its beautiful lantern, through the pierced stonework +of which shone patches of the leaden sky. + +Then a sudden twist of the road hid the city from view; only the +outlying churchyard remained in sight, with its white monuments and +granite crosses, over which the dark yews, wet with the rain and shaken +by the gale, sent showers of diamond-like sprays. + + + +CHAPTER XLV. THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE + +Progress was not easy, and very slow along the muddy road; the two +coaches moved along laboriously, with wheels creaking and sinking deeply +from time to time in the quagmire. + +When the small party finally reached the edge of the wood the greyish +light of this dismal day had changed in the west to a dull reddish +glow--a glow that had neither brilliance nor incandescence in it; only a +weird tint that hung over the horizon and turned the distance into lines +of purple. + +The nearness of the sea made itself already felt; there was a briny +taste in the damp atmosphere, and the trees all turned their branches +away in the same direction against the onslaught of the prevailing +winds. + +The road at this point formed a sharp fork, skirting the wood on either +side, the forest lying like a black close mass of spruce and firs on the +left, while the open expanse of country stretched out on the right. The +south-westerly gale struck with full violence against the barrier of +forest trees, bending the tall crests of the pines and causing their +small dead branches to break and fall with a sharp, crisp sound like a +cry of pain. + +The squad had been fresh at starting; now the men had been four hours +in the saddle under persistent rain and gusty wind; they were tired, and +the atmosphere of the close, black forest so near the road was weighing +upon their spirits. + +Strange sounds came to them from out the dense network of trees--the +screeching of night-birds, the weird call of the owls, the swift and +furtive tread of wild beasts on the prowl. The cold winter and lack of +food had lured the wolves from their fastnesses--hunger had emboldened +them, and now, as gradually the grey light fled from the sky, dismal +howls could be heard in the distance, and now and then a pair of eyes, +bright with the reflection of the lurid western glow, would shine +momentarily out of the darkness like tiny glow-worms, and as quickly +vanish away. + +The men shivered--more with vague superstitious fear than with cold. +They would have urged their horses on, but the wheels of the coaches +stuck persistently in the mud, and now and again a halt had to be called +so that the spokes and axles might be cleared. + +They rode on in silence. No one had a mind to speak, and the mournful +soughing of the wind in the pine-trees seemed to check the words on +every lip. The dull thud of hoofs in the soft road, the clang of steel +bits and buckles, the snorting of the horses alone answered the wind, +and also the monotonous creaking of the wheels ploughing through the +ruts. + +Soon the ruddy glow in the west faded into soft-toned purple and then +into grey; finally that too vanished. Darkness was drawing in on +every side like a wide, black mantle pulled together closer and closer +overhead by invisible giant hands. + +The rain still fell in a thin drizzle that soaked through caps and +coats, made the bridles slimy and the saddles slippery and damp. A veil +of vapour hung over the horses’ cruppers, and was rendered fuller and +thicker every moment with the breath that came from their nostrils. The +wind no longer blew with gusty fury--its strength seemed to have been +spent with the grey light of day--but now and then it would still come +sweeping across the open country, and dash itself upon the wall of +forest trees, lashing against the horses’ ears, catching the corner of +a mantle here, an ill-adjusted cap there, and wreaking its mischievous +freak for a while, then with a sigh of satisfaction die, murmuring among +the pines. + +Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from the +drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his head out of the carriage +window. + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“The scouts, citizen,” replied the sergeant, who had been riding close +to the coach door all this while; “they have returned.” + +“Tell one man to come straight to me and report.” + +Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live +momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt neither +fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting of the horse +close by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside the carriage door. + +“Well?” said Chauvelin curtly. + +“This is the cross-road, citizen,” replied the man; “it strikes straight +into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in the valley on the +right.” + +“Did you follow the road in the wood?” + +“Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a +small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling among the trees. +Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wrought-iron gates at +the corner, and from these a wide drive leads through a park.” + +“Did you turn into the drive?” + +“Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that +all is safe.” + +“You saw no one?” + +“No one.” + +“The chateau, then, lies some distance from the gates?” + +“A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are outhouses and +stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I should say.” + +“Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with your men +now, but only some two hundred metres or so. Stay!” he added, as if on +second thoughts. “Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if +we are on the right track.” + +The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heard-the clang of +metal and the sound of retreating hoofs. + +A few moments later the man returned. + +“Yes, citizen,” he reported, “the prisoner says it is quite right. The +Chateau d’Ourde lies a full league from its gates. This is the nearest +road to the chapel and the chateau. He says we should reach the former +in half an hour. It will be very dark in there,” he added with a +significant nod in the direction of the wood. + +Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach. +Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the window, following his +small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men, +catching at a horse’s bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for +himself amongst the restless, champing animals, without the slightest +hesitation or fear. + +Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against +the evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil of vapour which was blown +out of the horses’ nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers; +it became more vague, almost ghost-like, through the mist and the +fast-gathering gloom. + +Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she +could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called to citizen +Heron. + +“We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen,” she heard him +say. “If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet should be in +our charge within the hour.” + +A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the +forest answered him. + +“If he is not,” and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen +Heron--“if he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in this wood +tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way +back to Paris with me.” + +Some one laughed. It might have been one of the troopers, more callous +than his comrades, but to Marguerite the laugh had a strange, familiar +ring in it, the echo of something long since past and gone. + +Then Chauvelin’s voice once more came clearly to her ear: + +“My suggestion, citizen,” he was saying, “is that the prisoner shall now +give me an order--couched in whatever terms he may think necessary--but +a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without any +resistance. I could then take some of the men with me, and ride as +quickly as the light will allow up to the chateau, and take possession +of it, of Capet, and of those who are with him. We could get along +faster thus. One man can give up his horse to me and continue the +journey on the box of your coach. The two carriages could then follow at +foot pace. But I fear that if we stick together complete darkness +will overtake us and we might find ourselves obliged to pass a very +uncomfortable night in this wood.” + +“I won’t spend another night in this suspense--it would kill me,” + growled Heron to the accompaniment of one of his choicest oaths. “You +must do as you think right--you planned the whole of this affair--see to +it that it works out well in the end.” + +“How many men shall I take with me? Our advance guard is here, of +course.” + +“I couldn’t spare you more than four more men--I shall want the others +to guard the prisoners.” + +“Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance guard. +That will leave you twelve men for guarding your prisoners, and you +really only need to guard the woman--her life will answer for the +others.” + +He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending that +Marguerite and Armand should hear. + +“Then I’ll ahead,” he continued, apparently in answer to an assent +from his colleague. “Sir Percy, will you be so kind as to scribble the +necessary words on these tablets?” + +There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the long +and dismal cry of a night bird that, mayhap, was seeking its mate. Then +Chauvelin’s voice was raised again. + +“I thank you,” he said; “this certainly should be quite effectual. And +now, citizen Heron, I do not think that under the circumstances we need +fear an ambuscade or any kind of trickery--you hold the hostages. And +if by any chance I and my men are attacked, or if we encounter armed +resistance at the chateau, I will despatch a rider back straightway to +you, and--well, you will know what to do.” + +His voice died away, merged in the soughing of the wind, drowned by +the clang of metal, of horses snorting, of men living and breathing. +Marguerite felt that beside her Armand had shuddered, and that in the +darkness his trembling hand had sought and found hers. + +She leaned well out of the window, trying to see. The gloom had gathered +more closely in, and round her the veil of vapour from the horses’ +steaming cruppers hung heavily in the misty air. In front of her the +straight lines of a few fir trees stood out dense and black against the +greyness beyond, and between these lines purple tints of various tones +and shades mingled one with the other, merging the horizon line with the +sky. Here and there a more solid black patch indicated the tiny houses +of the hamlet of Le Crocq far down in the valley below; from some of +these houses small lights began to glimmer like blinking yellow eyes. +Marguerite’s gaze, however, did not rest on the distant landscape--it +tried to pierce the gloom that hid her immediate surroundings; the +mounted men were all round the coach--more closely round her than the +trees in the forest. But the horses were restless, moving all the +time, and as they moved she caught glimpses of that other coach and of +Chauvelin’s ghostlike figure, walking rapidly through the mist. Just for +one brief moment she saw the other coach, and Heron’s head and shoulders +leaning out of the window. His sugar-loaf hat was on his head, and the +bandage across his brow looked like a sharp, pale streak below it. + +“Do not doubt it, citizen Chauvelin,” he called out loudly in his harsh, +raucous voice, “I shall know what to do; the wolves will have their meal +to-night, and the guillotine will not be cheated either.” + +Armand put his arm round his sister’s shoulders and gently drew her back +into the carriage. + +“Little mother,” he said, “if you can think of a way whereby my life +would redeem Percy’s and yours, show me that way now.” + +But she replied quietly and firmly: + +“There is no way, Armand. If there is, it is in the hands of God.” + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. OTHERS IN THE PARK + +Chauvelin and his picked escort had in the meanwhile detached themselves +from the main body of the squad. Soon the dull thud of their horses’ +hoofs treading the soft ground came more softly--then more softly still +as they turned into the wood, and the purple shadows seemed to enfold +every sound and finally to swallow them completely. + +Armand and Marguerite from the depth of the carriage heard Heron’s voice +ordering his own driver now to take the lead. They sat quite still and +watched, and presently the other coach passed them slowly on the road, +its silhouette standing out ghostly and grim for a moment against the +indigo tones of the distant country. + +Heron’s head, with its battered sugar-loaf hat, and the soiled bandage +round the brow, was as usual out of the carriage window. He leered +across at Marguerite when he saw the outline of her face framed by the +window of the carriage. + +“Say all the prayers you have ever known, citizeness,” he said with a +loud laugh, “that my friend Chauvelin may find Capet at the chateau, or +else you may take a last look at the open country, for you will not see +the sun rise on it to-morrow. It is one or the other, you know.” + +She tried not to look at him; the very sight of him filled her with +horror--that blotched, gaunt face of his, the fleshy lips, that hideous +bandage across his face that hid one of his eyes! She tried not to see +him and not to hear him laugh. + +Obviously he too laboured under the stress of great excitement. So far +everything had gone well; the prisoner had made no attempt at escape, +and apparently did not mean to play a double game. But the crucial hour +had come, and with it darkness and the mysterious depths of the forest +with their weird sounds and sudden flashes of ghostly lights. They +naturally wrought on the nerves of men like Heron, whose conscience +might have been dormant, but whose ears were nevertheless filled with +the cries of innocent victims sacrificed to their own lustful ambitions +and their blind, unreasoning hates. + +He gave sharp orders to the men to close up round the carriages, and +then gave the curt word of command: + +“En avant!” + +Marguerite could but strain her ears to listen. All her senses, all her +faculties had merged into that of hearing, rendering it doubly keen. It +seemed to her that she could distinguish the faint sound--that even as +she listened grew fainter and fainter yet--of Chauvelin and his squad +moving away rapidly into the thickness of the wood some distance already +ahead. + +Close to her there was the snorting of horses, the clanging and noise of +moving mounted men. Heron’s coach had taken the lead; she could hear the +creaking of its wheels, the calls of the driver urging his beasts. + +The diminished party was moving at foot-pace in the darkness that seemed +to grow denser at every step, and through that silence which was so full +of mysterious sounds. + +The carriage rolled and rocked on its springs; Marguerite, giddy and +overtired, lay back with closed eyes, her hand resting in that of +Armand. Time, space and distance had ceased to be; only Death, the +great Lord of all, had remained; he walked on ahead, scythe on skeleton +shoulder, and beckoned patiently, but with a sure, grim hand. + +There was another halt, the coach-wheels groaned and creaked on their +axles, one or two horses reared with the sudden drawing up of the curb. + +“What is it now?” came Heron’s hoarse voice through the darkness. + +“It is pitch-dark, citizen,” was the response from ahead. “The drivers +cannot see their horses’ ears. They wait to know if they may light their +lanthorns and then lead their horses.” + +“They can lead their horses,” replied Heron roughly, “but I’ll have no +lanthorns lighted. We don’t know what fools may be lurking behind trees, +hoping to put a bullet through my head--or yours, sergeant--we don’t +want to make a lighted target of ourselves--what? But let the drivers +lead their horses, and one or two of you who are riding greys might +dismount too and lead the way--the greys would show up perhaps in this +cursed blackness.” + +While his orders were being carried out, he called out once more: + +“Are we far now from that confounded chapel?” + +“We can’t be far, citizen; the whole forest is not more than six leagues +wide at any point, and we have gone two since we turned into it.” + +“Hush!” Heron’s voice suddenly broke in hoarsely. “What was that? +Silence, I say. Damn you--can’t you hear?” + +There was a hush--every ear straining to listen; but the horses were +not still--they continued to champ their bits, to paw the ground, and +to toss their heads, impatient to get on. Only now and again there +would come a lull even through these sounds--a second or two, mayhap, +of perfect, unbroken silence--and then it seemed as if right through the +darkness a mysterious echo sent back those same sounds--the champing of +bits, the pawing of soft ground, the tossing and snorting of animals, +human life that breathed far out there among the trees. + +“It is citizen Chauvelin and his men,” said the sergeant after a while, +and speaking in a whisper. + +“Silence--I want to hear,” came the curt, hoarsely-whispered command. + +Once more every one listened, the men hardly daring to breathe, clinging +to their bridles and pulling on their horses’ mouths, trying to keep +them still, and again through the night there came like a faint echo +which seemed to throw back those sounds that indicated the presence of +men and of horses not very far away. + +“Yes, it must be citizen Chauvelin,” said Heron at last; but the tone of +his voice sounded as if he were anxious and only half convinced; “but I +thought he would be at the chateau by now.” + +“He may have had to go at foot-pace; it is very dark, citizen Heron,” + remarked the sergeant. + +“En avant, then,” quoth the other; “the sooner we come up with him the +better.” + +And the squad of mounted men, the two coaches, the drivers and the +advance section who were leading their horses slowly restarted on the +way. The horses snorted, the bits and stirrups clanged, and the springs +and wheels of the coaches creaked and groaned dismally as the ramshackle +vehicles began once more to plough the carpet of pine-needles that lay +thick upon the road. + +But inside the carriage Armand and Marguerite held one another tightly +by the hand. + +“It is de Batz--with his friends,” she whispered scarce above her +breath. + +“De Batz?” he asked vaguely and fearfully, for in the dark he could not +see her face, and as he did not understand why she should suddenly be +talking of de Batz he thought with horror that mayhap her prophecy anent +herself had come true, and that her mind wearied and over-wrought--had +become suddenly unhinged. + +“Yes, de Batz,” she replied. “Percy sent him a message, through me, +to meet him--here. I am not mad, Armand,” she added more calmly. “Sir +Andrew took Percy’s letter to de Batz the day that we started from +Paris.” + +“Great God!” exclaimed Armand, and instinctively, with a sense of +protection, he put his arms round his sister. “Then, if Chauvelin or the +squad is attacked--if--” + +“Yes,” she said calmly; “if de Batz makes an attack on Chauvelin, or +if he reaches the chateau first and tries to defend it, they will shoot +us... Armand, and Percy.” + +“But is the Dauphin at the Chateau d’Ourde?” + +“No, no! I think not.” + +“Then why should Percy have invoked the aid of de Batz? Now, when--” + +“I don’t know,” she murmured helplessly. “Of course, when he wrote the +letter he could not guess that they would hold us as hostages. He may +have thought that under cover of darkness and of an unexpected attack he +might have saved himself had he been alone; but now--now that you and I +are here--Oh! it is all so horrible, and I cannot understand it all.” + +“Hark!” broke in Armand, suddenly gripping her arm more tightly. + +“Halt!” rang the sergeant’s voice through the night. + +This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from no far +distance. It was the sound of a man running and panting, and now and +again calling out as he ran. + +For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself +was hushed between two gusts, even the rain had ceased its incessant +pattering. Heron’s harsh voice was raised in the stillness. + +“What is it now?” he demanded. + +“A runner, citizen,” replied the sergeant, “coming through the wood from +the right.” + +“From the right?” and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley of +oaths; “the direction of the chateau? Chauvelin has been attacked; he is +sending a messenger back to me. Sergeant--sergeant, close up round that +coach; guard your prisoners as you value your life, and--” + +The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury that +the horses, already over-nervous and fidgety, reared in mad terror, +and the men had the greatest difficulty in holding them in. For a few +minutes noisy confusion prevailed, until the men could quieten their +quivering animals with soft words and gentle pattings. + +Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein brother and +sister sat huddled against one another. + +One of the men said under his breath: + +“Ah! but the citizen agent knows how to curse! One day he will break his +gullet with the fury of his oaths.” + +In the meanwhile the runner had come nearer, always at the same +breathless speed. + +The next moment he was challenged: + +“Qui va la?” + +“A friend!” he replied, panting and exhausted. “Where is citizen Heron?” + +“Here!” came the reply in a voice hoarse with passionate excitement. +“Come up, damn you. Be quick!” + +“A lanthorn, citizen,” suggested one of the drivers. + +“No--no--not now. Here! Where the devil are we?” + +“We are close to the chapel on our left, citizen,” said the sergeant. + +The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had drawn +nearer to the carriage. + +“The gates of the chateau,” he said, still somewhat breathlessly, “are +just opposite here on the right, citizen. I have just come through +them.” + +“Speak up, man!” and Heron’s voice now sounded as if choked with +passion. “Citizen Chauvelin sent you?” + +“Yes. He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the chateau, and +that Capet is not there.” + +A series of citizen Heron’s choicest oaths interrupted the man’s speech. +Then he was curtly ordered to proceed, and he resumed his report. + +“Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while he was +admitted by an old servant, who appeared to be in charge, but the place +seemed otherwise absolutely deserted--only--” + +“Only what? Go on; what is it?” + +“As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being +watched, and followed. We heard distinctly the sound of horses behind +and around us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I ran back, again +I heard. There are others in the park to-night besides us, citizen.” + +There was silence after that. It seemed as if the flood of Heron’s +blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at last. + +“Others in the park!” And now his voice was scarcely above a whisper, +hoarse and trembling. “How many? Could you see?” + +“No, citizen, we could not see; but there are horsemen lurking round the +chateau now. Citizen Chauvelin took four men into the house with him and +left the others on guard outside. He bade me tell you that it might be +safer to send him a few more men if you could spare them. There are +a number of disused farm buildings quite close to the gates, and he +suggested that all the horses be put up there for the night, and that +the men come up to the chateau on foot; it would be quicker and safer, +for the darkness is intense.” + +Even while the man spoke the forest in the distance seemed to wake from +its solemn silence, the wind on its wings brought sounds of life and +movement different from the prowling of beasts or the screeching of +night-birds. It was the furtive advance of men, the quick whispers of +command, of encouragement, of the human animal preparing to attack his +kind. But all in the distance still, all muffled, all furtive as yet. + +“Sergeant!” It was Heron’s voice, but it too was subdued, and almost +calm now; “can you see the chapel?” + +“More clearly, citizen,” replied the sergeant. “It is on our left; quite +a small building, I think.” + +“Then dismount, and walk all round it. See that there are no windows or +door in the rear.” + +There was a prolonged silence, during which those distant sounds of men +moving, of furtive preparations for attack, struck distinctly through +the night. + +Marguerite and Armand, clinging to one another, not knowing what to +think, nor yet what to fear, heard the sounds mingling with those +immediately round them, and Marguerite murmured under her breath: + +“It is de Batz and some of his friends; but what can they do? What can +Percy hope for now?” + +But of Percy she could hear and see nothing. The darkness and the +silence had drawn their impenetrable veil between his unseen presence +and her own consciousness. She could see the coach in which he was, but +Heron’s hideous personality, his head with its battered hat and soiled +bandage, had seemed to obtrude itself always before her gaze, blotting +out from her mind even the knowledge that Percy was there not fifty +yards away from her. + +So strong did this feeling grow in her that presently the awful dread +seized upon her that he was no longer there; that he was dead, worn out +with fatigue and illness brought on by terrible privations, or if not +dead that he had swooned, that he was unconscious--his spirit absent +from his body. She remembered that frightful yell of rage and hate which +Heron had uttered a few minutes ago. Had the brute vented his fury on +his helpless, weakened prisoner, and stilled forever those lips that, +mayhap, had mocked him to the last? + +Marguerite could not guess. She hardly knew what to hope. Vaguely, when +the thought of Percy lying dead beside his enemy floated through her +aching brain, she was almost conscious of a sense of relief at the +thought that at least he would be spared the pain of the final, +inevitable cataclysm. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE + +The sergeant’s voice broke in upon her misery. + +The man had apparently done as the citizen agent had ordered, and had +closely examined the little building that stood on the left--a vague, +black mass more dense than the surrounding gloom. + +“It is all solid stone, citizen,” he said; “iron gates in front, closed +but not locked, rusty key in the lock, which turns quite easily; no +windows or door in the rear.” + +“You are quite sure?” + +“Quite certain, citizen; it is plain, solid stone at the back, and the +only possible access to the interior is through the iron gate in front.” + +“Good.” + +Marguerite could only just hear Heron speaking to the sergeant. Darkness +enveloped every form and deadened every sound. Even the harsh voice +which she had learned to loathe and to dread sounded curiously subdued +and unfamiliar. Heron no longer seemed inclined to storm, to rage, or +to curse. The momentary danger, the thought of failure, the hope +of revenge, had apparently cooled his temper, strengthened his +determination, and forced his voice down to a little above a whisper. He +gave his orders clearly and firmly, and the words came to Marguerite on +the wings of the wind with strange distinctness, borne to her ears by +the darkness itself, and the hush that lay over the wood. + +“Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant,” she heard him say, “and join +citizen Chauvelin at the chateau. You can stable your horses in the farm +buildings close by, as he suggests and run to him on foot. You and your +men should quickly get the best of a handful of midnight prowlers; you +are well armed and they only civilians. Tell citizen Chauvelin that I +in the meanwhile will take care of our prisoners. The Englishman I shall +put in irons and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the +command of your corporal to guard him, the other two I will drive myself +straight to Crecy with what is left of the escort. You understand?” + +“Yes, citizen.” + +“We may not reach Crecy until two hours after midnight, but directly +I arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin further reinforcements, which, +however, I hope may not necessary, but which will reach him in the early +morning. Even if he is seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he +will have with him, hold out inside the castle through the night. Tell +him also that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in +the courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy, but that whether he has got +hold of Capet or not he had best pick up the Englishman in the chapel in +the morning and bring him straight to Crecy, where I shall be awaiting +him ready to return to Paris. You understand?” + +“Yes, citizen.” + +“Then repeat what I said.” + +“I am to take six men with me to reinforce citizen Chauvelin now.” + +“Yes.” + +“And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crecy, and will send +us further reinforcements from there, which will reach us in the early +morning.” + +“Yes.” + +“We are to hold the chateau against those unknown marauders if necessary +until the reinforcements come from Crecy. Having routed them, we return +here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have locked up in the +chapel under a strong guard commanded by Corporal Cassard, and join you +forthwith at Crecy.” + +“This, whether citizen Chauvelin has got hold of Capet or not.” + +“Yes, citizen, I understand,” concluded the sergeant imperturbably; “and +I am also to tell citizen Chauvelin that the two prisoners will be shot +at dawn in the courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy.” + +“Yes. That is all. Try to find the leader of the attacking party, and +bring him along to Crecy with the Englishman; but unless they are +in very small numbers do not trouble about the others. Now en avant; +citizen Chauvelin might be glad of your help. And--stay--order all the +men to dismount, and take the horses out of one of the coaches, then +let the men you are taking with you each lead a horse, or even two, and +stable them all in the farm buildings. I shall not need them, and could +not spare any of my men for the work later on. Remember that, above +all, silence is the order. When you are ready to start, come back to me +here.” + +The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the +citizen agent’s orders to the soldiers. The dismounting was carried +on in wonderful silence--for silence had been one of the principal +commands--only one or two words reached her ears. + +“First section and first half of second section fall in, right wheel. +First section each take two horses on the lead. Quietly now there; don’t +tug at his bridle--let him go.” + +And after that a simple report: + +“All ready, citizen!” + +“Good!” was the response. “Now detail your corporal and two men to come +here to me, so that we may put the Englishman in irons, and take him +at once to the chapel, and four men to stand guard at the doors of the +other coach.” + +The necessary orders were given, and after that there came the curt +command: + +“En avant!” + +The sergeant, with his squad and all the horses, was slowly moving away +in the night. The horses’ hoofs hardly made a noise on the soft carpet +of pine-needles and of dead fallen leaves, but the champing of the bits +was of course audible, and now and then the snorting of some poor, tired +horse longing for its stable. + +Somehow in Marguerite’s fevered mind this departure of a squad of men +seemed like the final flitting of her last hope; the slow agony of the +familiar sounds, the retreating horses and soldiers moving away amongst +the shadows, took on a weird significance. Heron had given his last +orders. Percy, helpless and probably unconscious, would spend the night +in that dank chapel, while she and Armand would be taken back to Crecy, +driven to death like some insentient animals to the slaughter. + +When the grey dawn would first begin to peep through the branches of the +pines Percy would be led back to Paris and the guillotine, and she and +Armand will have been sacrificed to the hatred and revenge of brutes. + +The end had come, and there was nothing more to be done. Struggling, +fighting, scheming, could be of no avail now; but she wanted to get to +her husband; she wanted to be near him now that death was so imminent +both for him and for her. + +She tried to envisage it all, quite calmly, just as she knew that Percy +would wish her to do. The inevitable end was there, and she would +not give to these callous wretches here the gratuitous spectacle of a +despairing woman fighting blindly against adverse Fate. + +But she wanted to go to her husband. She felt that she could face death +more easily on the morrow if she could but see him once, if she could +but look once more into the eyes that had mirrored so much enthusiasm, +such absolute vitality and whole-hearted self-sacrifice, and such an +intensity of love and passion; if she could but kiss once more those +lips that had smiled through life, and would smile, she knew, even in +the face of death. + +She tried to open the carriage door, but it was held from without, and a +harsh voice cursed her, ordering her to sit still. + +But she could lean out of the window and strain her eyes to see. They +were by now accustomed to the gloom, the dilated pupils taking in +pictures of vague forms moving like ghouls in the shadows. The other +coach was not far, and she could hear Heron’s voice, still subdued and +calm, and the curses of the men. But not a sound from Percy. + +“I think the prisoner is unconscious,” she heard one of the men say. + +“Lift him out of the carriage, then,” was Heron’s curt command; “and you +go and throw open the chapel gates.” + +Marguerite saw it all. The movement, the crowd of men, two vague, black +forms lifting another one, which appeared heavy and inert, out of the +coach, and carrying it staggering up towards the chapel. + +Then the forms disappeared, swallowed up by the more dense mass of the +little building, merged in with it, immovable as the stone itself. + +Only a few words reached her now. + +“He is unconscious.” + +“Leave him there, then; he’ll not move!” + +“Now close the gates!” + +There was a loud clang, and Marguerite gave a piercing scream. She tore +at the handle of the carriage door. + +“Armand, Armand, go to him!” she cried; and all her self-control, all +her enforced calm, vanished in an outburst of wild, agonising passion. +“Let me get to him, Armand! This is the end; get me to him, in the name +of God!” + +“Stop that woman screaming,” came Heron’s voice clearly through the +night. “Put her and the other prisoner in irons--quick!” + +But while Marguerite expended her feeble strength in a mad, pathetic +effort to reach her husband, even now at this last hour, when all hope +was dead and Death was so nigh, Armand had already wrenched the carriage +door from the grasp of the soldier who was guarding it. He was of the +South, and knew the trick of charging an unsuspecting adversary with +head thrust forward like a bull inside a ring. Thus he knocked one of +the soldiers down and made a quick rush for the chapel gates. + +The men, attacked so suddenly and in such complete darkness, did not +wait for orders. They closed in round Armand; one man drew his sabre and +hacked away with it in aimless rage. + +But for the moment he evaded them all, pushing his way through them, +not heeding the blows that came on him from out the darkness. At last he +reached the chapel. With one bound he was at the gate, his numb fingers +fumbling for the lock, which he could not see. + +It was a vigorous blow from Heron’s fist that brought him at last to his +knees, and even then his hands did not relax their hold; they gripped +the ornamental scroll of the gate, shook the gate itself in its rusty +hinges, pushed and pulled with the unreasoning strength of despair. +He had a sabre cut across his brow, and the blood flowed in a warm, +trickling stream down his face. But of this he was unconscious; all that +he wanted, all that he was striving for with agonising heart-beats +and cracking sinews, was to get to his friend, who was lying in there +unconscious, abandoned--dead, perhaps. + +“Curse you,” struck Heron’s voice close to his ear. “Cannot some of you +stop this raving maniac?” + +Then it was that the heavy blow on his head caused him a sensation of +sickness, and he fell on his knees, still gripping the ironwork. + +Stronger hands than his were forcing him to loosen his hold; blows that +hurt terribly rained on his numbed fingers; he felt himself dragged +away, carried like an inert mass further and further from that gate +which he would have given his lifeblood to force open. + +And Marguerite heard all this from the inside of the coach where she was +imprisoned as effectually as was Percy’s unconscious body inside that +dark chapel. She could hear the noise and scramble, and Heron’s hoarse +commands, the swift sabre strokes as they cut through the air. + +Already a trooper had clapped irons on her wrists, two others held the +carriage doors. Now Armand was lifted back into the coach, and she could +not even help to make him comfortable, though as he was lifted in she +heard him feebly moaning. Then the carriage doors were banged to again. + +“Do not allow either of the prisoners out again, on peril of your +lives!” came with a vigorous curse from Heron. + +After which there was a moment’s silence; whispered commands came +spasmodically in deadened sound to her ear. + +“Will the key turn?” + +“Yes, citizen.” + +“All secure?” + +“Yes, citizen. The prisoner is groaning.” + +“Let him groan.” + +“The empty coach, citizen? The horses have been taken out.” + +“Leave it standing where it is, then; citizen Chauvelin will need it in +the morning.” + +“Armand,” whispered Marguerite inside the coach, “did you see Percy?” + +“It was so dark,” murmured Armand feebly; “but I saw him, just inside +the gates, where they had laid him down. I heard him groaning. Oh, my +God!” + +“Hush, dear!” she said. “We can do nothing more, only die, as he lived, +bravely and with a smile on our lips, in memory of him.” + +“Number 35 is wounded, citizen,” said one of the men. + +“Curse the fool who did the mischief,” was the placid response. “Leave +him here with the guard.” + +“How many of you are there left, then?” asked the same voice a moment +later. + +“Only two, citizen; if one whole section remains with me at the chapel +door, and also the wounded man.” + +“Two are enough for me, and five are not too many at the chapel door.” + And Heron’s coarse, cruel laugh echoed against the stone walls of the +little chapel. “Now then, one of you get into the coach, and the other +go to the horses’ heads; and remember, Corporal Cassard, that you and +your men who stay here to guard that chapel door are answerable to the +whole nation with your lives for the safety of the Englishman.” + +The carriage door was thrown open, and a soldier stepped in and sat down +opposite Marguerite and Armand. Heron in the meanwhile was apparently +scrambling up the box. Marguerite could hear him muttering curses as he +groped for the reins, and finally gathered them into his hand. + +The springs of the coach creaked and groaned as the vehicle slowly +swung round; the wheels ploughed deeply through the soft carpet of dead +leaves. + +Marguerite felt Armand’s inert body leaning heavily against her +shoulder. + +“Are you in pain, dear?” she asked softly. + +He made no reply, and she thought that he had fainted. It was better +so; at least the next dreary hours would flit by for him in the blissful +state of unconsciousness. Now at last the heavy carriage began to move +more evenly. The soldier at the horses’ heads was stepping along at a +rapid pace. + +Marguerite would have given much even now to look back once more at +the dense black mass, blacker and denser than any shadow that had ever +descended before on God’s earth, which held between its cold, cruel +walls all that she loved in the world. + +But her wrists were fettered by the irons, which cut into her flesh when +she moved. She could no longer lean out of the window, and she could +not even hear. The whole forest was hushed, the wind was lulled to rest; +wild beasts and night-birds were silent and still. And the wheels of the +coach creaked in the ruts, bearing Marguerite with every turn further +and further away from the man who lay helpless in the chapel of the Holy +Sepulchre. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. THE WANING MOON + +Armand had wakened from his attack of faintness, and brother and sister +sat close to one another, shoulder touching shoulder. That sense of +nearness was the one tiny spark of comfort to both of them on this +dreary, dreary way. + +The coach had lumbered on unceasingly since all eternity--so it seemed +to them both. Once there had been a brief halt, when Heron’s rough voice +had ordered the soldier at the horses’ heads to climb on the box beside +him, and once--it had been a very little while ago--a terrible cry of +pain and terror had rung through the stillness of the night. Immediately +after that the horses had been put at a more rapid pace, but it had +seemed to Marguerite as if that one cry of pain had been repeated by +several others which sounded more feeble and soon appeared to be dying +away in the distance behind. + +The soldier who sat opposite to them must have heard the cry too, for he +jumped up, as if wakened from sleep, and put his head out of the window. + +“Did you hear that cry, citizen?” he asked. + +But only a curse answered him, and a peremptory command not to lose +sight of the prisoners by poking his head out of the window. + +“Did you hear the cry?” asked the soldier of Marguerite as he made haste +to obey. + +“Yes! What could it be?” she murmured. + +“It seems dangerous to drive so fast in this darkness,” muttered the +soldier. + +After which remark he, with the stolidity peculiar to his kind, +figuratively shrugged his shoulders, detaching himself, as it were, of +the whole affair. + +“We should be out of the forest by now,” he remarked in an undertone a +little while later; “the way seemed shorter before.” + +Just then the coach gave an unexpected lurch to one side, and after much +groaning and creaking of axles and springs it came to a standstill, and +the citizen agent was heard cursing loudly and then scrambling down from +the box. + +The next moment the carriage-door was pulled open from without, and the +harsh voice called out peremptorily: + +“Citizen soldier, here--quick!--quick!--curse you!--we’ll have one of +the horses down if you don’t hurry!” + +The soldier struggled to his feet; it was never good to be slow in +obeying the citizen agent’s commands. He was half-asleep and no doubt +numb with cold and long sitting still; to accelerate his movements he +was suddenly gripped by the arm and dragged incontinently out of the +coach. + +Then the door was slammed to again, either by a rough hand or a sudden +gust of wind, Marguerite could not tell; she heard a cry of rage and one +of terror, and Heron’s raucous curses. She cowered in the corner of the +carriage with Armand’s head against her shoulder, and tried to close her +ears to all those hideous sounds. + +Then suddenly all the sounds were hushed and all around everything +became perfectly calm and still--so still that at first the silence +oppressed her with a vague, nameless dread. It was as if Nature herself +had paused, that she might listen; and the silence became more and more +absolute, until Marguerite could hear Armand’s soft, regular breathing +close to her ear. + +The window nearest to her was open, and as she leaned forward with that +paralysing sense of oppression a breath of pure air struck full upon her +nostrils and brought with it a briny taste as if from the sea. + +It was not quite so dark; and there was a sense as of open country +stretching out to the limits of the horizon. Overhead a vague greyish +light suffused the sky, and the wind swept the clouds in great rolling +banks right across that light. + +Marguerite gazed upward with a more calm feeling that was akin to +gratitude. That pale light, though so wan and feeble, was thrice welcome +after that inky blackness wherein shadows were less dark than the +lights. She watched eagerly the bank of clouds driven by the dying gale. + +The light grew brighter and faintly golden, now the banks of +clouds--storm-tossed and fleecy--raced past one another, parted +and reunited like veils of unseen giant dancers waved by hands that +controlled infinite space--advanced and rushed and slackened speed +again--united and finally torn asunder to reveal the waning moon, +honey-coloured and mysterious, rising as if from an invisible ocean far +away. + +The wan pale light spread over the wide stretch of country, throwing +over it as it spread dull tones of indigo and of blue. Here and there +sparse, stunted trees with fringed gaunt arms bending to prevailing +winds proclaimed the neighbourhood of the sea. + +Marguerite gazed on the picture which the waning moon had so suddenly +revealed; but she gazed with eyes that knew not what they saw. The moon +had risen on her right--there lay the east--and the coach must have been +travelling due north, whereas Crecy... + +In the absolute silence that reigned she could perceive from far, very +far away, the sound of a church clock striking the midnight hour; and +now it seemed to her supersensitive senses that a firm footstep was +treading the soft earth, a footstep that drew nearer--and then nearer +still. + +Nature did pause to listen. The wind was hushed, the night-birds in +the forest had gone to rest. Marguerite’s heart beat so fast that its +throbbings choked her, and a dizziness clouded her consciousness. + +But through this state of torpor she heard the opening of the carriage +door, she felt the onrush of that pure, briny air, and she felt a long, +burning kiss upon her hands. + +She thought then that she was really dead, and that God in His infinite +love had opened to her the outer gates of Paradise. + +“My love!” she murmured. + +She was leaning back in the carriage and her eyes were closed, but she +felt that firm fingers removed the irons from her wrists, and that a +pair of warm lips were pressed there in their stead. + +“There, little woman, that’s better so--is it not? Now let me get hold +of poor old Armand!” + +It was Heaven, of course, else how could earth hold such heavenly joy? + +“Percy!” exclaimed Armand in an awed voice. + +“Hush, dear!” murmured Marguerite feebly; “we are in Heaven you and I--” + +Whereupon a ringing laugh woke the echoes of the silent night. + +“In Heaven, dear heart!” And the voice had a delicious earthly ring in +its whole-hearted merriment. “Please God, you’ll both be at Portel with +me before dawn.” + +Then she was indeed forced to believe. She put out her hands and groped +for him, for it was dark inside the carriage; she groped, and felt +his massive shoulders leaning across the body of the coach, while his +fingers busied themselves with the irons on Armand’s wrist. + +“Don’t touch that brute’s filthy coat with your dainty fingers, dear +heart,” he said gaily. “Great Lord! I have worn that wretch’s clothes +for over two hours; I feel as if the dirt had penetrated to my bones.” + +Then with that gesture so habitual to him he took her head between his +two hands, and drawing her to him until the wan light from without lit +up the face that he worshipped, he gazed his fill into her eyes. + +She could only see the outline of his head silhouetted against the +wind-tossed sky; she could not see his eyes, nor his lips, but she felt +his nearness, and the happiness of that almost caused her to swoon. + +“Come out into the open, my lady fair,” he murmured, and though she +could not see, she could feel that he smiled; “let God’s pure air blow +through your hair and round your dear head. Then, if you can walk so +far, there’s a small half-way house close by here. I have knocked up +the none too amiable host. You and Armand could have half an hour’s rest +there before we go further on our way.” + +“But you, Percy?--are you safe?” + +“Yes, m’dear, we are all of us safe until morning-time enough to reach +Le Portel, and to be aboard the Day-Dream before mine amiable friend M. +Chambertin has discovered his worthy colleague lying gagged and bound +inside the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. By Gad! how old Heron will +curse--the moment he can open his mouth!” + +He half helped, half lifted her out of the carriage. The strong pure air +suddenly rushing right through to her lungs made her feel faint, and she +almost fell. But it was good to feel herself falling, when one pair of +arms amongst the millions on the earth were there to receive her. + +“Can you walk, dear heart?” he asked. “Lean well on me--it is not far, +and the rest will do you good.” + +“But you, Percy--” + +He laughed, and the most complete joy of living seemed to resound +through that laugh. Her arm was in his, and for one moment he stood +still while his eyes swept the far reaches of the country, the mellow +distance still wrapped in its mantle of indigo, still untouched by the +mysterious light of the waning moon. + +He pressed her arm against his heart, but his right hand was stretched +out towards the black wall of the forest behind him, towards the dark +crests of the pines in which the dying wind sent its last mournful +sighs. + +“Dear heart,” he said, and his voice quivered with the intensity of his +excitement, “beyond the stretch of that wood, from far away over there, +there are cries and moans of anguish that come to my ear even now. +But for you, dear, I would cross that wood to-night and re-enter Paris +to-morrow. But for you, dear--but for you,” he reiterated earnestly as +he pressed her closer to him, for a bitter cry had risen to her lips. + +She went on in silence. Her happiness was great--as great as was her +pain. She had found him again, the man whom she worshipped, the husband +whom she thought never to see again on earth. She had found him, and +not even now--not after those terrible weeks of misery and suffering +unspeakable--could she feel that love had triumphed over the +wild, adventurous spirit, the reckless enthusiasm, the ardour of +self-sacrifice. + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. THE LAND OF ELDORADO + +It seems that in the pocket of Heron’s coat there was a letter-case with +some few hundred francs. It was amusing to think that the brute’s money +helped to bribe the ill-tempered keeper of the half-way house to receive +guests at midnight, and to ply them well with food, drink, and the +shelter of a stuffy coffee-room. + +Marguerite sat silently beside her husband, her hand in his. Armand, +opposite to them, had both elbows on the table. He looked pale and wan, +with a bandage across his forehead, and his glowing eyes were resting on +his chief. + +“Yes! you demmed young idiot,” said Blakeney merrily, “you nearly upset +my plan in the end, with your yelling and screaming outside the chapel +gates.” + +“I wanted to get to you, Percy. I thought those brutes had got you there +inside that building.” + +“Not they!” he exclaimed. “It was my friend Heron whom they had trussed +and gagged, and whom my amiable friend M. Chambertin will find in there +to-morrow morning. By Gad! I would go back if only for the pleasure of +hearing Heron curse when first the gag is taken from his mouth.” + +“But how was it all done, Percy? And there was de Batz--” + +“De Batz was part of the scheme I had planned for mine own escape before +I knew that those brutes meant to take Marguerite and you as hostages +for my good behaviour. What I hoped then was that under cover of a +tussle or a fight I could somehow or other contrive to slip through +their fingers. It was a chance, and you know my belief in bald-headed +Fortune, with the one solitary hair. Well, I meant to grab that hair; +and at the worst I could but die in the open and not caged in that awful +hole like some noxious vermin. I knew that de Batz would rise to the +bait. I told him in my letter that the Dauphin would be at the Chateau +d’Ourde this night, but that I feared the revolutionary Government had +got wind of this fact, and were sending an armed escort to bring the +lad away. This letter Ffoulkes took to him; I knew that he would make a +vigorous effort to get the Dauphin into his hands, and that during +the scuffle that one hair on Fortune’s head would for one second only, +mayhap, come within my reach. I had so planned the expedition that we +were bound to arrive at the forest of Boulogne by nightfall, and night +is always a useful ally. But at the guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne +I realised for the first time that those brutes had pressed me into a +tighter corner than I had pre-conceived.” + +He paused, and once again that look of recklessness swept over his face, +and his eyes--still hollow and circled--shone with the excitement of +past memories. + +“I was such a weak, miserable wretch, then,” he said, in answer +to Marguerite’s appeal. “I had to try and build up some strength, +when--Heaven forgive me for the sacrilege--I had unwittingly risked your +precious life, dear heart, in that blind endeavour to save mine own. +By Gad! it was no easy task in that jolting vehicle with that noisome +wretch beside me for sole company; yet I ate and I drank and I slept for +three days and two nights, until the hour when in the darkness I struck +Heron from behind, half-strangled him first, then gagged him, and +finally slipped into his filthy coat and put that loathsome bandage +across my head, and his battered hat above it all. The yell he gave when +first I attacked him made every horse rear--you must remember it--the +noise effectually drowned our last scuffle in the coach. Chauvelin was +the only man who might have suspected what had occurred, but he had gone +on ahead, and bald-headed Fortune had passed by me, and I had managed +to grab its one hair. After that it was all quite easy. The sergeant and +the soldiers had seen very little of Heron and nothing of me; it did not +take a great effort to deceive them, and the darkness of the night was +my most faithful friend. His raucous voice was not difficult to imitate, +and darkness always muffles and changes every tone. Anyway, it was not +likely that those loutish soldiers would even remotely suspect the trick +that was being played on them. The citizen agent’s orders were promptly +and implicitly obeyed. The men never even thought to wonder that after +insisting on an escort of twenty he should drive off with two prisoners +and only two men to guard them. If they did wonder, it was not theirs +to question. Those two troopers are spending an uncomfortable night +somewhere in the forest of Boulogne, each tied to a tree, and some two +leagues apart one from the other. And now,” he added gaily, “en voiture, +my fair lady; and you, too, Armand. ‘Tis seven leagues to Le Portel, and +we must be there before dawn.” + +“Sir Andrew’s intention was to make for Calais first, there to +open communication with the Day-Dream and then for Le Portel,” said +Marguerite; “after that he meant to strike back for the Chateau d’Ourde +in search of me.” + +“Then we’ll still find him at Le Portel--I shall know how to lay hands +on him; but you two must get aboard the Day-Dream at once, for Ffoulkes +and I can always look after ourselves.” + +It was one hour after midnight when--refreshed with food and +rest--Marguerite, Armand and Sir Percy left the half-way house. +Marguerite was standing in the doorway ready to go. Percy and Armand had +gone ahead to bring the coach along. + +“Percy,” whispered Armand, “Marguerite does not know?” + +“Of course she does not, you young fool,” retorted Percy lightly. “If +you try and tell her I think I would smash your head.” + +“But you--” said the young man with sudden vehemence; “can you bear the +sight of me? My God! when I think--” + +“Don’t think, my good Armand--not of that anyway. Only think of the +woman for whose sake you committed a crime--if she is pure and good, woo +her and win her--not just now, for it were foolish to go back to Paris +after her, but anon, when she comes to England and all these past days +are forgotten--then love her as much as you can, Armand. Learn your +lesson of love better than I have learnt mine; do not cause Jeanne Lange +those tears of anguish which my mad spirit brings to your sister’s eyes. +You were right, Armand, when you said that I do not know how to love!” + +But on board the Day-Dream, when all danger was past, Marguerite felt +that he did. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EL DORADO *** + +***** This file should be named 1752-0.txt or 1752-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/1752/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1752-0.zip b/1752-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f03eb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1752-0.zip diff --git a/1752-h.zip b/1752-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..67703bf --- /dev/null +++ b/1752-h.zip diff --git a/1752-h/1752-h.htm b/1752-h/1752-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8616cb --- /dev/null +++ b/1752-h/1752-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17754 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: El Dorado + +Author: Baroness Orczy + +Release Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1752] +Last Updated: February 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EL DORADO *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + EL DORADO + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Baroness Orczy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_FORE" id="link2H_FORE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + FOREWORD + </h2> + <p> + There has of late years crept so much confusion into the mind of the + student as well as of the general reader as to the identity of the Scarlet + Pimpernel with that of the Gascon Royalist plotter known to history as the + Baron de Batz, that the time seems opportune for setting all doubts on + that subject at rest. + </p> + <p> + The identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is in no way whatever connected with + that of the Baron de Batz, and even superficial reflection will soon bring + the mind to the conclusion that great fundamental differences existed in + these two men, in their personality, in their character, and, above all, + in their aims. + </p> + <p> + According to one or two enthusiastic historians, the Baron de Batz was the + chief agent in a vast network of conspiracy, entirely supported by foreign + money—both English and Austrian—and which had for its object + the overthrow of the Republican Government and the restoration of the + monarchy in France. + </p> + <p> + In order to attain this political goal, it is averred that he set himself + the task of pitting the members of the revolutionary Government one + against the other, and bringing hatred and dissensions amongst them, until + the cry of “Traitor!” resounded from one end of the Assembly of the + Convention to the other, and the Assembly itself became as one vast den of + wild beasts wherein wolves and hyenas devoured one another and, still + unsatiated, licked their streaming jaws hungering for more prey. + </p> + <p> + Those same enthusiastic historians, who have a firm belief in the + so-called “Foreign Conspiracy,” ascribe every important event of the Great + Revolution—be that event the downfall of the Girondins, the escape + of the Dauphin from the Temple, or the death of Robespierre—to the + intrigues of Baron de Batz. He it was, so they say, who egged the Jacobins + on against the Mountain, Robespierre against Danton, Hebert against + Robespierre. He it was who instigated the massacres of September, the + atrocities of Nantes, the horrors of Thermidor, the sacrileges, the + noyades: all with the view of causing every section of the National + Assembly to vie with the other in excesses and in cruelty, until the + makers of the Revolution, satiated with their own lust, turned on one + another, and Sardanapalus-like buried themselves and their orgies in the + vast hecatomb of a self-consumed anarchy. + </p> + <p> + Whether the power thus ascribed to Baron de Batz by his historians is real + or imaginary it is not the purpose of this preface to investigate. Its + sole object is to point out the difference between the career of this + plotter and that of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + </p> + <p> + The Baron de Batz himself was an adventurer without substance, save that + which he derived from abroad. He was one of those men who have nothing to + lose and everything to gain by throwing themselves headlong in the + seething cauldron of internal politics. + </p> + <p> + Though he made several attempts at rescuing King Louis first, and then the + Queen and Royal Family from prison and from death, he never succeeded, as + we know, in any of these undertakings, and he never once so much as + attempted the rescue of other equally innocent, if not quite so + distinguished, victims of the most bloodthirsty revolution that has ever + shaken the foundations of the civilised world. + </p> + <p> + Nay more; when on the 29th Prairial those unfortunate men and women were + condemned and executed for alleged complicity in the so-called “Foreign + Conspiracy,” de Batz, who is universally admitted to have been the head + and prime-mover of that conspiracy—if, indeed, conspiracy there was—never + made either the slightest attempt to rescue his confederates from the + guillotine, or at least the offer to perish by their side if he could not + succeed in saving them. + </p> + <p> + And when we remember that the martyrs of the 29th Prairial included women + like Grandmaison, the devoted friend of de Batz, the beautiful Emilie de + St. Amaranthe, little Cecile Renault—a mere child not sixteen years + of age—also men like Michonis and Roussell, faithful servants of de + Batz, the Baron de Lezardiere, and the Comte de St. Maurice, his friends, + we no longer can have the slightest doubt that the Gascon plotter and the + English gentleman are indeed two very different persons. + </p> + <p> + The latter’s aims were absolutely non-political. He never intrigued for + the restoration of the monarchy, or even for the overthrow of that + Republic which he loathed. + </p> + <p> + His only concern was the rescue of the innocent, the stretching out of a + saving hand to those unfortunate creatures who had fallen into the nets + spread out for them by their fellow-men; by those who—godless, + lawless, penniless themselves—had sworn to exterminate all those who + clung to their belongings, to their religion, and to their beliefs. + </p> + <p> + The Scarlet Pimpernel did not take it upon himself to punish the guilty; + his care was solely of the helpless and of the innocent. + </p> + <p> + For this aim he risked his life every time that he set foot on French + soil, for it he sacrificed his fortune, and even his personal happiness, + and to it he devoted his entire existence. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, whereas the French plotter is said to have had confederates even + in the Assembly of the Convention, confederates who were sufficiently + influential and powerful to secure his own immunity, the Englishman when + he was bent on his errands of mercy had the whole of France against him. + </p> + <p> + The Baron de Batz was a man who never justified either his own ambitions + or even his existence; the Scarlet Pimpernel was a personality of whom an + entire nation might justly be proud. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FORE"> FOREWORD </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <b>PART I.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE DEMON CHANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE LANGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. THE TEMPLE PRISON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. THE COMMITTEE’S AGENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. ARCADES AMBO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. WHAT LOVE CAN DO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. SHADOWS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. WHAT LOVE IS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. THE CHIEF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. THE WEARY SEARCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. CHAUVELIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. THE REMOVAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. BACK TO PARIS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO + QUESTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. THE OVERWHELMING ODDS </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. THE NEWS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. PARIS ONCE MORE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. THE BITTEREST FOE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE CONCIERGERIE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CAGED LION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS + INNOCENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. AFTERWARDS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. AN INTERLUDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. SISTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. LITTLE MOTHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LETTER </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. THE LAST PHASE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. SUBMISSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAUVELIN’S ADVICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAPITULATION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. KILL HIM! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. GOD HELP US ALL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. + ANNE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. THE DREARY JOURNEY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. THE HALT AT CRECY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. OTHERS IN THE PARK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. THE WANING MOON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. THE LAND OF ELDORADO </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + PART I. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL + </h2> + <p> + And yet people found the opportunity to amuse themselves, to dance and to + go to the theatre, to enjoy music and open-air cafes and promenades in the + Palais Royal. + </p> + <p> + New fashions in dress made their appearance, milliners produced fresh + “creations,” and jewellers were not idle. A grim sense of humour, born of + the very intensity of ever-present danger, had dubbed the cut of certain + tunics “tete tranche,” or a favourite ragout was called “a la guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + On three evenings only during the past memorable four and a half years did + the theatres close their doors, and these evenings were the ones + immediately following that terrible 2nd of September the day of the + butchery outside the Abbaye prison, when Paris herself was aghast with + horror, and the cries of the massacred might have drowned the calls of the + audience whose hands upraised for plaudits would still be dripping with + blood. + </p> + <p> + On all other evenings of these same four and a half years the theatres in + the Rue de Richelieu, in the Palais Royal, the Luxembourg, and others, had + raised their curtains and taken money at their doors. The same audience + that earlier in the day had whiled away the time by witnessing the + ever-recurrent dramas of the Place de la Revolution assembled here in the + evenings and filled stalls, boxes, and tiers, laughing over the satires of + Voltaire or weeping over the sentimental tragedies of persecuted Romeos + and innocent Juliets. + </p> + <p> + Death knocked at so many doors these days! He was so constant a guest in + the houses of relatives and friends that those who had merely shaken him + by the hand, those on whom he had smiled, and whom he, still smiling, had + passed indulgently by, looked on him with that subtle contempt born of + familiarity, shrugged their shoulders at his passage, and envisaged his + probable visit on the morrow with lighthearted indifference. + </p> + <p> + Paris—despite the horrors that had stained her walls had remained a + city of pleasure, and the knife of the guillotine did scarce descend more + often than did the drop-scenes on the stage. + </p> + <p> + On this bitterly cold evening of the 27th Nivose, in the second year of + the Republic—or, as we of the old style still persist in calling it, + the 16th of January, 1794—the auditorium of the Theatre National was + filled with a very brilliant company. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of a favourite actress in the part of one of Moliere’s + volatile heroines had brought pleasure-loving Paris to witness this + revival of “Le Misanthrope,” with new scenery, dresses, and the aforesaid + charming actress to add piquancy to the master’s mordant wit. + </p> + <p> + The Moniteur, which so impartially chronicles the events of those times, + tells us under that date that the Assembly of the Convention voted on that + same day a new law giving fuller power to its spies, enabling them to + effect domiciliary searches at their discretion without previous reference + to the Committee of General Security, authorising them to proceed against + all enemies of public happiness, to send them to prison at their own + discretion, and assuring them the sum of thirty-five livres “for every + piece of game thus beaten up for the guillotine.” Under that same date the + Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National was filled to + its utmost capacity for the revival of the late citoyen Moliere’s comedy. + </p> + <p> + The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which placed the + lives of thousands at the mercy of a few human bloodhounds, adjourned its + sitting and proceeded to the Rue de Richelieu. + </p> + <p> + Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made their way + to the seats which had been reserved for them. An awed hush descended on + the throng as one by one the men whose very names inspired horror and + dread filed in through the narrow gangways of the stalls or took their + places in the tiny boxes around. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Robespierre’s neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of these; + his bosom friend St. Just was with him, and also his sister Charlotte. + Danton, like a big, shaggy-coated lion, elbowed his way into the stalls, + whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and idol of the people of Paris, was + loudly acclaimed as his huge frame, gorgeously clad in the uniform of the + National Guard, was sighted on one of the tiers above. + </p> + <p> + The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered excitedly; the + awe-inspiring names flew about hither and thither on the wings of the + overheated air. Women craned their necks to catch sight of heads which + mayhap on the morrow would roll into the gruesome basket at the foot of + the guillotine. + </p> + <p> + In one of the tiny avant-scene boxes two men had taken their seats long + before the bulk of the audience had begun to assemble in the house. The + inside of the box was in complete darkness, and the narrow opening which + allowed but a sorry view of one side of the stage helped to conceal rather + than display the occupants. + </p> + <p> + The younger one of these two men appeared to be something of a stranger in + Paris, for as the public men and the well-known members of the Government + began to arrive he often turned to his companion for information regarding + these notorious personalities. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, de Batz,” he said, calling the other’s attention to a group of + men who had just entered the house, “that creature there in the green coat—with + his hand up to his face now—who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Where? Which do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “There! He looks this way now, and he has a playbill in his hand. The man + with the protruding chin and the convex forehead, a face like a marmoset, + and eyes like a jackal. What?” + </p> + <p> + The other leaned over the edge of the box, and his small, restless eyes + wandered over the now closely-packed auditorium. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said as soon as he recognised the face which his friend had + pointed out to him, “that is citizen Foucquier-Tinville.” + </p> + <p> + “The Public Prosecutor?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself. And Heron is the man next to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Heron?” said the younger man interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He is chief agent to the Committee of General Security now.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + Both leaned back in their chairs, and their sombrely-clad figures were + once more merged in the gloom of the narrow box. Instinctively, since the + name of the Public Prosecutor had been mentioned between them, they had + allowed their voices to sink to a whisper. + </p> + <p> + The older man—a stoutish, florid-looking individual, with small, + keen eyes, and skin pitted with small-pox—shrugged his shoulders at + his friend’s question, and then said with an air of contemptuous + indifference: + </p> + <p> + “It means, my good St. Just, that these two men whom you see down there, + calmly conning the programme of this evening’s entertainment, and + preparing to enjoy themselves to-night in the company of the late M. de + Moliere, are two hell-hounds as powerful as they are cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said St. Just, and much against his will a slight shudder ran + through his slim figure as he spoke. “Foucquier-Tinville I know; I know + his cunning, and I know his power—but the other?” + </p> + <p> + “The other?” retorted de Batz lightly. “Heron? Let me tell you, my friend, + that even the might and lust of that damned Public Prosecutor pale before + the power of Heron!” + </p> + <p> + “But how? I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though no doubt + the main plot of our hideous tragedy has reached your ken, you have no + cognisance of the actors who play the principal parts on this arena + flooded with blood and carpeted with hate. They come and go, these actors, + my good St. Just—they come and go. Marat is already the man of + yesterday, Robespierre is the man of to-morrow. To-day we still have + Danton and Foucquier-Tinville; we still have Pere Duchesne, and your own + good cousin Antoine St. Just, but Heron and his like are with us always.” + </p> + <p> + “Spies, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Spies,” assented the other. “And what spies! Were you present at the + sitting of the Assembly to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I was. I heard the new decree which already has passed into law. Ah! I + tell you, friend, that we do not let the grass grow under our feet these + days. Robespierre wakes up one morning with a whim; by the afternoon that + whim has become law, passed by a servile body of men too terrified to run + counter to his will, fearful lest they be accused of moderation or of + humanity—the greatest crimes that can be committed nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “But Danton?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Danton? He would wish to stem the tide that his own passions have let + loose; to muzzle the raging beasts whose fangs he himself has sharpened. I + told you that Danton is still the man of to-day; to-morrow he will be + accused of moderation. Danton and moderation!—ye gods! Eh? Danton, + who thought the guillotine too slow in its work, and armed thirty soldiers + with swords, so that thirty heads might fall at one and the same time. + Danton, friend, will perish to-morrow accused of treachery against the + Revolution, of moderation towards her enemies; and curs like Heron will + feast on the blood of lions like Danton and his crowd.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, for he dared not raise his voice, and his whispers + were being drowned by the noise in the auditorium. The curtain, timed to + be raised at eight o’clock, was still down, though it was close on + half-past, and the public was growing impatient. There was loud stamping + of feet, and a few shrill whistles of disapproval proceeded from the + gallery. + </p> + <p> + “If Heron gets impatient,” said de Batz lightly, when the noise had + momentarily subsided, “the manager of this theatre and mayhap his leading + actor and actress will spend an unpleasant day to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Always Heron!” said St. Just, with a contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my friend,” rejoined the other imperturbably, “always Heron. And he + has even obtained a longer lease of existence this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “By the new decree?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The new decree. The agents of the Committee of General Security, of + whom Heron is the chief, have from to-day powers of domiciliary search; + they have full powers to proceed against all enemies of public welfare. + Isn’t that beautifully vague? And they have absolute discretion; every one + may become an enemy of public welfare, either by spending too much money + or by spending too little, by laughing to-day or crying to-morrow, by + mourning for one dead relative or rejoicing over the execution of another. + He may be a bad example to the public by the cleanliness of his person or + by the filth upon his clothes, he may offend by walking to-day and by + riding in a carriage next week; the agents of the Committee of General + Security shall alone decide what constitutes enmity against public + welfare. All prisons are to be opened at their bidding to receive those + whom they choose to denounce; they have henceforth the right to examine + prisoners privately and without witnesses, and to send them to trial + without further warrants; their duty is clear—they must ‘beat up + game for the guillotine.’ Thus is the decree worded; they must furnish the + Public Prosecutor with work to do, the tribunals with victims to condemn, + the Place de la Revolution with death-scenes to amuse the people, and for + their work they will be rewarded thirty-five livres for every head that + falls under the guillotine Ah! if Heron and his like and his myrmidons + work hard and well they can make a comfortable income of four or five + thousand livres a week. We are getting on, friend St. Just—we are + getting on.” + </p> + <p> + He had not raised his voice while he spoke, nor in the recounting of such + inhuman monstrosity, such vile and bloodthirsty conspiracy against the + liberty, the dignity, the very life of an entire nation, did he appear to + feel the slightest indignation; rather did a tone of amusement and even of + triumph strike through his speech; and now he laughed good-humouredly like + an indulgent parent who is watching the naturally cruel antics of a spoilt + boy. + </p> + <p> + “Then from this hell let loose upon earth,” exclaimed St. Just hotly, + “must we rescue those who refuse to ride upon this tide of blood.” + </p> + <p> + His cheeks were glowing, his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He looked very + young and very eager. Armand St. Just, the brother of Lady Blakeney, had + something of the refined beauty of his lovely sister, but the features + though manly—had not the latent strength expressed in them which + characterised every line of Marguerite’s exquisite face. The forehead + suggested a dreamer rather than a thinker, the blue-grey eyes were those + of an idealist rather than of a man of action. + </p> + <p> + De Batz’s keen piercing eyes had no doubt noted this, even whilst he gazed + at his young friend with that same look of good-humoured indulgence which + seemed habitual to him. + </p> + <p> + “We have to think of the future, my good St. Just,” he said after a slight + pause, and speaking slowly and decisively, like a father rebuking a + hot-headed child, “not of the present. What are a few lives worth beside + the great principles which we have at stake?” + </p> + <p> + “The restoration of the monarchy—I know,” retorted St. Just, still + unsobered, “but, in the meanwhile—” + </p> + <p> + “In the meanwhile,” rejoined de Batz earnestly, “every victim to the lust + of these men is a step towards the restoration of law and order—that + is to say, of the monarchy. It is only through these violent excesses + perpetrated in its name that the nation will realise how it is being + fooled by a set of men who have only their own power and their own + advancement in view, and who imagine that the only way to that power is + over the dead bodies of those who stand in their way. Once the nation is + sickened by these orgies of ambition and of hate, it will turn against + these savage brutes, and gladly acclaim the restoration of all that they + are striving to destroy. This is our only hope for the future, and, + believe me, friend, that every head snatched from the guillotine by your + romantic hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a stone laid for the + consolidation of this infamous Republic.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not believe it,” protested St. Just emphatically. + </p> + <p> + De Batz, with a gesture of contempt indicative also of complete + self-satisfaction and unalterable self-belief, shrugged his broad + shoulders. His short fat fingers, covered with rings, beat a tattoo upon + the ledge of the box. + </p> + <p> + Obviously, he was ready with a retort. His young friend’s attitude + irritated even more than it amused him. But he said nothing for the + moment, waiting while the traditional three knocks on the floor of the + stage proclaimed the rise of the curtain. The growing impatience of the + audience subsided as if by magic at the welcome call; everybody settled + down again comfortably in their seats, they gave up the contemplation of + the fathers of the people, and turned their full attention to the actors + on the boards. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS + </h2> + <p> + This was Armand S. Just’s first visit to Paris since that memorable day + when first he decided to sever his connection from the Republican party, + of which he and his beautiful sister Marguerite had at one time been + amongst the most noble, most enthusiastic followers. Already a year and a + half ago the excesses of the party had horrified him, and that was long + before they had degenerated into the sickening orgies which were + culminating to-day in wholesale massacres and bloody hecatombs of innocent + victims. + </p> + <p> + With the death of Mirabeau the moderate Republicans, whose sole and + entirely pure aim had been to free the people of France from the + autocratic tyranny of the Bourbons, saw the power go from their clean + hands to the grimy ones of lustful demagogues, who knew no law save their + own passions of bitter hatred against all classes that were not as + self-seeking, as ferocious as themselves. + </p> + <p> + It was no longer a question of a fight for political and religious liberty + only, but one of class against class, man against man, and let the weaker + look to himself. The weaker had proved himself to be, firstly, the man of + property and substance, then the law-abiding citizen, lastly the man of + action who had obtained for the people that very same liberty of thought + and of belief which soon became so terribly misused. + </p> + <p> + Armand St. Just, one of the apostles of liberty, fraternity, and equality, + soon found that the most savage excesses of tyranny were being perpetrated + in the name of those same ideals which he had worshipped. + </p> + <p> + His sister Marguerite, happily married in England, was the final + temptation which caused him to quit the country the destinies of which he + no longer could help to control. The spark of enthusiasm which he and the + followers of Mirabeau had tried to kindle in the hearts of an oppressed + people had turned to raging tongues of unquenchable flames. The taking of + the Bastille had been the prelude to the massacres of September, and even + the horror of these had since paled beside the holocausts of to-day. + </p> + <p> + Armand, saved from the swift vengeance of the revolutionaries by the + devotion of the Scarlet Pimpernel, crossed over to England and enrolled + himself under the banner of the heroic chief. But he had been unable + hitherto to be an active member of the League. The chief was loath to + allow him to run foolhardy risks. The St. Justs—both Marguerite and + Armand—were still very well-known in Paris. Marguerite was not a + woman easily forgotten, and her marriage with an English “aristo” did not + please those republican circles who had looked upon her as their queen. + Armand’s secession from his party into the ranks of the emigres had + singled him out for special reprisals, if and whenever he could be got + hold of, and both brother and sister had an unusually bitter enemy in + their cousin Antoine St. Just—once an aspirant to Marguerite’s hand, + and now a servile adherent and imitator of Robespierre, whose ferocious + cruelty he tried to emulate with a view to ingratiating himself with the + most powerful man of the day. + </p> + <p> + Nothing would have pleased Antoine St. Just more than the opportunity of + showing his zeal and his patriotism by denouncing his own kith and kin to + the Tribunal of the Terror, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, whose own slender + fingers were held on the pulse of that reckless revolution, had no wish to + sacrifice Armand’s life deliberately, or even to expose it to unnecessary + dangers. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that more than a year had gone by before Armand St. Just—an + enthusiastic member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel—was able + to do aught for its service. He had chafed under the enforced restraint + placed upon him by the prudence of his chief, when, indeed, he was longing + to risk his life with the comrades whom he loved and beside the leader + whom he revered. + </p> + <p> + At last, in the beginning of ‘94 he persuaded Blakeney to allow him to + join the next expedition to France. What the principal aim of that + expedition was the members of the League did not know as yet, but what + they did know was that perils—graver even than hitherto—would + attend them on their way. + </p> + <p> + The circumstances had become very different of late. At first the + impenetrable mystery which had surrounded the personality of the chief had + been a full measure of safety, but now one tiny corner of that veil of + mystery had been lifted by two rough pairs of hands at least; Chauvelin, + ex-ambassador at the English Court, was no longer in any doubt as to the + identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, whilst Collot d’Herbois had seen him at + Boulogne, and had there been effectually foiled by him. + </p> + <p> + Four months had gone by since that day, and the Scarlet Pimpernel was + hardly ever out of France now; the massacres in Paris and in the provinces + had multiplied with appalling rapidity, the necessity for the selfless + devotion of that small band of heroes had become daily, hourly more + pressing. They rallied round their chief with unbounded enthusiasm, and + let it be admitted at once that the sporting instinct—inherent in + these English gentlemen—made them all the more keen, all the more + eager now that the dangers which beset their expeditions were increased + tenfold. + </p> + <p> + At a word from the beloved leader, these young men—the spoilt + darlings of society—would leave the gaieties, the pleasures, the + luxuries of London or of Bath, and, taking their lives in their hands, + they placed them, together with their fortunes, and even their good names, + at the service of the innocent and helpless victims of merciless tyranny. + The married men—Ffoulkes, my Lord Hastings, Sir Jeremiah Wallescourt—left + wife and children at a call from the chief, at the cry of the wretched. + Armand—unattached and enthusiastic—had the right to demand + that he should no longer be left behind. + </p> + <p> + He had only been away a little over fifteen months, and yet he found Paris + a different city from the one he had left immediately after the terrible + massacres of September. An air of grim loneliness seemed to hang over her + despite the crowds that thronged her streets; the men whom he was wont to + meet in public places fifteen months ago—friends and political + allies—were no longer to be seen; strange faces surrounded him on + every side—sullen, glowering faces, all wearing a certain air of + horrified surprise and of vague, terrified wonder, as if life had become + one awful puzzle, the answer to which must be found in the brief interval + between the swift passages of death. + </p> + <p> + Armand St. Just, having settled his few simple belongings in the squalid + lodgings which had been assigned to him, had started out after dark to + wander somewhat aimlessly through the streets. Instinctively he seemed to + be searching for a familiar face, some one who would come to him out of + that merry past which he had spent with Marguerite in their pretty + apartment in the Rue St. Honore. + </p> + <p> + For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times it + appeared to him as if he did recognise a face or figure that passed him + swiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully make up his mind + to that, the face or figure had already disappeared, gliding furtively + down some narrow unlighted by-street, without turning to look to right or + left, as if dreading fuller recognition. Armand felt a total stranger in + his own native city. + </p> + <p> + The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolution were + fortunately over, the tumbrils no longer rattled along the uneven + pavements, nor did the death-cry of the unfortunate victims resound + through the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first day of his + arrival, spared the sight of this degradation of the once lovely city; but + her desolation, her general appearance of shamefaced indigence and of + cruel aloofness struck a chill in the young man’s heart. + </p> + <p> + It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way slowly back + to his lodging he was accosted by a pleasant, cheerful voice, that he + responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a smooth, oily timbre, as if + the owner kept it well greased for purposes of amiable speech, was like an + echo of the past, when jolly, irresponsible Baron de Batz, erst-while + officer of the Guard in the service of the late King, and since then known + to be the most inveterate conspirator for the restoration of the monarchy, + used to amuse Marguerite by his vapid, senseless plans for the overthrow + of the newly-risen power of the people. + </p> + <p> + Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that a good + talk over old times would be vastly agreeable, the younger man gladly + acceded. The two men, though certainly not mistrustful of one another, did + not seem to care to reveal to each other the place where they lodged. De + Batz at once proposed the avant-scene box of one of the theatres as being + the safest place where old friends could talk without fear of spying eyes + or ears. + </p> + <p> + “There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my young + friend,” he said, “I have tried every sort of nook and cranny in this + accursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have come to the conclusion + that a small avant-scene box is the most perfect den of privacy there is + in the entire city. The voices of the actors on the stage and the hum + among the audience in the house will effectually drown all individual + conversation to every ear save the one for whom it is intended.” + </p> + <p> + It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely and somewhat + forlorn in a large city to while away an evening in the companionship of a + cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially good company. His vapourings + had always been amusing, but Armand now gave him credit for more + seriousness of purpose; and though the chief had warned him against + picking up acquaintances in Paris, the young man felt that that + restriction would certainly not apply to a man like de Batz, whose hot + partisanship of the Royalist cause and hare-brained schemes for its + restoration must make him at one with the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + </p> + <p> + Armand accepted the other’s cordial invitation. He, too, felt that he + would indeed be safer from observation in a crowded theatre than in the + streets. Among a closely packed throng bent on amusement the sombrely-clad + figure of a young man, with the appearance of a student or of a + journalist, would easily pass unperceived. + </p> + <p> + But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz’ company within + the gloomy shelter of the small avant-scene box, Armand already repented + of the impulse which had prompted him to come to the theatre to-night, and + to renew acquaintanceship with the ex-officer of the late King’s Guard. + Though he knew de Batz to be an ardent Royalist, and even an active + adherent of the monarchy, he was soon conscious of a vague sense of + mistrust of this pompous, self-complacent individual, whose every + utterance breathed selfish aims rather than devotion to a forlorn cause. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of Moliere’s + witty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately towards the stage and tried to + interest himself in the wordy quarrel between Philinte and Alceste. + </p> + <p> + But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to suit his + newly-found friend. It was clear that de Batz did not consider the topic + of conversation by any means exhausted, and that it had been more with a + view to a discussion like the present interrupted one that he had invited + St. Just to come to the theatre with him to-night, rather than for the + purpose of witnessing Mlle. Lange’s debut in the part of Celimene. + </p> + <p> + The presence of St. Just in Paris had as a matter of fact astonished de + Batz not a little, and had set his intriguing brain busy on conjectures. + It was in order to turn these conjectures into certainties that he had + desired private talk with the young man. + </p> + <p> + He waited silently now for a moment or two, his keen, small eyes resting + with evident anxiety on Armand’s averted head, his fingers still beating + the impatient tattoo upon the velvet-covered cushion of the box. Then at + the first movement of St. Just towards him he was ready in an instant to + re-open the subject under discussion. + </p> + <p> + With a quick nod of his head he called his young friend’s attention back + to the men in the auditorium. + </p> + <p> + “Your good cousin Antoine St. Just is hand and glove with Robespierre + now,” he said. “When you left Paris more than a year ago you could afford + to despise him as an empty-headed windbag; now, if you desire to remain in + France, you will have to fear him as a power and a menace.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew that he had taken to herding with the wolves,” rejoined + Armand lightly. “At one time he was in love with my sister. I thank God + that she never cared for him.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that he herds with the wolves because of this disappointment,” + said de Batz. “The whole pack is made up of men who have been + disappointed, and who have nothing more to lose. When all these wolves + will have devoured one another, then and then only can we hope for the + restoration of the monarchy in France. And they will not turn on one + another whilst prey for their greed lies ready to their jaws. Your friend + the Scarlet Pimpernel should feed this bloody revolution of ours rather + than starve it, if indeed he hates it as he seems to do.” + </p> + <p> + His restless eyes peered with eager interrogation into those of the + younger man. He paused as if waiting for a reply; then, as St. Just + remained silent, he reiterated slowly, almost in the tones of a challenge: + </p> + <p> + “If indeed he hates this bloodthirsty revolution of ours as he seems to + do.” + </p> + <p> + The reiteration implied a doubt. In a moment St. Just’s loyalty was up in + arms. + </p> + <p> + “The Scarlet Pimpernel,” he said, “cares naught for your political aims. + The work of mercy that he does, he does for justice and for humanity.” + </p> + <p> + “And for sport,” said de Batz with a sneer, “so I’ve been told.” + </p> + <p> + “He is English,” assented St. Just, “and as such will never own to + sentiment. Whatever be the motive, look at the result! + </p> + <p> + “Yes! a few lives stolen from the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + “Women and children—innocent victims—would have perished but + for his devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “The more innocent they were, the more helpless, the more pitiable, the + louder would their blood have cried for reprisals against the wild beasts + who sent them to their death.” + </p> + <p> + St. Just made no reply. It was obviously useless to attempt to argue with + this man, whose political aims were as far apart from those of the Scarlet + Pimpernel as was the North Pole from the South. + </p> + <p> + “If any of you have influence over that hot-headed leader of yours,” + continued de Batz, unabashed by the silence of his friend, “I wish to God + you would exert it now.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” queried St. Just, smiling in spite of himself at the + thought of his or any one else’s control over Blakeney and his plans. + </p> + <p> + It was de Batz’ turn to be silent. He paused for a moment or two, then he + asked abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Your Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now, is he not?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you,” replied Armand. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! there is no necessity to fence with me, my friend. The moment I set + eyes on you this afternoon I knew that you had not come to Paris alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, my good de Batz,” rejoined the young man earnestly; “I + came to Paris alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever parrying, on my word—but wholly wasted on my unbelieving + ears. Did I not note at once that you did not seem overpleased to-day when + I accosted you?” + </p> + <p> + “Again you are mistaken. I was very pleased to meet you, for I had felt + singularly lonely all day, and was glad to shake a friend by the hand. + What you took for displeasure was only surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “Surprise? Ah, yes! I don’t wonder that you were surprised to see me + walking unmolested and openly in the streets of Paris—whereas you + had heard of me as a dangerous conspirator, eh?—and as a man who has + the entire police of his country at his heels—on whose head there is + a price—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew that you had made several noble efforts to rescue the unfortunate + King and Queen from the hands of these brutes.” + </p> + <p> + “All of which efforts were unsuccessful,” assented de Batz imperturbably, + “every one of them having been either betrayed by some d——d + confederate or ferreted out by some astute spy eager for gain. Yes, my + friend, I made several efforts to rescue King Louis and Queen Marie + Antoinette from the scaffold, and every time I was foiled, and yet here I + am, you see, unscathed and free. I walk about the streets boldly, and talk + to my friends as I meet them.” + </p> + <p> + “You are lucky,” said St. Just, not without a tinge of sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + “I have been prudent,” retorted de Batz. “I have taken the trouble to make + friends there where I thought I needed them most—the mammon of + unrighteousness, you know-what?” + </p> + <p> + And he laughed a broad, thick laugh of perfect self-satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” rejoined St. Just, with the tone of sarcasm still more + apparent in his voice now. “You have Austrian money at your disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “Any amount,” said the other complacently, “and a great deal of it sticks + to the grimy fingers of these patriotic makers of revolutions. Thus do I + ensure my own safety. I buy it with the Emperor’s money, and thus am I + able to work for the restoration of the monarchy in France.” + </p> + <p> + Again St. Just was silent. What could he say? Instinctively now, as the + fleshy personality of the Gascon Royalist seemed to spread itself out and + to fill the tiny box with his ambitious schemes and his far-reaching + plans, Armand’s thoughts flew back to that other plotter, the man with the + pure and simple aims, the man whose slender fingers had never handled + alien gold, but were ever there ready stretched out to the helpless and + the weak, whilst his thoughts were only of the help that he might give + them, but never of his own safety. + </p> + <p> + De Batz, however, seemed blandly unconscious of any such disparaging + thoughts in the mind of his young friend, for he continued quite amiably, + even though a note of anxiety seemed to make itself felt now in his smooth + voice: + </p> + <p> + “We advance slowly, but step by step, my good St. Just,” he said. “I have + not been able to save the monarchy in the person of the King or the Queen, + but I may yet do it in the person of the Dauphin.” + </p> + <p> + “The Dauphin,” murmured St. Just involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + That involuntary murmur, scarcely audible, so soft was it, seemed in some + way to satisfy de Batz, for the keenness of his gaze relaxed, and his fat + fingers ceased their nervous, intermittent tattoo on the ledge of the box. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! the Dauphin,” he said, nodding his head as if in answer to his own + thoughts, “or rather, let me say, the reigning King of France—Louis + XVII, by the grace of God—the most precious life at present upon the + whole of this earth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right there, friend de Batz,” assented Armand fervently, “the + most precious life, as you say, and one that must be saved at all costs.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said de Batz calmly, “but not by your friend the Scarlet + Pimpernel.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Scarce were those two little words out of St. Just’s mouth than he + repented of them. He bit his lip, and with a dark frown upon his face he + turned almost defiantly towards his friend. + </p> + <p> + But de Batz smiled with easy bonhomie. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, friend Armand,” he said, “you were not cut out for diplomacy, nor yet + for intrigue. So then,” he added more seriously, “that gallant hero, the + Scarlet Pimpernel, has hopes of rescuing our young King from the clutches + of Simon the cobbler and of the herd of hyenas on the watch for his + attenuated little corpse, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not say that,” retorted St. Just sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my over-loyal young + friend. Could I, or any one else, doubt for a moment that sooner or later + your romantic hero would turn his attention to the most pathetic sight in + the whole of Europe—the child-martyr in the Temple prison? The + wonder were to me if the Scarlet Pimpernel ignored our little King + altogether for the sake of his subjects. No, no; do not think for a moment + that you have betrayed your friend’s secret to me. When I met you so + luckily today I guessed at once that you were here under the banner of the + enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went a step + further in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now in the + hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple prison.” + </p> + <p> + “If that is so, you must not only rejoice but should be able to help.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the other in + the future,” said de Batz placidly. “I happen to be a Frenchman, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with such a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman too, do + not look through my spectacles. Louis XVII is King of France, my good St. + Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to us Frenchmen, and to no one + else.” + </p> + <p> + “That is sheer madness, man,” retorted Armand. “Would you have the child + perish for the sake of your own selfish ideas?” + </p> + <p> + “You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a measure + selfish. What does the rest of the world care if we are a republic or a + monarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work for ourselves and to + please ourselves, and I for one will not brook foreign interference.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you work with foreign money!” + </p> + <p> + “That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get it where I + can; but I can arrange for the escape of Louis XVII from +the Temple Prison, and to us Royalists of France should belong +the honour and glory of having saved our King.” + </p> + <p> + For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; he was + gazing wide-eyed, almost appalled at this impudent display of well-nigh + ferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling and complacent, was + leaning back in his chair, looking at his young friend with perfect + contentment expressed in every line of his pock-marked face and in the + very attitude of his well-fed body. It was easy enough now to understand + the remarkable immunity which this man was enjoying, despite the many + foolhardy plots which he hatched, and which had up to now invariably come + to naught. + </p> + <p> + A regular braggart and empty windbag, he had taken but one good care, and + that was of his own skin. Unlike other less fortunate Royalists of France, + he neither fought in the country nor braved dangers in town. He played a + safer game—crossed the frontier and constituted himself agent of + Austria; he succeeded in gaining the Emperor’s money for the good of the + Royalist cause, and for his own most especial benefit. + </p> + <p> + Even a less astute man of the world than was Armand St. Just would easily + have guessed that de Batz’ desire to be the only instrument in the rescue + of the poor little Dauphin from the Temple was not actuated by patriotism, + but solely by greed. Obviously there was a rich reward waiting for him in + Vienna the day that he brought Louis XVII safely into Austrian territory; + that reward he would miss if a meddlesome Englishman interfered in this + affair. Whether in this wrangle he risked the life of the child-King or + not mattered to him not at all. It was de Batz who was to get the reward, + and whose welfare and prosperity mattered more than the most precious life + in Europe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE DEMON CHANCE + </h2> + <p> + St. Just would have given much to be back in his lonely squalid lodgings + now. Too late did he realise how wise had been the dictum which had warned + him against making or renewing friendships in France. + </p> + <p> + Men had changed with the times. How terribly they had changed! Personal + safety had become a fetish with most—a goal so difficult to attain + that it had to be fought for and striven for, even at the expense of + humanity and of self-respect. + </p> + <p> + Selfishness—the mere, cold-blooded insistence for self-advancement—ruled + supreme. De Batz, surfeited with foreign money, used it firstly to ensure + his own immunity, scattering it to right and left to still the ambition of + the Public Prosecutor or to satisfy the greed of innumerable spies. + </p> + <p> + What was left over he used for the purpose of pitting the bloodthirsty + demagogues one against the other, making of the National Assembly a + gigantic bear-den, wherein wild beasts could rend one another limb from + limb. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile, what cared he—he said it himself—whether + hundreds of innocent martyrs perished miserably and uselessly? They were + the necessary food whereby the Revolution was to be satiated and de Batz’ + schemes enabled to mature. The most precious life in Europe even was only + to be saved if its price went to swell the pockets of de Batz, or to + further his future ambitions. + </p> + <p> + Times had indeed changed an entire nation. St. Just felt as sickened with + this self-seeking Royalist as he did with the savage brutes who struck to + right or left for their own delectation. He was meditating immediate + flight back to his lodgings, with a hope of finding there a word for him + from the chief—a word to remind him that men did live nowadays who + had other aims besides their own advancement—other ideals besides + the deification of self. + </p> + <p> + The curtain had descended on the first act, and traditionally, as the + works of M. de Moliere demanded it, the three knocks were heard again + without any interval. St. Just rose ready with a pretext for parting with + his friend. The curtain was being slowly drawn up on the second act, and + disclosed Alceste in wrathful conversation with Celimene. + </p> + <p> + Alceste’s opening speech is short. Whilst the actor spoke it Armand had + his back to the stage; with hand outstretched, he was murmuring what he + hoped would prove a polite excuse for thus leaving his amiable host while + the entertainment had only just begun. + </p> + <p> + De Batz—vexed and impatient—had not by any means finished with + his friend yet. He thought that his specious arguments—delivered + with boundless conviction—had made some impression on the mind of + the young man. That impression, however, he desired to deepen, and whilst + Armand was worrying his brain to find a plausible excuse for going away, + de Batz was racking his to find one for keeping him here. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that the wayward demon Chance intervened. Had St. Just risen + but two minutes earlier, had his active mind suggested the desired excuse + more readily, who knows what unspeakable sorrow, what heartrending misery, + what terrible shame might have been spared both him and those for whom he + cared? Those two minutes—did he but know it—decided the whole + course of his future life. The excuse hovered on his lips, de Batz + reluctantly was preparing to bid him good-bye, when Celimene, speaking + common-place words enough in answer to her quarrelsome lover, caused him + to drop the hand which he was holding out to his friend and to turn back + towards the stage. + </p> + <p> + It was an exquisite voice that had spoken—a voice mellow and tender, + with deep tones in it that betrayed latent power. The voice had caused + Armand to look, the lips that spoke forged the first tiny link of that + chain which riveted him forever after to the speaker. + </p> + <p> + It is difficult to say if such a thing really exists as love at first + sight. Poets and romancists will have us believe that it does; idealists + swear by it as being the only true love worthy of the name. + </p> + <p> + I do not know if I am prepared to admit their theory with regard to Armand + St. Just. Mlle. Lange’s exquisite voice certainly had charmed him to the + extent of making him forget his mistrust of de Batz and his desire to get + away. Mechanically almost he sat down again, and leaning both elbows on + the edge of the box, he rested his chin in his hand, and listened. The + words which the late M. de Moliere puts into the mouth of Celimene are + trite and flippant enough, yet every time that Mlle. Lange’s lips moved + Armand watched her, entranced. + </p> + <p> + There, no doubt, the matter would have ended: a young man fascinated by a + pretty woman on the stage—‘tis a small matter, and one from which + there doth not often spring a weary trail of tragic circumstances. Armand, + who had a passion for music, would have worshipped at the shrine of Mlle. + Lange’s perfect voice until the curtain came down on the last act, had not + his friend de Batz seen the keen enchantment which the actress had + produced on the young enthusiast. + </p> + <p> + Now de Batz was a man who never allowed an opportunity to slip by, if that + opportunity led towards the furtherance of his own desires. He did not + want to lose sight of Armand just yet, and here the good demon Chance had + given him an opportunity for obtaining what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + He waited quietly until the fall of the curtain at the end of Act II.; + then, as Armand, with a sigh of delight, leaned back in his chair, and + closing his eyes appeared to be living the last half-hour all over again, + de Batz remarked with well-assumed indifference: + </p> + <p> + “Mlle. Lange is a promising young actress. Do you not think so, my + friend?” + </p> + <p> + “She has a perfect voice—it was exquisite melody to the ear,” + replied Armand. “I was conscious of little else.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a beautiful woman, nevertheless,” continued de Batz with a smile. + “During the next act, my good St. Just, I would suggest that you open your + eyes as well as your ears.” + </p> + <p> + Armand did as he was bidden. The whole appearance of Mlle. Lange seemed in + harmony with her voice. She was not very tall, but eminently graceful, + with a small, oval face and slender, almost childlike figure, which + appeared still more so above the wide hoops and draped panniers of the + fashions of Moliere’s time. + </p> + <p> + Whether she was beautiful or not the young man hardly knew. Measured by + certain standards, she certainly was not so, for her mouth was not small, + and her nose anything but classical in outline. But the eyes were brown, + and they had that half-veiled look in them—shaded with long lashes + that seemed to make a perpetual tender appeal to the masculine heart: the + lips, too, were full and moist, and the teeth dazzling white. Yes!—on + the whole we might easily say that she was exquisite, even though we did + not admit that she was beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Painter David has made a sketch of her; we have all seen it at the Musee + Carnavalet, and all wondered why that charming, if irregular, little face + made such an impression of sadness. + </p> + <p> + There are five acts in “Le Misanthrope,” during which Celimene is almost + constantly on the stage. At the end of the fourth act de Batz said + casually to his friend: + </p> + <p> + “I have the honour of personal acquaintanceship with Mlle. Lange. An you + care for an introduction to her, we can go round to the green-room after + the play.” + </p> + <p> + Did prudence then whisper, “Desist”? Did loyalty to the leader murmur, + “Obey”? It were indeed difficult to say. Armand St. Just was not + five-and-twenty, and Mlle. Lange’s melodious voice spoke louder than the + whisperings of prudence or even than the call of duty. + </p> + <p> + He thanked de Batz warmly, and during the last half-hour, while the + misanthropical lover spurned repentant Celimene, he was conscious of a + curious sensation of impatience, a tingling of his nerves, a wild, mad + longing to hear those full moist lips pronounce his name, and have those + large brown eyes throw their half-veiled look into his own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE LANGE + </h2> + <p> + The green-room was crowded when de Batz and St. Just arrived there after + the performance. The older man cast a hasty glance through the open door. + The crowd did not suit his purpose, and he dragged his companion hurriedly + away from the contemplation of Mlle. Lange, sitting in a far corner of the + room, surrounded by an admiring throng, and by innumerable floral tributes + offered to her beauty and to her success. + </p> + <p> + De Batz without a word led the way back towards the stage. Here, by the + dim light of tallow candles fixed in sconces against the surrounding + walls, the scene-shifters were busy moving drop-scenes, back cloths and + wings, and paid no heed to the two men who strolled slowly up and down + silently, each wrapped in his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his head bent + forward on his chest; but every now and again he threw quick, apprehensive + glances round him whenever a firm step echoed along the empty stage or a + voice rang clearly through the now deserted theatre. + </p> + <p> + “Are we wise to wait here?” he asked, speaking to himself rather than to + his companion. + </p> + <p> + He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz had + impressed themselves upon his mind: “Heron and his spies we have always + with us.” + </p> + <p> + From the green-room a separate foyer and exit led directly out into the + street. Gradually the sound of many voices, the loud laughter and + occasional snatches of song which for the past half-hour had proceeded + from that part of the house, became more subdued and more rare. One by one + the friends of the artists were leaving the theatre, after having paid the + usual banal compliments to those whom they favoured, or presented the + accustomed offering of flowers to the brightest star of the night. + </p> + <p> + The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the ones + who could no longer command a court of admirers round them. They all filed + out of the green-room and crossed the stage to where, at the back, a + narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their so-called dressing-rooms—tiny, + dark cubicles, ill-lighted, unventilated, where some half-dozen of the + lesser stars tumbled over one another while removing wigs and + grease-paint. + </p> + <p> + Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal impatience. Mlle. + Lange was the last to leave the green-room. For some time, since the crowd + had become thinner round her, Armand had contrived to catch glimpses of + her slight, elegant figure. A short passage led from the stage to the + green-room door, which was wide open, and at the corner of this passage + the young man had paused from time to time in his walk, gazing with + earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl’s head, with + its wig of powdered curls that seemed scarcely whiter than the creamy + brilliance of her skin. + </p> + <p> + De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks in the + direction of the crowd that prevented her leaving the green-room. He did + watch Armand, however—noted his eager look, his brisk and alert + movements, the obvious glances of admiration which he cast in the + direction of the young actress, and this seemed to afford him a + considerable amount of contentment. + </p> + <p> + The best part of an hour had gone by since the fall of the curtain before + Mlle. Lange finally dismissed her many admirers, and de Batz had the + satisfaction of seeing her running down the passage, turning back + occasionally in order to bid gay “good-nights” to the loiterers who were + loath to part from her. She was a child in all her movements, quite + unconscious of self or of her own charms, but frankly delighted with her + success. She was still dressed in the ridiculous hoops and panniers + pertaining to her part, and the powdered peruke hid the charm of her own + hair; the costume gave a certain stilted air to her unaffected + personality, which, by this very sense of contrast, was essentially + fascinating. + </p> + <p> + In her arms she held a huge sheaf of sweet-scented narcissi, the spoils of + some favoured spot far away in the South. Armand thought that never in his + life had he seen anything so winsome or so charming. + </p> + <p> + Having at last said the positively final adieu, Mlle. Lange with a happy + little sigh turned to run down the passage. + </p> + <p> + She came face to face with Armand, and gave a sudden little gasp of + terror. It was not good these days to come on any loiterer unawares. + </p> + <p> + But already de Batz had quickly joined his friend, and his smooth, + pleasant voice, and podgy, beringed hand extended towards Mlle. Lange, + were sufficient to reassure her. + </p> + <p> + “You were so surrounded in the green-room, mademoiselle,” he said + courteously, “I did not venture to press in among the crowd of your + admirers. Yet I had the great wish to present my respectful + congratulations in person.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! c’est ce cher de Batz!” exclaimed mademoiselle gaily, in that + exquisitely rippling voice of hers. “And where in the world do you spring + from, my friend? + </p> + <p> + “Hush-sh-sh!” he whispered, holding her small bemittened hand in his, and + putting one finger to his lips with an urgent entreaty for discretion; + “not my name, I beg of you, fair one.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” she retorted lightly, even though her full lips trembled now as she + spoke and belied her very words. “You need have no fear whilst you are in + this part of the house. It is an understood thing that the Committee of + General Security does not send its spies behind the curtain of a theatre. + Why, if all of us actors and actresses were sent to the guillotine there + would be no play on the morrow. Artistes are not replaceable in a few + hours; those that are in existence must perforce be spared, or the + citizens who govern us now would not know where to spend their evenings.” + </p> + <p> + But though she spoke so airily and with her accustomed gaiety, it was + easily perceived that even on this childish mind the dangers which beset + every one these days had already imprinted their mark of suspicion and of + caution. + </p> + <p> + “Come into my dressing-room,” she said. “I must not tarry here any longer, + for they will be putting out the lights. But I have a room to myself, and + we can talk there quite agreeably.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way across the stage towards the wooden stairs. Armand, who + during this brief colloquy between his friend and the young girl had kept + discreetly in the background, felt undecided what to do. But at a + peremptory sign from de Batz he, too, turned in the wake of the gay little + lady, who ran swiftly up the rickety steps, humming snatches of popular + songs the while, and not turning to see if indeed the two men were + following her. + </p> + <p> + She had the sheaf of narcissi still in her arms, and the door of her tiny + dressing-room being open, she ran straight in and threw the flowers down + in a confused, sweet-scented mass upon the small table that stood at one + end of the room, littered with pots and bottles, letters, mirrors, + powder-puffs, silk stockings, and cambric handkerchiefs. + </p> + <p> + Then she turned and faced the two men, a merry look of unalterable gaiety + dancing in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door, mon ami,” she said to de Batz, “and after that sit down + where you can, so long as it is not on my most precious pot of unguent or + a box of costliest powder.” + </p> + <p> + While de Batz did as he was told, she turned to Armand and said with a + pretty tone of interrogation in her melodious voice: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “St. Just, at your service, mademoiselle,” said Armand, bowing very low in + the most approved style obtaining at the English Court. + </p> + <p> + “St. Just?” she repeated, a look of puzzlement in her brown eyes. “Surely—” + </p> + <p> + “A kinsman of citizen St. Just, whom no doubt you know, mademoiselle,” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “My friend Armand St. Just,” interposed de Batz, “is practically a + new-comer in Paris. He lives in England habitually.” + </p> + <p> + “In England?” she exclaimed. “Oh! do tell me all about England. I would + love to go there. Perhaps I may have to go some day. Oh! do sit down, de + Batz,” she continued, talking rather volubly, even as a delicate blush + heightened the colour in her cheeks under the look of obvious admiration + from Armand St. Just’s expressive eyes. + </p> + <p> + She swept a handful of delicate cambric and silk from off a chair, making + room for de Batz’ portly figure. Then she sat upon the sofa, and with an + inviting gesture and a call from the eyes she bade Armand sit down next to + her. She leaned back against the cushions, and the table being close by, + she stretched out a hand and once more took up the bunch of narcissi, and + while she talked to Armand she held the snow-white blooms quite close to + her face—so close, in fact, that he could not see her mouth and + chin, only her dark eyes shone across at him over the heads of the + blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about England,” she reiterated, settling herself down among + the cushions like a spoilt child who is about to listen to an oft-told + favourite story. + </p> + <p> + Armand was vexed that de Batz was sitting there. He felt he could have + told this dainty little lady quite a good deal about England if only his + pompous, fat friend would have had the good sense to go away. + </p> + <p> + As it was, he felt unusually timid and gauche, not quite knowing what to + say, a fact which seemed to amuse Mlle. Lange not a little. + </p> + <p> + “I am very fond of England,” he said lamely; “my sister is married to an + Englishman, and I myself have taken up my permanent residence there.” + </p> + <p> + “Among the society of emigres?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + Then, as Armand made no reply, de Batz interposed quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you need not fear to admit it, my good Armand; Mademoiselle Lange, + has many friends among the emigres—have you not, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course,” she replied lightly; “I have friends everywhere. Their + political views have nothing to do with me. Artistes, I think, should have + naught to do with politics. You see, citizen St. Just, I never inquired of + you what were your views. Your name and kinship would proclaim you a + partisan of citizen Robespierre, yet I find you in the company of M. de + Batz; and you tell me that you live in England.” + </p> + <p> + “He is no partisan of citizen Robespierre,” again interposed de Batz; “in + fact, mademoiselle, I may safely tell you, I think, that my friend has but + one ideal on this earth, whom he has set up in a shrine, and whom he + worships with all the ardour of a Christian for his God.” + </p> + <p> + “How romantic!” she said, and she looked straight at Armand. “Tell me, + monsieur, is your ideal a woman or a man?” + </p> + <p> + His look answered her, even before he boldly spoke the two words: + </p> + <p> + “A woman.” + </p> + <p> + She took a deep draught of sweet, intoxicating scent from the narcissi, + and his gaze once more brought blushes to her cheeks. De Batz’ + good-humoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted access of confusion. + </p> + <p> + “That was well turned, friend Armand,” he said lightly; “but I assure you, + mademoiselle, that before I brought him here to-night his ideal was a + man.” + </p> + <p> + “A man!” she exclaimed, with a contemptuous little pout. “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificant flower—the + Scarlet Pimpernel,” replied de Batz. + </p> + <p> + “The Scarlet Pimpernel!” she ejaculated, dropping the flowers suddenly, + and gazing on Armand with wide, wondering eyes. “And do you know him, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt at + sitting so close to this charming little lady, and feeling that in a + measure his presence and his personality interested her. But he felt + irritated with de Batz, and angered at what he considered the latter’s + indiscretion. To him the very name of his leader was almost a sacred one; + he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who only care to name the idol + of their dreams with bated breath, and only in the ears of those who would + understand and sympathise. + </p> + <p> + Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with mademoiselle he + could have told her all about the Scarlet Pimpernel, knowing that in her + he would find a ready listener, a helping and a loving heart; but as it + was he merely replied tamely enough: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mademoiselle, I do know him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have seen him?” she queried eagerly; “spoken to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do tell me all about him. You know quite a number of us in France + have the greatest possible admiration for your national hero. We know, of + course, that he is an enemy of our Government—but, oh! we feel that + he is not an enemy of France because of that. We are a nation of heroes, + too, monsieur,” she added with a pretty, proud toss of the head; “we can + appreciate bravery and resource, and we love the mystery that surrounds + the personality of your Scarlet Pimpernel. But since you know him, + monsieur, tell me what is he like?” + </p> + <p> + Armand was smiling again. He was yielding himself up wholly to the charm + which emanated from this young girl’s entire being, from her gaiety and + her unaffectedness, her enthusiasm, and that obvious artistic temperament + which caused her to feel every sensation with superlative keenness and + thoroughness. + </p> + <p> + “What is he like?” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + “That, mademoiselle,” he replied, “I am not at liberty to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at liberty to tell me!” she exclaimed; “but monsieur, if I command + you—” + </p> + <p> + “At risk of falling forever under the ban of your displeasure, + mademoiselle, I would still remain silent on that subject.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed on him with obvious astonishment. It was quite an unusual thing + for this spoilt darling of an admiring public to be thus openly thwarted + in her whims. + </p> + <p> + “How tiresome and pedantic!” she said, with a shrug of her pretty + shoulders and a moue of discontent. “And, oh! how ungallant! You have + learnt ugly, English ways, monsieur; for there, I am told, men hold their + womenkind in very scant esteem. There!” she added, turning with a mock air + of hopelessness towards de Batz, “am I not a most unlucky woman? For the + past two years I have used my best endeavours to catch sight of that + interesting Scarlet Pimpernel; here do I meet monsieur, who actually knows + him (so he says), and he is so ungallant that he even refuses to satisfy + the first cravings of my just curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen St. Just will tell you nothing now, mademoiselle,” rejoined de + Batz with his good-humoured laugh; “it is my presence, I assure you, which + is setting a seal upon his lips. He is, believe me, aching to confide in + you, to share in your enthusiasm, and to see your beautiful eyes glowing + in response to his ardour when he describes to you the exploits of that + prince of heroes. En tete-a-tete one day, you will, I know, worm every + secret out of my discreet friend Armand.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle made no comment on this—that is to say, no audible + comment—but she buried the whole of her face for a few seconds among + the flowers, and Armand from amongst those flowers caught sight of a pair + of very bright brown eyes which shone on him with a puzzled look. + </p> + <p> + She said nothing more about the Scarlet Pimpernel or about England just + then, but after awhile she began talking of more indifferent subjects: the + state of the weather, the price of food, the discomforts of her own house, + now that the servants had been put on perfect equality with their masters. + </p> + <p> + Armand soon gathered that the burning questions of the day, the horrors of + massacres, the raging turmoil of politics, had not affected her very + deeply as yet. She had not troubled her pretty head very much about the + social and humanitarian aspect of the present seething revolution. She did + not really wish to think about it at all. An artiste to her finger-tips, + she was spending her young life in earnest work, striving to attain + perfection in her art, absorbed in study during the day, and in the + expression of what she had learnt in the evenings. + </p> + <p> + The terrors of the guillotine affected her a little, but somewhat vaguely + still. She had not realised that any dangers could assail her whilst she + worked for the artistic delectation of the public. + </p> + <p> + It was not that she did not understand what went on around her, but that + her artistic temperament and her environment had kept her aloof from it + all. The horrors of the Place de la Revolution made her shudder, but only + in the same way as the tragedies of M. Racine or of Sophocles which she + had studied caused her to shudder, and she had exactly the same sympathy + for poor Queen Marie Antoinette as she had for Mary Stuart, and shed as + many tears for King Louis as she did for Polyeucte. + </p> + <p> + Once de Batz mentioned the Dauphin, but mademoiselle put up her hand + quickly and said in a trembling voice, whilst the tears gathered in her + eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Do not speak of the child to me, de Batz. What can I, a lonely, + hard-working woman, do to help him? I try not to think of him, for if I + did, knowing my own helplessness, I feel that I could hate my countrymen, + and speak my bitter hatred of them across the footlights; which would be + more than foolish,” she added naively, “for it would not help the child, + and I should be sent to the guillotine. But oh sometimes I feel that I + would gladly die if only that poor little child-martyr were restored to + those who love him and given back once more to joy and happiness. But they + would not take my life for his, I am afraid,” she concluded, smiling + through her tears. “My life is of no value in comparison with his.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after this she dismissed her two visitors. De Batz, well content with + the result of this evening’s entertainment, wore an urbane, bland smile on + his rubicund face. Armand, somewhat serious and not a little in love, made + the hand-kiss with which he took his leave last as long as he could. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and see me again, citizen St. Just?” she asked after that + preliminary leave-taking. + </p> + <p> + “At your service, mademoiselle,” he replied with alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “How long do you stay in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “I may be called away at any time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, come to-morrow. I shall be free towards four o’clock. Square + du Roule. You cannot miss the house. Any one there will tell you where + lives citizeness Lange.” + </p> + <p> + “At your service, mademoiselle,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they took final + leave of her, spoke the gratitude and the joy which he felt. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE TEMPLE PRISON + </h2> + <p> + It was close on midnight when the two friends finally parted company + outside the doors of the theatre. The night air struck with biting + keenness against them when they emerged from the stuffy, overheated + building, and both wrapped their caped cloaks tightly round their + shoulders. Armand—more than ever now—was anxious to rid + himself of de Batz. The Gascon’s platitudes irritated him beyond the + bounds of forbearance, and he wanted to be alone, so that he might think + over the events of this night, the chief event being a little lady with an + enchanting voice and the most fascinating brown eyes he had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + Self-reproach, too, was fighting a fairly even fight with the excitement + that had been called up by that same pair of brown eyes. Armand for the + past four or five hours had acted in direct opposition to the earnest + advice given to him by his chief; he had renewed one friendship which had + been far better left in oblivion, and he had made an acquaintance which + already was leading him along a path that he felt sure his comrade would + disapprove. But the path was so profusely strewn with scented narcissi + that Armand’s sensitive conscience was quickly lulled to rest by the + intoxicating fragrance. + </p> + <p> + Looking neither to right nor left, he made his way very quickly up the Rue + Richelieu towards the Montmartre quarter, where he lodged. + </p> + <p> + De Batz stood and watched him for as long as the dim lights of the street + lamps illumined his slim, soberly-clad figure; then he turned on his heel + and walked off in the opposite direction. + </p> + <p> + His florid, pock-marked face wore an air of contentment not altogether + unmixed with a kind of spiteful triumph. + </p> + <p> + “So, my pretty Scarlet Pimpernel,” he muttered between his closed lips, + “you wish to meddle in my affairs, to have for yourself and your friends + the credit and glory of snatching the golden prize from the clutches of + these murderous brutes. Well, we shall see! We shall see which is the + wiliest—the French ferret or the English fox.” + </p> + <p> + He walked deliberately away from the busy part of the town, turning his + back on the river, stepping out briskly straight before him, and swinging + his gold-beaded cane as he walked. + </p> + <p> + The streets which he had to traverse were silent and deserted, save + occasionally where a drinking or an eating house had its swing-doors still + invitingly open. From these places, as de Batz strode rapidly by, came + sounds of loud voices, rendered raucous by outdoor oratory; volleys of + oaths hurled irreverently in the midst of impassioned speeches; + interruptions from rowdy audiences that vied with the speaker in + invectives and blasphemies; wordy war-fares that ended in noisy + vituperations; accusations hurled through the air heavy with tobacco smoke + and the fumes of cheap wines and of raw spirits. + </p> + <p> + De Batz took no heed of these as he passed, anxious only that the crowd of + eating-house politicians did not, as often was its wont, turn out + pele-mele into the street, and settle its quarrel by the weight of fists. + He did not wish to be embroiled in a street fight, which invariably ended + in denunciations and arrests, and was glad when presently he had left the + purlieus of the Palais Royal behind him, and could strike on his left + toward the lonely Faubourg du Temple. + </p> + <p> + From the dim distance far away came at intervals the mournful sound of a + roll of muffled drums, half veiled by the intervening hubbub of the busy + night life of the great city. It proceeded from the Place de la + Revolution, where a company of the National Guard were on night watch + round the guillotine. The dull, intermittent notes of the drum came as a + reminder to the free people of France that the watchdog of a vengeful + revolution was alert night and day, never sleeping, ever wakeful, “beating + up game for the guillotine,” as the new decree framed to-day by the + Government of the people had ordered that it should do. + </p> + <p> + From time to time now the silence of this lonely street was broken by a + sudden cry of terror, followed by the clash of arms, the inevitable volley + of oaths, the call for help, the final moan of anguish. They were the + ever-recurring brief tragedies which told of denunciations, of domiciliary + search, of sudden arrests, of an agonising desire for life and for freedom—for + life under these same horrible conditions of brutality and of servitude, + for freedom to breathe, if only a day or two longer, this air, polluted by + filth and by blood. + </p> + <p> + De Batz, hardened to these scenes, paid no heed to them. He had heard it + so often, that cry in the night, followed by death-like silence; it came + from comfortable bourgeois houses, from squalid lodgings, or lonely + cul-de-sac, wherever some hunted quarry was run to earth by the + newly-organised spies of the Committee of General Security. + </p> + <p> + Five and thirty livres for every head that falls trunkless into the basket + at the foot of the guillotine! Five and thirty pieces of silver, now as + then, the price of innocent blood. Every cry in the night, every call for + help, meant game for the guillotine, and five and thirty livres in the + hands of a Judas. + </p> + <p> + And de Batz walked on unmoved by what he saw and heard, swinging his cane + and looking satisfied. Now he struck into the Place de la Victoire, and + looked on one of the open-air camps that had recently been established + where men, women, and children were working to provide arms and + accoutrements for the Republican army that was fighting the whole of + Europe. + </p> + <p> + The people of France were up in arms against tyranny; and on the open + places of their mighty city they were encamped day and night forging those + arms which were destined to make them free, and in the meantime were + bending under a yoke of tyranny more complete, more grinding and absolute + than any that the most despotic kings had ever dared to inflict. + </p> + <p> + Here by the light of resin torches, at this late hour of the night, raw + lads were being drilled into soldiers, half-naked under the cutting blast + of the north wind, their knees shaking under them, their arms and legs + blue with cold, their stomachs empty, and their teeth chattering with + fear; women were sewing shirts for the great improvised army, with eyes + straining to see the stitches by the flickering light of the torches, + their throats parched with the continual inhaling of smoke-laden air; even + children, with weak, clumsy little fingers, were picking rags to be woven + into cloth again—all, all these slaves were working far into the night, + tired, hungry, and cold, but working unceasingly, as the country had + demanded it: “the people of France in arms against tyranny!” The people of + France had to set to work to make arms, to clothe the soldiers, the + defenders of the people’s liberty. + </p> + <p> + And from this crowd of people—men, women, and children—there + came scarcely a sound, save raucous whispers, a moan or a sigh quickly + suppressed. A grim silence reigned in this thickly-peopled camp; only the + crackling of the torches broke that silence now and then, or the flapping + of canvas in the wintry gale. They worked on sullen, desperate, and + starving, with no hope of payment save the miserable rations wrung from + poor tradespeople or miserable farmers, as wretched, as oppressed as + themselves; no hope of payment, only fear of punishment, for that was ever + present. + </p> + <p> + The people of France in arms against tyranny were not allowed to forget + that grim taskmaster with the two great hands stretched upwards, holding + the knife which descended mercilessly, indiscriminately on necks that did + not bend willingly to the task. + </p> + <p> + A grim look of gratified desire had spread over de Batz’ face as he + skirted the open-air camp. Let them toil, let them groan, let them starve! + The more these clouts suffer, the more brutal the heel that grinds them + down, the sooner will the Emperor’s money accomplish its work, the sooner + will these wretches be clamoring for the monarchy, which would mean a rich + reward in de Batz’ pockets. + </p> + <p> + To him everything now was for the best: the tyranny, the brutality, the + massacres. He gloated in the holocausts with as much satisfaction as did + the most bloodthirsty Jacobin in the Convention. He would with his own + hands have wielded the guillotine that worked too slowly for his ends. Let + that end justify the means, was his motto. What matter if the future King + of France walked up to his throne over steps made of headless corpses and + rendered slippery with the blood of martyrs? + </p> + <p> + The ground beneath de Batz’ feet was hard and white with the frost. + Overhead the pale, wintry moon looked down serene and placid on this giant + city wallowing in an ocean of misery. + </p> + <p> + There, had been but little snow as yet this year, and the cold was + intense. On his right now the Cimetiere des SS. Innocents lay peaceful and + still beneath the wan light of the moon. A thin covering of snow lay + evenly alike on grass mounds and smooth stones. Here and there a broken + cross with chipped arms still held pathetically outstretched, as if in a + final appeal for human love, bore mute testimony to senseless excesses and + spiteful desire for destruction. + </p> + <p> + But here within the precincts of the dwelling of the eternal Master a + solemn silence reigned; only the cold north wind shook the branches of the + yew, causing them to send forth a melancholy sigh into the night, and to + shed a shower of tiny crystals of snow like the frozen tears of the dead. + </p> + <p> + And round the precincts of the lonely graveyard, and down narrow streets + or open places, the night watchmen went their rounds, lanthorn in hand, + and every five minutes their monotonous call rang clearly out in the + night: + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, citizens! everything is quiet and at peace!” + </p> + <p> + We may take it that de Batz did not philosophise over-much on what went on + around him. He had walked swiftly up the Rue St. Martin, then turning + sharply to his right he found himself beneath the tall, frowning walls of + the Temple prison, the grim guardian of so many secrets, such terrible + despair, such unspeakable tragedies. + </p> + <p> + Here, too, as in the Place de la Revolution, an intermittent roll of + muffled drums proclaimed the ever-watchful presence of the National Guard. + But with that exception not a sound stirred round the grim and stately + edifice; there were no cries, no calls, no appeals around its walls. All + the crying and wailing was shut in by the massive stone that told no + tales. + </p> + <p> + Dim and flickering lights shone behind several of the small windows in the + facade of the huge labyrinthine building. Without any hesitation de Batz + turned down the Rue du Temple, and soon found himself in front of the main + gates which gave on the courtyard beyond. The sentinel challenged him, but + he had the pass-word, and explained that he desired to have speech with + citizen Heron. + </p> + <p> + With a surly gesture the guard pointed to the heavy bell-pull up against + the gate, and de Batz pulled it with all his might. The long clang of the + brazen bell echoed and re-echoed round the solid stone walls. Anon a tiny + judas in the gate was cautiously pushed open, and a peremptory voice once + again challenged the midnight intruder. + </p> + <p> + De Batz, more peremptorily this time, asked for citizen Heron, with whom + he had immediate and important business, and a glimmer of a piece of + silver which he held up close to the judas secured him the necessary + admittance. + </p> + <p> + The massive gates slowly swung open on their creaking hinges, and as de + Batz passed beneath the archway they closed again behind him. + </p> + <p> + The concierge’s lodge was immediately on his left. Again he was + challenged, and again gave the pass-word. But his face was apparently + known here, for no serious hindrance to proceed was put in his way. + </p> + <p> + A man, whose wide, lean frame was but ill-covered by a threadbare coat and + ragged breeches, and with soleless shoes on his feet, was told off to + direct the citoyen to citizen Heron’s rooms. The man walked slowly along + with bent knees and arched spine, and shuffled his feet as he walked; the + bunch of keys which he carried rattled ominously in his long, grimy hands; + the passages were badly lighted, and he also carried a lanthorn to guide + himself on the way. + </p> + <p> + Closely followed by de Batz, he soon turned into the central corridor, + which is open to the sky above, and was spectrally alight now with + flag-stones and walls gleaming beneath the silvery sheen of the moon, and + throwing back the fantastic elongated shadows of the two men as they + walked. + </p> + <p> + On the left, heavily barred windows gave on the corridor, as did here and + there the massive oaken doors, with their gigantic hinges and bolts, on + the steps of which squatted groups of soldiers wrapped in their cloaks, + with wild, suspicious eyes beneath their capotes, peering at the midnight + visitor as he passed. + </p> + <p> + There was no thought of silence here. The very walls seemed alive with + sounds, groans and tears, loud wails and murmured prayers; they exuded + from the stones and trembled on the frost-laden air. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally at one of the windows a pair of white hands would appear, + grasping the heavy iron bar, trying to shake it in its socket, and mayhap, + above the hands, the dim vision of a haggard face, a man’s or a woman’s, + trying to get a glimpse of the outside world, a final look at the sky, + before the last journey to the place of death to-morrow. Then one of the + soldiers, with a loud, angry oath, would struggle to his feet, and with + the butt-end of his gun strike at the thin, wan fingers till their hold on + the iron bar relaxed, and the pallid face beyond would sink back into the + darkness with a desperate cry of pain. + </p> + <p> + A quick, impatient sigh escaped de Batz’ lips. He had skirted the wide + courtyard in the wake of his guide, and from where he was he could see the + great central tower, with its tiny windows lighted from within, the grim + walls behind which the descendant of the world’s conquerors, the bearer of + the proudest name in Europe, and wearer of its most ancient crown, had + spent the last days of his brilliant life in abject shame, sorrow, and + degradation. The memory had swiftly surged up before him of that night + when he all but rescued King Louis and his family from this same miserable + prison: the guard had been bribed, the keeper corrupted, everything had + been prepared, save the reckoning with the one irresponsible factor—chance! + </p> + <p> + He had failed then and had tried again, and again had failed; a fortune + had been his reward if he had succeeded. He had failed, but even now, when + his footsteps echoed along the flagged courtyard, over which an + unfortunate King and Queen had walked on their way to their last + ignominious Calvary, he hugged himself with the satisfying thought that + where he had failed at least no one else had succeeded. + </p> + <p> + Whether that meddlesome English adventurer, who called himself the Scarlet + Pimpernel, had planned the rescue of King Louis or of Queen Marie + Antoinette at any time or not—that he did not know; but on one point + at least he was more than ever determined, and that was that no power on + earth should snatch from him the golden prize offered by Austria for the + rescue of the little Dauphin. + </p> + <p> + “I would sooner see the child perish, if I cannot save him myself,” was + the burning thought in this man’s tortuous brain. “And let that accursed + Englishman look to himself and to his d——d confederates,” he + added, muttering a fierce oath beneath his breath. + </p> + <p> + A winding, narrow stone stair, another length or two of corridor, and his + guide’s shuffling footsteps paused beside a low iron-studded door let into + the solid stone. De Batz dismissed his ill-clothed guide and pulled the + iron bell-handle which hung beside the door. + </p> + <p> + The bell gave forth a dull and broken clang, which seemed like an echo of + the wails of sorrow that peopled the huge building with their weird and + monotonous sounds. + </p> + <p> + De Batz—a thoroughly unimaginative person—waited patiently + beside the door until it was opened from within, and he was confronted by + a tall stooping figure, wearing a greasy coat of snuff-brown cloth, and + holding high above his head a lanthorn that threw its feeble light on de + Batz’ jovial face and form. + </p> + <p> + “It is even I, citizen Heron,” he said, breaking in swiftly on the other’s + ejaculation of astonishment, which threatened to send his name echoing the + whole length of corridors and passages, until round every corner of the + labyrinthine house of sorrow the murmur would be borne on the wings of the + cold night breeze: “Citizen Heron is in parley with ci-devant Baron de + Batz!” + </p> + <p> + A fact which would have been equally unpleasant for both these worthies. + </p> + <p> + “Enter!” said Heron curtly. + </p> + <p> + He banged the heavy door to behind his visitor; and de Batz, who seemed to + know his way about the place, walked straight across the narrow landing to + where a smaller door stood invitingly open. + </p> + <p> + He stepped boldly in, the while citizen Heron put the lanthorn down on the + floor of the couloir, and then followed his nocturnal visitor into the + room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE COMMITTEE’S AGENT + </h2> + <p> + It was a narrow, ill-ventilated place, with but one barred window that + gave on the courtyard. An evil-smelling lamp hung by a chain from the + grimy ceiling, and in a corner of the room a tiny iron stove shed more + unpleasant vapour than warm glow around. + </p> + <p> + There was but little furniture: two or three chairs, a table which was + littered with papers, and a corner-cupboard—the open doors of which + revealed a miscellaneous collection—bundles of papers, a tin + saucepan, a piece of cold sausage, and a couple of pistols. The fumes of + stale tobacco-smoke hovered in the air, and mingled most unpleasantly with + those of the lamp above, and of the mildew that penetrated through the + walls just below the roof. + </p> + <p> + Heron pointed to one of the chairs, and then sat down on the other, close + to the table, on which he rested his elbow. He picked up a short-stemmed + pipe, which he had evidently laid aside at the sound of the bell, and + having taken several deliberate long-drawn puffs from it, he said + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it now?” + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile de Batz had made himself as much at home in this + uncomfortable room as he possibly could. He had deposited his hat and + cloak on one rickety rush-bottomed chair, and drawn another close to the + fire. He sat down with one leg crossed over the other, his podgy be-ringed + hand wandering with loving gentleness down the length of his shapely calf. + </p> + <p> + He was nothing if not complacent, and his complacency seemed highly to + irritate his friend Heron. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” reiterated the latter, drawing his visitor’s attention + roughly to himself by banging his fist on the table. “Out with it! What do + you want? Why have you come at this hour of the night to compromise me, I + suppose—bring your own d—d neck and mine into the same noose—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Easy, easy, my friend,” responded de Batz imperturbably; “waste not so + much time in idle talk. Why do I usually come to see you? Surely you have + had no cause to complain hitherto of the unprofitableness of my visits to + you?” + </p> + <p> + “They will have to be still more profitable to me in the future,” growled + the other across the table. “I have more power now.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you have,” said de Batz suavely. “The new decree? What? You may + denounce whom you please, search whom you please, arrest whom you please, + and send whom you please to the Supreme Tribunal without giving them the + slightest chance of escape.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it in order to tell me all this that you have come to see me at this + hour of the night?” queried Heron with a sneer. + </p> + <p> + “No; I came at this hour of the night because I surmised that in the + future you and your hell-hounds would be so busy all day ‘beating up game + for the guillotine’ that the only time you would have at the disposal of + your friends would be the late hours of the night. I saw you at the + theatre a couple of hours ago, friend Heron; I didn’t think to find you + yet abed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather,” retorted de Batz blandly, “shall we say, what do YOU want, + citizen Heron?” + </p> + <p> + “For what? + </p> + <p> + “For my continued immunity at the hands of yourself and your pack?” + </p> + <p> + Heron pushed his chair brusquely aside and strode across the narrow room + deliberately facing the portly figure of de Batz, who with head slightly + inclined on one side, his small eyes narrowed till they appeared mere + slits in his pockmarked face, was steadily and quite placidly + contemplating this inhuman monster who had this very day been given + uncontrolled power over hundreds of thousands of human lives. + </p> + <p> + Heron was one of those tall men who look mean in spite of their height. + His head was small and narrow, and his hair, which was sparse and lank, + fell in untidy strands across his forehead. He stooped slightly from the + neck, and his chest, though wide, was hollow between the shoulders. But + his legs were big and bony, slightly bent at the knees, like those of an + ill-conditioned horse. + </p> + <p> + The face was thin and the cheeks sunken; the eyes, very large and + prominent, had a look in them of cold and ferocious cruelty, a look which + contrasted strangely with the weakness and petty greed apparent in the + mouth, which was flabby, with full, very red lips, and chin that sloped + away to the long thin neck. + </p> + <p> + Even at this moment as he gazed on de Batz the greed and the cruelty in + him were fighting one of those battles the issue of which is always + uncertain in men of his stamp. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “that I am prepared to treat with you any + longer. You are an intolerable bit of vermin that has annoyed the + Committee of General Security for over two years now. It would be + excessively pleasant to crush you once and for all, as one would a buzzing + fly.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasant, perhaps, but immeasurably foolish,” rejoined de Batz coolly; + “you would only get thirty-five livres for my head, and I offer you ten + times that amount for the self-same commodity.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know; but the whole thing has become too dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? I am very modest. I don’t ask a great deal. Let your hounds keep off + my scent.” + </p> + <p> + “You have too many d—d confederates.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Never mind about the others. I am not bargaining about them. Let them + look after themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Every time we get a batch of them, one or the other denounces you.” + </p> + <p> + “Under torture, I know,” rejoined de Batz placidly, holding his podgy + hands to the warm glow of the fire. “For you have started torture in your + house of Justice now, eh, friend Heron? You and your friend the Public + Prosecutor have gone the whole gamut of devilry—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that to you?” retorted the other gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, nothing! I was even proposing to pay you three thousand five + hundred livres for the privilege of taking no further interest in what + goes on inside this prison!” + </p> + <p> + “Three thousand five hundred!” ejaculated Heron involuntarily, and this + time even his eyes lost their cruelty; they joined issue with the mouth in + an expression of hungering avarice. + </p> + <p> + “Two little zeros added to the thirty-five, which is all you would get for + handing me over to your accursed Tribunal,” said de Batz, and, as if + thoughtlessly, his hand wandered to the inner pocket of his coat, and a + slight rustle as of thin crisp paper brought drops of moisture to the lips + of Heron. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone for three weeks and the money is yours,” concluded de Batz + pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + There was silence in the room now. Through the narrow barred window the + steely rays of the moon fought with the dim yellow light of the oil lamp, + and lit up the pale face of the Committee’s agent with its lines of + cruelty in sharp conflict with those of greed. + </p> + <p> + “Well! is it a bargain?” asked de Batz at last in his usual smooth, oily + voice, as he half drew from out his pocket that tempting little bundle of + crisp printed paper. “You have only to give me the usual receipt for the + money and it is yours.” + </p> + <p> + Heron gave a vicious snarl. + </p> + <p> + “It is dangerous, I tell you. That receipt, if it falls into some cursed + meddler’s hands, would send me straight to the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + “The receipt could only fall into alien hands,” rejoined de Batz blandly, + “if I happened to be arrested, and even in that case they could but fall + into those of the chief agent of the Committee of General Security, and he + hath name Heron. You must take some risks, my friend. I take them too. We + are each in the other’s hands. The bargain is quite fair.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment or two longer Heron appeared to be hesitating whilst de Batz + watched him with keen intentness. He had no doubt himself as to the issue. + He had tried most of these patriots in his own golden crucible, and had + weighed their patriotism against Austrian money, and had never found the + latter wanting. + </p> + <p> + He had not been here to-night if he were not quite sure. This inveterate + conspirator in the Royalist cause never took personal risks. He looked on + Heron now, smiling to himself the while with perfect satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Committee’s agent with sudden decision, “I’ll take + the money. But on one condition.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That you leave little Capet alone.” + </p> + <p> + “The Dauphin!” + </p> + <p> + “Call him what you like,” said Heron, taking a step nearer to de Batz, and + from his great height glowering down in fierce hatred and rage upon his + accomplice; “call the young devil what you like, but leave us to deal with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “To kill him, you mean? Well, how can I prevent it, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “You and your like are always plotting to get him out of here. I won’t + have it. I tell you I won’t have it. If the brat disappears I am a dead + man. Robespierre and his gang have told me as much. So you leave him + alone, or I’ll not raise a finger to help you, but will lay my own hands + on your accursed neck.” + </p> + <p> + He looked so ferocious and so merciless then, that despite himself, the + selfish adventurer, the careless self-seeking intriguer, shuddered with a + quick wave of unreasoning terror. He turned away from Heron’s piercing + gaze, the gaze of a hyena whose prey is being snatched from beneath its + nails. For a moment he stared thoughtfully into the fire. + </p> + <p> + He heard the other man’s heavy footsteps cross and re-cross the narrow + room, and was conscious of the long curved shadow creeping up the mildewed + wall or retreating down upon the carpetless floor. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, without any warning he felt a grip upon his shoulder. He gave a + start and almost uttered a cry of alarm which caused Heron to laugh. The + Committee’s agent was vastly amused at his friend’s obvious access of + fear. There was nothing that he liked better than that he should inspire + dread in the hearts of all those with whom he came in contact. + </p> + <p> + “I am just going on my usual nocturnal round,” he said abruptly. “Come + with me, citizen de Batz.” + </p> + <p> + A certain grim humour was apparent in his face as he proffered this + invitation, which sounded like a rough command. As de Batz seemed to + hesitate he nodded peremptorily to him to follow. Already he had gone into + the hall and picked up his lanthorn. From beneath his waistcoat he drew + forth a bunch of keys, which he rattled impatiently, calling to his friend + to come. + </p> + <p> + “Come, citizen,” he said roughly. “I wish to show you the one treasure in + this house which your d—d fingers must not touch.” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically de Batz rose at last. He tried to be master of the terror + which was invading his very bones. He would not own to himself even that + he was afraid, and almost audibly he kept murmuring to himself that he had + no cause for fear. + </p> + <p> + Heron would never touch him. The spy’s avarice, his greed of money were a + perfect safeguard for any man who had the control of millions, and Heron + knew, of course, that he could make of this inveterate plotter a + comfortable source of revenue for himself. Three weeks would soon be over, + and fresh bargains could be made time and again, while de Batz was alive + and free. + </p> + <p> + Heron was still waiting at the door, even whilst de Batz wondered what + this nocturnal visitation would reveal to him of atrocity and of outrage. + He made a final effort to master his nervousness, wrapped his cloak + tightly around him, and followed his host out of the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE + </h2> + <p> + Once more he was being led through the interminable corridors of the + gigantic building. Once more from the narrow, barred windows close by him + he heard the heart-breaking sighs, the moans, the curses which spoke of + tragedies that he could only guess. + </p> + <p> + Heron was walking on ahead of him, preceding him by some fifty metres or + so, his long legs covering the distances more rapidly than de Batz could + follow them. The latter knew his way well about the old prison. Few men in + Paris possessed that accurate knowledge of its intricate passages and its + network of cells and halls which de Batz had acquired after close and + persevering study. + </p> + <p> + He himself could have led Heron to the doors of the tower where the little + Dauphin was being kept imprisoned, but unfortunately he did not possess + the keys that would open all the doors which led to it. There were + sentinels at every gate, groups of soldiers at each end of every corridor, + the great—now empty—courtyards, thronged with prisoners in the + daytime, were alive with soldiery even now. Some walked up and down with + fixed bayonet on shoulder, others sat in groups on the stone copings or + squatted on the ground, smoking or playing cards, but all of them were + alert and watchful. + </p> + <p> + Heron was recognised everywhere the moment he appeared, and though in + these days of equality no one presented arms, nevertheless every guard + stood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened a gate for the + powerful chief agent of the Committee of General Security. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him to the + presence of the martyred little King. + </p> + <p> + Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding the other. + De Batz walked leisurely, thought-fully, taking stock of everything he saw—the + gates, the barriers, the positions of sentinels and warders, of everything + in fact that might prove a help or a hindrance presently, when the great + enterprise would be hazarded. At last—still in the wake of Heron—he + found himself once more behind the main entrance gate, underneath the + archway on which gave the guichet of the concierge. + </p> + <p> + Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: two were + doing sentinel outside the guichet, but there were others in a file + against the wall. + </p> + <p> + Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge’s lodge, + then, as it was not immediately opened from within, he pushed it open with + his foot. + </p> + <p> + “The concierge?” he queried peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + From a corner of the small panelled room there came a grunt and a reply: + </p> + <p> + “Gone to bed, quoi!” + </p> + <p> + The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron’s door slowly struggled + to his feet. He had been squatting somewhere in the gloom, and had been + roused by Heron’s rough command. He slouched forward now still carrying a + boot in one hand and a blacking brush in the other. + </p> + <p> + “Take this lanthorn, then,” said the chief agent with a snarl directed at + the sleeping concierge, “and come along. Why are you still here?” he + added, as if in after-thought. + </p> + <p> + “The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his + boots,” muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously on + the floor; “an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this... twenty cells to + sweep out every day... and boots to clean for every aristo of a concierge + or warder who demands it.... Is that work for a free born patriot, I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont,” retorted Heron dryly, + “you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of others ready to do + your work...” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I have had + fourteen days of this convict work...” + </p> + <p> + He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no further + heed to him, turned abruptly towards a group of soldiers stationed + outside. + </p> + <p> + “En avant, corporal!” he said; “bring four men with you... we go up to the + tower.” + </p> + <p> + The small procession was formed. On ahead the lanthorn-bearer, with arched + spine and shaking knees, dragging shuffling footsteps along the corridor, + then the corporal with two of his soldiers, then Heron closely followed by + de Batz, and finally two more soldiers bringing up the rear. + </p> + <p> + Heron had given the bunch of keys to the man Dupont. The latter, on ahead, + holding the lanthorn aloft, opened one gate after another. At each gate he + waited for the little procession to file through, then he re-locked the + gate and passed on. + </p> + <p> + Up two or three flights of winding stairs set in the solid stone, and the + final heavy door was reached. + </p> + <p> + De Batz was meditating. Heron’s precautions for the safe-guarding of the + most precious life in Europe were more complete than he had anticipated. + What lavish liberality would be required! what superhuman ingenuity and + boundless courage in order to break down all the barriers that had been + set up round that young life that flickered inside this grim tower! + </p> + <p> + Of these three requisites the corpulent, complacent intriguer possessed + only the first in a considerable degree. He could be exceedingly liberal + with the foreign money which he had at his disposal. As for courage and + ingenuity, he believed that he possessed both, but these qualities had not + served him in very good stead in the attempts which he had made at + different times to rescue the unfortunate members of the Royal Family from + prison. His overwhelming egotism would not admit for a moment that in + ingenuity and pluck the Scarlet Pimpernel and his English followers could + outdo him, but he did wish to make quite sure that they would not + interfere with him in the highly remunerative work of saving the Dauphin. + </p> + <p> + Heron’s impatient call roused him from these meditations. The little party + had come to a halt outside a massive iron-studded door. + </p> + <p> + At a sign from the chief agent the soldiers stood at attention. He then + called de Batz and the lanthorn-bearer to him. + </p> + <p> + He took a key from his breeches pocket, and with his own hand unlocked the + massive door. He curtly ordered the lanthorn-bearer and de Batz to go + through, then he himself went in, and finally once more re-locked the door + behind him, the soldiers remaining on guard on the landing outside. + </p> + <p> + Now the three men were standing in a square antechamber, dank and dark, + devoid of furniture save for a large cupboard that filled the whole of one + wall; the others, mildewed and stained, were covered with a greyish paper, + which here and there hung away in strips. + </p> + <p> + Heron crossed this ante-chamber, and with his knuckles rapped against a + small door opposite. + </p> + <p> + “Hola!” he shouted, “Simon, mon vieux, tu es la?” + </p> + <p> + From the inner room came the sound of voices, a man’s and a woman’s, and + now, as if in response to Heron’s call, the shrill tones of a child. There + was some shuffling, too, of footsteps, and some pushing about of + furniture, then the door was opened, and a gruff voice invited the belated + visitors to enter. + </p> + <p> + The atmosphere in this further room was so thick that at first de Batz was + only conscious of the evil smells that pervaded it; smells which were made + up of the fumes of tobacco, of burning coke, of a smoky lamp, and of stale + food, and mingling through it all the pungent odour of raw spirits. + </p> + <p> + Heron had stepped briskly in, closely followed by de Batz. The man Dupont + with a mutter of satisfaction put down his lanthorn and curled himself up + in a corner of the antechamber. His interest in the spectacle so favoured + by citizen Heron had apparently been exhausted by constant repetition. + </p> + <p> + De Batz looked round him with keen curiosity with which disgust was ready + enough to mingle. + </p> + <p> + The room itself might have been a large one; it was almost impossible to + judge of its size, so crammed was it with heavy and light furniture of + every conceivable shape and type. There was a monumental wooden bedstead + in one corner, a huge sofa covered in black horsehair in another. A large + table stood in the centre of the room, and there were at least four + capacious armchairs round it. There were wardrobes and cabinets, a + diminutive washstand and a huge pier-glass, there were innumerable boxes + and packing-cases, cane-bottomed chairs and what-nots every-where. The + place looked like a depot for second-hand furniture. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of all the litter de Batz at last became conscious of two + people who stood staring at him and at Heron. He saw a man before him, + somewhat fleshy of build, with smooth, mouse-coloured hair brushed away + from a central parting, and ending in a heavy curl above each ear; the + eyes were wide open and pale in colour, the lips unusually thick and with + a marked downward droop. Close beside him stood a youngish-looking woman, + whose unwieldy bulk, however, and pallid skin revealed the sedentary life + and the ravages of ill-health. + </p> + <p> + Both appeared to regard Heron with a certain amount of awe, and de Batz + with a vast measure of curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the woman stood aside, and in the far corner of the room there + was displayed to the Gascon Royalist’s cold, calculating gaze the pathetic + figure of the uncrowned King of France. + </p> + <p> + “How is it Capet is not yet in bed?” queried Heron as soon as he caught + sight of the child. + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t say his prayers this evening,” replied Simon with a coarse + laugh, “and wouldn’t drink his medicine. Bah!” he added with a snarl, + “this is a place for dogs and not for human folk.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are not satisfied, mon vieux,” retorted Heron curtly, “you can + send in your resignation when you like. There are plenty who will be glad + of the place.” + </p> + <p> + The ex-cobbler gave another surly growl and expectorated on the floor in + the direction where stood the child. + </p> + <p> + “Little vermin,” he said, “he is more trouble than man or woman can bear.” + </p> + <p> + The boy in the meanwhile seemed to take but little notice of the vulgar + insults put upon him by his guardian. He stood, a quaint, impassive little + figure, more interested apparently in de Batz, who was a stranger to him, + than in the three others whom he knew. De Batz noted that the child looked + well nourished, and that he was warmly clad in a rough woollen shirt and + cloth breeches, with coarse grey stockings and thick shoes; but he also + saw that the clothes were indescribably filthy, as were the child’s hands + and face. The golden curls, among which a young and queenly mother had + once loved to pass her slender perfumed fingers, now hung bedraggled, + greasy, and lank round the little face, from the lines of which every + trace of dignity and of simplicity had long since been erased. + </p> + <p> + There was no look of the martyr about this child now, even though, mayhap, + his small back had often smarted under his vulgar tutor’s rough blows; + rather did the pale young face wear the air of sullen indifference, and an + abject desire to please, which would have appeared heart-breaking to any + spectator less self-seeking and egotistic than was this Gascon + conspirator. + </p> + <p> + Madame Simon had called him to her while her man and the citizen Heron + were talking, and the child went readily enough, without any sign of fear. + She took the corner of her coarse dirty apron in her hand, and wiped the + boy’s mouth and face with it. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t keep him clean,” she said with an apologetic shrug of the + shoulders and a look at de Batz. “There now,” she added, speaking once + more to the child, “drink like a good boy, and say your lesson to please + maman, and then you shall go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + She took a glass from the table, which was filled with a clear liquid that + de Batz at first took to be water, and held it to the boy’s lips. He + turned his head away and began to whimper. + </p> + <p> + “Is the medicine very nasty?” queried de Batz. + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! but no, citizen,” exclaimed the woman, “it is good strong eau + de vie, the best that can be procured. Capet likes it really—don’t + you, Capet? It makes you happy and cheerful, and sleep well of nights. + Why, you had a glassful yesterday and enjoyed it. Take it now,” she added + in a quick whisper, seeing that Simon and Heron were in close conversation + together; “you know it makes papa angry if you don’t have at least half a + glass now and then.” + </p> + <p> + The child wavered for a moment longer, making a quaint little grimace of + distaste. But at last he seemed to make up his mind that it was wisest to + yield over so small a matter, and he took the glass from Madame Simon. + </p> + <p> + And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St. Louis quaffing a glass of + raw spirit at the bidding of a rough cobbler’s wife, whom he called by the + fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman! + </p> + <p> + Selfish egoist though he was, de Batz turned away in loathing. + </p> + <p> + Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction. He chuckled + audibly when the child drank the spirit, and called Heron’s attention to + him, whilst a look of triumph lit up his wide, pale eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And now, mon petit,” he said jovially, “let the citizen hear you say your + prayers!” + </p> + <p> + He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal of enjoyment + for the visitor from what was coming. From a heap of litter in a corner of + the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet adorned with a tricolour + cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, which had once been white, and + had golden fleur-de-lys embroidered upon it. + </p> + <p> + The cap he set on the child’s head, and the flag he threw upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Capet—your prayers!” he said with another chuckle of + amusement. + </p> + <p> + All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiously coarse. + He banged against the furniture as he moved about the room, kicking a + footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair. De Batz instinctively + thought of the perfumed stillness of the rooms at Versailles, of the army + of elegant high-born ladies who had ministered to the wants of this child, + who stood there now before him, a cap on his yellow hair, and his shoulder + held up to his ear with that gesture of careless indifference peculiar to + children when they are sullen or uncared for. + </p> + <p> + Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag which + Henri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted in + the face of the armies of Europe. The son of the Bourbons was spitting on + their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its tattered folds. With shrill + cracked voice he sang the Carmagnole, “Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a la + lanterne!” until de Batz himself felt inclined to stop his ears and to + rush from the place in horror. + </p> + <p> + Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France by the + grace of God, the child of the Bourbons, the eldest son of the Church, was + stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, which he had been + taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he danced, his eyes shone with + the unnatural light kindled in them by the intoxicating liquor; with one + slender hand he waved the red cap with the tricolour cockade, and shouted + “Vive la Republique!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with obvious + pride, and a kind of rough maternal affection. Simon was gazing on Heron + for approval, and the latter nodded his head, murmuring words of + encouragement and of praise. + </p> + <p> + “Thy catechism now, Capet—thy catechism,” shouted Simon in a hoarse + voice. + </p> + <p> + The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs wide + apart, and feet firmly planted on the fleur-de-lys, the glory of his + forefathers. + </p> + <p> + “Thy name?” queried Simon. + </p> + <p> + “Louis Capet,” replied the child in a clear, high-pitched voice. + </p> + <p> + “What art thou?” + </p> + <p> + “A citizen of the Republic of France.” + </p> + <p> + “What was thy father?” + </p> + <p> + “Louis Capet, ci-devant king, a tyrant who perished by the will of the + people!” + </p> + <p> + “What was thy mother?” + </p> + <p> + “A ——” + </p> + <p> + De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man’s private + character was, he had been born a gentleman, and his every instinct + revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene had positively sickened + him. He turned precipitately towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “How now, citizen?” queried the Committee’s agent with a sneer. “Are you + not satisfied with what you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden chair,” + interposed Simon the cobbler with a sneer, “and me and my wife kneeling + and kissing his hand—what?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis the heat of the room,” stammered de Batz, who was fumbling with the + lock of the door; “my head began to swim.” + </p> + <p> + “Spit on their accursed flag, then, like a good patriot, like Capet,” + retorted Simon gruffly. “Here, Capet, my son,” he added, pulling the boy + by the arm with a rough gesture, “get thee to bed; thou art quite drunk + enough to satisfy any good Republican.” + </p> + <p> + By way of a caress he tweaked the boy’s ear and gave him a prod in the + back with his bent knee. He was not wilfully unkind, for just now he was + not angry with the lad; rather was he vastly amused with the effect + Capet’s prayer and Capet’s recital of his catechism had had on the + visitor. + </p> + <p> + As to the lad, the intensity of excitement in him was immediately followed + by an overwhelming desire for sleep. Without any preliminary of undressing + or of washing, he tumbled, just as he was, on to the sofa. Madame Simon, + with quite pleasing solicitude, arranged a pillow under his head, and the + very next moment the child was fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis well, citoyen Simon,” said Heron in his turn, going towards the + door. “I’ll report favourably on you to the Committee of Public Security. + As for the citoyenne, she had best be more careful,” he added, turning to + the woman Simon with a snarl on his evil face. “There was no cause to + arrange a pillow under the head of that vermin’s spawn. Many good patriots + have no pillows to put under their heads. Take that pillow away; and I + don’t like the shoes on the brat’s feet; sabots are quite good enough.” + </p> + <p> + Citoyenne Simon made no reply. Some sort of retort had apparently hovered + on her lips, but had been checked, even before it was uttered, by a + peremptory look from her husband. Simon the cobbler, snarling in speech + but obsequious in manner, prepared to accompany the citizen agent to the + door. + </p> + <p> + De Batz was taking a last look at the sleeping child; the uncrowned King + of France was wrapped in a drunken sleep, with the last spoken insult upon + his dead mother still hovering on his childish lips. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. ARCADES AMBO + </h2> + <p> + “That is the way we conduct our affairs, citizen,” said Heron gruffly, as + he once more led his guest back into his office. + </p> + <p> + It was his turn to be complacent now. De Batz, for once in his life cowed + by what he had seen, still wore a look of horror and disgust upon his + florid face. + </p> + <p> + “What devils you all are!” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “We are good patriots,” retorted Heron, “and the tyrant’s spawn leads but + the life that hundreds of thousands of children led whilst his father + oppressed the people. Nay! what am I saying? He leads a far better, far + happier life. He gets plenty to eat and plenty of warm clothes. Thousands + of innocent children, who have not the crimes of a despot father upon + their conscience, have to starve whilst he grows fat.” + </p> + <p> + The leer in his face was so evil that once more de Batz felt that eerie + feeling of terror creeping into his bones. Here were cruelty and + bloodthirsty ferocity personified to their utmost extent. At thought of + the Bourbons, or of all those whom he considered had been in the past the + oppressors of the people, Heron was nothing but a wild and ravenous beast, + hungering for revenge, longing to bury his talons and his fangs into the + body of those whose heels had once pressed on his own neck. + </p> + <p> + And de Batz knew that even with millions or countless money at his command + he could not purchase from this carnivorous brute the life and liberty of + the son of King Louis. No amount of bribery would accomplish that; it + would have to be ingenuity pitted against animal force, the wiliness of + the fox against the power of the wolf. + </p> + <p> + Even now Heron was darting savagely suspicious looks upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall get rid of the Simons,” he said; “there’s something in that + woman’s face which I don’t trust. They shall go within the next few hours, + or as soon as I can lay my hands upon a better patriot than that + mealy-mouthed cobbler. And it will be better not to have a woman about the + place. Let me see—to-day is Thursday, or else Friday morning. By + Sunday I’ll get those Simons out of the place. Methought I saw you ogling + that woman,” he added, bringing his bony fist crashing down on the table + so that papers, pen, and inkhorn rattled loudly; “and if I thought that + you—” + </p> + <p> + De Batz thought it well at this point to finger once more nonchalantly the + bundle of crisp paper in the pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Only on that one condition,” reiterated Heron in a hoarse voice; “if you + try to get at Capet, I’ll drag you to the Tribunal with my own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Always presuming that you can get me, my friend,” murmured de Batz, who + was gradually regaining his accustomed composure. + </p> + <p> + Already his active mind was busily at work. One or two things which he had + noted in connection with his visit to the Dauphin’s prison had struck him + as possibly useful in his schemes. But he was disappointed that Heron was + getting rid of the Simons. The woman might have been very useful and more + easily got at than a man. The avarice of the French bourgeoise would have + proved a promising factor. But this, of course, would now be out of the + question. At the same time it was not because Heron raved and stormed and + uttered cries like a hyena that he, de Batz, meant to give up an + enterprise which, if successful, would place millions into his own pocket. + </p> + <p> + As for that meddling Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and his + crack-brained followers, they must be effectually swept out of the way + first of all. De Batz felt that they were the real, the most likely + hindrance to his schemes. He himself would have to go very cautiously to + work, since apparently Heron would not allow him to purchase immunity for + himself in that one matter, and whilst he was laying his plans with + necessary deliberation so as to ensure his own safety, that accursed + Scarlet Pimpernel would mayhap snatch the golden prize from the Temple + prison right under his very nose. + </p> + <p> + When he thought of that the Gascon Royalist felt just as vindictive as did + the chief agent of the Committee of General Security. + </p> + <p> + While these thoughts were coursing through de Batz’ head, Heron had been + indulging in a volley of vituperation. + </p> + <p> + “If that little vermin escapes,” he said, “my life will not be worth an + hour’s purchase. In twenty-four hours I am a dead man, thrown to the + guillotine like those dogs of aristocrats! You say I am a night-bird, + citizen. I tell you that I do not sleep night or day thinking of that brat + and the means to keep him safely under my hand. I have never trusted those + Simons—” + </p> + <p> + “Not trusted them!” exclaimed de Batz; “surely you could not find anywhere + more inhuman monsters!” + </p> + <p> + “Inhuman monsters?” snarled Heron. “Bah! they don’t do their business + thoroughly; we want the tyrant’s spawn to become a true Republican and a + patriot—aye! to make of him such a one that even if you and your + cursed confederates got him by some hellish chance, he would be no use to + you as a king, a tyrant to set above the people, to set up in your + Versailles, your Louvre, to eat off golden plates and wear satin clothes. + You have seen the brat! By the time he is a man he should forget how to + eat save with his fingers, and get roaring drunk every night. That’s what + we want!—to make him so that he shall be no use to you, even if you + did get him away; but you shall not! You shall not, not if I have to + strangle him with my own hands.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up his short-stemmed pipe and pulled savagely at it for awhile. + De Batz was meditating. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said after a little while, “you are agitating yourself + quite unnecessarily, and gravely jeopardising your prospects of getting a + comfortable little income through keeping your fingers off my person. Who + said I wanted to meddle with the child?” + </p> + <p> + “You had best not,” growled Heron. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. You have said that before. But do you not think that you would + be far wiser, instead of directing your undivided attention to my unworthy + self, to turn your thoughts a little to one whom, believe me, you have far + greater cause to fear?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” + </p> + <p> + “The Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the man they call the Scarlet Pimpernel?” + </p> + <p> + “Himself. Have you not suffered from his activity, friend Heron? I fancy + that citizen Chauvelin and citizen Collot would have quite a tale to tell + about him.” + </p> + <p> + “They ought both to have been guillotined for that blunder last autumn at + Boulogne.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care that the same accusation be not laid at your door this year, my + friend,” commented de Batz placidly. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris even now.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil he is!” + </p> + <p> + “And on what errand, think you?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence, and then de Batz continued with slow and + dramatic emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “That of rescuing your most precious prisoner from the Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” Heron queried savagely. + </p> + <p> + “I guessed.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a man in the Theatre National to-day...” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.” + </p> + <p> + “D—— him! Where can I find him?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred livres, which + I am pining to hand over to you, my friend, and I will tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the money?” + </p> + <p> + “In my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of paper + towards him, took up a pen, and wrote a few words rapidly in a loose, + scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then handed it across the + table to de Batz. + </p> + <p> + “Will that do?” he asked briefly. + </p> + <p> + The other was reading the note through carefully. + </p> + <p> + “I see you only grant me a fortnight,” he remarked casually. + </p> + <p> + “For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an extension you + must pay more.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” assented de Batz coolly, as he folded the paper across. “On + the whole a fortnight’s immunity in France these days is quite a pleasant + respite. And I prefer to keep in touch with you, friend Heron. I’ll call + on you again this day fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + He took out a letter-case from his pocket. Out of this he drew a packet of + bank-notes, which he laid on the table in front of Heron, then he placed + the receipt carefully into the letter-case, and this back into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The light of + ferocity had entirely gone from his eyes; momentarily the whole expression + of the face was one of satisfied greed. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said at last when he had assured himself that the number of + notes was quite correct, and he had transferred the bundle of crisp papers + into an inner pocket of his coat—“well, what about your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew him years ago,” rejoined de Batz coolly; “he is a kinsman of + citizen St. Just. I know that he is one of the confederates of the Scarlet + Pimpernel.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does he lodge?” + </p> + <p> + “That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and afterwards in + the green-room; he was making himself agreeable to the citizeness Lange. I + heard him ask for leave to call on her to-morrow at four o’clock. You know + where she lodges, of course!” + </p> + <p> + He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap of + paper, then he quietly rose to go. He took up his cloak and once again + wrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more to be said, and he + was anxious to go. + </p> + <p> + The leave-taking between the two men was neither cordial nor more than + barely courteous. De Batz nodded to Heron, who escorted him to the outside + door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a soldier who was doing + sentinel at the further end of the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “Show this citizen the way to the guichet,” he said curtly. “Good-night, + citizen,” he added finally, nodding to de Batz. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue du Temple + between the great outer walls of the prison and the silent little church + and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where in the central tower a + small grated window lighted from within showed the place where the last of + the Bourbons was being taught to desecrate the traditions of his race, at + the bidding of a mender of shoes—a naval officer cashiered for + misconduct and fraud. + </p> + <p> + Such is human nature in its self-satisfied complacency that de Batz, + calmly ignoring the vile part which he himself had played in the last + quarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee’s agent, found it + in him to think of Heron with loathing, and even of the cobbler Simon with + disgust. + </p> + <p> + Then with a self-righteous sense of duty performed, and an indifferent + shrug of the shoulders, he dismissed Heron from his mind. + </p> + <p> + “That meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel will find his hands over-full + to-morrow, and mayhap will not interfere in my affairs for some time to + come,” he mused; “meseems that that will be the first time that a member + of his precious League has come within the clutches of such unpleasant + people as the sleuth-hounds of my friend Heron!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. WHAT LOVE CAN DO + </h2> + <p> + “Yesterday you were unkind and ungallant. How could I smile when you + seemed so stern?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday I was not alone with you. How could I say what lay next my + heart, when indifferent ears could catch the words that were meant only + for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur, do they teach you in England how to make pretty speeches?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mademoiselle, that is an instinct that comes into birth by the fire + of a woman’s eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Lange was sitting upon a small sofa of antique design, with + cushions covered in faded silks heaped round her pretty head. Armand + thought that she looked like that carved cameo which his sister Marguerite + possessed. + </p> + <p> + He himself sat on a low chair at some distance from her. He had brought + her a large bunch of early violets, for he knew that she was fond of + flowers, and these lay upon her lap, against the opalescent grey of her + gown. + </p> + <p> + She seemed a little nervous and agitated, his obvious admiration bringing + a ready blush to her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The room itself appeared to Armand to be a perfect frame for the charming + picture which she presented. The furniture in it was small and old; tiny + tables of antique Vernis-Martin, softly faded tapestries, a pale-toned + Aubusson carpet. Everything mellow and in a measure pathetic. Mademoiselle + Lange, who was an orphan, lived alone under the duennaship of a + middle-aged relative, a penniless hanger-on of the successful young + actress, who acted as her chaperone, housekeeper, and maid, and kept + unseemly or over-bold gallants at bay. + </p> + <p> + She told Armand all about her early life, her childhood in the backshop of + Maitre Meziere, the jeweller, who was a relative of her mother’s; of her + desire for an artistic career, her struggles with the middle-class + prejudices of her relations, her bold defiance of them, and final + independence. + </p> + <p> + She made no secret of her humble origin, her want of education in those + days; on the contrary, she was proud of what she had accomplished for + herself. She was only twenty years of age, and already held a leading + place in the artistic world of Paris. + </p> + <p> + Armand listened to her chatter, interested in everything she said, + questioning her with sympathy and discretion. She asked him a good deal + about himself, and about his beautiful sister Marguerite, who, of course, + had been the most brilliant star in that most brilliant constellation, the + Comedie Francaise. She had never seen Marguerite St. Just act, but, of + course, Paris still rang with her praises, and all art-lovers regretted + that she should have married and left them to mourn for her. + </p> + <p> + Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England. Mademoiselle + professed a vast interest in the citizen’s country of adoption. + </p> + <p> + “I had always,” she said, “thought it an ugly country, with the noise and + bustle of industrial life going on everywhere, and smoke and fog to cover + the landscape and to stunt the trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in future, mademoiselle,” he replied, “must you think of it as one + carpeted with verdure, where in the spring the orchard trees covered with + delicate blossom would speak to you of fairyland, where the dewy grass + stretches its velvety surface in the shadow of ancient monumental oaks, + and ivy-covered towers rear their stately crowns to the sky.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Scarlet Pimpernel? Tell me about him, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle, what can I tell you that you do not already know? The + Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who has devoted his entire existence to the + benefit of suffering mankind. He has but one thought, and that is for + those who need him; he hears but one sound the cry of the oppressed.” + </p> + <p> + “But they do say, monsieur, that philanthropy plays but a sorry part in + your hero’s schemes. They aver that he looks on his own efforts and the + adventures through which he goes only in the light of sport.” + </p> + <p> + “Like all Englishmen, mademoiselle, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a little + ashamed of sentiment. He would deny its very existence with his lips, even + whilst his noble heart brimmed over with it. Sport? Well! mayhap the + sporting instinct is as keen as that of charity—the race for lives, + the tussle for the rescue of human creatures, the throwing of a life on + the hazard of a die.” + </p> + <p> + “They fear him in France, monsieur. He has saved so many whose death had + been decreed by the Committee of Public Safety.” + </p> + <p> + “Please God, he will save many yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur, the poor little boy in the Temple prison!” + </p> + <p> + “He has your sympathy, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Of every right-minded woman in France, monsieur. Oh!” she added with a + pretty gesture of enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, and looking at + Armand with large eyes filled with tears, “if your noble Scarlet Pimpernel + will do aught to save that poor innocent lamb, I would indeed bless him in + my heart, and help him with all my humble might if I could.” + </p> + <p> + “May God’s saints bless you for those words, mademoiselle,” he said, + whilst, carried away by her beauty, her charm, her perfect femininity, he + stooped towards her until his knee touched the carpet at her feet. “I had + begun to lose my belief in my poor misguided country, to think all men in + France vile, and all women base. I could thank you on my knees for your + sweet words of sympathy, for the expression of tender motherliness that + came into your eyes when you spoke of the poor forsaken Dauphin in the + Temple.” + </p> + <p> + She did not restrain her tears; with her they came very easily, just as + with a child, and as they gathered in her eyes and rolled down her fresh + cheeks they in no way marred the charm of her face. One hand lay in her + lap fingering a diminutive bit of cambric, which from time to time she + pressed to her eyes. The other she had almost unconsciously yielded to + Armand. + </p> + <p> + The scent of the violets filled the room. It seemed to emanate from her, a + fitting attribute of her young, wholly unsophisticated girlhood. The + citizen was goodly to look at; he was kneeling at her feet, and his lips + were pressed against her hand. + </p> + <p> + Armand was young and he was an idealist. I do not for a moment imagine + that just at this moment he was deeply in love. The stronger feeling had + not yet risen up in him; it came later when tragedy encompassed him and + brought passion to sudden maturity. Just now he was merely yielding + himself up to the intoxicating moment, with all the abandonment, all the + enthusiasm of the Latin race. There was no reason why he should not bend + the knee before this exquisite little cameo, that by its very presence was + giving him an hour of perfect pleasure and of aesthetic joy. + </p> + <p> + Outside the world continued its hideous, relentless way; men butchered one + another, fought and hated. Here in this small old-world salon, with its + faded satins and bits of ivory-tinted lace, the outer universe had never + really penetrated. It was a tiny world—quite apart from the rest of + mankind, perfectly peaceful and absolutely beautiful. + </p> + <p> + If Armand had been allowed to depart from here now, without having been + the cause as well as the chief actor in the events that followed, no doubt + that Mademoiselle Lange would always have remained a charming memory with + him, an exquisite bouquet of violets pressed reverently between the leaves + of a favourite book of poems, and the scent of spring flowers would in + after years have ever brought her dainty picture to his mind. + </p> + <p> + He was murmuring pretty words of endearment; carried away by emotion, his + arm stole round her waist; he felt that if another tear came like a + dewdrop rolling down her cheek he must kiss it away at its very source. + Passion was not sweeping them off their feet—not yet, for they were + very young, and life had not as yet presented to them its most unsolvable + problem. + </p> + <p> + But they yielded to one another, to the springtime of their life, calling + for Love, which would come presently hand in hand with his grim attendant, + Sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Even as Armand’s glowing face was at last lifted up to hers asking with + mute lips for that first kiss which she already was prepared to give, + there came the loud noise of men’s heavy footsteps tramping up the old oak + stairs, then some shouting, a woman’s cry, and the next moment Madame + Belhomme, trembling, wide-eyed, and in obvious terror, came rushing into + the room. + </p> + <p> + “Jeanne! Jeanne! My child! It is awful! It is awful! Mon Dieu—mon + Dieu! What is to become of us?” + </p> + <p> + She was moaning and lamenting even as she ran in, and now she threw her + apron over her face and sank into a chair, continuing her moaning and her + lamentations. + </p> + <p> + Neither Mademoiselle nor Armand had stirred. They remained like graven + images, he on one knee, she with large eyes fixed upon his face. They had + neither of them looked on the old woman; they seemed even now unconscious + of her presence. But their ears had caught the sound of that measured + tramp of feet up the stairs of the old house, and the halt upon the + landing; they had heard the brief words of command: + </p> + <p> + “Open, in the name of the people!” + </p> + <p> + They knew quite well what it all meant; they had not wandered so far in + the realms of romance that reality—the grim, horrible reality of the + moment—had not the power to bring them back to earth. + </p> + <p> + That peremptory call to open in the name of the people was the prologue + these days to a drama which had but two concluding acts: arrest, which was + a certainty; the guillotine, which was more than probable. Jeanne and + Armand, these two young people who but a moment ago had tentatively lifted + the veil of life, looked straight into each other’s eyes and saw the hand + of death interposed between them: they looked straight into each other’s + eyes and knew that nothing but the hand of death would part them now. Love + had come with its attendant, Sorrow; but he had come with no uncertain + footsteps. Jeanne looked on the man before her, and he bent his head to + imprint a glowing kiss upon her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Marie!” + </p> + <p> + It was Jeanne Lange who spoke, but her voice was no longer that of an + irresponsible child; it was firm, steady and hard. Though she spoke to the + old woman, she did not look at her; her luminous brown eyes rested on the + bowed head of Armand St. Just. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Marie!” she repeated more peremptorily, for the old woman, with her + apron over her head, was still moaning, and unconscious of all save an + overmastering fear. + </p> + <p> + “Open, in the name of the people!” came in a loud harsh voice once more + from the other side of the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Marie, as you value your life and mine, pull yourself together,” + said Jeanne firmly. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do?” moaned Madame Belhomme. But she + had dragged the apron away from her face, and was looking with some + puzzlement at meek, gentle little Jeanne, who had suddenly become so + strange, so dictatorial, all unlike her habitual somewhat diffident self. + </p> + <p> + “You need not have the slightest fear, Aunt Marie, if you will only do as + I tell you,” resumed Jeanne quietly; “if you give way to fear, we are all + of us undone. As you value your life and mine,” she now repeated + authoritatively, “pull yourself together, and do as I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s firmness, her perfect quietude had the desired effect. Madame + Belhomme, though still shaken up with sobs of terror, made a great effort + to master herself; she stood up, smoothed down her apron, passed her hand + over her ruffled hair, and said in a quaking voice: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think we had better do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go quietly to the door and open it.” + </p> + <p> + “But—the soldiers—” + </p> + <p> + “If you do not open quietly they will force the door open within the next + two minutes,” interposed Jeanne calmly. “Go quietly and open the door. Try + and hide your fears, grumble in an audible voice at being interrupted in + your cooking, and tell the soldiers at once that they will find + mademoiselle in the boudoir. Go, for God’s sake!” she added, whilst + suppressed emotion suddenly made her young voice vibrate; “go, before they + break open that door!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Belhomme, impressed and cowed, obeyed like an automaton. She turned + and marched fairly straight out of the room. It was not a minute too soon. + From outside had already come the third and final summons: + </p> + <p> + “Open, in the name of the people!” + </p> + <p> + After that a crowbar would break open the door. + </p> + <p> + Madame Belhomme’s heavy footsteps were heard crossing the ante-chamber. + Armand still knelt at Jeanne’s feet, holding her trembling little hand in + his. + </p> + <p> + “A love-scene,” she whispered rapidly, “a love-scene—quick—do + you know one?” + </p> + <p> + And even as he had tried to rise she held him back, down on his knees. + </p> + <p> + He thought that fear was making her distracted. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle—” he murmured, trying to soothe her. + </p> + <p> + “Try and understand,” she said with wonderful calm, “and do as I tell you. + Aunt Marie has obeyed. Will you do likewise?” + </p> + <p> + “To the death!” he whispered eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Then a love-scene,” she entreated. “Surely you know one. Rodrigue and + Chimene! Surely—surely,” she urged, even as tears of anguish rose + into her eyes, “you must—you must, or, if not that, something else. + Quick! The very seconds are precious!” + </p> + <p> + They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, had gone + to the door and opened it; even her well-feigned grumblings could now be + heard and the rough interrogations from the soldiery. + </p> + <p> + “Citizeness Lange!” said a gruff voice. + </p> + <p> + “In her boudoir, quoi!” + </p> + <p> + Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her part + remarkably well. + </p> + <p> + “Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!” she went on grumbling and + muttering. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, think—think!” murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, her + hot little hand grasping his so tightly that her nails were driven into + his flesh. “You must know something that will do—anything—for + dear life’s sake.... Armand!” + </p> + <p> + His name—in the tense excitement of this terrible moment—had + escaped her lips. + </p> + <p> + All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, and even + as the door of the boudoir was thrown violently open Armand—still on + his knees, but with one hand pressed to his heart, the other stretched + upwards to the ceiling in the most approved dramatic style, was loudly + declaiming: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour, + Pour venger sa maitresse il a quitte le jour!” + </pre> + <p> + Whereupon Mademoiselle Lange feigned the most perfect impatience. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my good cousin,” she said with a pretty moue of disdain, “that + will never do! You must not thus emphasise the end of every line; the + verses should flow more evenly, as thus....” + </p> + <p> + Heron had paused at the door. It was he who had thrown it open—he + who, followed by a couple of his sleuth-hounds, had thought to find here + the man denounced by de Batz as being one of the followers of that + irrepressible Scarlet Pimpernel. The obviously Parisian intonation of the + man kneeling in front of citizeness Lange in an attitude no ways + suggestive of personal admiration, and coolly reciting verses out of a + play, had somewhat taken him aback. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” he asked gruffly, striding forward into the room + and glaring first at mademoiselle, then at Armand. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle gave a little cry of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, if it isn’t citizen Heron!” she cried, jumping up with a dainty + movement of coquetry and embarrassment. “Why did not Aunt Marie announce + you?... It is indeed remiss of her, but she is so ill-tempered on baking + days I dare not even rebuke her. Won’t you sit down, citizen Heron? And + you, cousin,” she added, looking down airily on Armand, “I pray you + maintain no longer that foolish attitude.” + </p> + <p> + The febrileness of her manner, the glow in her cheeks were easily + attributable to natural shyness in face of this unexpected visit. Heron, + completely bewildered by this little scene, which was so unlike what he + expected, and so unlike those to which he was accustomed in the exercise + of his horrible duties, was practically speechless before the little lady + who continued to prattle along in a simple, unaffected manner. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin,” she said to Armand, who in the meanwhile had risen to his knees, + “this is citizen Heron, of whom you have heard me speak. My cousin + Belhomme,” she continued, once more turning to Heron, “is fresh from the + country, citizen. He hails from Orleans, where he has played leading parts + in the tragedies of the late citizen Corneille. But, ah me! I fear that he + will find Paris audiences vastly more critical than the good Orleanese. + Did you hear him, citizen, declaiming those beautiful verses just now? He + was murdering them, say I—yes, murdering them—the gaby!” + </p> + <p> + Then only did it seem as if she realised that there was something amiss, + that citizen Heron had come to visit her, not as an admirer of her talent + who would wish to pay his respects to a successful actress, but as a + person to be looked on with dread. + </p> + <p> + She gave a quaint, nervous little laugh, and murmured in the tones of a + frightened child: + </p> + <p> + “La, citizen, how glum you look! I thought you had come to compliment me + on my latest success. I saw you at the theatre last night, though you did + not afterwards come to see me in the green-room. Why! I had a regular + ovation! Look at my flowers!” she added more gaily, pointing to several + bouquets in vases about the room. “Citizen Danton brought me the violets + himself, and citizen Santerre the narcissi, and that laurel wreath—is + it not charming?—that was a tribute from citizen Robespierre + himself.” + </p> + <p> + She was so artless, so simple, and so natural that Heron was completely + taken off his usual mental balance. He had expected to find the usual + setting to the dramatic episodes which he was wont to conduct—screaming + women, a man either at bay, sword in hand, or hiding in a linen cupboard + or up a chimney. + </p> + <p> + Now everything puzzled him. De Batz—he was quite sure—had + spoken of an Englishman, a follower of the Scarlet Pimpernel; every + thinking French patriot knew that all the followers of the Scarlet + Pimpernel were Englishmen with red hair and prominent teeth, whereas this + man.... + </p> + <p> + Armand—who deadly danger had primed in his improvised role—was + striding up and down the room declaiming with ever-varying intonations: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Joignez tous vos efforts contre un espoir si doux + Pour en venir a bout, c’est trop peu que de vous.” + </pre> + <p> + “No! no!” said mademoiselle impatiently; “you must not make that ugly + pause midway in the last line: ‘pour en venir a bout, c’est trop peu que + de vous!’” + </p> + <p> + She mimicked Armand’s diction so quaintly, imitating his stride, his + awkward gesture, and his faulty phraseology with such funny exaggeration + that Heron laughed in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “So that is a cousin from Orleans, is it?” he asked, throwing his lanky + body into an armchair, which creaked dismally under his weight. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! a regular gaby—what?” she said archly. “Now, citizen Heron, + you must stay and take coffee with me. Aunt Marie will be bringing it in + directly. Hector,” she added, turning to Armand, “come down from the + clouds and ask Aunt Marie to be quick.” + </p> + <p> + This certainly was the first time in the whole of his experience that + Heron had been asked to stay and drink coffee with the quarry he was + hunting down. Mademoiselle’s innocent little ways, her desire for the + prolongation of his visit, further addled his brain. De Batz had + undoubtedly spoken of an Englishman, and the cousin from Orleans was + certainly a Frenchman every inch of him. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps had the denunciation come from any one else but de Batz, Heron + might have acted and thought more circumspectly; but, of course, the chief + agent of the Committee of General Security was more suspicious of the man + from whom he took a heavy bribe than of any one else in France. The + thought had suddenly crossed his mind that mayhap de Batz had sent him on + a fool’s errand in order to get him safely out of the way of the Temple + prison at a given hour of the day. + </p> + <p> + The thought took shape, crystallised, caused him to see a rapid vision of + de Batz sneaking into his lodgings and stealing his keys, the guard being + slack, careless, inattentive, allowing the adventurer to pass barriers + that should have been closed against all comers. + </p> + <p> + Now Heron was sure of it; it was all a conspiracy invented by de Batz. He + had forgotten all about his theories that a man under arrest is always + safer than a man that is free. Had his brain been quite normal, and not + obsessed, as it always was now by thoughts of the Dauphin’s escape from + prison, no doubt he would have been more suspicious of Armand, but all his + worst suspicions were directed against de Batz. Armand seemed to him just + a fool, an actor quoi? and so obviously not an Englishman. + </p> + <p> + He jumped to his feet, curtly declining mademoiselle’s offers of + hospitality. He wanted to get away at once. Actors and actresses were + always, by tacit consent of the authorities, more immune than the rest of + the community. They provided the only amusement in the intervals of the + horrible scenes around the scaffolds; they were irresponsible, harmless + creatures who did not meddle in politics. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne the while was gaily prattling on, her luminous eyes fixed upon the + all-powerful enemy, striving to read his thoughts, to understand what went + on behind those cruel, prominent eyes, the chances that Armand had of + safety and of life. + </p> + <p> + She knew, of course, that the visit was directed against Armand—some + one had betrayed him, that odious de Batz mayhap—and she was + fighting for Armand’s safety, for his life. Her armoury consisted of her + presence of mind, her cool courage, her self-control; she used all these + weapons for his sake, though at times she felt as if the strain on her + nerves would snap the thread of life in her. The effort seemed more than + she could bear. + </p> + <p> + But she kept up her part, rallying Heron for the shortness of his visit, + begging him to tarry for another five minutes at least, throwing out—with + subtle feminine intuition—just those very hints anent little Capet’s + safety that were most calculated to send him flying back towards the + Temple. + </p> + <p> + “I felt so honoured last night, citizen,” she said coquettishly, “that you + even forgot little Capet in order to come and watch my debut as Celimene.” + </p> + <p> + “Forget him!” retorted Heron, smothering a curse, “I never forget the + vermin. I must go back to him; there are too many cats nosing round my + mouse. Good day to you, citizeness. I ought to have brought flowers, I + know; but I am a busy man—a harassed man.” + </p> + <p> + “Je te crois,” she said with a grave nod of the head; “but do come to the + theatre to-night. I am playing Camille—such a fine part! one of my + greatest successes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I’ll come—mayhap, mayhap—but I’ll go now—glad + to have seen you, citizeness. Where does your cousin lodge?” he asked + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” she replied boldly, on the spur of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Good. Let him report himself to-morrow morning at the Conciergerie, and + get his certificate of safety. It is a new decree, and you should have + one, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Hector and I will come together, and perhaps Aunt Marie + will come too. Don’t send us to maman guillotine yet awhile, citizen,” she + said lightly; “you will never get such another Camille, nor yet so good a + Celimene.” + </p> + <p> + She was gay, artless to the last. She accompanied Heron to the door + herself, chaffing him about his escort. + </p> + <p> + “You are an aristo, citizen,” she said, gazing with well-feigned + admiration on the two sleuth-hounds who stood in wait in the anteroom; “it + makes me proud to see so many citizens at my door. Come and see me play + Camille—come to-night, and don’t forget the green-room door—it + will always be kept invitingly open for you.” + </p> + <p> + She bobbed him a curtsey, and he walked out, closely followed by his two + men; then at last she closed the door behind them. She stood there for a + while, her ear glued against the massive panels, listening for their + measured tread down the oak staircase. At last it rang more sharply + against the flagstones of the courtyard below; then she was satisfied that + they had gone, and went slowly back to the boudoir. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. SHADOWS + </h2> + <p> + The tension on her nerves relaxed; there was the inevitable reaction. Her + knees were shaking under her, and she literally staggered into the room. + </p> + <p> + But Armand was already near her, down on both his knees this time, his + arms clasping the delicate form that swayed like the slender stems of + narcissi in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you must go out of Paris at once—at once,” she said through + sobs which no longer would be kept back. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll return—I know that he will return—and you will not be + safe until you are back in England.” + </p> + <p> + But he could not think of himself or of anything in the future. He had + forgotten Heron, Paris, the world; he could only think of her. + </p> + <p> + “I owe my life to you!” he murmured. “Oh, how beautiful you are—how + brave! How I love you!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed that he had always loved her, from the moment that first in his + boyish heart he had set up an ideal to worship, and then, last night, in + the box of the theatre—he had his back turned toward the stage, and + was ready to go—her voice had called him back; it had held him + spellbound; her voice, and also her eyes.... He did not know then that it + was Love which then and there had enchained him. Oh, how foolish he had + been! for now he knew that he had loved her with all his might, with all + his soul, from the very instant that his eyes had rested upon her. + </p> + <p> + He babbled along—incoherently—in the intervals of covering her + hands and the hem of her gown with kisses. He stooped right down to the + ground and kissed the arch of her instep; he had become a devotee + worshipping at the shrine of his saint, who had performed a great and a + wonderful miracle. + </p> + <p> + Armand the idealist had found his ideal in a woman. That was the great + miracle which the woman herself had performed for him. He found in her all + that he had admired most, all that he had admired in the leader who + hitherto had been the only personification of his ideal. But Jeanne + possessed all those qualities which had roused his enthusiasm in the noble + hero whom he revered. Her pluck, her ingenuity, her calm devotion which + had averted the threatened danger from him! + </p> + <p> + What had he done that she should have risked her own sweet life for his + sake? + </p> + <p> + But Jeanne did not know. She could not tell. Her nerves now were somewhat + unstrung, and the tears that always came so readily to her eyes flowed + quite unchecked. She could not very well move, for he held her knees + imprisoned in his arms, but she was quite content to remain like this, and + to yield her hands to him so that he might cover them with kisses. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, she did not know at what precise moment love for him had been born + in her heart. Last night, perhaps... she could not say ... but when they + parted she felt that she must see him again... and then today... perhaps + it was the scent of the violets... they were so exquisitely sweet... + perhaps it was his enthusiasm and his talk about England... but when Heron + came she knew that she must save Armand’s life at all cost... that she + would die if they dragged him away to prison. + </p> + <p> + Thus these two children philosophised, trying to understand the mystery of + the birth of Love. But they were only children; they did not really + understand. Passion was sweeping them off their feet, because a common + danger had bound them irrevocably to one another. The womanly instinct to + save and to protect had given the young girl strength to bear a difficult + part, and now she loved him for the dangers from which she had rescued + him, and he loved her because she had risked her life for him. + </p> + <p> + The hours sped on; there was so much to say, so much that was exquisite to + listen to. The shades of evening were gathering fast; the room, with its + pale-toned hangings and faded tapestries, was sinking into the arms of + gloom. Aunt Marie was no doubt too terrified to stir out of her kitchen; + she did not bring the lamps, but the darkness suited Armand’s mood, and + Jeanne was glad that the gloaming effectually hid the perpetual blush in + her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + In the evening air the dying flowers sent their heady fragrance around. + Armand was intoxicated with the perfume of violets that clung to Jeanne’s + fingers, with the touch of her satin gown that brushed his cheek, with the + murmur of her voice that quivered through her tears. + </p> + <p> + No noise from the ugly outer world reached this secluded spot. In the tiny + square outside a street lamp had been lighted, and its feeble rays came + peeping in through the lace curtains at the window. They caught the dainty + silhouette of the young girl, playing with the loose tendrils of her hair + around her forehead, and outlining with a thin band of light the contour + of neck and shoulder, making the satin of her gown shimmer with an + opalescent glow. + </p> + <p> + Armand rose from his knees. Her eyes were calling to him, her lips were + ready to yield. + </p> + <p> + “Tu m’aimes?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + And like a tired child she sank upon his breast. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips; her skin was fragrant as the + flowers of spring, the tears on her cheeks glistened like morning dew. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Marie came in at last, carrying the lamp. She found them sitting side + by side, like two children, hand in hand, mute with the eloquence which + comes from boundless love. They were under a spell, forgetting even that + they lived, knowing nothing except that they loved. + </p> + <p> + The lamp broke the spell, and Aunt Marie’s still trembling voice: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear! how did you manage to rid yourself of those brutes?” + </p> + <p> + But she asked no other question, even when the lamp showed up quite + clearly the glowing cheeks of Jeanne and the ardent eyes of Armand. In her + heart, long since atrophied, there were a few memories, carefully put away + in a secret cell, and those memories caused the old woman to understand. + </p> + <p> + Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been broken, + but the dream lingered on; they did not see Aunt Marie putting the room + tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door. + </p> + <p> + But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition. After + Armand had asked for the hundredth time: “Tu m’aimes?” and Jeanne for the + hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, her fears for him + suddenly returned. + </p> + <p> + Something had awakened her from her trance—a heavy footstep, mayhap, + in the street below, the distant roll of a drum, or only the clash of + steel saucepans in Aunt Marie’s kitchen. But suddenly Jeanne was alert, + and with her alertness came terror for the beloved. + </p> + <p> + “Your life,” she said—for he had called her his life just then, + “your life—and I was forgetting that it is still in danger... your + dear, your precious life!” + </p> + <p> + “Doubly dear now,” he replied, “since I owe it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sake—make all + haste to leave Paris... oh, this I beg of you!” she continued more + earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; “every hour you spend in + it brings danger nearer to your door.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not leave Paris while you are here.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am safe here,” she urged; “quite, quite safe, I assure you. I am + only a poor actress, and the Government takes no heed of us mimes. Men + must be amused, even between the intervals of killing one another. Indeed, + indeed, I should be far safer here now, waiting quietly for awhile, while + you make preparations to go... My hasty departure at this moment would + bring disaster on us both.” + </p> + <p> + There was logic in what she said. And yet how could he leave her? now that + he had found this perfect woman—this realisation of his highest + ideals, how could he go and leave her in this awful Paris, with brutes + like Heron forcing their hideous personality into her sacred presence, + threatening that very life he would gladly give his own to keep inviolate? + </p> + <p> + “Listen, sweetheart,” he said after awhile, when presently reason + struggled back for first place in his mind. “Will you allow me to consult + with my chief, with the Scarlet Pimpernel, who is in Paris at the present + moment? I am under his orders; I could not leave France just now. My life, + my entire person are at his disposal. I and my comrades are here under his + orders, for a great undertaking which he has not yet unfolded to us, but + which I firmly believe is framed for the rescue of the Dauphin from the + Temple.” + </p> + <p> + She gave an involuntary exclamation of horror. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she said quickly and earnestly; “as far as you are concerned, + Armand, that has now become an impossibility. Some one has betrayed you, + and you are henceforth a marked man. I think that odious de Batz had a + hand in Heron’s visit of this afternoon. We succeeded in putting these + spies off the scent, but only for a moment... within a few hours—less + perhaps—Heron will repent him of his carelessness; he’ll come back—I + know that he will come back. He may leave me, personally, alone; but he + will be on your track; he’ll drag you to the Conciergerie to report + yourself, and there your true name and history are bound to come to light. + If you succeed in evading him, he will still be on your track. If the + Scarlet Pimpernel keeps you in Paris now, your death will be at his door.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice had become quite hard and trenchant as she said these last + words; womanlike, she was already prepared to hate the man whose + mysterious personality she had hitherto admired, now that the life and + safety of Armand appeared to depend on the will of that elusive hero. + </p> + <p> + “You must not be afraid for me, Jeanne,” he urged. “The Scarlet Pimpernel + cares for all his followers; he would never allow me to run unnecessary + risks.” + </p> + <p> + She was unconvinced, almost jealous now of his enthusiasm for that unknown + man. Already she had taken full possession of Armand; she had purchased + his life, and he had given her his love. She would share neither treasure + with that nameless leader who held Armand’s allegiance. + </p> + <p> + “It is only for a little while, sweetheart,” he reiterated again and + again. “I could not, anyhow, leave Paris whilst I feel that you are here, + maybe in danger. The thought would be horrible. I should go mad if I had + to leave you.” + </p> + <p> + Then he talked again of England, of his life there, of the happiness and + peace that were in store for them both. + </p> + <p> + “We will go to England together,” he whispered, “and there we will be + happy together, you and I. We will have a tiny house among the Kentish + hills, and its walls will be covered with honeysuckle and roses. At the + back of the house there will be an orchard, and in May, when the + fruit-blossom is fading and soft spring breezes blow among the trees, + showers of sweet-scented petals will envelop us as we walk along, falling + on us like fragrant snow. You will come, sweetheart, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “If you still wish it, Armand,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Still wish it! He would gladly go to-morrow if she would come with him. + But, of course, that could not be arranged. She had her contract to fulfil + at the theatre, then there would be her house and furniture to dispose of, + and there was Aunt Marie.... But, of course, Aunt Marie would come too.... + She thought that she could get away some time before the spring; and he + swore that he could not leave Paris until she came with him. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a terrible deadlock, for she could not bear to think of him + alone in those awful Paris streets, where she knew that spies would always + be tracking him. She had no illusions as to the impression which she had + made on Heron; she knew that it could only be a momentary one, and that + Armand would henceforth be in daily, hourly danger. + </p> + <p> + At last she promised him that she would take the advice of his chief; they + would both be guided by what he said. Armand would confide in him + to-night, and if it could be arranged she would hurry on her preparations + and, mayhap, be ready to join him in a week. + </p> + <p> + “In the meanwhile, that cruel man must not risk your dear life,” she said. + “Remember, Armand, your life belongs to me. Oh, I could hate him for the + love you bear him!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh—sh—sh!” he said earnestly. “Dear heart, you must not speak + like that of the man whom, next to your perfect self, I love most upon + earth.” + </p> + <p> + “You think of him more than of me. I shall scarce live until I know that + you are safely out of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Though it was horrible to part, yet it was best, perhaps, that he should + go back to his lodgings now, in case Heron sent his spies back to her + door, and since he meant to consult with his chief. She had a vague hope + that if the mysterious hero was indeed the noble-hearted man whom Armand + represented him to be, surely he would take compassion on the anxiety of a + sorrowing woman, and release the man she loved from bondage. + </p> + <p> + This thought pleased her and gave her hope. She even urged Armand now to + go. + </p> + <p> + “When may I see you to-morrow?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “But it will be so dangerous to meet,” she argued. + </p> + <p> + “I must see you. I could not live through the day without seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “The theatre is the safest place.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not wait till the evening. May I not come here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Heron’s spies may be about.” + </p> + <p> + “Where then?” + </p> + <p> + She thought it over for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “At the stage-door of the theatre at one o’clock,” she said at last. “We + shall have finished rehearsal. Slip into the guichet of the concierge. I + will tell him to admit you, and send my dresser to meet you there; she + will bring you along to my room, where we shall be undisturbed for at + least half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + He had perforce to be content with that, though he would so much rather + have seen her here again, where the faded tapestries and soft-toned + hangings made such a perfect background for her delicate charm. He had + every intention of confiding in Blakeney, and of asking his help for + getting Jeanne out of Paris as quickly as may be. + </p> + <p> + Thus this perfect hour was past; the most pure, the fullest of joy that + these two young people were ever destined to know. Perhaps they felt + within themselves the consciousness that their great love would rise anon + to yet greater, fuller perfection when Fate had crowned it with his halo + of sorrow. Perhaps, too, it was that consciousness that gave to their + kisses now the solemnity of a last farewell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL + </h2> + <p> + Armand never could say definitely afterwards whither he went when he left + the Square du Roule that evening. No doubt he wandered about the streets + for some time in an absent, mechanical way, paying no heed to the + passers-by, none to the direction in which he was going. + </p> + <p> + His mind was full of Jeanne, her beauty, her courage, her attitude in face + of the hideous bloodhound who had come to pollute that charming old-world + boudoir by his loathsome presence. He recalled every word she uttered, + every gesture she made. + </p> + <p> + He was a man in love for the first time—wholly, irremediably in + love. + </p> + <p> + I suppose that it was the pangs of hunger that first recalled him to + himself. It was close on eight o’clock now, and he had fed on his + imaginings—first on anticipation, then on realisation, and lastly on + memory—during the best part of the day. Now he awoke from his + day-dream to find himself tired and hungry, but fortunately not very far + from that quarter of Paris where food is easily obtainable. + </p> + <p> + He was somewhere near the Madeleine—a quarter he knew well. Soon he + saw in front of him a small eating-house which looked fairly clean and + orderly. He pushed open its swing-door, and seeing an empty table in a + secluded part of the room, he sat down and ordered some supper. + </p> + <p> + The place made no impression upon his memory. He could not have told you + an hour later where it was situated, who had served him, what he had + eaten, or what other persons were present in the dining-room at the time + that he himself entered it. + </p> + <p> + Having eaten, however, he felt more like his normal self—more + conscious of his actions. When he finally left the eating-house, he + realised, for instance, that it was very cold—a fact of which he had + for the past few hours been totally unaware. The snow was falling in thin + close flakes, and a biting north-easterly wind was blowing those flakes + into his face and down his collar. He wrapped his cloak tightly around + him. It was a good step yet to Blakeney’s lodgings, where he knew that he + was expected. + </p> + <p> + He struck quickly into the Rue St. Honore, avoiding the great open places + where the grim horrors of this magnificent city in revolt against + civilisation were displayed in all their grim nakedness—on the Place + de la Revolution the guillotine, on the Carrousel the open-air camps of + workers under the lash of slave-drivers more cruel than the uncivilised + brutes of the Far West. + </p> + <p> + And Armand had to think of Jeanne in the midst of all these horrors. She + was still a petted actress to-day, but who could tell if on the morrow the + terrible law of the “suspect” would not reach her in order to drag her + before a tribunal that knew no mercy, and whose sole justice was a + condemnation? + </p> + <p> + The young man hurried on; he was anxious to be among his own comrades, to + hear his chief’s pleasant voice, to feel assured that by all the sacred + laws of friendship Jeanne henceforth would become the special care of the + Scarlet Pimpernel and his league. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney lodged in a small house situated on the Quai de l’Ecole, at the + back of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, from whence he had a clear and + uninterrupted view across the river, as far as the irregular block of + buildings of the Chatelet prison and the house of Justice. + </p> + <p> + The same tower-clock that two centuries ago had tolled the signal for the + massacre of the Huguenots was even now striking nine. Armand slipped + through the half-open porte cochere, crossed the narrow dark courtyard, + and ran up two flights of winding stone stairs. At the top of these, a + door on his right allowed a thin streak of light to filtrate between its + two folds. An iron bell handle hung beside it; Armand gave it a pull. + </p> + <p> + Two minutes later he was amongst his friends. He heaved a great sigh of + content and relief. The very atmosphere here seemed to be different. As + far as the lodging itself was concerned, it was as bare, as devoid of + comfort as those sort of places—so-called chambres garnies—usually + were in these days. The chairs looked rickety and uninviting, the sofa was + of black horsehair, the carpet was threadbare, and in places in actual + holes; but there was a certain something in the air which revealed, in the + midst of all this squalor, the presence of a man of fastidious taste. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, the place was spotlessly clean; the stove, highly polished, + gave forth a pleasing warm glow, even whilst the window, slightly open, + allowed a modicum of fresh air to enter the room. In a rough earthenware + jug on the table stood a large bunch of Christmas roses, and to the + educated nostril the slight scent of perfumes that hovered in the air was + doubly pleasing after the fetid air of the narrow streets. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, also my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings. They + greeted Armand with whole-hearted cheeriness. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Blakeney?” asked the young man as soon as he had shaken his + friends by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Present!” came in loud, pleasant accents from the door of an inner room + on the right. + </p> + <p> + And there he stood under the lintel of the door, the man against whom was + raised the giant hand of an entire nation—the man for whose head the + revolutionary government of France would gladly pay out all the savings of + its Treasury—the man whom human bloodhounds were tracking, hot on + the scent—for whom the nets of a bitter revenge and relentless + reprisals were constantly being spread. + </p> + <p> + Was he unconscious of it, or merely careless? His closest friend, Sir + Andrew Ffoulkes, could not say. Certain it is that, as he now appeared + before Armand, picturesque as ever in perfectly tailored clothes, with + priceless lace at throat and wrists, his slender fingers holding an + enamelled snuff-box and a handkerchief of delicate cambric, his whole + personality that of a dandy rather than a man of action, it seemed + impossible to connect him with the foolhardy escapades which had set one + nation glowing with enthusiasm and another clamouring for revenge. + </p> + <p> + But it was the magnetism that emanated from him that could not be denied; + the light that now and then, swift as summer lightning, flashed out from + the depths of the blue eyes usually veiled by heavy, lazy lids, the sudden + tightening of firm lips, the setting of the square jaw, which in a moment—but + only for the space of a second—transformed the entire face, and + revealed the born leader of men. + </p> + <p> + Just now there was none of that in the debonnair, easy-going man of the + world who advanced to meet his friend. Armand went quickly up to him, glad + to grasp his hand, slightly troubled with remorse, no doubt, at the + recollection of his adventure of to-day. It almost seemed to him that from + beneath his half-closed lids Blakeney had shot a quick inquiring glance + upon him. The quick flash seemed to light up the young man’s soul from + within, and to reveal it, naked, to his friend. + </p> + <p> + It was all over in a moment, and Armand thought that mayhap his conscience + had played him a trick: there was nothing apparent in him—of this he + was sure—that could possibly divulge his secret just yet. + </p> + <p> + “I am rather late, I fear,” he said. “I wandered about the streets in the + late afternoon and lost my way in the dark. I hope I have not kept you all + waiting.” + </p> + <p> + They all pulled chairs closely round the fire, except Blakeney, who + preferred to stand. He waited awhile until they were all comfortably + settled, and all ready to listen, then: + </p> + <p> + “It is about the Dauphin,” he said abruptly without further preamble. + </p> + <p> + They understood. All of them had guessed it, almost before the summons + came that had brought them to Paris two days ago. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had + left his young wife because of that, and Armand had demanded it as a right + to join hands in this noble work. Blakeney had not left France for over + three months now. Backwards and forwards between Paris, or Nantes, or + Orleans to the coast, where his friends would meet him to receive those + unfortunates whom one man’s whole-hearted devotion had rescued from death; + backwards and forwards into the very hearts of those cities wherein an + army of sleuth-hounds were on his track, and the guillotine was stretching + out her arms to catch the foolhardy adventurer. + </p> + <p> + Now it was about the Dauphin. They all waited, breathless and eager, the + fire of a noble enthusiasm burning in their hearts. They waited in + silence, their eyes fixed on the leader, lest one single word from him + should fail to reach their ears. + </p> + <p> + The full magnetism of the man was apparent now. As he held these four men + at this moment, he could have held a crowd. The man of the world—the + fastidious dandy—had shed his mask; there stood the leader, calm, + serene in the very face of the most deadly danger that had ever + encompassed any man, looking that danger fully in the face, not striving + to belittle it or to exaggerate it, but weighing it in the balance with + what there was to accomplish: the rescue of a martyred, innocent child + from the hands of fiends who were destroying his very soul even more + completely than his body. + </p> + <p> + “Everything, I think, is prepared,” resumed Sir Percy after a slight + pause. “The Simons have been summarily dismissed; I learned that to-day. + They remove from the Temple on Sunday next, the nineteenth. Obviously that + is the one day most likely to help us in our operations. As far as I am + concerned, I cannot make any hard-and-fast plans. Chance at the last + moment will have to dictate. But from every one of you I must have + co-operation, and it can only be by your following my directions + implicitly that we can even remotely hope to succeed.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed and recrossed the room once or twice before he spoke again, + pausing now and again in his walk in front of a large map of Paris and its + environs that hung upon the wall, his tall figure erect, his hands behind + his back, his eyes fixed before him as if he saw right through the walls + of this squalid room, and across the darkness that overhung the city, + through the grim bastions of the mighty building far away, where the + descendant of an hundred kings lived at the mercy of human fiends who + worked for his abasement. + </p> + <p> + The man’s face now was that of a seer and a visionary; the firm lines were + set and rigid as those of an image carved in stone—the statue of + heart-whole devotion, with the self-imposed task beckoning sternly to + follow, there where lurked danger and death. + </p> + <p> + “The way, I think, in which we could best succeed would be this,” he + resumed after a while, sitting now on the edge of the table and directly + facing his four friends. The light from the lamp which stood upon the + table behind him fell full upon those four glowing faces fixed eagerly + upon him, but he himself was in shadow, a massive silhouette broadly cut + out against the light-coloured map on the wall beyond. + </p> + <p> + “I remain here, of course, until Sunday,” he said, “and will closely watch + my opportunity, when I can with the greatest amount of safety enter the + Temple building and take possession of the child. I shall, of course + choose the moment when the Simons are actually on the move, with their + successors probably coming in at about the same time. God alone knows,” he + added earnestly, “how I shall contrive to get possession of the child; at + the moment I am just as much in the dark about that as you are.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, and suddenly his grave face seemed flooded with + sunshine, a kind of lazy merriment danced in his eyes, effacing all trace + of solemnity within them. + </p> + <p> + “La!” he said lightly, “on one point I am not at all in the dark, and that + is that His Majesty King Louis XVII will come out of that ugly house in my + company next Sunday, the nineteenth day of January in this year of grace + seventeen hundred and ninety-four; and this, too, do I know—that + those murderous blackguards shall not lay hands on me whilst that precious + burden is in my keeping. So I pray you, my good Armand, do not look so + glum,” he added with his pleasant, merry laugh; “you’ll need all your wits + about you to help us in our undertaking.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish me to do, Percy?” said the young man simply. + </p> + <p> + “In one moment I will tell you. I want you all to understand the situation + first. The child will be out of the Temple on Sunday, but at what hour I + know not. The later it will be the better would it suit my purpose, for I + cannot get him out of Paris before evening with any chance of safety. Here + we must risk nothing; the child is far better off as he is now than he + would be if he were dragged back after an abortive attempt at rescue. But + at this hour of the night, between nine and ten o’clock, I can arrange to + get him out of Paris by the Villette gate, and that is where I want you, + Ffoulkes, and you, Tony, to be, with some kind of covered cart, yourselves + in any disguise your ingenuity will suggest. Here are a few certificates + of safety; I have been making a collection of them for some time, as they + are always useful.” + </p> + <p> + He dived into the wide pocket of his coat and drew forth a number of + cards, greasy, much-fingered documents of the usual pattern which the + Committee of General Security delivered to the free citizens of the new + republic, and without which no one could enter or leave any town or + country commune without being detained as “suspect.” He glanced at them + and handed them over to Ffoulkes. + </p> + <p> + “Choose your own identity for the occasion, my good friend,” he said + lightly; “and you too, Tony. You may be stonemasons or coal-carriers, + chimney-sweeps or farm-labourers, I care not which so long as you look + sufficiently grimy and wretched to be unrecognisable, and so long as you + can procure a cart without arousing suspicions, and can wait for me + punctually at the appointed spot.” + </p> + <p> + Ffoulkes turned over the cards, and with a laugh handed them over to Lord + Tony. The two fastidious gentlemen discussed for awhile the respective + merits of a chimney-sweep’s uniform as against that of a coal-carrier. + </p> + <p> + “You can carry more grime if you are a sweep,” suggested Blakeney; “and if + the soot gets into your eyes it does not make them smart like coal does.” + </p> + <p> + “But soot adheres more closely,” argued Tony solemnly, “and I know that we + shan’t get a bath for at least a week afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you won’t, you sybarite!” asserted Sir Percy with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “After a week soot might become permanent,” mused Sir Andrew, wondering + what, under the circumstance, my lady would say to him. + </p> + <p> + “If you are both so fastidious,” retorted Blakeney, shrugging his broad + shoulders, “I’ll turn one of you into a reddleman, and the other into a + dyer. Then one of you will be bright scarlet to the end of his days, as + the reddle never comes off the skin at all, and the other will have to + soak in turpentine before the dye will consent to move.... In either + case... oh, my dear Tony!... the smell....” + </p> + <p> + He laughed like a schoolboy in anticipation of a prank, and held his + scented handkerchief to his nose. My Lord Hastings chuckled audibly, and + Tony punched him for this unseemly display of mirth. + </p> + <p> + Armand watched the little scene in utter amazement. He had been in England + over a year, and yet he could not understand these Englishmen. Surely they + were the queerest, most inconsequent people in the world. Here were these + men, who were engaged at this very moment in an enterprise which for + cool-headed courage and foolhardy daring had probably no parallel in + history. They were literally taking their lives in their hands, in all + probability facing certain death; and yet they now sat chaffing and + fighting like a crowd of third-form schoolboys, talking utter, silly + nonsense, and making foolish jokes that would have shamed a Frenchman in + his teens. Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompous de Batz would think of + this discussion if he could overhear it. His contempt, no doubt, for the + Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers would be increased tenfold. + </p> + <p> + Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually dismissed. Sir + Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst had settled their differences of + opinion by solemnly agreeing to represent two over-grimy and overheated + coal-heavers. They chose two certificates of safety that were made out in + the names of Jean Lepetit and Achille Grospierre, labourers. + </p> + <p> + “Though you don’t look at all like an Achille, Tony,” was Blakeney’s + parting shot to his friend. + </p> + <p> + Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the serious + business of the moment, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Tell us exactly, Blakeney, where you will want the cart to stand on + Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and Tony + following him. They stood close to his elbow whilst his slender, nervy + hand wandered along the shiny surface of the varnished paper. At last he + placed his finger on one spot. + </p> + <p> + “Here you see,” he said, “is the Villette gate. Just outside it a narrow + street on the right leads down in the direction of the canal. It is just + at the bottom of that narrow street at its junction with the tow-path + there that I want you two and the cart to be. It had better be a coal-car + by the way; they will be unloading coal close by there to-morrow,” he + added with one of his sudden irrepressible outbursts of merriment. “You + and Tony can exercise your muscles coal-heaving, and incidentally make + yourselves known in the neighbourhood as good if somewhat grimy patriots.” + </p> + <p> + “We had better take up our parts at once then,” said Tony. “I’ll take a + fond farewell of my clean shirt to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you will not see one again for some time, my good Tony. After your + hard day’s work to-morrow you will have to sleep either inside your cart, + if you have already secured one, or under the arches of the canal bridge, + if you have not.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have an equally pleasant prospect for Hastings,” was my Lord + Tony’s grim comment. + </p> + <p> + It was easy to see that he was as happy as a schoolboy about to start for + a holiday. Lord Tony was a true sportsman. Perhaps there was in him less + sentiment for the heroic work which he did under the guidance of his chief + than an inherent passion for dangerous adventures. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, on + the other hand, thought perhaps a little less of the adventure, but a + great deal of the martyred child in the Temple. He was just as buoyant, + just as keen as his friend, but the leaven of sentiment raised his + sporting instincts to perhaps a higher plane of self-devotion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, to recapitulate,” he said, in turn following with his finger + the indicated route on the map. “Tony and I and the coal-cart will await + you on this spot, at the corner of the towpath on Sunday evening at nine + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “And your signal, Blakeney?” asked Tony. + </p> + <p> + “The usual one,” replied Sir Percy, “the seamew’s cry thrice repeated at + brief intervals. But now,” he continued, turning to Armand and Hastings, + who had taken no part in the discussion hitherto, “I want your help a + little further afield.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” nodded Hastings. + </p> + <p> + “The coal-cart, with its usual miserable nag, will carry us a distance of + fifteen or sixteen kilometres, but no more. My purpose is to cut along the + north of the city, and to reach St. Germain, the nearest point where we + can secure good mounts. There is a farmer just outside the commune; his + name is Achard. He has excellent horses, which I have borrowed before now; + we shall want five, of course, and he has one powerful beast that will do + for me, as I shall have, in addition to my own weight, which is + considerable, to take the child with me on the pillion. Now you, Hastings + and Armand, will have to start early to-morrow morning, leave Paris by the + Neuilly gate, and from there make your way to St. Germain by any + conveyance you can contrive to obtain. At St. Germain you must at once + find Achard’s farm; disguised as labourers you will not arouse suspicion + by so doing. You will find the farmer quite amenable to money, and you + must secure the best horses you can get for our own use, and, if possible, + the powerful mount I spoke of just now. You are both excellent horse-men, + therefore I selected you amongst the others for this special errand, for + you two, with the five horses, will have to come and meet our coal-cart + some seventeen kilometres out of St. Germain, to where the first sign-post + indicates the road to Courbevoie. Some two hundred metres down this road + on the right there is a small spinney, which will afford splendid shelter + for yourselves and your horses. We hope to be there at about one o’clock + after midnight of Monday morning. Now, is all that quite clear, and are + you both satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite clear,” exclaimed Hastings placidly; “but I, for one, am not + at all satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is all too easy. We get none of the danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, you + incorrigible grumbler,” laughed Sir Percy good-humouredly. “Let me tell + you that if you start to-morrow from Paris in that spirit you will run + your head and Armand’s into a noose long before you reach the gate of + Neuilly. I cannot allow either of you to cover your faces with too much + grime; an honest farm labourer should not look over-dirty, and your + chances of being discovered and detained are, at the outset, far greater + than those which Ffoulkes and Tony will run—” + </p> + <p> + Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was unfolding his + plan for him and for Lord Hastings—a plan which practically was a + command—he had sat with his arms folded across his chest, his head + sunk upon his breast. When Blakeney had asked if they were satisfied, he + had taken no part in Hastings’ protest nor responded to his leader’s + good-humoured banter. + </p> + <p> + Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy’s eyes were + fixed upon him, and they seemed to scorch into his soul. He made a great + effort to appear eager like the others, and yet from the first a chill had + struck at his heart. He could not leave Paris before he had seen Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked his + chief fully in the face. + </p> + <p> + “When ought we to leave Paris?” he asked calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You MUST leave at daybreak,” replied Blakeney with a slight, almost + imperceptible emphasis on the word of command. “When the gates are first + opened, and the work-people go to and fro at their work, that is the + safest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as soon as may be, or the + farmer may not have a sufficiency of horses available at a moment’s + notice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings’ British + accent should not betray you both. Also you might not get a conveyance for + St. Germain immediately. We must think of every eventuality, Armand. There + is so much at stake.” + </p> + <p> + Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked + astonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and Blakeney’s reply + seemed almost like a rebuke—so circumstantial too, and so + explanatory. He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that + the merest wish, the slightest hint from him was understood by his band of + devoted followers, that the long explanation of his orders which he gave + to Armand struck them all with a strange sense of unpleasant surprise. + </p> + <p> + Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over + the party. + </p> + <p> + “We leave at daybreak, of course,” he said, “as soon as the gates are + open. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a lift as far as + St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a well-known farmer,” replied Blakeney. “You have but to ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings in the + village that night, and make a fresh start back towards Paris in the + evening of Sunday. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Pack + some fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten o’clock. Ride + straight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris, until + you come to four cross-roads with a sign-post pointing to Courbevoie. Turn + down there and go along the road until you meet a close spinney of + fir-trees on your right. Make for the interior of that. It gives splendid + shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses a feed. We’ll join + you one hour after midnight. The night will be dark, I hope, and the moon + anyhow will be on the wane.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand. Anyhow, it’s not difficult, and we’ll be as careful + as may be.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you,” concluded Blakeney. + </p> + <p> + He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not made a + movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings and the chief. He + still sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast. + </p> + <p> + Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried in + thought. Through the open window there came from the quay beyond the hum + of life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, the + words of command from the drill-sergeant, and through it all the moaning + of the wind and the beating of the sleet against the window-panes. + </p> + <p> + A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeney gave + a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he pushed it further + open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll of drums, and + from below the watchman’s cry that seemed such dire mockery: + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful.” + </p> + <p> + “Sound advice,” said Blakeney lightly. “Shall we also go to sleep? What + say you all—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action, + already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a moment ago when + giving instructions to Hastings. His usual debonnair manner was on him + once again, his laziness, his careless insouciance. He was even at this + moment deeply engaged in flicking off a grain of dust from the immaculate + Mechlin ruff at his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over the tell-tale + eyes as if weighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready for the laugh + which never was absent from it very long. + </p> + <p> + It was only Ffoulkes’s devoted eyes that were sharp enough to pierce the + mask of light-hearted gaiety which enveloped the soul of his leader at the + present moment. He saw—for the first time in all the years that he + had known Blakeney—a frown across the habitually smooth brow, and + though the lips were parted for a laugh, the lines round mouth and chin + were hard and set. + </p> + <p> + With that intuition born of whole-hearted friendship Sir Andrew guessed + what troubled Percy. He had caught the look which the latter had thrown on + Armand, and knew that some explanation would have to pass between the two + men before they parted to-night. Therefore he gave the signal for the + breaking up of the meeting. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing more to say, is there, Blakeney?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, my good fellow, nothing,” replied Sir Percy. “I do not know how you + all feel, but I am demmed fatigued.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the rags for to-morrow?” queried Hastings. + </p> + <p> + “You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the key. + Wigs and all are there. But don’t use false hair if you can help it—it + is apt to shift in a scrimmage.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and Tony thought + that he was tired. They rose to say good night. Then the three men went + away together, Armand remaining behind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. WHAT LOVE IS + </h2> + <p> + “Well, now, Armand, what is it?” asked Blakeney, the moment the footsteps + of his friends had died away down the stone stairs, and their voices had + ceased to echo in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “You guessed, then, that there was... something?” said the younger man, + after a slight hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + Armand rose, pushing the chair away from him with an impatient nervy + gesture. Burying his hands in the pockets of his breeches, he began + striding up and down the room, a dark, troubled expression in his face, a + deep frown between his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney had once more taken up his favourite position, sitting on the + corner of the table, his broad shoulders interposed between the lamp and + the rest of the room. He was apparently taking no notice of Armand, but + only intent on the delicate operation of polishing his nails. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the young man paused in his restless walk and stood in front of + his friend—an earnest, solemn, determined figure. + </p> + <p> + “Blakeney,” he said, “I cannot leave Paris to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Percy made no reply. He was contemplating the polish which he had just + succeeded in producing on his thumbnail. + </p> + <p> + “I must stay here for a while longer,” continued Armand firmly. “I may not + be able to return to England for some weeks. You have the three others + here to help you in your enterprise outside Paris. I am entirely at your + service within the compass of its walls.” + </p> + <p> + Still no comment from Blakeney, not a look from beneath the fallen lids. + Armand continued, with a slight tone of impatience apparent in his voice: + </p> + <p> + “You must want some one to help you here on Sunday. I am entirely at your + service... here or anywhere in Paris... but I cannot leave this city... at + any rate, not just yet....” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney was apparently satisfied at last with the result of his polishing + operations. He rose, gave a slight yawn, and turned toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, my dear fellow,” he said pleasantly; “it is time we were all + abed. I am so demmed fatigued.” + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” exclaimed the young man hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What is it?” queried the other lazily. + </p> + <p> + “You are not going to leave me like this—without a word?” + </p> + <p> + “I have said a great many words, my good fellow. I have said ‘good night,’ + and remarked that I was demmed fatigued.” + </p> + <p> + He was standing beside the door which led to his bedroom, and now he + pushed it open with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Percy, you cannot go and leave me like this!” reiterated Armand with + rapidly growing irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Like what, my dear fellow?” queried Sir Percy with good-humoured + impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Without a word—without a sign. What have I done that you should + treat me like a child, unworthy even of attention?” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney had turned back and was now facing him, towering above the slight + figure of the younger man. His face had lost none of its gracious air, and + beneath their heavy lids his eyes looked down not unkindly on his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Would you have preferred it, Armand,” he said quietly, “if I had said the + word that your ears have heard even though my lips have not uttered it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” murmured Armand defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “What sign would you have had me make?” continued Sir Percy, his pleasant + voice falling calm and mellow on the younger man’s supersensitive + consciousness: “That of branding you, Marguerite’s brother, as a liar and + a cheat?” + </p> + <p> + “Blakeney!” retorted the other, as with flaming cheeks and wrathful eyes + he took a menacing step toward his friend; “had any man but you dared to + speak such words to me—” + </p> + <p> + “I pray to God, Armand, that no man but I has the right to speak them.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right.” + </p> + <p> + “Every right, my friend. Do I not hold your oath?... Are you not prepared + to break it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not break my oath to you. I’ll serve and help you in every way you + can command... my life I’ll give to the cause... give me the most + dangerous—the most difficult task to perform.... I’ll do it—I’ll + do it gladly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given you an over-difficult and dangerous task.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! To leave Paris in order to engage horses, while you and the others + do all the work. That is neither difficult nor dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be difficult for you, Armand, because your head is not + sufficiently cool to foresee serious eventualities and to prepare against + them. It is dangerous, because you are a man in love, and a man in love is + apt to run his head—and that of his friends—blindly into a + noose.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that I was in love?” + </p> + <p> + “You yourself, my good fellow. Had you not told me so at the outset,” he + continued, still speaking very quietly and deliberately and never raising + his voice, “I would even now be standing over you, dog-whip in hand, to + thrash you as a defaulting coward and a perjurer .... Bah!” he added with + a return to his habitual bonhomie, “I would no doubt even have lost my + temper with you. Which would have been purposeless and excessively bad + form. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + A violent retort had sprung to Armand’s lips. But fortunately at that very + moment his eyes, glowing with anger, caught those of Blakeney fixed with + lazy good-nature upon his. Something of that irresistible dignity which + pervaded the whole personality of the man checked Armand’s hotheaded words + on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot leave Paris to-morrow,” he reiterated more calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Because you have arranged to see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she saved my life to-day, and is herself in danger.” + </p> + <p> + “She is in no danger,” said Blakeney simply, “since she saved the life of + my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” + </p> + <p> + The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just’s very soul. Despite the tumult of + passion which was raging in his heart, he was conscious again of the + magnetic power which bound so many to this man’s service. The words he had + said—simple though they were—had sent a thrill through + Armand’s veins. He felt himself disarmed. His resistance fell before the + subtle strength of an unbendable will; nothing remained in his heart but + an overwhelming sense of shame and of impotence. + </p> + <p> + He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face + in his hands. Blakeney went up to him and placed a kindly hand upon his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “The difficult task, Armand,” he said gently. + </p> + <p> + “Percy, cannot you release me? She saved my life. I have not thanked her + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over yonder the son + of kings is being done to death by savage brutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not hinder you if I stayed.” + </p> + <p> + “God knows you have hindered us enough already.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “You say she saved your life... then you were in danger... Heron and his + spies have been on your track; your track leads to mine, and I have sworn + to save the Dauphin from the hands of thieves.... A man in love, Armand, + is a deadly danger among us.... Therefore at daybreak you must leave Paris + with Hastings on your difficult and dangerous task.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I refuse?” retorted Armand. + </p> + <p> + “My good fellow,” said Blakeney earnestly, “in that admirable lexicon + which the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel has compiled for itself there is + no such word as refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I do refuse?” persisted the other. + </p> + <p> + “You would be offering a tainted name and tarnished honour to the woman + you pretend to love.” + </p> + <p> + “And you insist upon my obedience?” + </p> + <p> + “By the oath which I hold from you.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is cruel—inhuman!” + </p> + <p> + “Honour, my good Armand, is often cruel and seldom human. He is a godlike + taskmaster, and we who call ourselves men are all of us his slaves.” + </p> + <p> + “The tyranny comes from you alone. You could release me an you would.” + </p> + <p> + “And to gratify the selfish desire of immature passion, you would wish to + see me jeopardise the life of those who place infinite trust in me.” + </p> + <p> + “God knows how you have gained their allegiance, Blakeney. To me now you + are selfish and callous.” + </p> + <p> + “There is the difficult task you craved for, Armand,” was all the answer + that Blakeney made to the taunt—“to obey a leader whom you no longer + trust.” + </p> + <p> + But this Armand could not brook. He had spoken hotly, impetuously, + smarting under the discipline which thwarted his desire, but his heart was + loyal to the chief whom he had reverenced for so long. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Percy,” he said humbly; “I am distracted. I don’t think I + quite realised what I was saying. I trust you, of course ... implicitly... + and you need not even fear... I shall not break my oath, though your + orders now seem to me needlessly callous and selfish.... I will obey... + you need not be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not afraid of that, my good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you do not understand... you cannot. To you, your honour, the + task which you have set yourself, has been your only fetish.... Love in + its true sense does not exist for you.... I see it now... you do not know + what it is to love.” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney made no reply for the moment. He stood in the centre of the room, + with the yellow light of the lamp falling full now upon his tall powerful + frame, immaculately dressed in perfectly-tailored clothes, upon his long, + slender hands half hidden by filmy lace, and upon his face, across which + at this moment a heavy strand of curly hair threw a curious shadow. At + Armand’s words his lips had imperceptibly tightened, his eyes had narrowed + as if they tried to see something that was beyond the range of their + focus. + </p> + <p> + Across the smooth brow the strange shadow made by the hair seemed to find + a reflex from within. Perhaps the reckless adventurer, the careless + gambler with life and liberty, saw through the walls of this squalid room, + across the wide, ice-bound river, and beyond even the gloomy pile of + buildings opposite, a cool, shady garden at Richmond, a velvety lawn + sweeping down to the river’s edge, a bower of clematis and roses, with a + carved stone seat half covered with moss. There sat an exquisitely + beautiful woman with great sad eyes fixed on the far-distant horizon. The + setting sun was throwing a halo of gold all round her hair, her white + hands were clasped idly on her lap. + </p> + <p> + She gazed out beyond the river, beyond the sunset, toward an unseen bourne + of peace and happiness, and her lovely face had in it a look of utter + hopelessness and of sublime self-abnegation. The air was still. It was + late autumn, and all around her the russet leaves of beech and chestnut + fell with a melancholy hush-sh-sh about her feet. + </p> + <p> + She was alone, and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her eyes and + rolled slowly down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a sigh escaped the man’s tightly-pressed lips. With a strange + gesture, wholly unusual to him, he passed his hand right across his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap you are right, Armand,” he said quietly; “mayhap I do not know + what it is to love.” + </p> + <p> + Armand turned to go. There was nothing more to be said. He knew Percy well + enough by now to realise the finality of his pronouncements. His heart + felt sore, but he was too proud to show his hurt again to a man who did + not understand. All thoughts of disobedience he had put resolutely aside; + he had never meant to break his oath. All that he had hoped to do was to + persuade Percy to release him from it for awhile. + </p> + <p> + That by leaving Paris he risked to lose Jeanne he was quite convinced, but + it is nevertheless a true fact that in spite of this he did not withdraw + his love and trust from his chief. He was under the influence of that same + magnetism which enchained all his comrades to the will of this man; and + though his enthusiasm for the great cause had somewhat waned, his + allegiance to its leader was no longer tottering. + </p> + <p> + But he would not trust himself to speak again on the subject. + </p> + <p> + “I will find the others downstairs,” was all he said, “and will arrange + with Hastings for to-morrow. Good night, Percy.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, my dear fellow. By the way, you have not told me yet who she + is.” + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Jeanne Lange,” said St. Just half reluctantly. He had not + meant to divulge his secret quite so fully as yet. + </p> + <p> + “The young actress at the Theatre National?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Do you know her?” + </p> + <p> + “Only by name.” + </p> + <p> + “She is beautiful, Percy, and she is an angel.... Think of my sister + Marguerite... she, too, was an actress.... Good night, Percy.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The two men grasped one another by the hand. Armand’s eyes proffered a + last desperate appeal. But Blakeney’s eyes were impassive and unrelenting, + and Armand with a quick sigh finally took his leave. + </p> + <p> + For a long while after he had gone Blakeney stood silent and motionless in + the middle of the room. Armand’s last words lingered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Think of Marguerite!” + </p> + <p> + The walls had fallen away from around him—the window, the river + below, the Temple prison had all faded away, merged in the chaos of his + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Now he was no longer in Paris; he heard nothing of the horrors that even + at this hour of the night were raging around him; he did not hear the call + of murdered victims, of innocent women and children crying for help; he + did not see the descendant of St. Louis, with a red cap on his baby head, + stamping on the fleur-de-lys, and heaping insults on the memory of his + mother. All that had faded into nothingness. + </p> + <p> + He was in the garden at Richmond, and Marguerite was sitting on the stone + seat, with branches of the rambler roses twining themselves in her hair. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting on the ground at her feet, his head pillowed in her lap, + lazily dreaming whilst at his feet the river wound its graceful curves + beneath overhanging willows and tall stately elms. + </p> + <p> + A swan came sailing majestically down the stream, and Marguerite, with + idle, delicate hands, threw some crumbs of bread into the water. Then she + laughed, for she was quite happy, and anon she stooped, and he felt the + fragrance of her lips as she bent over him and savoured the perfect + sweetness of her caress. She was happy because her husband was by her + side. He had done with adventures, with risking his life for others’ sake. + He was living only for her. + </p> + <p> + The man, the dreamer, the idealist that lurked behind the adventurous + soul, lived an exquisite dream as he gazed upon that vision. He closed his + eyes so that it might last all the longer, so that through the open window + opposite he should not see the great gloomy walls of the labyrinthine + building packed to overflowing with innocent men, women, and children + waiting patiently and with a smile on their lips for a cruel and unmerited + death; so that he should not see even through the vista of houses and of + streets that grim Temple prison far away, and the light in one of the + tower windows, which illumined the final martyrdom of a boy-king. + </p> + <p> + Thus he stood for fully five minutes, with eyes deliberately closed and + lips tightly set. Then the neighbouring tower-clock of St. Germain + l’Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight. Blakeney woke from his + dream. The walls of his lodging were once more around him, and through the + window the ruddy light of some torch in the street below fought with that + of the lamp. + </p> + <p> + He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the night. On + the quay, a little to the left, the outdoor camp was just breaking up for + the night. The people of France in arms against tyranny were allowed to + put away their work for the day and to go to their miserable homes to + gather rest in sleep for the morrow. A band of soldiers, rough and brutal + in their movements, were hustling the women and children. The little ones, + weary, sleepy, and cold, seemed too dazed to move. One woman had two + little children clinging to her skirts; a soldier suddenly seized one of + them by the shoulders and pushed it along roughly in front of him to get + it out of the way. The woman struck at the soldier in a stupid, senseless, + useless way, and then gathered her trembling chicks under her wing, trying + to look defiant. + </p> + <p> + In a moment she was surrounded. Two soldiers seized her, and two more + dragged the children away from her. She screamed and the children cried, + the soldiers swore and struck out right and left with their bayonets. + There was a general melee, calls of agony rent the air, rough oaths + drowned the shouts of the helpless. Some women, panic-stricken, started to + run. + </p> + <p> + And Blakeney from his window looked down upon the scene. He no longer saw + the garden at Richmond, the lazily-flowing river, the bowers of roses; + even the sweet face of Marguerite, sad and lonely, appeared dim and far + away. + </p> + <p> + He looked across the ice-bound river, past the quay where rough soldiers + were brutalising a number of wretched defenceless women, to that grim + Chatelet prison, where tiny lights shining here and there behind barred + windows told the sad tale of weary vigils, of watches through the night, + when dawn would bring martyrdom and death. + </p> + <p> + And it was not Marguerite’s blue eyes that beckoned to him now, it was not + her lips that called, but the wan face of a child with matted curls + hanging above a greasy forehead, and small hands covered in grime that had + once been fondled by a Queen. + </p> + <p> + The adventurer in him had chased away the dream. + </p> + <p> + “While there is life in me I’ll cheat those brutes of prey,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK + </h2> + <p> + The night that Armand St. Just spent tossing about on a hard, narrow bed + was the most miserable, agonising one he had ever passed in his life. A + kind of fever ran through him, causing his teeth to chatter and the veins + in his temples to throb until he thought that they must burst. + </p> + <p> + Physically he certainly was ill; the mental strain caused by two great + conflicting passions had attacked his bodily strength, and whilst his + brain and heart fought their battles together, his aching limbs found no + repose. + </p> + <p> + His love for Jeanne! His loyalty to the man to whom he owed his life, and + to whom he had sworn allegiance and implicit obedience! + </p> + <p> + These superacute feelings seemed to be tearing at his very heartstrings, + until he felt that he could no longer lie on the miserable palliasse which + in these squalid lodgings did duty for a bed. + </p> + <p> + He rose long before daybreak, with tired back and burning eyes, but + unconscious of any pain save that which tore at his heart. + </p> + <p> + The weather, fortunately, was not quite so cold—a sudden and very + rapid thaw had set in; and when after a hurried toilet Armand, carrying a + bundle under his arm, emerged into the street, the mild south wind struck + pleasantly on his face. + </p> + <p> + It was then pitch dark. The street lamps had been extinguished long ago, + and the feeble January sun had not yet tinged with pale colour the heavy + clouds that hung over the sky. + </p> + <p> + The streets of the great city were absolutely deserted at this hour. It + lay, peaceful and still, wrapped in its mantle of gloom. A thin rain was + falling, and Armand’s feet, as he began to descend the heights of + Montmartre, sank ankle deep in the mud of the road. There was but scanty + attempt at pavements in this outlying quarter of the town, and Armand had + much ado to keep his footing on the uneven and intermittent stones that + did duty for roads in these parts. But this discomfort did not trouble him + just now. One thought—and one alone—was clear in his mind: he + must see Jeanne before he left Paris. + </p> + <p> + He did not pause to think how he could accomplish that at this hour of the + day. All he knew was that he must obey his chief, and that he must see + Jeanne. He would see her, explain to her that he must leave Paris + immediately, and beg her to make her preparations quickly, so that she + might meet him as soon as maybe, and accompany him to England straight + away. + </p> + <p> + He did not feel that he was being disloyal by trying to see Jeanne. He had + thrown prudence to the winds, not realising that his imprudence would and + did jeopardise, not only the success of his chief’s plans, but also his + life and that of his friends. He had before parting from Hastings last + night arranged to meet him in the neighbourhood of the Neuilly Gate at + seven o’clock; it was only six now. There was plenty of time for him to + rouse the concierge at the house of the Square du Roule, to see Jeanne for + a few moments, to slip into Madame Belhomme’s kitchen, and there into the + labourer’s clothes which he was carrying in the bundle under his arm, and + to be at the gate at the appointed hour. + </p> + <p> + The Square du Roule is shut off from the Rue St. Honore, on which it + abuts, by tall iron gates, which a few years ago, when the secluded little + square was a fashionable quarter of the city, used to be kept closed at + night, with a watchman in uniform to intercept midnight prowlers. Now + these gates had been rudely torn away from their sockets, the iron had + been sold for the benefit of the ever-empty Treasury, and no one cared if + the homeless, the starving, or the evil-doer found shelter under the + porticoes of the houses, from whence wealthy or aristocratic owners had + long since thought it wise to flee. + </p> + <p> + No one challenged Armand when he turned into the square, and though the + darkness was intense, he made his way fairly straight for the house where + lodged Mademoiselle Lange. + </p> + <p> + So far he had been wonderfully lucky. The foolhardiness with which he had + exposed his life and that of his friends by wandering about the streets of + Paris at this hour without any attempt at disguise, though carrying one + under his arm, had not met with the untoward fate which it undoubtedly + deserved. The darkness of the night and the thin sheet of rain as it fell + had effectually wrapped his progress through the lonely streets in their + beneficent mantle of gloom; the soft mud below had drowned the echo of his + footsteps. If spies were on his track, as Jeanne had feared and Blakeney + prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in evading them. + </p> + <p> + He pulled the concierge’s bell, and the latch of the outer door, + manipulated from within, duly sprang open in response. He entered, and + from the lodge the concierge’s voice emerging, muffled from the depths of + pillows and blankets, challenged him with an oath directed at the + unseemliness of the hour. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Lange,” said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he walked + quickly past the lodge making straight for the stairs. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him that from the concierge’s room loud vituperations + followed him, but he took no notice of these; only a short flight of + stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be still in + bed, that he might have some difficulty in rousing Madame Belhomme, that + the latter might not even care to admit him; nor did he reflect on the + glaring imprudence of his actions. He wanted to see Jeanne, and she was + the other side of that wall. + </p> + <p> + “He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you?” came in a gruff voice + to him from below. + </p> + <p> + He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside + Jeanne’s door. He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing echo of + the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his feet thrust + in slippers, and carrying a guttering tallow candle, had appeared upon the + landing. + </p> + <p> + He held the candle up so that its feeble flickering rays fell on Armand’s + pale face, and on the damp cloak which fell away from his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there?” reiterated the concierge with another oath + from his prolific vocabulary. + </p> + <p> + “As you see, citizen,” replied Armand politely, “I am ringing Mademoiselle + Lange’s front door bell.” + </p> + <p> + “At this hour of the morning?” queried the man with a sneer. + </p> + <p> + “I desire to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have come to the wrong house, citizen,” said the concierge with + a rude laugh. + </p> + <p> + “The wrong house? What do you mean?” stammered Armand, a little + bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “She is not here—quoi!” retorted the concierge, who now turned + deliberately on his heel. “Go and look for her, citizen; it’ll take you + some time to find her.” + </p> + <p> + He shuffled off in the direction of the stairs. Armand was vainly trying + to shake himself free from a sudden, an awful sense of horror. + </p> + <p> + He gave another vigorous pull at the bell, then with one bound he overtook + the concierge, who was preparing to descend the stairs, and gripped him + peremptorily by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mademoiselle Lange?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded quite strange in his own ear; his throat felt parched, + and he had to moisten his lips with his tongue before he was able to + speak. + </p> + <p> + “Arrested,” replied the man. + </p> + <p> + “Arrested? When? Where? How?” + </p> + <p> + “When—late yesterday evening. Where?—here in her room. How?—by + the agents of the Committee of General Security. She and the old woman! + Basta! that’s all I know. Now I am going back to bed, and you clear out of + the house. You are making a disturbance, and I shall be reprimanded. I ask + you, is this a decent time for rousing honest patriots out of their + morning sleep?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his arm free from Armand’s grasp and once more began to descend. + </p> + <p> + Armand stood on the landing like a man who has been stunned by a blow on + the head. His limbs were paralysed. He could not for the moment have moved + or spoken if his life had depended on a sign or on a word. His brain was + reeling, and he had to steady himself with his hand against the wall or he + would have fallen headlong on the floor. He had lived in a whirl of + excitement for the past twenty-four hours; his nerves during that time had + been kept at straining point. Passion, joy, happiness, deadly danger, and + moral fights had worn his mental endurance threadbare; want of proper food + and a sleepless night had almost thrown his physical balance out of gear. + This blow came at a moment when he was least able to bear it. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne had been arrested! Jeanne was in the hands of those brutes, whom + he, Armand, had regarded yesterday with insurmountable loathing! Jeanne + was in prison—she was arrested—she would be tried, condemned, + and all because of him! + </p> + <p> + The thought was so awful that it brought him to the verge of mania. He + watched as in a dream the form of the concierge shuffling his way down the + oak staircase; his portly figure assumed Gargantuan proportions, the + candle which he carried looked like the dancing flames of hell, through + which grinning faces, hideous and contortioned, mocked at him and leered. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly everything was dark. The light had disappeared round the + bend of the stairs; grinning faces and ghoulish visions vanished; he only + saw Jeanne, his dainty, exquisite Jeanne, in the hands of those brutes. He + saw her as he had seen a year and a half ago the victims of those + bloodthirsty wretches being dragged before a tribunal that was but a + mockery of justice; he heard the quick interrogatory, and the responses + from her perfect lips, that exquisite voice of hers veiled by tones of + anguish. He heard the condemnation, the rattle of the tumbril on the + ill-paved streets—saw her there with hands clasped together, her + eyes— + </p> + <p> + Great God! he was really going mad! + </p> + <p> + Like a wild creature driven forth he started to run down the stairs, past + the concierge, who was just entering his lodge, and who now turned in + surly anger to watch this man running away like a lunatic or a fool, out + by the front door and into the street. In a moment he was out of the + little square; then like a hunted hare he still ran down the Rue St. + Honore, along its narrow, interminable length. His hat had fallen from his + head, his hair was wild all round his face, the rain weighted the cloak + upon his shoulders; but still he ran. + </p> + <p> + His feet made no noise on the muddy pavement. He ran on and on, his elbows + pressed to his sides, panting, quivering, intent but upon one thing—the + goal which he had set himself to reach. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne was arrested. He did not know where to look for her, but he did + know whither he wanted to go now as swiftly as his legs would carry him. + </p> + <p> + It was still dark, but Armand St. Just was a born Parisian, and he knew + every inch of this quarter, where he and Marguerite had years ago lived. + Down the Rue St. Honore, he had reached the bottom of the interminably + long street at last. He had kept just a sufficiency of reason—or was + it merely blind instinct?—to avoid the places where the night + patrols of the National Guard might be on the watch. He avoided the Place + du Carrousel, also the quay, and struck sharply to his right until he + reached the facade of St. Germain l’Auxerrois. + </p> + <p> + Another effort; round the corner, and there was the house at last. He was + like the hunted creature now that has run to earth. Up the two flights of + stone stairs, and then the pull at the bell; a moment of tense anxiety, + whilst panting, gasping, almost choked with the sustained effort and the + strain of the past half-hour, he leaned against the wall, striving not to + fall. + </p> + <p> + Then the well-known firm step across the rooms beyond, the open door, the + hand upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + After that he remembered nothing more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE CHIEF + </h2> + <p> + He had not actually fainted, but the exertion of that long run had + rendered him partially unconscious. He knew now that he was safe, that he + was sitting in Blakeney’s room, and that something hot and vivifying was + being poured down his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Percy, they have arrested her!” he said, panting, as soon as speech + returned to his paralysed tongue. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Don’t talk now. Wait till you are better.” + </p> + <p> + With infinite care and gentleness Blakeney arranged some cushions under + Armand’s head, turned the sofa towards the fire, and anon brought his + friend a cup of hot coffee, which the latter drank with avidity. + </p> + <p> + He was really too exhausted to speak. He had contrived to tell Blakeney, + and now Blakeney knew, so everything would be all right. The inevitable + reaction was asserting itself; the muscles had relaxed, the nerves were + numbed, and Armand lay back on the sofa with eyes half closed, unable to + move, yet feeling his strength gradually returning to him, his vitality + asserting itself, all the feverish excitement of the past twenty-four + hours yielding at last to a calmer mood. + </p> + <p> + Through his half-closed eyes he could see his brother-in-law moving about + the room. Blakeney was fully dressed. In a sleepy kind of way Armand + wondered if he had been to bed at all; certainly his clothes set on him + with their usual well-tailored perfection, and there was no suggestion in + his brisk step and alert movements that he had passed a sleepless night. + </p> + <p> + Now he was standing by the open window. Armand, from where he lay, could + see his broad shoulders sharply outlined against the grey background of + the hazy winter dawn. A wan light was just creeping up from the east over + the city; the noises of the streets below came distinctly to Armand’s ear. + </p> + <p> + He roused himself with one vigorous effort from his lethargy, feeling + quite ashamed of himself and of this breakdown of his nervous system. He + looked with frank admiration on Sir Percy, who stood immovable and silent + by the window—a perfect tower of strength, serene and impassive, yet + kindly in distress. + </p> + <p> + “Percy,” said the young man, “I ran all the way from the top of the Rue + St. Honore. I was only breathless. I am quite all right. May I tell you + all about it?” + </p> + <p> + Without a word Blakeney closed the window and came across to the sofa; he + sat down beside Armand, and to all outward appearances he was nothing now + but a kind and sympathetic listener to a friend’s tale of woe. Not a line + in his face or a look in his eyes betrayed the thoughts of the leader who + had been thwarted at the outset of a dangerous enterprise, or of the man, + accustomed to command, who had been so flagrantly disobeyed. + </p> + <p> + Armand, unconscious of all save of Jeanne and of her immediate need, put + an eager hand on Percy’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Heron and his hell-hounds went back to her lodgings last night,” he said, + speaking as if he were still a little out of breath. “They hoped to get + me, no doubt; not finding me there, they took her. Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time that he had put the whole terrible circumstance into + words, and it seemed to gain in reality by the recounting. The agony of + mind which he endured was almost unbearable; he hid his face in his hands + lest Percy should see how terribly he suffered. + </p> + <p> + “I knew that,” said Blakeney quietly. Armand looked up in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “How? When did you know it?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Last night when you left me. I went down to the Square du Roule. I + arrived there just too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” exclaimed Armand, whose pale face had suddenly flushed scarlet, + “you did that?—last night you—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” interposed the other calmly; “had I not promised you to keep + watch over her? When I heard the news it was already too late to make + further inquiries, but when you arrived just now I was on the point of + starting out, in order to find out in what prison Mademoiselle Lange is + being detained. I shall have to go soon, Armand, before the guard is + changed at the Temple and the Tuileries. This is the safest time, and God + knows we are all of us sufficiently compromised already.” + </p> + <p> + The flush of shame deepened in St. Just’s cheek. There had not been a hint + of reproach in the voice of his chief, and the eyes which regarded him now + from beneath the half-closed lids showed nothing but lazy bonhomie. + </p> + <p> + In a moment now Armand realised all the harm which his recklessness had + done, was still doing to the work of the League. Every one of his actions + since his arrival in Paris two days ago had jeopardised a plan or + endangered a life: his friendship with de Batz, his connection with + Mademoiselle Lange, his visit to her yesterday afternoon, the repetition + of it this morning, culminating in that wild run through the streets of + Paris, when at any moment a spy lurking round a corner might either have + barred his way, or, worse still, have followed him to Blakeney’s door. + Armand, without a thought of any one save of his beloved, might easily + this morning have brought an agent of the Committee of General Security + face to face with his chief. + </p> + <p> + “Percy,” he murmured, “can you ever forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, man!” retorted Blakeney lightly; “there is naught to forgive, only + a great deal that should no longer be forgotten; your duty to the others, + for instance, your obedience, and your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “I was mad, Percy. Oh! if you only could understand what she means to me!” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney laughed, his own light-hearted careless laugh, which so often + before now had helped to hide what he really felt from the eyes of the + indifferent, and even from those of his friends. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” he said lightly, “we agreed last night, did we not? that in + matters of sentiment I am a cold-blooded fish. But will you at any rate + concede that I am a man of my word? Did I not pledge it last night that + Mademoiselle Lange would be safe? I foresaw her arrest the moment I heard + your story. I hoped that I might reach her before that brute Heron’s + return; unfortunately he forestalled me by less than half an hour. + Mademoiselle Lange has been arrested, Armand; but why should you not trust + me on that account? Have we not succeeded, I and the others, in worse + cases than this one? They mean no harm to Jeanne Lange,” he added + emphatically; “I give you my word on that. They only want her as a decoy. + It is you they want. You through her, and me through you. I pledge you my + honour that she will be safe. You must try and trust me, Armand. It is + much to ask, I know, for you will have to trust me with what is most + precious in the world to you; and you will have to obey me blindly, or I + shall not be able to keep my word.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Firstly, you must be outside Paris within the hour. Every minute that you + spend inside the city now is full of danger—oh, no! not for you,” + added Blakeney, checking with a good-humoured gesture Armand’s words of + protestation, “danger for the others—and for our scheme tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I go to St. Germain, Percy, knowing that she—” + </p> + <p> + “Is under my charge?” interposed the other calmly. “That should not be so + very difficult. Come,” he added, placing a kindly hand on the other’s + shoulder, “you shall not find me such an inhuman monster after all. But I + must think of the others, you see, and of the child whom I have sworn to + save. But I won’t send you as far as St. Germain. Go down to the room + below and find a good bundle of rough clothes that will serve you as a + disguise, for I imagine that you have lost those which you had on the + landing or the stairs of the house in the Square du Roule. In a tin box + with the clothes downstairs you will find the packet of miscellaneous + certificates of safety. Take an appropriate one, and then start out + immediately for Villette. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” said Armand eagerly. “You want me to join Ffoulkes and Tony.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! You’ll find them probably unloading coal by the canal. Try and get + private speech with them as early as may be, and tell Tony to set out at + once for St. Germain, and to join Hastings there, instead of you, whilst + you take his place with Ffoulkes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand; but how will Tony reach St. Germain?” + </p> + <p> + “La, my good fellow,” said Blakeney gaily, “you may safely trust Tony to + go where I send him. Do you but do as I tell you, and leave him to look + after himself. And now,” he added, speaking more earnestly, “the sooner + you get out of Paris the better it will be for us all. As you see, I am + only sending you to La Villette, because it is not so far, but that I can + keep in personal touch with you. Remain close to the gates for an hour + after nightfall. I will contrive before they close to bring you news of + Mademoiselle Lange.” + </p> + <p> + Armand said no more. The sense of shame in him deepened with every word + spoken by his chief. He felt how untrustworthy he had been, how + undeserving of the selfless devotion which Percy was showing him even now. + The words of gratitude died on his lips; he knew that they would be + unwelcome. These Englishmen were so devoid of sentiment, he thought, and + his brother-in-law, with all his unselfish and heroic deeds, was, he felt, + absolutely callous in matters of the heart. + </p> + <p> + But Armand was a noble-minded man, and with the true sporting instinct in + him, despite the fact that he was a creature of nerves, highly strung and + imaginative. He could give ungrudging admiration to his chief, even whilst + giving himself up entirely to the sentiment for Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He tried to imbue himself with the same spirit that actuated my Lord Tony + and the other members of the League. How gladly would he have chaffed and + made senseless schoolboy jokes like those which—in face of their + hazardous enterprise and the dangers which they all ran—had + horrified him so much last night. + </p> + <p> + But somehow he knew that jokes from him would not ring true. How could he + smile when his heart was brimming over with his love for Jeanne, and with + solicitude on her account? He felt that Percy was regarding him with a + kind of indulgent amusement; there was a look of suppressed merriment in + the depths of those lazy blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + So he braced up his nerves, trying his best to look cool and unconcerned, + but he could not altogether hide from his friend the burning anxiety which + was threatening to break his heart. + </p> + <p> + “I have given you my word, Armand,” said Blakeney in answer to the + unspoken prayer; “cannot you try and trust me—as the others do? Then + with sudden transition he pointed to the map behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Remember the gate of Villette, and the corner by the towpath. Join + Ffoulkes as soon as may be and send Tony on his way, and wait for news of + Mademoiselle Lange some time to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Percy!” said Armand involuntarily. “Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, my dear fellow. Slip on your disguise as quickly as you can, + and be out of the house in a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied Armand through the ante-room, and finally closed the door + on him. Then he went back to his room and walked up to the window, which + he threw open to the humid morning air. Now that he was alone the look of + trouble on his face deepened to a dark, anxious frown, and as he looked + out across the river a sigh of bitter impatience and disappointment + escaped his lips. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE + </h2> + <p> + And now the shades of evening had long since yielded to those of night. + The gate of La Villette, at the northeast corner of the city, was about to + close. Armand, dressed in the rough clothes of a labouring man, was + leaning against a low wall at the angle of the narrow street which abuts + on the canal at its further end; from this point of vantage he could + command a view of the gate and of the life and bustle around it. + </p> + <p> + He was dog-tired. After the emotions of the past twenty-four hours, a + day’s hard manual toil to which he was unaccustomed had caused him to ache + in every limb. As soon as he had arrived at the canal wharf in the early + morning he had obtained the kind of casual work that ruled about here, and + soon was told off to unload a cargo of coal which had arrived by barge + overnight. He had set-to with a will, half hoping to kill his anxiety by + dint of heavy bodily exertion. During the course of the morning he had + suddenly become aware of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and of Lord Anthony Dewhurst + working not far away from him, and as fine a pair of coalheavers as any + shipper could desire. + </p> + <p> + It was not very difficult in the midst of the noise and activity that + reigned all about the wharf for the three men to exchange a few words + together, and Armand soon communicated the chief’s new instructions to my + Lord Tony, who effectually slipped away from his work some time during the + day. Armand did not even see him go, it had all been so neatly done. + </p> + <p> + Just before five o’clock in the afternoon the labourers were paid off. It + was then too dark to continue work. Armand would have liked to talk to Sir + Andrew, if only for a moment. He felt lonely and desperately anxious. He + had hoped to tire out his nerves as well as his body, but in this he had + not succeeded. As soon as he had given up his tools, his brain began to + work again more busily than ever. It followed Percy in his peregrinations + through the city, trying to discover where those brutes were keeping + Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + That task had suddenly loomed up before Armand’s mind with all its + terrible difficulties. How could Percy—a marked man if ever there + was one—go from prison to prison to inquire about Jeanne? The very + idea seemed preposterous. Armand ought never to have consented to such an + insensate plan. The more he thought of it, the more impossible did it seem + that Blakeney could find anything out. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was nowhere to be seen. St. Just wandered about in the + dark, lonely streets of this outlying quarter vainly trying to find the + friend in whom he could confide, who, no doubt, would reassure him as to + Blakeney’s probable movements in Paris. Then as the hour approached for + the closing of the city gates Armand took up his stand at an angle of the + street from whence he could see both the gate on one side of him and the + thin line of the canal intersecting the street at its further end. + </p> + <p> + Unless Percy came within the next five minutes the gates would be closed + and the difficulties of crossing the barrier would be increased a + hundredfold. The market gardeners with their covered carts filed out of + the gate one by one; the labourers on foot were returning to their homes; + there was a group of stonemasons, a few road-makers, also a number of + beggars, ragged and filthy, who herded somewhere in the neighbourhood of + the canal. + </p> + <p> + In every form, under every disguise, Armand hoped to discover Percy. He + could not stand still for very long, but strode up and down the road that + skirts the fortifications at this point. + </p> + <p> + There were a good many idlers about at this hour; some men who had + finished their work, and meant to spend an hour or so in one of the + drinking shops that abounded in the neighbourhood of the wharf; others who + liked to gather a small knot of listeners around them, whilst they + discoursed on the politics of the day, or rather raged against the + Convention, which was all made up of traitors to the people’s welfare. + </p> + <p> + Armand, trying manfully to play his part, joined one of the groups that + stood gaping round a street orator. He shouted with the best of them, + waved his cap in the air, and applauded or hissed in unison with the + majority. But his eyes never wandered for long away from the gate whence + Percy must come now at any moment—now or not at all. + </p> + <p> + At what precise moment the awful doubt took birth in his mind the young + man could not afterwards have said. Perhaps it was when he heard the roll + of drums proclaiming the closing of the gates, and witnessed the changing + of the guard. + </p> + <p> + Percy had not come. He could not come now, and he (Armand) would have the + night to face without news of Jeanne. Something, of course, had detained + Percy; perhaps he had been unable to get definite information about + Jeanne; perhaps the information which he had obtained was too terrible to + communicate. + </p> + <p> + If only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had been there, and Armand had had some one to + talk to, perhaps then he would have found sufficient strength of mind to + wait with outward patience, even though his nerves were on the rack. + </p> + <p> + Darkness closed in around him, and with the darkness came the full return + of the phantoms that had assailed him in the house of the Square du Roule + when first he had heard of Jeanne’s arrest. The open place facing the gate + had transformed itself into the Place de la Revolution, the tall rough + post that held a flickering oil lamp had become the gaunt arm of the + guillotine, the feeble light of the lamp was the knife that gleamed with + the reflection of a crimson light. + </p> + <p> + And Armand saw himself, as in a vision, one of a vast and noisy throng—they + were all pressing round him so that he could not move; they were + brandishing caps and tricolour flags, also pitchforks and scythes. He had + seen such a crowd four years ago rushing towards the Bastille. Now they + were all assembled here around him and around the guillotine. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a distant rattle caught his subconscious ear: the rattle of + wheels on rough cobble-stones. Immediately the crowd began to cheer and to + shout; some sang the “Ca ira!” and others screamed: + </p> + <p> + “Les aristos! a la lanterne! a mort! a mort! les aristos!” + </p> + <p> + He saw it all quite plainly, for the darkness had vanished, and the vision + was more vivid than even reality could have been. The rattle of wheels + grew louder, and presently the cart debouched on the open place. + </p> + <p> + Men and women sat huddled up in the cart; but in the midst of them a woman + stood, and her eyes were fixed upon Armand. She wore her pale-grey satin + gown, and a white kerchief was folded across her bosom. Her brown hair + fell in loose soft curls all round her head. She looked exactly like the + exquisite cameo which Marguerite used to wear. Her hands were tied with + cords behind her back, but between her fingers she held a small bunch of + violets. + </p> + <p> + Armand saw it all. It was, of course, a vision, and he knew that it was + one, but he believed that the vision was prophetic. No thought of the + chief whom he had sworn to trust and to obey came to chase away these + imaginings of his fevered fancy. He saw Jeanne, and only Jeanne, standing + on the tumbril and being led to the guillotine. Sir Andrew was not there, + and Percy had not come. Armand believed that a direct message had come to + him from heaven to save his beloved. + </p> + <p> + Therefore he forgot his promise—his oath; he forgot those very + things which the leader had entreated him to remember—his duty to + the others, his loyalty, his obedience. Jeanne had first claim on him. It + were the act of a coward to remain in safety whilst she was in such deadly + danger. + </p> + <p> + Now he blamed himself severely for having quitted Paris. Even Percy must + have thought him a coward for obeying quite so readily. Maybe the command + had been but a test of his courage, of the strength of his love for + Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + A hundred conjectures flashed through his brain; a hundred plans presented + themselves to his mind. It was not for Percy, who did not know her, to + save Jeanne or to guard her. That task was Armand’s, who worshipped her, + and who would gladly die beside her if he failed to rescue her from + threatened death. + </p> + <p> + Resolution was not slow in coming. A tower clock inside the city struck + the hour of six, and still no sign of Percy. + </p> + <p> + Armand, his certificate of safety in his hand, walked boldly up to the + gate. + </p> + <p> + The guard challenged him, but he presented the certificate. There was an + agonising moment when the card was taken from him, and he was detained in + the guard-room while it was being examined by the sergeant in command. + </p> + <p> + But the certificate was in good order, and Armand, covered in coal-dust, + with the perspiration streaming down his face, did certainly not look like + an aristocrat in disguise. It was never very difficult to enter the great + city; if one wished to put one’s head in the lion’s mouth, one was welcome + to do so; the difficulty came when the lion thought fit to close his jaws. + </p> + <p> + Armand, after five minutes of tense anxiety, was allowed to cross the + barrier, but his certificate of safety was detained. He would have to get + another from the Committee of General Security before he would be allowed + to leave Paris again. + </p> + <p> + The lion had thought fit to close his jaws. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE WEARY SEARCH + </h2> + <p> + Blakeney was not at his lodgings when Armand arrived there that evening, + nor did he return, whilst the young man haunted the precincts of St. + Germain l’Auxerrois and wandered along the quays hours and hours at a + stretch, until he nearly dropped under the portico of a house, and + realised that if he loitered longer he might lose consciousness + completely, and be unable on the morrow to be of service to Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He dragged his weary footsteps back to his own lodgings on the heights of + Montmartre. He had not found Percy, he had no news of Jeanne; it seemed as + if hell itself could hold no worse tortures than this intolerable + suspense. + </p> + <p> + He threw himself down on the narrow palliasse and, tired nature asserting + herself, at last fell into a heavy, dreamless torpor, like the sleep of a + drunkard, deep but without the beneficent aid of rest. + </p> + <p> + It was broad daylight when he awoke. The pale light of a damp, wintry + morning filtered through the grimy panes of the window. Armand jumped out + of bed, aching of limb but resolute of mind. There was no doubt that Percy + had failed in discovering Jeanne’s whereabouts; but where a mere friend + had failed a lover was more likely to succeed. + </p> + <p> + The rough clothes which he had worn yesterday were the only ones he had. + They would, of course, serve his purpose better than his own, which he had + left at Blakeney’s lodgings yesterday. In half an hour he was dressed, + looking a fairly good imitation of a labourer out of work. + </p> + <p> + He went to a humble eating house of which he knew, and there, having + ordered some hot coffee with a hunk of bread, he set himself to think. + </p> + <p> + It was quite a usual thing these days for relatives and friends of + prisoners to go wandering about from prison to prison to find out where + the loved ones happened to be detained. The prisons were over full just + now; convents, monasteries, and public institutions had all been + requisitioned by the Government for the housing of the hundreds of + so-called traitors who had been arrested on the barest suspicion, or at + the mere denunciation of an evil-wisher. + </p> + <p> + There were the Abbaye and the Luxembourg, the erstwhile convents of the + Visitation and the Sacre-Coeur, the cloister of the Oratorians, the + Salpetriere, and the St. Lazare hospitals, and there was, of course, the + Temple, and, lastly, the Conciergerie, to which those prisoners were + brought whose trial would take place within the next few days, and whose + condemnation was practically assured. + </p> + <p> + Persons under arrest at some of the other prisons did sometimes come out + of them alive, but the Conciergerie was only the ante-chamber of the + guillotine. + </p> + <p> + Therefore Armand’s idea was to visit the Conciergerie first. The sooner he + could reassure himself that Jeanne was not in immediate danger the better + would he be able to endure the agony of that heart-breaking search, that + knocking at every door in the hope of finding his beloved. + </p> + <p> + If Jeanne was not in the Conciergerie, then there might be some hope that + she was only being temporarily detained, and through Armand’s excited + brain there had already flashed the thought that mayhap the Committee of + General Security would release her if he gave himself up. + </p> + <p> + These thoughts, and the making of plans, fortified him mentally and + physically; he even made a great effort to eat and drink, knowing that his + bodily strength must endure if it was going to be of service to Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He reached the Quai de l’Horloge soon after nine. The grim, irregular + walls of the Chatelet and the house of Justice loomed from out the mantle + of mist that lay on the river banks. Armand skirted the square + clock-tower, and passed through the monumental gateways of the house of + Justice. + </p> + <p> + He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls and + corridors of the Tribunal, to which the public had access whenever the + court was sitting. The sittings began at ten, and already the usual crowd + of idlers were assembling—men and women who apparently had no other + occupation save to come day after day to this theatre of horrors and watch + the different acts of the heartrending dramas that were enacted here with + a kind of awful monotony. + </p> + <p> + Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and anon + moved slowly up the gigantic flight of stone steps, talking lightly on + indifferent subjects. There was quite a goodly sprinkling of workingmen + amongst this crowd, and Armand in his toil-stained clothes attracted no + attention. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a word reached his ear—just a name flippantly spoken by + spiteful lips—and it changed the whole trend of his thoughts. Since + he had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of Jeanne, and—in + connection with her—of Percy and his vain quest of her. Now that + name spoken by some one unknown brought his mind back to more definite + thoughts of his chief. + </p> + <p> + “Capet!” the name—intended as an insult, but actually merely + irrelevant—whereby the uncrowned little King of France was + designated by the revolutionary party. + </p> + <p> + Armand suddenly recollected that to-day was Sunday, the 19th of January. + He had lost count of days and of dates lately, but the name, “Capet,” had + brought everything back: the child in the Temple; the conference in + Blakeney’s lodgings; the plans for the rescue of the boy. That was to take + place to-day—Sunday, the 19th. The Simons would be moving from the + Temple, at what hour Blakeney did not know, but it would be today, and he + would be watching his opportunity. + </p> + <p> + Now Armand understood everything; a great wave of bitterness swept over + his soul. Percy had forgotten Jeanne! He was busy thinking of the child in + the Temple, and whilst Armand had been eating out his heart with anxiety, + the Scarlet Pimpernel, true only to his mission, and impatient of all + sentiment that interfered with his schemes, had left Jeanne to pay with + her life for the safety of the uncrowned King. + </p> + <p> + But the bitterness did not last long; on the contrary, a kind of wild + exultation took its place. If Percy had forgotten, then Armand could stand + by Jeanne alone. It was better so! He would save the loved one; it was his + duty and his right to work for her sake. Never for a moment did he doubt + that he could save her, that his life would be readily accepted in + exchange for hers. + </p> + <p> + The crowd around him was moving up the monumental steps, and Armand went + with the crowd. It lacked but a few minutes to ten now; soon the court + would begin to sit. In the olden days, when he was studying for the law, + Armand had often wandered about at will along the corridors of the house + of Justice. He knew exactly where the different prisons were situated + about the buildings, and how to reach the courtyards where the prisoners + took their daily exercise. + </p> + <p> + To watch those aristos who were awaiting trial and death taking their + recreation in these courtyards had become one of the sights of Paris. + Country cousins on a visit to the city were brought hither for + entertainment. Tall iron gates stood between the public and the prisoners, + and a row of sentinels guarded these gates; but if one was enterprising + and eager to see, one could glue one’s nose against the ironwork and watch + the ci-devant aristocrats in threadbare clothes trying to cheat their + horror of death by acting a farce of light-heartedness which their wan + faces and tear-dimmed eyes effectually belied. + </p> + <p> + All this Armand knew, and on this he counted. For a little while he joined + the crowd in the Salle des Pas Perdus, and wandered idly up and down the + majestic colonnaded hall. He even at one time formed part of the throng + that watched one of those quick tragedies that were enacted within the + great chamber of the court. A number of prisoners brought in, in a batch; + hurried interrogations, interrupted answers, a quick indictment, monstrous + in its flaring injustice, spoken by Foucquier-Tinville, the public + prosecutor, and listened to in all seriousness by men who dared to call + themselves judges of their fellows. + </p> + <p> + The accused had walked down the Champs Elysees without wearing a tricolour + cockade; the other had invested some savings in an English industrial + enterprise; yet another had sold public funds, causing them to depreciate + rather suddenly in the market! + </p> + <p> + Sometimes from one of these unfortunates led thus wantonly to butchery + there would come an excited protest, or from a woman screams of agonised + entreaty. But these were quickly silenced by rough blows from the + butt-ends of muskets, and condemnations—wholesale sentences of death—were + quickly passed amidst the cheers of the spectators and the howls of + derision from infamous jury and judge. + </p> + <p> + Oh! the mockery of it all—the awful, the hideous ignominy, the blot + of shame that would forever sully the historic name of France. Armand, + sickened with horror, could not bear more than a few minutes of this + monstrous spectacle. The same fate might even now be awaiting Jeanne. + Among the next batch of victims to this sacrilegious butchery he might + suddenly spy his beloved with her pale face and cheeks stained with her + tears. + </p> + <p> + He fled from the great chamber, keeping just a sufficiency of presence of + mind to join a knot of idlers who were drifting leisurely towards the + corridors. He followed in their wake and soon found himself in the long + Galerie des Prisonniers, along the flagstones of which two days ago de + Batz had followed his guide towards the lodgings of Heron. + </p> + <p> + On his left now were the arcades shut off from the courtyard beyond by + heavy iron gates. Through the ironwork Armand caught sight of a number of + women walking or sitting in the courtyard. He heard a man next to him + explaining to his friend that these were the female prisoners who would be + brought to trial that day, and he felt that his heart must burst at the + thought that mayhap Jeanne would be among them. + </p> + <p> + He elbowed his way cautiously to the front rank. Soon he found himself + beside a sentinel who, with a good-humoured jest, made way for him that he + might watch the aristos. Armand leaned against the grating, and his every + sense was concentrated in that of sight. + </p> + <p> + At first he could scarcely distinguish one woman from another amongst the + crowd that thronged the courtyard, and the close ironwork hindered his + view considerably. The women looked almost like phantoms in the grey misty + air, gliding slowly along with noiseless tread on the flag-stones. + </p> + <p> + Presently, however, his eyes, which mayhap were somewhat dim with tears, + became more accustomed to the hazy grey light and the moving figures that + looked so like shadows. He could distinguish isolated groups now, women + and girls sitting together under the colonnaded arcades, some reading, + others busy, with trembling fingers, patching and darning a poor, torn + gown. Then there were others who were actually chatting and laughing + together, and—oh, the pity of it! the pity and the shame!—a + few children, shrieking with delight, were playing hide and seek in and + out amongst the columns. + </p> + <p> + And, between them all, in and out like the children at play, unseen, yet + familiar to all, the spectre of Death, scythe and hour-glass in hand, + wandered, majestic and sure. + </p> + <p> + Armand’s very soul was in his eyes. So far he had not yet caught sight of + his beloved, and slowly—very slowly—a ray of hope was + filtering through the darkness of his despair. + </p> + <p> + The sentinel, who had stood aside for him, chaffed him for his intentness. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a sweetheart among these aristos, citizen?” he asked. “You seem + to be devouring them with your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Armand, with his rough clothes soiled with coal-dust, his face grimy and + streaked with sweat, certainly looked to have but little in common with + the ci-devant aristos who formed the hulk of the groups in the courtyard. + He looked up; the soldier was regarding him with obvious amusement, and at + sight of Armand’s wild, anxious eyes he gave vent to a coarse jest. + </p> + <p> + “Have I made a shrewd guess, citizen?” he said. “Is she among that lot?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where she is,” said Armand almost involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you find out?” queried the soldier. + </p> + <p> + The man was not speaking altogether unkindly. Armand, devoured with the + maddening desire to know, threw the last fragment of prudence to the wind. + He assumed a more careless air, trying to look as like a country bumpkin + in love as he could. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to find out,” he said, “but I don’t know where to inquire. + My sweetheart has certainly left her home,” he added lightly; “some say + that she has been false to me, but I think that, mayhap, she has been + arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you gaby,” said the soldier good-humouredly, “go straight to + La Tournelle; you know where it is?” + </p> + <p> + Armand knew well enough, but thought it more prudent to keep up the air of + the ignorant lout. + </p> + <p> + “Straight down that first corridor on your right,” explained the other, + pointing in the direction which he had indicated, “you will find the + guichet of La Tournelle exactly opposite to you. Ask the concierge for the + register of female prisoners—every freeborn citizen of the Republic + has the right to inspect prison registers. It is a new decree framed for + safeguarding the liberty of the people. But if you do not press half a + livre in the hand of the concierge,” he added, speaking confidentially, + “you will find that the register will not be quite ready for your + inspection.” + </p> + <p> + “Half a livre!” exclaimed Armand, striving to play his part to the end. + “How can a poor devil of a labourer have half a livre to give away?” + </p> + <p> + “Well! a few sous will do in that case; a few sous are always welcome + these hard times.” + </p> + <p> + Armand took the hint, and as the crowd had drifted away momentarily to a + further portion of the corridor, he contrived to press a few copper coins + into the hand of the obliging soldier. + </p> + <p> + Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have covered the + distance that separated him from the guichet there with steps flying like + the wind, but, commending himself for his own prudence, he walked as + slowly as he could along the interminable corridor, past the several minor + courts of justice, and skirting the courtyard where the male prisoners + took their exercise. + </p> + <p> + At last, having struck sharply to his left and ascended a short flight of + stairs, he found himself in front of the guichet—a narrow wooden + box, wherein the clerk in charge of the prison registers sat nominally at + the disposal of the citizens of this free republic. + </p> + <p> + But to Armand’s almost overwhelming chagrin he found the place entirely + deserted. The guichet was closed down; there was not a soul in sight. The + disappointment was doubly keen, coming as it did in the wake of hope that + had refused to be gainsaid. Armand himself did not realise how sanguine he + had been until he discovered that he must wait and wait again—wait + for hours, all day mayhap, before he could get definite news of Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He wandered aimlessly in the vicinity of that silent, deserted, cruel + spot, where a closed trapdoor seemed to shut off all his hopes of a speedy + sight of Jeanne. He inquired of the first sentinels whom he came across at + what hour the clerk of the registers would be back at his post; the + soldiers shrugged their shoulders and could give no information. Then + began Armand’s aimless wanderings round La Tournelle, his fruitless + inquiries, his wild, excited search for the hide-bound official who was + keeping from him the knowledge of Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + He went back to his sentinel well-wisher by the women’s courtyard, but + found neither consolation nor encouragement there. + </p> + <p> + “It is not the hour—quoi?” the soldier remarked with laconic + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + It apparently was not the hour when the prison registers were placed at + the disposal of the public. After much fruitless inquiry, Armand at last + was informed by a bon bourgeois, who was wandering about the house of + Justice and who seemed to know its multifarious rules, that the prison + registers all over Paris could only be consulted by the public between the + hours of six and seven in the evening. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing for it but to wait. Armand, whose temples were + throbbing, who was footsore, hungry, and wretched, could gain nothing by + continuing his aimless wanderings through the labyrinthine building. For + close upon another hour he stood with his face glued against the ironwork + which separated him from the female prisoners’ courtyard. Once it seemed + to him as if from its further end he caught the sound of that exquisitely + melodious voice which had rung forever in his ear since that memorable + evening when Jeanne’s dainty footsteps had first crossed the path of his + destiny. He strained his eyes to look in the direction whence the voice + had come, but the centre of the courtyard was planted with a small garden + of shrubs, and Armand could not see across it. At last, driven forth like + a wandering and lost soul, he turned back and out into the streets. The + air was mild and damp. The sharp thaw had persisted through the day, and a + thin, misty rain was falling and converting the ill-paved roads into seas + of mud. + </p> + <p> + But of this Armand was wholly unconscious. He walked along the quay + holding his cap in his hand, so that the mild south wind should cool his + burning forehead. + </p> + <p> + How he contrived to kill those long, weary hours he could not afterwards + have said. Once he felt very hungry, and turned almost mechanically into + an eating-house, and tried to eat and drink. But most of the day he + wandered through the streets, restlessly, unceasingly, feeling neither + chill nor fatigue. The hour before six o’clock found him on the Quai de + l’Horloge in the shadow of the great towers of the Hall of Justice, + listening for the clang of the clock that would sound the hour of his + deliverance from this agonising torture of suspense. + </p> + <p> + He found his way to La Tournelle without any hesitation. There before him + was the wooden box, with its guichet open at last, and two stands upon its + ledge, on which were placed two huge leather-bound books. + </p> + <p> + Though Armand was nearly an hour before the appointed time, he saw when he + arrived a number of people standing round the guichet. Two soldiers were + there keeping guard and forcing the patient, long-suffering inquirers to + stand in a queue, each waiting his or her turn at the books. + </p> + <p> + It was a curious crowd that stood there, in single file, as if waiting at + the door of the cheaper part of a theatre; men in substantial cloth + clothes, and others in ragged blouse and breeches; there were a few women, + too, with black shawls on their shoulders and kerchiefs round their wan, + tear-stained faces. + </p> + <p> + They were all silent and absorbed, submissive under the rough handling of + the soldiery, humble and deferential when anon the clerk of the registers + entered his box, and prepared to place those fateful books at the disposal + of those who had lost a loved one—father, brother, mother, or wife—and + had come to search through those cruel pages. + </p> + <p> + From inside his box the clerk disputed every inquirer’s right to consult + the books; he made as many difficulties as he could, demanding the + production of certificates of safety, or permits from the section. He was + as insolent as he dared, and Armand from where he stood could see that a + continuous if somewhat thin stream of coppers flowed from the hands of the + inquirers into those of the official. + </p> + <p> + It was quite dark in the passage where the long queue continued to swell + with amazing rapidity. Only on the ledge in front of the guichet there was + a guttering tallow candle at the disposal of the inquirers. + </p> + <p> + Now it was Armand’s turn at last. By this time his heart was beating so + strongly and so rapidly that he could not have trusted himself to speak. + He fumbled in his pocket, and without unnecessary preliminaries he + produced a small piece of silver, and pushed it towards the clerk, then he + seized on the register marked “Femmes” with voracious avidity. + </p> + <p> + The clerk had with stolid indifference pocketed the half-livre; he looked + on Armand over a pair of large bone-rimmed spectacles, with the air of an + old hawk that sees a helpless bird and yet is too satiated to eat. He was + apparently vastly amused at Armand’s trembling hands, and the clumsy, + aimless way with which he fingered the book and held up the tallow candle. + </p> + <p> + “What date?” he asked curtly in a piping voice. + </p> + <p> + “What date?” reiterated Armand vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “What day and hour was she arrested?” said the man, thrusting his + beak-like nose closer to Armand’s face. Evidently the piece of silver had + done its work well; he meant to be helpful to this country lout. + </p> + <p> + “On Friday evening,” murmured the young man. + </p> + <p> + The clerk’s hands did not in character gainsay the rest of his appearance; + they were long and thin, with nails that resembled the talons of a hawk. + Armand watched them fascinated as from above they turned over rapidly the + pages of the book; then one long, grimy finger pointed to a row of names + down a column. + </p> + <p> + “If she is here,” said the man curtly, “her name should be amongst these.” + </p> + <p> + Armand’s vision was blurred. He could scarcely see. The row of names was + dancing a wild dance in front of his eyes; perspiration stood out on his + forehead, and his breath came in quick, stertorous gasps. + </p> + <p> + He never knew afterwards whether he actually saw Jeanne’s name there in + the book, or whether his fevered brain was playing his aching senses a + cruel and mocking trick. Certain it is that suddenly amongst a row of + indifferent names hers suddenly stood clearly on the page, and to him it + seemed as if the letters were writ out in blood. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 582. Belhomme, Louise, aged sixty. Discharged. +</pre> + <p> + And just below, the other entry: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 583. Lange, Jeanne, aged twenty, actress. Square du Roule + No.5. Suspected of harbouring traitors and ci-devants. + Transferred 29th Nivose to the Temple, cell 29. +</pre> + <p> + He saw nothing more, for suddenly it seemed to him as if some one held a + vivid scarlet veil in front of his eyes, whilst a hundred claw-like hands + were tearing at his heart and at his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out now! it is my turn—what? Are you going to stand there all + night?” + </p> + <p> + A rough voice seemed to be speaking these words; rough hands apparently + were pushing him out of the way, and some one snatched the candle out of + his hand; but nothing was real. He stumbled over a corner of a loose + flagstone, and would have fallen, but something seemed to catch hold of + him and to lead him away for a little distance, until a breath of cold air + blew upon his face. + </p> + <p> + This brought him back to his senses. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne was a prisoner in the Temple; then his place was in the prison of + the Temple, too. It could not be very difficult to run one’s head into the + noose that caught so many necks these days. A few cries of “Vive le roi!” + or “A bas la republique!” and more than one prison door would gape + invitingly to receive another guest. + </p> + <p> + The hot blood had rushed into Armand’s head. He did not see clearly before + him, nor did he hear distinctly. There was a buzzing in his ears as of + myriads of mocking birds’ wings, and there was a veil in front of his eyes—a + veil through which he saw faces and forms flitting ghost-like in the + gloom, men and women jostling or being jostled, soldiers, sentinels; then + long, interminable corridors, more crowd and more soldiers, winding + stairs, courtyards and gates; finally the open street, the quay, and the + river beyond. + </p> + <p> + An incessant hammering went on in his temples, and that veil never lifted + from before his eyes. Now it was lurid and red, as if stained with blood; + anon it was white like a shroud but it was always there. + </p> + <p> + Through it he saw the Pont-au-Change, which he crossed, then far down on + the Quai de l’Ecole to the left the corner house behind St. Germain + l’Auxerrois, where Blakeney lodged—Blakeney, who for the sake of a + stranger had forgotten all about his comrade and Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + Through it he saw the network of streets which separated him from the + neighbourhood of the Temple, the gardens of ruined habitations, the + closely-shuttered and barred windows of ducal houses, then the mean + streets, the crowded drinking bars, the tumble-down shops with their + dilapidated awnings. + </p> + <p> + He saw with eyes that did not see, heard the tumult of daily life round + him with ears that did not hear. Jeanne was in the Temple prison, and when + its grim gates closed finally for the night, he—Armand, her + chevalier, her lover, her defender—would be within its walls as near + to cell No. 29 as bribery, entreaty, promises would help him to attain. + </p> + <p> + Ah! there at last loomed the great building, the pointed bastions cut + through the surrounding gloom as with a sable knife. + </p> + <p> + Armand reached the gate; the sentinels challenged him; he replied: + </p> + <p> + “Vive le roi!” shouting wildly like one who is drunk. + </p> + <p> + He was hatless, and his clothes were saturated with moisture. He tried to + pass, but crossed bayonets barred the way. Still he shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Vive le roi!” and “A bas la republique!” + </p> + <p> + “Allons! the fellow is drunk!” said one of the soldiers. + </p> + <p> + Armand fought like a madman; he wanted to reach that gate. He shouted, he + laughed, and he cried, until one of the soldiers in a fit of rage struck + him heavily on the head. + </p> + <p> + Armand fell backwards, stunned by the blow; his foot slipped on the wet + pavement. Was he indeed drunk, or was he dreaming? He put his hand up to + his forehead; it was wet, but whether with the rain or with blood he did + not know; but for the space of one second he tried to collect his + scattered wits. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen St. Just!” said a quiet voice at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + Then, as he looked round dazed, feeling a firm, pleasant grip on his arm, + the same quiet voice continued calmly: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you do not remember me, citizen St. Just. I had not the honour of + the same close friendship with you as I had with your charming sister. My + name is Chauvelin. Can I be of any service to you?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. CHAUVELIN + </h2> + <p> + Chauvelin! The presence of this man here at this moment made the events of + the past few days seem more absolutely like a dream. Chauvelin!—the + most deadly enemy he, Armand, and his sister Marguerite had in the world. + Chauvelin!—the evil genius that presided over the Secret Service of + the Republic. Chauvelin—the aristocrat turned revolutionary, the + diplomat turned spy, the baffled enemy of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + </p> + <p> + He stood there vaguely outlined in the gloom by the feeble rays of an oil + lamp fixed into the wall just above. The moisture on his sable clothes + glistened in the flickering light like a thin veil of crystal; it clung to + the rim of his hat, to the folds of his cloak; the ruffles at his throat + and wrist hung limp and soiled. + </p> + <p> + He had released Armand’s arm, and held his hands now underneath his cloak; + his pale, deep-set eyes rested gravely on the younger man’s face. + </p> + <p> + “I had an idea, somehow,” continued Chauvelin calmly, “that you and I + would meet during your sojourn in Paris. I heard from my friend Heron that + you had been in the city; he, unfortunately, lost your track almost as + soon as he had found it, and I, too, had begun to fear that our mutual and + ever enigmatical friend, the Scarlet Pimpernel, had spirited you away, + which would have been a great disappointment to me.” + </p> + <p> + Now he once more took hold of Armand by the elbow, but quite gently, more + like a comrade who is glad to have met another, and is preparing to enjoy + a pleasant conversation for a while. He led the way back to the gate, the + sentinel saluting at sight of the tricolour scarf which was visible + underneath his cloak. Under the stone rampart Chauvelin paused. + </p> + <p> + It was quiet and private here. The group of soldiers stood at the further + end of the archway, but they were out of hearing, and their forms were + only vaguely discernible in the surrounding darkness. + </p> + <p> + Armand had followed his enemy mechanically like one bewitched and + irresponsible for his actions. When Chauvelin paused he too stood still, + not because of the grip on his arm, but because of that curious numbing of + his will. + </p> + <p> + Vague, confused thoughts were floating through his brain, the most + dominant one among them being that Fate had effectually ordained + everything for the best. Here was Chauvelin, a man who hated him, who, of + course, would wish to see him dead. Well, surely it must be an easier + matter now to barter his own life for that of Jeanne; she had only been + arrested on suspicion of harbouring him, who was a known traitor to the + Republic; then, with his capture and speedy death, her supposed guilt + would, he hoped, be forgiven. These people could have no ill-will against + her, and actors and actresses were always leniently dealt with when + possible. Then surely, surely, he could serve Jeanne best by his own + arrest and condemnation, than by working to rescue her from prison. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile Chauvelin shook the damp from off his cloak, talking all + the time in his own peculiar, gently ironical manner. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Blakeney?” he was saying—“I hope that she is well!” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir,” murmured Armand mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “And my dear friend, Sir Percy Blakeney? I had hoped to meet him in Paris. + Ah! but no doubt he has been busy very busy; but I live in hopes—I + live in hopes. See how kindly Chance has treated me,” he continued in the + same bland and mocking tones. “I was taking a stroll in these parts, + scarce hoping to meet a friend, when, passing the postern-gate of this + charming hostelry, whom should I see but my amiable friend St. Just + striving to gain admission. But, la! here am I talking of myself, and I am + not re-assured as to your state of health. You felt faint just now, did + you not? The air about this building is very dank and close. I hope you + feel better now. Command me, pray, if I can be of service to you in any + way.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Chauvelin talked he had drawn Armand after him into the lodge of + the concierge. The young man now made a great effort to pull himself + vigorously together and to steady his nerves. + </p> + <p> + He had his wish. He was inside the Temple prison now, not far from Jeanne, + and though his enemy was older and less vigorous than himself, and the + door of the concierge’s lodge stood wide open, he knew that he was in-deed + as effectually a prisoner already as if the door of one of the numerous + cells in this gigantic building had been bolted and barred upon him. + </p> + <p> + This knowledge helped him to recover his complete presence of mind. No + thought of fighting or trying to escape his fate entered his head for a + moment. It had been useless probably, and undoubtedly it was better so. If + he only could see Jeanne, and assure himself that she would be safe in + consequence of his own arrest, then, indeed, life could hold no greater + happiness for him. + </p> + <p> + Above all now he wanted to be cool and calculating, to curb the excitement + which the Latin blood in him called forth at every mention of the loved + one’s name. He tried to think of Percy, of his calmness, his easy banter + with an enemy; he resolved to act as Percy would act under these + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Firstly, he steadied his voice, and drew his well-knit, slim figure + upright. He called to mind all his friends in England, with their rigid + manners, their impassiveness in the face of trying situations. There was + Lord Tony, for instance, always ready with some boyish joke, with boyish + impertinence always hovering on his tongue. Armand tried to emulate Lord + Tony’s manner, and to borrow something of Percy’s calm impudence. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Chauvelin,” he said, as soon as he felt quite sure of the + steadiness of his voice and the calmness of his manner, “I wonder if you + are quite certain that that light grip which you have on my arm is + sufficient to keep me here walking quietly by your side instead of + knocking you down, as I certainly feel inclined to do, for I am a younger, + more vigorous man than you.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” said Chauvelin, who made pretence to ponder over this difficult + problem; “like you, citizen St. Just, I wonder—” + </p> + <p> + “It could easily be done, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly easily,” rejoined the other; “but there is the guard; it is + numerous and strong in this building, and—” + </p> + <p> + “The gloom would help me; it is dark in the corridors, and a desperate man + takes risks, remember—” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so! And you, citizen St. Just, are a desperate man just now.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister Marguerite is not here, citizen Chauvelin. You cannot barter my + life for that of your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “No! no! no!” rejoined Chauvelin blandly; “not for that of my enemy, I + know, but—” + </p> + <p> + Armand caught at his words like a drowning man at a reed. + </p> + <p> + “For hers!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “For hers?” queried the other with obvious puzzlement. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Lange,” continued Armand with all the egoistic ardour of the + lover who believes that the attention of the entire world is concentrated + upon his beloved. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Lange! You will set her free now that I am in your power.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin smiled, his usual suave, enigmatical smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” he said. “Mademoiselle Lange. I had forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgotten, man?—forgotten that those murderous dogs have arrested + her?—the best, the purest, this vile, degraded country has ever + produced. She sheltered me one day just for an hour. I am a traitor to the + Republic—I own it. I’ll make full confession; but she knew nothing + of this. I deceived her; she is quite innocent, you understand? I’ll make + full confession, but you must set her free.” + </p> + <p> + He had gradually worked himself up again to a state of feverish + excitement. Through the darkness which hung about in this small room he + tried to peer in Chauvelin’s impassive face. + </p> + <p> + “Easy, easy, my young friend,” said the other placidly; “you seem to + imagine that I have something to do with the arrest of the lady in whom + you take so deep an interest. You forget that now I am but a discredited + servant of the Republic whom I failed to serve in her need. My life is + only granted me out of pity for my efforts, which were genuine if not + successful. I have no power to set any one free.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to arrest me now, in that case!” retorted Armand. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin paused a moment before he replied with a deprecating smile: + </p> + <p> + “Only to denounce you, perhaps. I am still an agent of the Committee of + General Security.” + </p> + <p> + “Then all is for the best!” exclaimed St. Just eagerly. “You shall + denounce me to the Committee. They will be glad of my arrest, I assure + you. I have been a marked man for some time. I had intended to evade + arrest and to work for the rescue of Mademoiselle Lange; but I will give + up all thought of that—I will deliver myself into your hands + absolutely; nay, more, I will give you my most solemn word of honour that + not only will I make no attempt at escape, but that I will not allow any + one to help me to do so. I will be a passive and willing prisoner if you, + on the other hand, will effect Mademoiselle Lange’s release.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” mused Chauvelin again, “it sounds feasible.” + </p> + <p> + “It does! it does!” rejoined Armand, whose excitement was at fever-pitch. + “My arrest, my condemnation, my death, will be of vast deal more + importance to you than that of a young and innocent girl against whom + unlikely charges would have to be tricked up, and whose acquittal mayhap + public feeling might demand. As for me, I shall be an easy prey; my known + counter-revolutionary principles, my sister’s marriage with a foreigner—” + </p> + <p> + “Your connection with the Scarlet Pimpernel,” suggested Chauvelin blandly. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. I should not defend myself—” + </p> + <p> + “And your enigmatical friend would not attempt your rescue. C’est + entendu,” said Chauvelin with his wonted blandness. “Then, my dear, + enthusiastic young friend, shall we adjourn to the office of my colleague, + citizen Heron, who is chief agent of the Committee of General Security, + and will receive your—did you say confession?—and note the + conditions under which you place yourself absolutely in the hands of the + Public Prosecutor and subsequently of the executioner. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + Armand was too full of schemes, too full of thoughts of Jeanne to note the + tone of quiet irony with which Chauvelin had been speaking all along. With + the unreasoning egoism of youth he was quite convinced that his own + arrest, his own affairs were as important to this entire nation in + revolution as they were to himself. At moments like these it is difficult + to envisage a desperate situation clearly, and to a young man in love the + fate of the beloved never seems desperate whilst he himself is alive and + ready for every sacrifice for her sake. “My life for hers” is the sublime + if often foolish battle-cry that has so often resulted in whole-sale + destruction. Armand at this moment, when he fondly believed that he was + making a bargain with the most astute, most unscrupulous spy this + revolutionary Government had in its pay—Armand just then had + absolutely forgotten his chief, his friends, the league of mercy and help + to which he belonged. + </p> + <p> + Enthusiasm and the spirit of self-sacrifice were carrying him away. He + watched his enemy with glowing eyes as one who looks on the arbiter of his + fate. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin, without another word, beckoned to him to follow. He led the way + out of the lodge, then, turning sharply to his left, he reached the wide + quadrangle with the covered passage running right round it, the same which + de Batz had traversed two evenings ago when he went to visit Heron. + </p> + <p> + Armand, with a light heart and springy step, followed him as if he were + going to a feast where he would meet Jeanne, where he would kneel at her + feet, kiss her hands, and lead her triumphantly to freedom and to + happiness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. THE REMOVAL + </h2> + <p> + Chauvelin no longer made any pretence to hold Armand by the arm. By + temperament as well as by profession a spy, there was one subject at least + which he had mastered thoroughly: that was the study of human nature. + Though occasionally an exceptionally complex mental organisation baffled + him—as in the case of Sir Percy Blakeney—he prided himself, + and justly, too, on reading natures like that of Armand St. Just as he + would an open book. + </p> + <p> + The excitable disposition of the Latin races he knew out and out; he knew + exactly how far a sentimental situation would lead a young Frenchman like + Armand, who was by disposition chivalrous, and by temperament essentially + passionate. Above all things, he knew when and how far he could trust a + man to do either a sublime action or an essentially foolish one. + </p> + <p> + Therefore he walked along contentedly now, not even looking back to see + whether St. Just was following him. He knew that he did. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts only dwelt on the young enthusiast—in his mind he + called him the young fool—in order to weigh in the balance the + mighty possibilities that would accrue from the present sequence of + events. The fixed idea ever working in the man’s scheming brain had + already transformed a vague belief into a certainty. That the Scarlet + Pimpernel was in Paris at the present moment Chauvelin had now become + convinced. How far he could turn the capture of Armand St. Just to the + triumph of his own ends remained to be seen. + </p> + <p> + But this he did know: the Scarlet Pimpernel—the man whom he had + learned to know, to dread, and even in a grudging manner to admire—was + not like to leave one of his followers in the lurch. Marguerite’s brother + in the Temple would be the surest decoy for the elusive meddler who still, + and in spite of all care and precaution, continued to baffle the army of + spies set upon his track. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin could hear Armand’s light, elastic footsteps resounding behind + him on the flagstones. A world of intoxicating possibilities surged up + before him. Ambition, which two successive dire failures had atrophied in + his breast, once more rose up buoyant and hopeful. Once he had sworn to + lay the Scarlet Pimpernel by the heels, and that oath was not yet wholly + forgotten; it had lain dormant after the catastrophe of Boulogne, but with + the sight of Armand St. Just it had re-awakened and confronted him again + with the strength of a likely fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + The courtyard looked gloomy and deserted. The thin drizzle which still + fell from a persistently leaden sky effectually held every outline of + masonry, of column, or of gate hidden as beneath a shroud. The corridor + which skirted it all round was ill-lighted save by an occasional oil-lamp + fixed in the wall. + </p> + <p> + But Chauvelin knew his way well. Heron’s lodgings gave on the second + courtyard, the Square du Nazaret, and the way thither led past the main + square tower, in the top floor of which the uncrowned King of France eked + out his miserable existence as the plaything of a rough cobbler and his + wife. + </p> + <p> + Just beneath its frowning bastions Chauvelin turned back towards Armand. + He pointed with a careless hand up-wards to the central tower. + </p> + <p> + “We have got little Capet in there,” he said dryly. “Your chivalrous + Scarlet Pimpernel has not ventured in these precincts yet, you see.” + </p> + <p> + Armand was silent. He had no difficulty in looking unconcerned; his + thoughts were so full of Jeanne that he cared but little at this moment + for any Bourbon king or for the destinies of France. + </p> + <p> + Now the two men reached the postern gate. A couple of sentinels were + standing by, but the gate itself was open, and from within there came the + sound of bustle and of noise, of a good deal of swearing, and also of loud + laughter. + </p> + <p> + The guard-room gave on the left of the gate, and the laughter came from + there. It was brilliantly lighted, and Armand, peering in, in the wake of + Chauvelin, could see groups of soldiers sitting and standing about. There + was a table in the centre of the room, and on it a number of jugs and + pewter mugs, packets of cards, and overturned boxes of dice. + </p> + <p> + But the bustle did not come from the guard-room; it came from the landing + and the stone stairs beyond. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin, apparently curious, had passed through the gate, and Armand + followed him. The light from the open door of the guard-room cut sharply + across the landing, making the gloom beyond appear more dense and almost + solid. From out the darkness, fitfully intersected by a lanthorn + apparently carried to and fro, moving figures loomed out ghost-like and + weirdly gigantic. Soon Armand distinguished a number of large objects that + encumbered the landing, and as he and Chauvelin left the sharp light of + the guard-room behind them, he could see that the large objects were + pieces of furniture of every shape and size; a wooden bedstead—dismantled—leaned + against the wall, a black horsehair sofa blocked the way to the tower + stairs, and there were numberless chairs and several tables piled one on + the top of the other. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this litter a stout, flabby-cheeked man stood, apparently + giving directions as to its removal to persons at present unseen. + </p> + <p> + “Hola, Papa Simon!” exclaimed Chauvelin jovially; “moving out to-day? + What?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank the Lord!—if there be a Lord!” retorted the other + curtly. “Is that you, citizen Chauvelin?” + </p> + <p> + “In person, citizen. I did not know you were leaving quite so soon. Is + citizen Heron anywhere about?” + </p> + <p> + “Just left,” replied Simon. “He had a last look at Capet just before my + wife locked the brat up in the inner room. Now he’s gone back to his + lodgings.” + </p> + <p> + A man carrying a chest, empty of its drawers, on his back now came + stumbling down the tower staircase. Madame Simon followed close on his + heels, steadying the chest with one hand. + </p> + <p> + “We had better begin to load up the cart,” she called to her husband in a + high-pitched querulous voice; “the corridor is getting too much + encumbered.” + </p> + <p> + She looked suspiciously at Chauvelin and at Armand, and when she + encountered the former’s bland, unconcerned gaze she suddenly shivered and + drew her black shawl closer round her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” she said, “I shall be glad to get out of this God-forsaken hole. I + hate the very sight of these walls.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, the citizeness does not look over robust in health,” said + Chauvelin with studied politeness. “The stay in the tower did not, mayhap, + bring forth all the fruits of prosperity which she had anticipated.” + </p> + <p> + The woman eyed him with dark suspicion lurking in her hollow eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean, citizen,” she said with a shrug of her wide + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I meant nothing,” rejoined Chauvelin, smiling. “I am so interested in + your removal; busy man as I am, it has amused me to watch you. Whom have + you got to help you with the furniture?” + </p> + <p> + “Dupont, the man-of-all-work, from the concierge,” said Simon curtly. + “Citizen Heron would not allow any one to come in from the outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Rightly too. Have the new commissaries come yet? + </p> + <p> + “Only citizen Cochefer. He is waiting upstairs for the others.” + </p> + <p> + “And Capet?” + </p> + <p> + “He is all safe. Citizen Heron came to see him, and then he told me to + lock the little vermin up in the inner room. Citizen Cochefer had just + arrived by that time, and he has remained in charge.” + </p> + <p> + During all this while the man with the chest on his back was waiting for + orders. Bent nearly double, he was grumbling audibly at his uncomfortable + position. + </p> + <p> + “Does the citizen want to break my back?” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “We had best get along—quoi?” + </p> + <p> + He asked if he should begin to carry the furniture out into the street. + </p> + <p> + “Two sous have I got to pay every ten minutes to the lad who holds my + nag,” he said, muttering under his breath; “we shall be all night at this + rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Begin to load then,” commanded Simon gruffly. “Here!—begin with + this sofa.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to give me a hand with that,” said the man. “Wait a bit; I’ll + just see that everything is all right in the cart. I’ll be back directly.” + </p> + <p> + “Take something with you then as you are going down,” said Madame Simon in + her querulous voice. + </p> + <p> + The man picked up a basket of linen that stood in the angle by the door. + He hoisted it on his back and shuffled away with it across the landing and + out through the gate. + </p> + <p> + “How did Capet like parting from his papa and maman?” asked Chauvelin with + a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” growled Simon laconically. “He will find out soon enough how well + off he was under our care.” + </p> + <p> + “Have the other commissaries come yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But they will be here directly. Citizen Cochefer is upstairs mounting + guard over Capet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, Papa Simon,” concluded Chauvelin jovially. “Citizeness, + your servant!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed with unconcealed irony to the cobbler’s wife, and nodded to Simon, + who expressed by a volley of motley oaths his exact feelings with regard + to all the agents of the Committee of General Security. + </p> + <p> + “Six months of this penal servitude have we had,” he said roughly, “and no + thanks or pension. I would as soon serve a ci-devant aristo as your + accursed Committee.” + </p> + <p> + The man Dupont had returned. Stolidly, after the fashion of his kind, he + commenced the removal of citizen Simon’s goods. He seemed a clumsy enough + creature, and Simon and his wife had to do most of the work themselves. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin watched the moving forms for a while, then he shrugged his + shoulders with a laugh of indifference, and turned on his heel. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN + </h2> + <p> + Heron was not at his lodgings when, at last, after vigorous pulls at the + bell, a great deal of waiting and much cursing, Chauvelin, closely + followed by Armand, was introduced in the chief agent’s office. + </p> + <p> + The soldier who acted as servant said that citizen Heron had gone out to + sup, but would surely be home again by eight o’clock. Armand by this time + was so dazed with fatigue that he sank on a chair like a log, and remained + there staring into the fire, unconscious of the flight of time. + </p> + <p> + Anon Heron came home. He nodded to Chauvelin, and threw but a cursory + glance on Armand. + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes, citizen,” he said, with a rough attempt at an apology. “I + am sorry to keep you waiting, but the new commissaries have arrived who + are to take charge of Capet. The Simons have just gone, and I want to + assure myself that everything is all right in the Tower. Cochefer has been + in charge, but I like to cast an eye over the brat every day myself.” + </p> + <p> + He went out again, slamming the door behind him. His heavy footsteps were + heard treading the flagstones of the corridor, and gradually dying away in + the distance. Armand had paid no heed either to his entrance or to his + exit. He was only conscious of an intense weariness, and would at this + moment gladly have laid his head on the scaffold if on it he could find + rest. + </p> + <p> + A white-faced clock on the wall ticked off the seconds one by one. From + the street below came the muffled sounds of wheeled traffic on the soft + mud of the road; it was raining more heavily now, and from time to time a + gust of wind rattled the small windows in their dilapidated frames, or + hurled a shower of heavy drops against the panes. + </p> + <p> + The heat from the stove had made Armand drowsy; his head fell forward on + his chest. Chauvelin, with his hands held behind his back, paced + ceaselessly up and down the narrow room. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Armand started—wide awake now. Hurried footsteps on the + flagstones outside, a hoarse shout, a banging of heavy doors, and the next + moment Heron stood once more on the threshold of the room. Armand, with + wide-opened eyes, gazed on him in wonder. The whole appearance of the man + had changed. He looked ten years older, with lank, dishevelled hair + hanging matted over a moist forehead, the cheeks ashen-white, the full + lips bloodless and hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows of + yellow teeth that shook against each other. The whole figure looked bowed, + as if shrunk within itself. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin had paused in his restless walk. He gazed on his colleague, a + frown of puzzlement on his pale, set face. + </p> + <p> + “Capet!” he exclaimed, as soon as he had taken in every detail of Heron’s + altered appearance, and seen the look of wild terror that literally + distorted his face. + </p> + <p> + Heron could not speak; his teeth were chattering in his mouth, and his + tongue seemed paralysed. Chauvelin went up to him. He was several inches + shorter than his colleague, but at this moment he seemed to be towering + over him like an avenging spirit. He placed a firm hand on the other’s + bowed shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Capet has gone—is that it?” he queried peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + The look of terror increased in Heron’s eyes, giving its mute reply. + </p> + <p> + “How? When?” + </p> + <p> + But for the moment the man was speechless. An almost maniacal fear seemed + to hold him in its grip. With an impatient oath Chauvelin turned away from + him. + </p> + <p> + “Brandy!” he said curtly, speaking to Armand. + </p> + <p> + A bottle and glass were found in the cupboard. It was St. Just who poured + out the brandy and held it to Heron’s lips. Chauvelin was once more pacing + up and down the room in angry impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Pull yourself together, man,” he said roughly after a while, “and try and + tell me what has occurred.” + </p> + <p> + Heron had sunk into a chair. He passed a trembling hand once or twice over + his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Capet has disappeared,” he murmured; “he must have been spirited away + while the Simons were moving their furniture. That accursed Cochefer was + completely taken in.” + </p> + <p> + Heron spoke in a toneless voice, hardly above a whisper, and like one + whose throat is dry and mouth parched. But the brandy had revived him + somewhat, and his eyes lost their former glassy look. + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked Chauvelin curtly. + </p> + <p> + “I was just leaving the Tower when he arrived. I spoke to him at the door. + I had seen Capet safely installed in the room, and gave orders to the + woman Simon to let citizen Cochefer have a look at him, too, and then to + lock up the brat in the inner room and install Cochefer in the antechamber + on guard. I stood talking to Cochefer for a few moments in the + antechamber. The woman Simon and the man-of-all-work, Dupont—whom I + know well—were busy with the furniture. There could not have been + any one else concealed about the place—that I’ll swear. Cochefer, + after he took leave of me, went straight into the room; he found the woman + Simon in the act of turning the key in the door of the inner chamber. I + have locked Capet in there,’ she said, giving the key to Cochefer; ‘he + will be quite safe until to-night; when the other commissaries come.’” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t Cochefer go into the room and ascertain whether the woman was + lying?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did! He made the woman re-open the door and peeped in over her + shoulder. She said the child was asleep. He vows that he saw the child + lying fully dressed on a rug in the further corner of the room. The room, + of course, was quite empty of furniture and only lighted by one candle, + but there was the rug and the child asleep on it. Cochefer swears he saw + him, and now—when I went up—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “The commissaries were all there—Cochefer and Lasniere, Lorinet and + Legrand. We went into the inner room, and I had a candle in my hand. We + saw the child lying on the rug, just as Cochefer had seen him, and for a + while we took no notice of it. Then some one—I think it was Lorinet—went + to have a closer look at the brat. He took up the candle and went up to + the rug. Then he gave a cry, and we all gathered round him. The sleeping + child was only a bundle of hair and of clothes, a dummy—what?” + </p> + <p> + There was silence now in the narrow room, while the white-faced clock + continued to tick off each succeeding second of time. Heron had once more + buried his head in his hands; a trembling—like an attack of ague—shook + his wide, bony shoulders. Armand had listened to the narrative with + glowing eyes and a beating heart. The details which the two Terrorists + here could not probably understand he had already added to the picture + which his mind had conjured up. + </p> + <p> + He was back in thought now in the small lodging in the rear of St. Germain + l’Auxerrois; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, and my Lord Tony and Hastings, + and a man was striding up and down the room, looking out into the great + space beyond the river with the eyes of a seer, and a firm voice said + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “It is about the Dauphin!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any suspicions?” asked Chauvelin now, pausing in his walk beside + Heron, and once more placing a firm, peremptory hand on his colleague’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Suspicions!” exclaimed the chief agent with a loud oath. “Suspicions! + Certainties, you mean. The man sat here but two days ago, in that very + chair, and bragged of what he would do. I told him then that if he + interfered with Capet I would wring his neck with my own hands.” + </p> + <p> + And his long, talon-like fingers, with their sharp, grimy nails, closed + and unclosed like those of feline creatures when they hold the coveted + prey. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom do you speak?” queried Chauvelin curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom? Of whom but that accursed de Batz? His pockets are bulging with + Austrian money, with which, no doubt, he has bribed the Simons and + Cochefer and the sentinels—” + </p> + <p> + “And Lorinet and Lasniere and you,” interposed Chauvelin dryly. + </p> + <p> + “It is false!” roared Heron, who already at the suggestion was foaming at + the mouth, and had jumped up from his chair, standing at bay as if + prepared to fight for his life. + </p> + <p> + “False, is it?” retorted Chauvelin calmly; “then be not so quick, friend + Heron, in slashing out with senseless denunciations right and left. You’ll + gain nothing by denouncing any one just now. This is too intricate a + matter to be dealt with a sledge-hammer. Is any one up in the Tower at + this moment?” he asked in quiet, business-like tones. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Cochefer and the others are still there. They are making wild + schemes to cover their treachery. Cochefer is aware of his own danger, and + Lasniere and the others know that they arrived at the Tower several hours + too late. They are all at fault, and they know it. As for that de Batz,” + he continued with a voice rendered raucous with bitter passion, “I swore + to him two days ago that he should not escape me if he meddled with Capet. + I’m on his track already. I’ll have him before the hour of midnight, and + I’ll torture him—yes! I’ll torture him—the Tribunal shall give + me leave. We have a dark cell down below here where my men know how to + apply tortures worse than the rack—where they know just how to + prolong life long enough to make it unendurable. I’ll torture him! I’ll + torture him!” + </p> + <p> + But Chauvelin abruptly silenced the wretch with a curt command; then, + without another word, he walked straight out of the room. + </p> + <p> + In thought Armand followed him. The wild desire was suddenly born in him + to run away at this moment, while Heron, wrapped in his own meditations, + was paying no heed to him. Chauvelin’s footsteps had long ago died away in + the distance; it was a long way to the upper floor of the Tower, and some + time would be spent, too, in interrogating the commissaries. This was + Armand’s opportunity. After all, if he were free himself he might more + effectually help to rescue Jeanne. He knew, too, now where to join his + leader. The corner of the street by the canal, where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes + would be waiting with the coal-cart; then there was the spinney on the + road to St. Germain. Armand hoped that, with good luck, he might yet + overtake his comrades, tell them of Jeanne’s plight, and entreat them to + work for her rescue. + </p> + <p> + He had forgotten that now he had no certificate of safety, that + undoubtedly he would be stopped at the gates at this hour of the night; + that his conduct proving suspect he would in all probability he detained, + and, mayhap, be brought back to this self-same place within an hour. He + had forgotten all that, for the primeval instinct for freedom had suddenly + been aroused. He rose softly from his chair and crossed the room. Heron + paid no attention to him. Now he had traversed the antechamber and + unlatched the outer door. + </p> + <p> + Immediately a couple of bayonets were crossed in front of him, two more + further on ahead scintillated feebly in the flickering light. Chauvelin + had taken his precautions. There was no doubt that Armand St. Just was + effectually a prisoner now. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh of disappointment he went back to his place beside the fire. + Heron had not even moved whilst he had made this futile attempt at escape. + Five minutes later Chauvelin re-entered the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY + </h2> + <p> + “You can leave de Batz and his gang alone, citizen Heron,” said Chauvelin, + as soon as he had closed the door behind him; “he had nothing to do with + the escape of the Dauphin.” + </p> + <p> + Heron growled out a few words of incredulity. But Chauvelin shrugged his + shoulders and looked with unutterable contempt on his colleague. Armand, + who was watching him closely, saw that in his hand he held a small piece + of paper, which he had crushed into a shapeless mass. + </p> + <p> + “Do not waste your time, citizen,” he said, “in raging against an empty + wind-bag. Arrest de Batz if you like, or leave him alone an you please—we + have nothing to fear from that braggart.” + </p> + <p> + With nervous, slightly shaking fingers he set to work to smooth out the + scrap of paper which he held. His hot hands had soiled it and pounded it + until it was a mere rag and the writing on it illegible. But, such as it + was, he threw it down with a blasphemous oath on the desk in front of + Heron’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is that accursed Englishman who has been at work again,” he said more + calmly; “I guessed it the moment I heard your story. Set your whole army + of sleuth-hounds on his track, citizen; you’ll need them all.” + </p> + <p> + Heron picked up the scrap of torn paper and tried to decipher the writing + on it by the light from the lamp. He seemed almost dazed now with the + awful catastrophe that had befallen him, and the fear that his own + wretched life would have to pay the penalty for the disappearance of the + child. + </p> + <p> + As for Armand—even in the midst of his own troubles, and of his own + anxiety for Jeanne, he felt a proud exultation in his heart. The Scarlet + Pimpernel had succeeded; Percy had not failed in his self-imposed + undertaking. Chauvelin, whose piercing eyes were fixed on him at that + moment, smiled with contemptuous irony. + </p> + <p> + “As you will find your hands overfull for the next few hours, citizen + Heron,” he said, speaking to his colleague and nodding in the direction of + Armand, “I’ll not trouble you with the voluntary confession this young + citizen desired to make to you. All I need tell you is that he is an + adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel—I believe one of his most + faithful, most trusted officers.” + </p> + <p> + Heron roused himself from the maze of gloomy thoughts that were again + paralysing his tongue. He turned bleary, wild eyes on Armand. + </p> + <p> + “We have got one of them, then?” he murmured incoherently, babbling like a + drunken man. + </p> + <p> + “M’yes!” replied Chauvelin lightly; “but it is too late now for a formal + denunciation and arrest. He cannot leave Paris anyhow, and all that your + men need to do is to keep a close look-out on him. But I should send him + home to-night if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + Heron muttered something more, which, however, Armand did not understand. + Chauvelin’s words were still ringing in his ear. Was he, then, to be set + free to-night? Free in a measure, of course, since spies were to be set to + watch him—but free, nevertheless? He could not understand + Chauvelin’s attitude, and his own self-love was not a little wounded at + the thought that he was of such little account that these men could afford + to give him even this provisional freedom. And, of course, there was still + Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “I must, therefore, bid you good-night, citizen,” Chauvelin was saying in + his bland, gently ironical manner. “You will be glad to return to your + lodgings. As you see, the chief agent of the Committee of General Security + is too much occupied just now to accept the sacrifice of your life which + you were prepared so generously to offer him.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you, citizen,” retorted Armand coldly, “nor do I + desire indulgence at your hands. You have arrested an innocent woman on + the trumped-up charge that she was harbouring me. I came here to-night to + give myself up to justice so that she might be set free.” + </p> + <p> + “But the hour is somewhat late, citizen,” rejoined Chauvelin urbanely. + “The lady in whom you take so fervent an interest is no doubt asleep in + her cell at this hour. It would not be fitting to disturb her now. She + might not find shelter before morning, and the weather is quite + exceptionally unpropitious.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir,” said Armand, a little bewildered, “am I to understand that if + I hold myself at your disposition Mademoiselle Lange will be set free as + early to-morrow morning as may be?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, sir—no doubt,” replied Chauvelin with more than his + accustomed blandness; “if you will hold yourself entirely at our + disposition, Mademoiselle Lange will be set free to-morrow. I think that + we can safely promise that, citizen Heron, can we not?” he added, turning + to his colleague. + </p> + <p> + But Heron, overcome with the stress of emotions, could only murmur vague, + unintelligible words. + </p> + <p> + “Your word on that, citizen Chauvelin?” asked Armand. + </p> + <p> + “My word on it an you will accept it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not do that. Give me an unconditional certificate of safety + and I will believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what use were that to you?” asked Chauvelin. + </p> + <p> + “I believe my capture to be of more importance to you than that of + Mademoiselle Lange,” said Armand quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I will use the certificate of safety for myself or one of my friends if + you break your word to me anent Mademoiselle Lange.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! the reasoning is not illogical, citizen,” said Chauvelin, whilst a + curious smile played round the corners of his thin lips. “You are quite + right. You are a more valuable asset to us than the charming lady who, I + hope, will for many a day and year to come delight pleasure-loving Paris + with her talent and her grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen to that, citizen,” said Armand fervently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it will all depend on you, sir! Here,” he added, coolly running + over some papers on Heron’s desk until he found what he wanted, “is an + absolutely unconditional certificate of safety. The Committee of General + Security issue very few of these. It is worth the cost of a human life. At + no barrier or gate of any city can such a certificate be disregarded, nor + even can it be detained. Allow me to hand it to you, citizen, as a pledge + of my own good faith.” + </p> + <p> + Smiling, urbane, with a curious look that almost expressed amusement + lurking in his shrewd, pale eyes, Chauvelin handed the momentous document + to Armand. + </p> + <p> + The young man studied it very carefully before he slipped it into the + inner pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “How soon shall I have news of Mademoiselle Lange?” he asked finally. + </p> + <p> + “In the course of to-morrow. I myself will call on you and redeem that + precious document in person. You, on the other hand, will hold yourself at + my disposition. That’s understood, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not fail you. My lodgings are—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do not trouble,” interposed Chauvelin, with a polite bow; “we can + find that out for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Heron had taken no part in this colloquy. Now that Armand prepared to go + he made no attempt to detain him, or to question his colleague’s actions. + He sat by the table like a log; his mind was obviously a blank to all else + save to his own terrors engendered by the events of this night. + </p> + <p> + With bleary, half-veiled eyes he followed Armand’s progress through the + room, and seemed unaware of the loud slamming of the outside door. + Chauvelin had escorted the young man past the first line of sentry, then + he took cordial leave of him. + </p> + <p> + “Your certificate will, you will find, open every gate to you. Good-night, + citizen. A demain.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Armand’s slim figure disappeared in the gloom. Chauvelin watched him for a + few moments until even his footsteps had died away in the distance; then + he turned back towards Heron’s lodgings. + </p> + <p> + “A nous deux,” he muttered between tightly clenched teeth; “a nous deux + once more, my enigmatical Scarlet Pimpernel.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. BACK TO PARIS + </h2> + <p> + It was an exceptionally dark night, and the rain was falling in torrents. + Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, wrapped in a piece of sacking, had taken shelter + right underneath the coal-cart; even then he was getting wet through to + the skin. + </p> + <p> + He had worked hard for two days coal-heaving, and the night before he had + found a cheap, squalid lodging where at any rate he was protected from the + inclemencies of the weather; but to-night he was expecting Blakeney at the + appointed hour and place. He had secured a cart of the ordinary ramshackle + pattern used for carrying coal. Unfortunately there were no covered ones + to be obtained in the neighbourhood, and equally unfortunately the thaw + had set in with a blustering wind and driving rain, which made waiting in + the open air for hours at a stretch and in complete darkness excessively + unpleasant. + </p> + <p> + But for all these discomforts Sir Andrew Ffoulkes cared not one jot. In + England, in his magnificent Suffolk home, he was a confirmed sybarite, in + whose service every description of comfort and luxury had to be enrolled. + Here tonight in the rough and tattered clothes of a coal-heaver, drenched + to the skin, and crouching under the body of a cart that hardly sheltered + him from the rain, he was as happy as a schoolboy out for a holiday. + </p> + <p> + Happy, but vaguely anxious. + </p> + <p> + He had no means of ascertaining the time. So many of the church-bells and + clock towers had been silenced recently that not one of those welcome + sounds penetrated to the dreary desolation of this canal wharf, with its + abandoned carts standing ghostlike in a row. Darkness had set in very + early in the afternoon, and the heavers had given up work soon after four + o’clock. + </p> + <p> + For about an hour after that a certain animation had still reigned round + the wharf, men crossing and going, one or two of the barges moving in or + out alongside the quay. But for some time now darkness and silence had + been the masters in this desolate spot, and that time had seemed to Sir + Andrew an eternity. He had hobbled and tethered his horse, and stretched + himself out at full length under the cart. Now and again he had crawled + out from under this uncomfortable shelter and walked up and down in + ankle-deep mud, trying to restore circulation in his stiffened limbs; now + and again a kind of torpor had come over him, and he had fallen into a + brief and restless sleep. He would at this moment have given half his + fortune for knowledge of the exact time. + </p> + <p> + But through all this weary waiting he was never for a moment in doubt. + Unlike Armand St. Just, he had the simplest, most perfect faith in his + chief. He had been Blakeney’s constant companion in all these adventures + for close upon four years now; the thought of failure, however vague, + never once entered his mind. + </p> + <p> + He was only anxious for his chief’s welfare. He knew that he would + succeed, but he would have liked to have spared him much of the physical + fatigue and the nerve-racking strain of these hours that lay between the + daring deed and the hope of safety. Therefore he was conscious of an acute + tingling of his nerves, which went on even during the brief patches of + fitful sleep, and through the numbness that invaded his whole body while + the hours dragged wearily and slowly along. + </p> + <p> + Then, quite suddenly, he felt wakeful and alert; quite a while—even + before he heard the welcome signal—he knew, with a curious, subtle + sense of magnetism, that the hour had come, and that his chief was + somewhere near by, not very far. + </p> + <p> + Then he heard the cry—a seamew’s call—repeated thrice at + intervals, and five minutes later something loomed out of the darkness + quite close to the hind wheels of the cart. + </p> + <p> + “Hist! Ffoulkes!” came in a soft whisper, scarce louder than the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Present!” came in quick response. + </p> + <p> + “Here, help me to lift the child into the cart. He is asleep, and has been + a dead weight on my arm for close on an hour now. Have you a dry bit of + sacking or something to lay him on?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very dry, I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + With tender care the two men lifted the sleeping little King of France + into the rickety cart. Blakeney laid his cloak over him, and listened for + awhile to the slow regular breathing of the child. + </p> + <p> + “St. Just is not here—you know that?” said Sir Andrew after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew it,” replied Blakeney curtly. + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of these two men that not a word about the adventure + itself, about the terrible risks and dangers of the past few hours, was + exchanged between them. The child was here and was safe, and Blakeney knew + the whereabouts of St. Just—that was enough for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, + the most devoted follower, the most perfect friend the Scarlet Pimpernel + would ever know. + </p> + <p> + Ffoulkes now went to the horse, detached the nose-bag, and undid the + nooses of the hobble and of the tether. + </p> + <p> + “Will you get in now, Blakeney?” he said; “we are ready.” + </p> + <p> + And in unbroken silence they both got into the cart; Blakeney sitting on + its floor beside the child, and Ffoulkes gathering the reins in his hands. + </p> + <p> + The wheels of the cart and the slow jog-trot of the horse made scarcely + any noise in the mud of the roads, what noise they did make was + effectually drowned by the soughing of the wind in the bare branches of + the stunted acacia trees that edged the towpath along the line of the + canal. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew had studied the topography of this desolate neighbourhood well + during the past twenty-four hours; he knew of a detour that would enable + him to avoid the La Villette gate and the neighbourhood of the + fortifications, and yet bring him out soon on the road leading to St. + Germain. + </p> + <p> + Once he turned to ask Blakeney the time. + </p> + <p> + “It must be close on ten now,” replied Sir Percy. “Push your nag along, + old man. Tony and Hastings will be waiting for us.” + </p> + <p> + It was very difficult to see clearly even a metre or two ahead, but the + road was a straight one, and the old nag seemed to know it almost as well + and better than her driver. She shambled along at her own pace, covering + the ground very slowly for Ffoulkes’s burning impatience. Once or twice he + had to get down and lead her over a rough piece of ground. They passed + several groups of dismal, squalid houses, in some of which a dim light + still burned, and as they skirted St. Ouen the church clock slowly tolled + the hour of midnight. + </p> + <p> + But for the greater part of the way derelict, uncultivated spaces of + terrains vagues, and a few isolated houses lay between the road and the + fortifications of the city. The darkness of the night, the late hour, the + soughing of the wind, were all in favour of the adventurers; and a + coal-cart slowly trudging along in this neighbourhood, with two labourers + sitting in it, was the least likely of any vehicle to attract attention. + </p> + <p> + Past Clichy, they had to cross the river by the rickety wooden bridge that + was unsafe even in broad daylight. They were not far from their + destination now. Half a dozen kilometres further on they would be leaving + Courbevoie on their left, and then the sign-post would come in sight. + After that the spinney just off the road, and the welcome presence of + Tony, Hastings, and the horses. Ffoulkes got down in order to make sure of + the way. He walked at the horse’s head now, fearful lest he missed the + cross-roads and the sign-post. + </p> + <p> + The horse was getting over-tired; it had covered fifteen kilometres, and + it was close on three o’clock of Monday morning. + </p> + <p> + Another hour went by in absolute silence. Ffoulkes and Blakeney took turns + at the horse’s head. Then at last they reached the cross-roads; even + through the darkness the sign-post showed white against the surrounding + gloom. + </p> + <p> + “This looks like it,” murmured Sir Andrew. He turned the horse’s head + sharply towards the left, down a narrower road, and leaving the sign-post + behind him. He walked slowly along for another quarter of an hour, then + Blakeney called a halt. + </p> + <p> + “The spinney must be sharp on our right now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He got down from the cart, and while Ffoulkes remained beside the horse, + he plunged into the gloom. A moment later the cry of the seamew rang out + three times into the air. It was answered almost immediately. + </p> + <p> + The spinney lay on the right of the road. Soon the soft sounds that to a + trained ear invariably betray the presence of a number of horses reached + Ffoulkes’ straining senses. He took his old nag out of the shafts, and the + shabby harness from off her, then he turned her out on the piece of waste + land that faced the spinney. Some one would find her in the morning, her + and the cart with the shabby harness laid in it, and, having wondered if + all these things had perchance dropped down from heaven, would quietly + appropriate them, and mayhap thank much-maligned heaven for its gift. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney in the meanwhile had lifted the sleeping child out of the cart. + Then he called to Sir Andrew and led the way across the road and into the + spinney. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later Hastings received the uncrowned King of France in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + Unlike Ffoulkes, my Lord Tony wanted to hear all about the adventure of + this afternoon. A thorough sportsman, he loved a good story of hairbreadth + escapes, of dangers cleverly avoided, risks taken and conquered. + </p> + <p> + “Just in ten words, Blakeney,” he urged entreatingly; “how did you + actually get the boy away?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Percy laughed—despite himself—at the young man’s + eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Next time we meet, Tony,” he begged; “I am so demmed fatigued, and + there’s this beastly rain—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—now! while Hastings sees to the horses. I could not exist + long without knowing, and we are well sheltered from the rain under this + tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, since you will have it,” he began with a laugh, which despite + the weariness and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had forced itself + to his lips, “I have been sweeper and man-of-all-work at the Temple for + the past few weeks, you must know—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” ejaculated my Lord Tony lustily. “By gum!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you old sybarite, whilst you were enjoying yourself heaving coal + on the canal wharf, I was scrubbing floors, lighting fires, and doing a + number of odd jobs for a lot of demmed murdering villains, and”—he + added under his breath—“incidentally, too, for our league. Whenever + I had an hour or two off duty I spent them in my lodgings, and asked you + all to come and meet me there.” + </p> + <p> + “By Gad, Blakeney! Then the day before yesterday?—when we all met—” + </p> + <p> + “I had just had a bath—sorely needed, I can tell you. I had been + cleaning boots half the day, but I had heard that the Simons were removing + from the Temple on the Sunday, and had obtained an order from them to help + them shift their furniture.” + </p> + <p> + “Cleaning boots!” murmured my Lord Tony with a chuckle. “Well! and then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then everything worked out splendidly. You see by that time I was a + well-known figure in the Temple. Heron knew me well. I used to be his + lanthorn-bearer when at nights he visited that poor mite in his prison. It + was ‘Dupont, here! Dupont there!’ all day long. ‘Light the fire in the + office, Dupont! Dupont, brush my coat! Dupont, fetch me a light!’ When the + Simons wanted to move their household goods they called loudly for Dupont. + I got a covered laundry cart, and I brought a dummy with me to substitute + for the child. Simon himself knew nothing of this, but Madame was in my + pay. The dummy was just splendid, with real hair on its head; Madame + helped me to substitute it for the child; we laid it on the sofa and + covered it over with a rug, even while those brutes Heron and Cochefer + were on the landing outside, and we stuffed His Majesty the King of France + into a linen basket. The room was badly lighted, and any one would have + been deceived. No one was suspicious of that type of trickery, so it went + off splendidly. I moved the furniture of the Simons out of the Tower. His + Majesty King Louis XVII was still concealed in the linen basket. I drove + the Simons to their new lodgings—the man still suspects nothing—and + there I helped them to unload the furniture—with the exception of + the linen basket, of course. After that I drove my laundry cart to a house + I knew of and collected a number of linen baskets, which I had arranged + should be in readiness for me. Thus loaded up I left Paris by the + Vincennes gate, and drove as far as Bagnolet, where there is no road + except past the octroi, where the officials might have proved unpleasant. + So I lifted His Majesty out of the basket and we walked on hand in hand in + the darkness and the rain until the poor little feet gave out. Then the + little fellow—who has been wonderfully plucky throughout, indeed, + more a Capet than a Bourbon—snuggled up in my arms and went fast + asleep, and—and—well, I think that’s all, for here we are, you + see.” + </p> + <p> + “But if Madame Simon had not been amenable to bribery?” suggested Lord + Tony after a moment’s silence. + </p> + <p> + “Then I should have had to think of something else.” + </p> + <p> + “If during the removal of the furniture Heron had remained resolutely in + the room?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, again, I should have had to think of something else; but remember + that in life there is always one supreme moment when Chance—who is + credited to have but one hair on her head—stands by you for a brief + space of time; sometimes that space is infinitesimal—one minute, a + few seconds—just the time to seize Chance by that one hair. So I + pray you all give me no credit in this or any other matter in which we all + work together, but the quickness of seizing Chance by the hair during the + brief moment when she stands by my side. If Madame Simon had been + un-amenable, if Heron had remained in the room all the time, if Cochefer + had had two looks at the dummy instead of one—well, then, something + else would have helped me, something would have occurred; something—I + know not what—but surely something which Chance meant to be on our + side, if only we were quick enough to seize it—and so you see how + simple it all is.” + </p> + <p> + So simple, in fact, that it was sublime. The daring, the pluck, the + ingenuity and, above all, the super-human heroism and endurance which + rendered the hearers of this simple narrative, simply told, dumb with + admiration. + </p> + <p> + Their thoughts now were beyond verbal expression. + </p> + <p> + “How soon was the hue and cry for the child about the streets?” asked + Tony, after a moment’s silence. + </p> + <p> + “It was not out when I left the gates of Paris,” said Blakeney + meditatively; “so quietly has the news of the escape been kept, that I am + wondering what devilry that brute Heron can be after. And now no more + chattering,” he continued lightly; “all to horse, and you, Hastings, have + a care. The destinies of France, mayhap, will be lying asleep in your + arms.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Blakeney?” exclaimed the three men almost simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going with you. I entrust the child to you. For God’s sake guard + him well! Ride with him to Mantes. You should arrive there at about ten + o’clock. One of you then go straight to No.9 Rue la Tour. Ring the bell; + an old man will answer it. Say the one word to him, ‘Enfant’; he will + reply, ‘De roi!’ Give him the child, and may Heaven bless you all for the + help you have given me this night!” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Blakeney?” reiterated Tony with a note of deep anxiety in his + fresh young voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am straight for Paris,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore feasible.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Percy, in the name of Heaven, do you realise what you are + doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll not leave a stone unturned to find you—they know by now, + believe me, that your hand did this trick.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you mean to go back?” + </p> + <p> + “And yet I am going back.” + </p> + <p> + “Blakeney!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use, Tony. Armand is in Paris. I saw him in the corridor of the + Temple prison in the company of Chauvelin.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” exclaimed Lord Hastings. + </p> + <p> + The others were silent. What was the use of arguing? One of themselves was + in danger. Armand St. Just, the brother of Marguerite Blakeney! Was it + likely that Percy would leave him in the lurch. + </p> + <p> + “One of us will stay with you, of course?” asked Sir Andrew after awhile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I want Hastings and Tony to take the child to Mantes, then to make + all possible haste for Calais, and there to keep in close touch with the + Day-Dream; the skipper will contrive to open communication. Tell him to + remain in Calais waters. I hope I may have need of him soon. + </p> + <p> + “And now to horse, both of you,” he added gaily. “Hastings, when you are + ready, I will hand up the child to you. He will be quite safe on the + pillion with a strap round him and you.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said after that. The orders were given, there was nothing + to do but to obey; and the uncrowned King of France was not yet out of + danger. Hastings and Tony led two of the horses out of the spinney; at the + roadside they mounted, and then the little lad for whose sake so much + heroism, such selfless devotion had been expended, was hoisted up, still + half asleep, on the pillion in front of my Lord Hastings. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your arm round him,” admonished Blakeney; “your horse looks quiet + enough. But put on speed as far as Mantes, and may Heaven guard you both!” + </p> + <p> + The two men pressed their heels to their horses’ flanks, the beasts + snorted and pawed the ground anxious to start. There were a few whispered + farewells, two loyal hands were stretched out at the last, eager to grasp + the leader’s hand. + </p> + <p> + Then horses and riders disappeared in the utter darkness which comes + before the dawn. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney and Ffoulkes stood side by side in silence for as long as the + pawing of hoofs in the mud could reach their ears, then Ffoulkes asked + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “What do you want me to do, Blakeney?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for the present, my dear fellow, I want you to take one of the + three horses we have left in the spinney, and put him into the shafts of + our old friend the coal-cart; then I am afraid that you must go back the + way we came.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Continue to heave coal on the canal wharf by La Villette; it is the best + way to avoid attention. After your day’s work keep your cart and horse in + readiness against my arrival, at the same spot where you were last night. + If after having waited for me like this for three consecutive nights you + neither see nor hear anything from me, go back to England and tell + Marguerite that in giving my life for her brother I gave it for her!” + </p> + <p> + “Blakeney—!” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke differently to what I usually do, is that it?” he interposed, + placing his firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am degenerating, + Ffoulkes—that’s what it is. Pay no heed to it. I suppose that + carrying that sleeping child in my arms last night softened some nerves in + my body. I was so infinitely sorry for the poor mite, and vaguely wondered + if I had not saved it from one misery only to plunge it in another. There + was such a fateful look on that wan little face, as if destiny had already + writ its veto there against happiness. It came on me then how futile were + our actions, if God chooses to interpose His will between us and our + desires.” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he left off speaking the rain ceased to patter down against the + puddles in the road. Overhead the clouds flew by at terrific speed, driven + along by the blustering wind. It was less dark now, and Sir Andrew, + peering through the gloom, could see his leader’s face. It was singularly + pale and hard, and the deep-set lazy eyes had in them just that fateful + look which he himself had spoken of just now. + </p> + <p> + “You are anxious about Armand, Percy?” asked Ffoulkes softly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He should have trusted me, as I had trusted him. He missed me at the + Villette gate on Friday, and without a thought left me—left us all + in the lurch; he threw himself into the lion’s jaws, thinking that he + could help the girl he loved. I knew that I could save her. She is in + comparative safety even now. The old woman, Madame Belhomme, had been + freely released the day after her arrest, but Jeanne Lange is still in the + house in the Rue de Charonne. You know it, Ffoulkes. I got her there early + this morning. It was easy for me, of course: ‘Hola, Dupont! my boots, + Dupont!’ ‘One moment, citizen, my daughter—’ ‘Curse thy daughter, + bring me my boots!’ and Jeanne Lange walked out of the Temple prison her + hand in that of that lout Dupont.” + </p> + <p> + “But Armand does not know that she is in the Rue de Charonne?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I have not seen him since that early morning on Saturday when he came + to tell me that she had been arrested. Having sworn that he would obey me, + he went to meet you and Tony at La Villette, but returned to Paris a few + hours later, and drew the undivided attention of all the committees on + Jeanne Lange by his senseless, foolish inquiries. But for his action + throughout the whole of yesterday I could have smuggled Jeanne out of + Paris, got her to join you at Villette, or Hastings in St. Germain. But + the barriers were being closely watched for her, and I had the Dauphin to + think of. She is in comparative safety; the people in the Rue de Charonne + are friendly for the moment; but for how long? Who knows? I must look + after her of course. And Armand! Poor old Armand! The lion’s jaws have + snapped over him, and they hold him tight. Chauvelin and his gang are + using him as a decoy to trap me, of course. All that had not happened if + Armand had trusted me.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed a quick sigh of impatience, almost of regret. Ffoulkes was the + one man who could guess the bitter disappointment that this had meant. + Percy had longed to be back in England soon, back to Marguerite, to a few + days of unalloyed happiness and a few days of peace. + </p> + <p> + Now Armand’s actions had retarded all that; they were a deliberate bar to + the future as it had been mapped out by a man who foresaw everything, who + was prepared for every eventuality. + </p> + <p> + In this case, too, he had been prepared, but not for the want of trust + which had brought on disobedience akin to disloyalty. That absolutely + unforeseen eventuality had changed Blakeney’s usual irresponsible gaiety + into a consciousness of the inevitable, of the inexorable decrees of Fate. + </p> + <p> + With an anxious sigh, Sir Andrew turned away from his chief and went back + to the spinney to select for his own purpose one of the three horses which + Hastings and Tony had unavoidably left behind. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Blakeney—how will you go back to that awful Paris?” he + said, when he had made his choice and was once more back beside Percy. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know yet,” replied Blakeney, “but it would not be safe to ride. + I’ll reach one of the gates on this side of the city and contrive to slip + in somehow. I have a certificate of safety in my pocket in case I need it. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll leave the horses here,” he said presently, whilst he was helping + Sir Andrew to put the horse in the shafts of the coal-cart; “they cannot + come to much harm. Some poor devil might steal them, in order to escape + from those vile brutes in the city. If so, God speed him, say I. I’ll + compensate my friend the farmer of St. Germain for their loss at an early + opportunity. And now, good-bye, my dear fellow! Some time to-night, if + possible, you shall hear direct news of me—if not, then to-morrow or + the day after that. Good-bye, and Heaven guard you!” + </p> + <p> + “God guard you, Blakeney!” said Sir Andrew fervently. + </p> + <p> + He jumped into the cart and gathered up the reins. His heart was heavy as + lead, and a strange mist had gathered in his eyes, blurring the last dim + vision which he had of his chief standing all alone in the gloom, his + broad, magnificent figure looking almost weirdly erect and defiant, his + head thrown back, and his kind, lazy eyes watching the final departure of + his most faithful comrade and friend. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION + </h2> + <p> + Blakeney had more than one pied-a-terre in Paris, and never stayed longer + than two or three days in any of these. It was not difficult for a single + man, be he labourer or bourgeois, to obtain a night’s lodging, even in + these most troublous times, and in any quarter of Paris, provided the rent—out + of all proportion to the comfort and accommodation given—was paid + ungrudgingly and in advance. + </p> + <p> + Emigration and, above all, the enormous death-roll of the past eighteen + months, had emptied the apartment houses of the great city, and those who + had rooms to let were only too glad of a lodger, always providing they + were not in danger of being worried by the committees of their section. + </p> + <p> + The laws framed by these same committees now demanded that all keepers of + lodging or apartment houses should within twenty-four hours give notice at + the bureau of their individual sections of the advent of new lodgers, + together with a description of the personal appearance of such lodgers, + and an indication of their presumed civil status and occupation. But there + was a margin of twenty-four hours, which could on pressure be extended to + forty-eight, and, therefore, any one could obtain shelter for forty-eight + hours, and have no questions asked, provided he or she was willing to pay + the exorbitant sum usually asked under the circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Thus Blakeney had no difficulty in securing what lodgings he wanted when + he once more found himself inside Paris at somewhere about noon of that + same Monday. + </p> + <p> + The thought of Hastings and Tony speeding on towards Mantes with the royal + child safely held in Hastings’ arms had kept his spirits buoyant and + caused him for a while to forget the terrible peril in which Armand St. + Just’s thoughtless egoism had placed them both. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney was a man of abnormal physique and iron nerve, else he could + never have endured the fatigues of the past twenty-four hours, from the + moment when on the Sunday afternoon he began to play his part of + furniture-remover at the Temple, to that when at last on Monday at noon he + succeeded in persuading the sergeant at the Maillot gate that he was an + honest stonemason residing at Neuilly, who was come to Paris in search of + work. + </p> + <p> + After that matters became more simple. Terribly foot-sore, though he would + never have admitted it, hungry and weary, he turned into an unpretentious + eating-house and ordered some dinner. The place when he entered was + occupied mostly by labourers and workmen, dressed very much as he was + himself, and quite as grimy as he had become after having driven about for + hours in a laundry-cart and in a coal-cart, and having walked twelve + kilometres, some of which he had covered whilst carrying a sleeping child + in his arms. + </p> + <p> + Thus, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., the friend and companion of the Prince of + Wales, the most fastidious fop the salons of London and Bath had ever + seen, was in no way distinguishable outwardly from the tattered, + half-starved, dirty, and out-at-elbows products of this fraternising and + equalising Republic. + </p> + <p> + He was so hungry that the ill-cooked, badly-served meal tempted him to + eat; and he ate on in silence, seemingly more interested in boiled beef + than in the conversation that went on around him. But he would not have + been the keen and daring adventurer that he was if he did not all the + while keep his ears open for any fragment of news that the desultory talk + of his fellow-diners was likely to yield to him. + </p> + <p> + Politics were, of course, discussed; the tyranny of the sections, the + slavery that this free Republic had brought on its citizens. The names of + the chief personages of the day were all mentioned in turns + Focquier-Tinville, Santerre, Danton, Robespierre. Heron and his + sleuth-hounds were spoken of with execrations quickly suppressed, but of + little Capet not one word. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney could not help but infer that Chauvelin, Heron and the + commissaries in charge were keeping the escape of the child a secret for + as long as they could. + </p> + <p> + He could hear nothing of Armand’s fate, of course. The arrest—if + arrest there had been—was not like to be bruited abroad just now. + Blakeney having last seen Armand in Chauvelin’s company, whilst he himself + was moving the Simons’ furniture, could not for a moment doubt that the + young man was imprisoned,—unless, indeed, he was being allowed a + certain measure of freedom, whilst his every step was being spied on, so + that he might act as a decoy for his chief. + </p> + <p> + At thought of that all weariness seemed to vanish from Blakeney’s powerful + frame. He set his lips firmly together, and once again the light of + irresponsible gaiety danced in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He had been in as tight a corner as this before now; at Boulogne his + beautiful Marguerite had been used as a decoy, and twenty-four hours later + he had held her in his arms on board his yacht the Day-Dream. As he would + have put it in his own forcible language: + </p> + <p> + “Those d—d murderers have not got me yet.” + </p> + <p> + The battle mayhap would this time be against greater odds than before, but + Blakeney had no fear that they would prove overwhelming. + </p> + <p> + There was in life but one odd that was overwhelming, and that was + treachery. + </p> + <p> + But of that there could be no question. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Blakeney started off in search of lodgings for the night. + He found what would suit him in the Rue de l’Arcade, which was equally far + from the House of Justice as it was from his former lodgings. Here he + would be safe for at least twenty-four hours, after which he might have to + shift again. But for the moment the landlord of the miserable apartment + was over-willing to make no fuss and ask no questions, for the sake of the + money which this aristo in disguise dispensed with a lavish hand. + </p> + <p> + Having taken possession of his new quarters and snatched a few hours of + sound, well-deserved rest, until the time when the shades of evening and + the darkness of the streets would make progress through the city somewhat + more safe, Blakeney sallied forth at about six o’clock having a threefold + object in view. + </p> + <p> + Primarily, of course, the threefold object was concentrated on Armand. + There was the possibility of finding out at the young man’s lodgings in + Montmartre what had become of him; then there were the usual inquiries + that could be made from the registers of the various prisons; and, + thirdly, there was the chance that Armand had succeeded in sending some + kind of message to Blakeney’s former lodgings in the Rue St. Germain + l’Auxerrois. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, Sir Percy decided to leave the prison registers alone for + the present. If Armand had been actually arrested, he would almost + certainly be confined in the Chatelet prison, where he would be closer to + hand for all the interrogatories to which, no doubt, he would be + subjected. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney set his teeth and murmured a good, sound, British oath when he + thought of those interrogatories. Armand St. Just, highly strung, a + dreamer and a bundle of nerves—how he would suffer under the mental + rack of questions and cross-questions, cleverly-laid traps to catch + information from him unawares! + </p> + <p> + His next objective, then, was Armand’s former lodging, and from six + o’clock until close upon eight Sir Percy haunted the slopes of Montmartre, + and more especially the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Croix Blanche, + where Armand had lodged these former days. At the house itself he could + not inquire as yet; obviously it would not have been safe; tomorrow, + perhaps, when he knew more, but not tonight. His keen eyes had already + spied at least two figures clothed in the rags of out-of-work labourers + like himself, who had hung with suspicious persistence in this same + neighbourhood, and who during the two hours that he had been in + observation had never strayed out of sight of the house in the Rue de la + Croix Blanche. + </p> + <p> + That these were two spies on the watch was, of course, obvious; but + whether they were on the watch for St. Just or for some other unfortunate + wretch it was at this stage impossible to conjecture. + </p> + <p> + Then, as from the Tour des Dames close by the clock solemnly struck the + hour of eight, and Blakeney prepared to wend his way back to another part + of the city, he suddenly saw Armand walking slowly up the street. + </p> + <p> + The young man did not look either to right or left; he held his head + forward on his chest, and his hands were hidden underneath his cloak. When + he passed immediately under one of the street lamps Blakeney caught sight + of his face; it was pale and drawn. Then he turned his head, and for the + space of two seconds his eyes across the narrow street encountered those + of his chief. He had the presence of mind not to make a sign or to utter a + sound; he was obviously being followed, but in that brief moment Sir Percy + had seen in the young man’s eyes a look that reminded him of a hunted + creature. + </p> + <p> + “What have those brutes been up to with him, I wonder?” he muttered + between clenched teeth. + </p> + <p> + Armand soon disappeared under the doorway of the same house where he had + been lodging all along. Even as he did so Blakeney saw the two spies + gather together like a pair of slimy lizards, and whisper excitedly one to + another. A third man, who obviously had been dogging Armand’s footsteps, + came up and joined them after a while. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney could have sworn loudly and lustily, had it been possible to do + so without attracting attention. The whole of Armand’s history in the past + twenty-four hours was perfectly clear to him. The young man had been made + free that he might prove a decoy for more important game. + </p> + <p> + His every step was being watched, and he still thought Jeanne Lange in + immediate danger of death. The look of despair in his face proclaimed + these two facts, and Blakeney’s heart ached for the mental torture which + his friend was enduring. He longed to let Armand know that the woman he + loved was in comparative safety. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne Lange first, and then Armand himself; and the odds would be very + heavy against the Scarlet Pimpernel! But that Marguerite should not have + to mourn an only brother, of that Sir Percy made oath. + </p> + <p> + He now turned his steps towards his own former lodgings by St. Germain + l’Auxerrois. It was just possible that Armand had succeeded in leaving a + message there for him. It was, of course, equally possible that when he + did so Heron’s men had watched his movements, and that spies would be + stationed there, too, on the watch. + </p> + <p> + But that risk must, of course, be run. Blakeney’s former lodging was the + one place that Armand would know of to which he could send a message to + his chief, if he wanted to do so. Of course, the unfortunate young man + could not have known until just now that Percy would come back to Paris, + but he might guess it, or wish it, or only vaguely hope for it; he might + want to send a message, he might long to communicate with his + brother-in-law, and, perhaps, feel sure that the latter would not leave + him in the lurch. + </p> + <p> + With that thought in his mind, Sir Percy was not likely to give up the + attempt to ascertain for himself whether Armand had tried to communicate + with him or not. As for spies—well, he had dodged some of them often + enough in his time—the risks that he ran to-night were no worse than + the ones to which he had so successfully run counter in the Temple + yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Still keeping up the slouchy gait peculiar to the out-at-elbows working + man of the day, hugging the houses as he walked along the streets, + Blakeney made slow progress across the city. But at last he reached the + facade of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, and turning sharply to his right he + soon came in sight of the house which he had only quitted twenty-four + hours ago. + </p> + <p> + We all know that house—all of us who are familiar with the Paris of + those terrible days. It stands quite detached—a vast quadrangle, + facing the Quai de l’Ecole and the river, backing on the Rue St. Germain + l’Auxerrois, and shouldering the Carrefour des Trois Manes. The + porte-cochere, so-called, is but a narrow doorway, and is actually + situated in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney made his way cautiously right round the house; he peered up and + down the quay, and his keen eyes tried to pierce the dense gloom that hung + at the corners of the Pont Neuf immediately opposite. Soon he assured + himself that for the present, at any rate, the house was not being + watched. + </p> + <p> + Armand presumably had not yet left a message for him here; but he might do + so at any time now that he knew that his chief was in Paris and on the + look-out for him. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney made up his mind to keep this house in sight. This art of + watching he had acquired to a masterly extent, and could have taught + Heron’s watch-dogs a remarkable lesson in it. At night, of course, it was + a comparatively easy task. There were a good many unlighted doorways along + the quay, whilst a street lamp was fixed on a bracket in the wall of the + very house which he kept in observation. + </p> + <p> + Finding temporary shelter under various doorways, or against the dank + walls of the houses, Blakeney set himself resolutely to a few hours’ weary + waiting. A thin, drizzly rain fell with unpleasant persistence, like a + damp mist, and the thin blouse which he wore soon became wet through and + clung hard and chilly to his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + It was close on midnight when at last he thought it best to give up his + watch and to go back to his lodgings for a few hours’ sleep; but at seven + o’clock the next morning he was back again at his post. + </p> + <p> + The porte-cochere of his former lodging-house was not yet open; he took up + his stand close beside it. His woollen cap pulled well over his forehead, + the grime cleverly plastered on his hair and face, his lower jaw thrust + forward, his eyes looking lifeless and bleary, all gave him an expression + of sly villainy, whilst the short clay pipe struck at a sharp angle in his + mouth, his hands thrust into the pockets of his ragged breeches, and his + bare feet in the mud of the road, gave the final touch to his + representation of an out-of-work, ill-conditioned, and supremely + discontented loafer. + </p> + <p> + He had not very long to wait. Soon the porte-cochere of the house was + opened, and the concierge came out with his broom, making a show of + cleaning the pavement in front of the door. Five minutes later a lad, + whose clothes consisted entirely of rags, and whose feet and head were + bare, came rapidly up the street from the quay, and walked along looking + at the houses as he went, as if trying to decipher their number. The cold + grey dawn was just breaking, dreary and damp, as all the past days had + been. Blakeney watched the lad as he approached, the small, naked feet + falling noiselessly on the cobblestones of the road. When the boy was + quite close to him and to the house, Blakeney shifted his position and + took the pipe out of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Up early, my son!” he said gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the pale-faced little creature; “I have a message to deliver + at No. 9 Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. It must be somewhere near here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is. You can give me the message.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, citizen!” said the lad, into whose pale, circled eyes a look of + terror had quickly appeared. “It is for one of the lodgers in No. 9. I + must give it to him.” + </p> + <p> + With an instinct which he somehow felt could not err at this moment, + Blakeney knew that the message was one from Armand to himself; a written + message, too, since—instinctively when he spoke—the boy + clutched at his thin shirt, as if trying to guard something precious that + had been entrusted to him. + </p> + <p> + “I will deliver the message myself, sonny,” said Blakeney gruffly. “I know + the citizen for whom it is intended. He would not like the concierge to + see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I would not give it to the concierge,” said the boy. “I would take it + upstairs myself.” + </p> + <p> + “My son,” retorted Blakeney, “let me tell you this. You are going to give + that message up to me and I will put five whole livres into your hand.” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney, with all his sympathy aroused for this poor pale-faced lad, put + on the airs of a ruffianly bully. He did not wish that message to be taken + indoors by the lad, for the concierge might get hold of it, despite the + boy’s protests and tears, and after that Blakeney would perforce have to + disclose himself before it would be given up to him. During the past week + the concierge had been very amenable to bribery. Whatever suspicions he + had had about his lodger he had kept to himself for the sake of the money + which he received; but it was impossible to gauge any man’s trend of + thought these days from one hour to the next. Something—for aught + Blakeney knew—might have occurred in the past twenty-four hours to + change an amiable and accommodating lodging-house keeper into a surly or + dangerous spy. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, the concierge had once more gone within; there was no one + abroad, and if there were, no one probably would take any notice of a + burly ruffian brow-beating a child. + </p> + <p> + “Allons!” he said gruffly, “give me the letter, or that five livres goes + back into my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Five livres!” exclaimed the child with pathetic eagerness. “Oh, citizen!” + </p> + <p> + The thin little hand fumbled under the rags, but it reappeared again + empty, whilst a faint blush spread over the hollow cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “The other citizen also gave me five livres,” he said humbly. “He lodges + in the house where my mother is concierge. It is in the Rue de la Croix + Blanche. He has been very kind to my mother. I would rather do as he bade + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless the lad,” murmured Blakeney under his breath; “his loyalty redeems + many a crime of this God-forsaken city. Now I suppose I shall have to + bully him, after all.” + </p> + <p> + He took his hand out of his breeches pocket; between two very dirty + fingers he held a piece of gold. The other hand he placed quite roughly on + the lad’s chest. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the letter,” he said harshly, “or—” + </p> + <p> + He pulled at the ragged blouse, and a scrap of soiled paper soon fell into + his hand. The lad began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said Blakeney, thrusting the piece of gold into the thin small + palm, “take this home to your mother, and tell your lodger that a big, + rough man took the letter away from you by force. Now run, before I kick + you out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + The lad, terrified out of his poor wits, did not wait for further + commands; he took to his heels and ran, his small hand clutching the piece + of gold. Soon he had disappeared round the corner of the street. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney did not at once read the paper; he thrust it quickly into his + breeches pocket and slouched away slowly down the street, and thence + across the Place du Carrousel, in the direction of his new lodgings in the + Rue de l’Arcade. + </p> + <p> + It was only when he found himself alone in the narrow, squalid room which + he was occupying that he took the scrap of paper from his pocket and read + it slowly through. It said: + </p> + <p> + Percy, you cannot forgive me, nor can I ever forgive myself, but if you + only knew what I have suffered for the past two days you would, I think, + try and forgive. I am free and yet a prisoner; my every footstep is + dogged. What they ultimately mean to do with me I do not know. And when I + think of Jeanne I long for the power to end mine own miserable existence. + Percy! she is still in the hands of those fiends.... I saw the prison + register; her name written there has been like a burning brand on my heart + ever since. She was still in prison the day that you left Paris; + to-morrow, to-night mayhap, they will try her, condemn her, torture her, + and I dare not go to see you, for I would only be bringing spies to your + door. But will you come to me, Percy? It should be safe in the hours of + the night, and the concierge is devoted to me. To-night at ten o’clock she + will leave the porte-cochere unlatched. If you find it so, and if on the + ledge of the window immediately on your left as you enter you find a + candle alight, and beside it a scrap of paper with your initials S. P. + traced on it, then it will be quite safe for you to come up to my room. It + is on the second landing—a door on your right—that too I will + leave on the latch. But in the name of the woman you love best in all the + world come at once to me then, and bear in mind, Percy, that the woman I + love is threatened with immediate death, and that I am powerless to save + her. Indeed, believe me, I would gladly die even now but for the thought + of Jeanne, whom I should be leaving in the hands of those fiends. For + God’s sake, Percy, remember that Jeanne is all the world to me. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Armand,” murmured Blakeney with a kindly smile directed at the + absent friend, “he won’t trust me even now. He won’t trust his Jeanne in + my hands. Well,” he added after a while, “after all, I would not entrust + Marguerite to anybody else either.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. THE OVERWHELMING ODDS + </h2> + <p> + At half-past ten that same evening, Blakeney, still clad in a workman’s + tattered clothes, his feet bare so that he could tread the streets + unheard, turned into the Rue de la Croix Blanche. + </p> + <p> + The porte-cochere of the house where Armand lodged had been left on the + latch; not a soul was in sight. Peering cautiously round, he slipped into + the house. On the ledge of the window, immediately on his left when he + entered, a candle was left burning, and beside it there was a scrap of + paper with the initials S. P. roughly traced in pencil. No one challenged + him as he noiselessly glided past it, and up the narrow stairs that led to + the upper floor. Here, too, on the second landing the door on the right + had been left on the latch. He pushed it open and entered. + </p> + <p> + As is usual even in the meanest lodgings in Paris houses, a small + antechamber gave between the front door and the main room. When Percy + entered the antechamber was unlighted, but the door into the inner room + beyond was ajar. Blakeney approached it with noiseless tread, and gently + pushed it open. + </p> + <p> + That very instant he knew that the game was up; he heard the footsteps + closing up behind him, saw Armand, deathly pale, leaning against the wall + in the room in front of him, and Chauvelin and Heron standing guard over + him. + </p> + <p> + The next moment the room and the antechamber were literally alive with + soldiers—twenty of them to arrest one man. + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of that man that when hands were laid on him from + every side he threw back his head and laughed—laughed mirthfully, + light-heartedly, and the first words that escaped his lips were: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am d—d!” + </p> + <p> + “The odds are against you, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin to him in English, + whilst Heron at the further end of the room was growling like a contented + beast. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, sir,” said Percy with perfect sang-froid, “I do believe that + for the moment they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Have done, my men—have done!” he added, turning good-humouredly to + the soldiers round him. “I never fight against overwhelming odds. Twenty + to one, eh? I could lay four of you out easily enough, perhaps even six, + but what then?” + </p> + <p> + But a kind of savage lust seemed to have rendered these men temporarily + mad, and they were being egged on by Heron. The mysterious Englishman, + about whom so many eerie tales were told! Well, he had supernatural + powers, and twenty to one might be nothing to him if the devil was on his + side. Therefore a blow on his forearm with the butt-end of a bayonet was + useful for disabling his right hand, and soon the left arm with a + dislocated shoulder hung limp by his side. Then he was bound with cords. + </p> + <p> + The vein of luck had given out. The gambler had staked more than usual and + had lost; but he knew how to lose, just as he had always known how to win. + </p> + <p> + “Those d—d brutes are trussing me like a fowl,” he murmured with + irrepressible gaiety at the last. + </p> + <p> + Then the wrench on his bruised arms as they were pulled roughly back by + the cords caused the veil of unconsciousness to gather over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And Jeanne was safe, Armand,” he shouted with a last desperate effort; + “those devils have lied to you and tricked you into this ... Since + yesterday she is out of prison... in the house... you know....” + </p> + <p> + After that he lost consciousness. + </p> + <p> + And this occurred on Tuesday, January 21st, in the year 1794, or, in + accordance with the new calendar, on the 2nd Pluviose, year II of the + Republic. + </p> + <p> + It is chronicled in the Moniteur of the 3rd Pluviose that, “on the + previous evening, at half-past ten of the clock, the Englishman known as + the Scarlet Pimpernel, who for three years has conspired against the + safety of the Republic, was arrested through the patriotic exertions of + citizen Chauvelin, and conveyed to the Conciergerie, where he now lies—sick, + but closely guarded. Long live the Republic!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PART II. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE NEWS + </h2> + <p> + The grey January day was falling, drowsy, and dull into the arms of night. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite, sitting in the dusk beside the fire in her small boudoir, + shivered a little as she drew her scarf closer round her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Edwards, the butler, entered with the lamp. The room looked peculiarly + cheery now, with the delicate white panelling of the wall glowing under + the soft kiss of the flickering firelight and the steadier glow of the + rose-shaded lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Has the courier not arrived yet, Edwards?” asked Marguerite, fixing the + impassive face of the well-drilled servant with her large purple-rimmed + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, m’lady,” he replied placidly. + </p> + <p> + “It is his day, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’lady. And the forenoon is his time. But there have been heavy + rains, and the roads must be rare muddy. He must have been delayed, + m’lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose so,” she said listlessly. “That will do, Edwards. No, + don’t close the shutters. I’ll ring presently.” + </p> + <p> + The man went out of the room as automatically as he had come. He closed + the door behind him, and Marguerite was once more alone. + </p> + <p> + She picked up the book which she had fingered idly before the light gave + out. She tried once more to fix her attention on this tale of love and + adventure written by Mr. Fielding; but she had lost the thread of the + story, and there was a mist between her eyes and the printed pages. + </p> + <p> + With an impatient gesture she threw down the book and passed her hand + across her eyes, then seemed astonished to find that her hand was wet. + </p> + <p> + She rose and went to the window. The air outside had been singularly mild + all day; the thaw was persisting, and a south wind came across the Channel—from + France. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite threw open the casement and sat down on the wide sill, leaning + her head against the window-frame, and gazing out into the fast gathering + gloom. From far away, at the foot of the gently sloping lawns, the river + murmured softly in the night; in the borders to the right and left a few + snowdrops still showed like tiny white specks through the surrounding + darkness. Winter had begun the process of slowly shedding its mantle, + coquetting with Spring, who still lingered in the land of Infinity. + Gradually the shadows drew closer and closer; the reeds and rushes on the + river bank were the first to sink into their embrace, then the big cedars + on the lawn, majestic and defiant, but yielding still unconquered to the + power of night. + </p> + <p> + The tiny stars of snowdrop blossoms vanished one by one, and at last the + cool, grey ribbon of the river surface was wrapped under the mantle of + evening. + </p> + <p> + Only the south wind lingered on, soughing gently in the drowsy reeds, + whispering among the branches of the cedars, and gently stirring the + tender corollas of the sleeping snowdrops. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite seemed to open out her lungs to its breath. It had come all the + way from France, and on its wings had brought something of Percy—a + murmur as if he had spoken—a memory that was as intangible as a + dream. + </p> + <p> + She shivered again, though of a truth it was not cold. The courier’s delay + had completely unsettled her nerves. Twice a week he came especially from + Dover, and always he brought some message, some token which Percy had + contrived to send from Paris. They were like tiny scraps of dry bread + thrown to a starving woman, but they did just help to keep her heart alive—that + poor, aching, disappointed heart that so longed for enduring happiness + which it could never get. + </p> + <p> + The man whom she loved with all her soul, her mind and her body, did not + belong to her; he belonged to suffering humanity over there in + terror-stricken France, where the cries of the innocent, the persecuted, + the wretched called louder to him than she in her love could do. + </p> + <p> + He had been away three months now, during which time her starving heart + had fed on its memories, and the happiness of a brief visit from him six + weeks ago, when—quite unexpectedly—he had appeared before + her... home between two desperate adventures that had given life and + freedom to a number of innocent people, and nearly cost him his—and + she had lain in his arms in a swoon of perfect happiness. + </p> + <p> + But he had gone away again as suddenly as he had come, and for six weeks + now she had lived partly in anticipation of the courier with messages from + him, and partly on the fitful joy engendered by these messages. To-day she + had not even that, and the disappointment seemed just now more than she + could bear. + </p> + <p> + She felt unaccountably restless, and could she but have analysed her + feelings—had she dared so to do—she would have realised that + the weight which oppressed her heart so that she could hardly breathe, was + one of vague yet dark foreboding. + </p> + <p> + She closed the window and returned to her seat by the fire, taking up her + hook with the strong resolution not to allow her nerves to get the better + of her. But it was difficult to pin one’s attention down to the adventures + of Master Tom Jones when one’s mind was fully engrossed with those of Sir + Percy Blakeney. + </p> + <p> + The sound of carriage wheels on the gravelled forecourt in the front of + the house suddenly awakened her drowsy senses. She threw down the book, + and with trembling hands clutched the arms of her chair, straining her + ears to listen. A carriage at this hour—and on this damp winter’s + evening! She racked her mind wondering who it could be. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ffoulkes was in London, she knew. Sir Andrew, of course, was in + Paris. His Royal Highness, ever a faithful visitor, would surely not + venture out to Richmond in this inclement weather—and the courier + always came on horseback. + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of voices; that of Edwards, mechanical and placid, + could be heard quite distinctly saying: + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure that her ladyship will be at home for you, m’lady. But I’ll go + and ascertain.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite ran to the door and with joyful eagerness tore it open. + </p> + <p> + “Suzanne!” she called “my little Suzanne! I thought you were in London. + Come up quickly! In the boudoir—yes. Oh! what good fortune hath + brought you?” + </p> + <p> + Suzanne flew into her arms, holding the friend whom she loved so well + close and closer to her heart, trying to hide her face, which was wet with + tears, in the folds of Marguerite’s kerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Come inside, my darling,” said Marguerite. “Why, how cold your little + hands are!” + </p> + <p> + She was on the point of turning back to her boudoir, drawing Lady Ffoulkes + by the hand, when suddenly she caught sight of Sir Andrew, who stood at a + little distance from her, at the top of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Andrew!” she exclaimed with unstinted gladness. + </p> + <p> + Then she paused. The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving them dry and + parted. She suddenly felt as if some fearful talons had gripped her heart + and were tearing at it with sharp, long nails; the blood flew from her + cheeks and from her limbs, leaving her with a sense of icy numbness. + </p> + <p> + She backed into the room, still holding Suzanne’s hand, and drawing her in + with her. Sir Andrew followed them, then closed the door behind him. At + last the word escaped Marguerite’s parched lips: + </p> + <p> + “Percy! Something has happened to him! He is dead?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” exclaimed Sir Andrew quickly. + </p> + <p> + Suzanne put her loving arms round her friend and drew her down into the + chair by the fire. She knelt at her feet on the hearthrug, and pressed her + own burning lips on Marguerite’s icy-cold hands. Sir Andrew stood silently + by, a world of loving friendship, of heart-broken sorrow, in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + There was silence in the pretty white-panelled room for a while. + Marguerite sat with her eyes closed, bringing the whole armoury of her + will power to bear her up outwardly now. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me!” she said at last, and her voice was toneless and dull, like one + that came from the depths of a grave—“tell me—exactly—everything. + Don’t be afraid. I can bear it. Don’t be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew remained standing, with bowed head and one hand resting on the + table. In a firm, clear voice he told her the events of the past few days + as they were known to him. All that he tried to hide was Armand’s + disobedience, which, in his heart, he felt was the primary cause of the + catastrophe. He told of the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple, the + midnight drive in the coal-cart, the meeting with Hastings and Tony in the + spinney. He only gave vague explanations of Armand’s stay in Paris which + caused Percy to go back to the city, even at the moment when his most + daring plan had been so successfully carried through. + </p> + <p> + “Armand, I understand, has fallen in love with a beautiful woman in Paris, + Lady Blakeney,” he said, seeing that a strange, puzzled look had appeared + in Marguerite’s pale face. “She was arrested the day before the rescue of + the Dauphin from the Temple. Armand could not join us. He felt that he + could not leave her. I am sure that you will understand.” + </p> + <p> + Then as she made no comment, he resumed his narrative: + </p> + <p> + “I had been ordered to go back to La Villette, and there to resume my + duties as a labourer in the day-time, and to wait for Percy during the + night. The fact that I had received no message from him for two days had + made me somewhat worried, but I have such faith in him, such belief in his + good luck and his ingenuity, that I would not allow myself to be really + anxious. Then on the third day I heard the news.” + </p> + <p> + “What news?” asked Marguerite mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “That the Englishman who was known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had been + captured in a house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche, and had been + imprisoned in the Conciergerie.” + </p> + <p> + “The Rue de la Croix Blanche? Where is that?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Montmartre quarter. Armand lodged there. Percy, I imagine, was + working to get him away; and those brutes captured him.” + </p> + <p> + “Having heard the news, Sir Andrew, what did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I went into Paris and ascertained its truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And there is no doubt of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, none! I went to the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. Armand + had disappeared. I succeeded in inducing the concierge to talk. She seems + to have been devoted to her lodger. Amidst tears she told me some of the + details of the capture. Can you bear to hear them, Lady Blakeney?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—tell me everything—don’t be afraid,” she reiterated with + the same dull monotony. + </p> + <p> + “It appears that early on the Tuesday morning the son of the concierge—a + lad about fifteen—was sent off by her lodger with a message to No. 9 + Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. That was the house where Percy was staying + all last week, where he kept disguises and so on for us all, and where + some of our meetings were held. Percy evidently expected that Armand would + try and communicate with him at that address, for when the lad arrived in + front of the house he was accosted—so he says—by a big, rough + workman, who browbeat him into giving up the lodger’s letter, and finally + pressed a piece of gold into his hand. The workman was Blakeney, of + course. I imagine that Armand, at the time that he wrote the letter, must + have been under the belief that Mademoiselle Lange was still in prison; he + could not know then that Blakeney had already got her into comparative + safety. In the letter he must have spoken of the terrible plight in which + he stood, and also of his fears for the woman whom he loved. Percy was not + the man to leave a comrade in the lurch! He would not be the man whom we + all love and admire, whose word we all obey, for whose sake we would + gladly all of us give our life—he would not be that man if he did + not brave even certain dangers in order to be of help to those who call on + him. Armand called and Percy went to him. He must have known that Armand + was being spied upon, for Armand, alas! was already a marked man, and the + watch-dogs of those infernal committees were already on his heels. Whether + these sleuth-hounds had followed the son of the concierge and seen him + give the letter to the workman in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, or + whether the concierge in the Rue de la Croix Blanche was nothing but a spy + of Heron’s, or, again whether the Committee of General Security kept a + company of soldiers in constant alert in that house, we shall, of course, + never know. All that I do know is that Percy entered that fatal house at + half-past ten, and that a quarter of an hour later the concierge saw some + of the soldiers descending the stairs, carrying a heavy burden. She peeped + out of her lodge, and by the light in the corridor she saw that the heavy + burden was the body of a man bound closely with ropes: his eyes were + closed, his clothes were stained with blood. He was seemingly unconscious. + The next day the official organ of the Government proclaimed the capture + of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and there was a public holiday in honour of the + event.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had listened to this terrible narrative dry-eyed and silent. + Now she still sat there, hardly conscious of what went on around her—of + Suzanne’s tears, that fell unceasingly upon her fingers—of Sir + Andrew, who had sunk into a chair, and buried his head in his hands. She + was hardly conscious that she lived; the universe seemed to have stood + still before this awful, monstrous cataclysm. + </p> + <p> + But, nevertheless, she was the first to return to the active realities of + the present. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Andrew,” she said after a while, “tell me, where are my Lords Tony + and Hastings?” + </p> + <p> + “At Calais, madam,” he replied. “I saw them there on my way hither. They + had delivered the Dauphin safely into the hands of his adherents at + Mantes, and were awaiting Blakeney’s further orders, as he had commanded + them to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Will they wait for us there, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “For us, Lady Blakeney?” he exclaimed in puzzlement. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for us, Sir Andrew,” she replied, whilst the ghost of a smile + flitted across her drawn face; “you had thought of accompanying me to + Paris, had you not?” + </p> + <p> + “But Lady Blakeney—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know what you would say, Sir Andrew. You will speak of dangers, of + risks, of death, mayhap; you will tell me that I as a woman can do nothing + to help my husband—that I could be but a hindrance to him, just as I + was in Boulogne. But everything is so different now. Whilst those brutes + planned his capture he was clever enough to outwit them, but now they have + actually got him, think you they’ll let him escape? They’ll watch him + night and day, my friend, just as they watched the unfortunate Queen; but + they’ll not keep him months, weeks, or even days in prison—even + Chauvelin now will no longer attempt to play with the Scarlet Pimpernel. + They have him, and they will hold him until such time as they take him to + the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke in a sob; her self-control was threatening to leave her. + She was but a woman, young and passionately in love with the man who was + about to die an ignominious death, far away from his country, his kindred, + his friends. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot let him die alone, Sir Andrew; he will be longing for me, and—and, + after all, there is you, and my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings and the + others; surely—surely we are not going to let him die, not like + that, and not alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew earnestly; “we are not + going to let him die, if human agency can do aught to save him. Already + Tony, Hastings and I have agreed to return to Paris. There are one or two + hidden places in and around the city known only to Percy and to the + members of the League where he must find one or more of us if he succeeds + in getting away. All the way between Paris and Calais we have places of + refuge, places where any of us can hide at a given moment; where we can + find disguises when we want them, or horses in an emergency. No! no! we + are not going to despair, Lady Blakeney; there are nineteen of us prepared + to lay down our lives for the Scarlet Pimpernel. Already I, as his + lieutenant, have been selected as the leader of as determined a gang as + has ever entered on a work of rescue before. We leave for Paris to-morrow, + and if human pluck and devotion can destroy mountains then we’ll destroy + them. Our watchword is: ‘God save the Scarlet Pimpernel.’” + </p> + <p> + He knelt beside her chair and kissed the cold fingers which, with a sad + little smile, she held out to him. + </p> + <p> + “And God bless you all!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Suzanne had risen to her feet when her husband knelt; now he stood up + beside her. The dainty young woman hardly more than a child—was + doing her best to restrain her tears. + </p> + <p> + “See how selfish I am,” said Marguerite. “I talk calmly of taking your + husband from you, when I myself know the bitterness of such partings.” + </p> + <p> + “My husband will go where his duty calls him,” said Suzanne with charming + and simple dignity. “I love him with all my heart, because he is brave and + good. He could not leave his comrade, who is also his chief, in the lurch. + God will protect him, I know. I would not ask him to play the part of a + coward.” + </p> + <p> + Her brown eyes glowed with pride. She was the true wife of a soldier, and + with all her dainty ways and childlike manners she was a splendid woman + and a staunch friend. Sir Percy Blakeney had saved her entire family from + death, the Comte and Comtesse de Tournai, the Vicomte, her brother, and + she herself all owed their lives to the Scarlet Pimpernel. + </p> + <p> + This she was not like to forget. + </p> + <p> + “There is but little danger for us, I fear me,” said Sir Andrew lightly; + “the revolutionary Government only wants to strike at a head, it cares + nothing for the limbs. Perhaps it feels that without our leader we are + enemies not worthy of persecution. If there are any dangers, so much the + better,” he added; “but I don’t anticipate any, unless we succeed in + freeing our chief; and having freed him, we fear nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “The same applies to me, Sir Andrew,” rejoined Marguerite earnestly. “Now + that they have captured Percy, those human fiends will care naught for me. + If you succeed in freeing Percy I, like you, will have nothing more to + fear, and if you fail—” + </p> + <p> + She paused and put her small, white hand on Sir Andrew’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Take me with you, Sir Andrew,” she entreated; “do not condemn me to the + awful torture of weary waiting, day after day, wondering, guessing, never + daring to hope, lest hope deferred be more hard to bear than dreary + hopelessness.” + </p> + <p> + Then as Sir Andrew, very undecided, yet half inclined to yield, stood + silent and irresolute, she pressed her point, gently but firmly insistent. + </p> + <p> + “I would not be in the way, Sir Andrew; I would know how to efface myself + so as not to interfere with your plans. But, oh!” she added, while a + quivering note of passion trembled in her voice, “can’t you see that I + must breathe the air that he breathes else I shall stifle or mayhap go + mad?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew turned to his wife, a mute query in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You would do an inhuman and a cruel act,” said Suzanne with seriousness + that sat quaintly on her baby face, “if you did not afford your protection + to Marguerite, for I do believe that if you did not take her with you + to-morrow she would go to Paris alone.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite thanked her friend with her eyes. Suzanne was a child in + nature, but she had a woman’s heart. She loved her husband, and, + therefore, knew and understood what Marguerite must be suffering now. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew no longer could resist the unfortunate woman’s earnest + pleading. Frankly, he thought that if she remained in England while Percy + was in such deadly peril she ran the grave risk of losing her reason + before the terrible strain of suspense. He knew her to be a woman of + courage, and one capable of great physical endurance; and really he was + quite honest when he said that he did not believe there would be much + danger for the headless League of the Scarlet Pimpernel unless they + succeeded in freeing their chief. And if they did succeed, then indeed + there would be nothing to fear, for the brave and loving wife who, like + every true woman does, and has done in like circumstances since the + beginning of time, was only demanding with passionate insistence the right + to share the fate, good or ill, of the man whom she loved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. PARIS ONCE MORE + </h2> + <p> + Sir Andrew had just come in. He was trying to get a little warmth into his + half-frozen limbs, for the cold had set in again, and this time with + renewed vigour, and Marguerite was pouring out a cup of hot coffee which + she had been brewing for him. She had not asked for news. She knew that he + had none to give her, else he had not worn that wearied, despondent look + in his kind face. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll just try one more place this evening,” he said as soon as he had + swallowed some of the hot coffee—“a restaurant in the Rue de la + Harpe; the members of the Cordeliers’ Club often go there for supper, and + they are usually well informed. I might glean something definite there.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems very strange that they are so slow in bringing him to trial,” + said Marguerite in that dull, toneless voice which had become habitual to + her. “When you first brought me the awful news that... I made sure that + they would bring him to trial at once, and was in terror lest we arrived + here too late to—to see him.” + </p> + <p> + She checked herself quickly, bravely trying to still the quiver of her + voice. + </p> + <p> + “And of Armand?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head sadly. + </p> + <p> + “With regard to him I am at a still greater loss,” he said: “I cannot find + his name on any of the prison registers, and I know that he is not in the + Conciergerie. They have cleared out all the prisoners from there; there is + only Percy—” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Armand!” she sighed; “it must be almost worse for him than for any + of us; it was his first act of thoughtless disobedience that brought all + this misery upon our heads.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke sadly but quietly. Sir Andrew noted that there was no bitterness + in her tone. But her very quietude was heart-breaking; there was such an + infinity of despair in the calm of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well! though we cannot understand it all, Lady Blakeney,” he said with + forced cheerfulness, “we must remember one thing—that whilst there + is life there is hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope!” she exclaimed with a world of pathos in her sigh, her large eyes + dry and circled, fixed with indescribable sorrow on her friend’s face. + </p> + <p> + Ffoulkes turned his head away, pretending to busy himself with the + coffee-making utensils. He could not bear to see that look of hopelessness + in her face, for in his heart he could not find the wherewithal to cheer + her. Despair was beginning to seize on him too, and this he would not let + her see. + </p> + <p> + They had been in Paris three days now, and it was six days since Blakeney + had been arrested. Sir Andrew and Marguerite had found temporary lodgings + inside Paris, Tony and Hastings were just outside the gates, and all along + the route between Paris and Calais, at St. Germain, at Mantes, in the + villages between Beauvais and Amiens, wherever money could obtain friendly + help, members of the devoted League of the Scarlet Pimpernel lay in + hiding, waiting to aid their chief. + </p> + <p> + Ffoulkes had ascertained that Percy was kept a close prisoner in the + Conciergerie, in the very rooms occupied by Marie Antoinette during the + last months of her life. He left poor Marguerite to guess how closely that + elusive Scarlet Pimpernel was being guarded, the precautions surrounding + him being even more minute than those which had made the unfortunate + Queen’s closing days a martyrdom for her. + </p> + <p> + But of Armand he could glean no satisfactory news, only the negative + probability that he was not detained in any of the larger prisons of + Paris, as no register which he, Ffoulkes, so laboriously consulted bore + record of the name of St. Just. + </p> + <p> + Haunting the restaurants and drinking booths where the most advanced + Jacobins and Terrorists were wont to meet, he had learned one or two + details of Blakeney’s incarceration which he could not possibly impart to + Marguerite. The capture of the mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet + Pimpernel had created a great deal of popular satisfaction; but it was + obvious that not only was the public mind not allowed to associate that + capture with the escape of little Capet from the Temple, but it soon + became clear to Ffoulkes that the news of that escape was still being kept + a profound secret. + </p> + <p> + On one occasion he had succeeded in spying on the Chief Agent of the + Committee of General Security, whom he knew by sight, while the latter was + sitting at dinner in the company of a stout, florid man with pock-marked + face and podgy hands covered with rings. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew marvelled who this man might be. Heron spoke to him in + ambiguous phrases that would have been unintelligible to any one who did + not know the circumstances of the Dauphin’s escape and the part that the + League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had played in it. But to Sir Andrew + Ffoulkes, who—cleverly disguised as a farrier, grimy after his day’s + work—was straining his ears to listen whilst apparently consuming + huge slabs of boiled beef, it soon became clear that the chief agent and + his fat friend were talking of the Dauphin and of Blakeney. + </p> + <p> + “He won’t hold out much longer, citizen,” the chief agent was saying in a + confident voice; “our men are absolutely unremitting in their task. Two of + them watch him night and day; they look after him well, and practically + never lose sight of him, but the moment he tries to get any sleep one of + them rushes into the cell with a loud banging of bayonet and sabre, and + noisy tread on the flagstones, and shouts at the top of his voice: ‘Now + then, aristo, where’s the brat? Tell us now, and you shall be down and go + to sleep.’ I have done it myself all through one day just for the pleasure + of it. It’s a little tiring for you to have to shout a good deal now, and + sometimes give the cursed Englishman a good shake-up. He has had five days + of it, and not one wink of sleep during that time—not one single + minute of rest—and he only gets enough food to keep him alive. I + tell you he can’t last. Citizen Chauvelin had a splendid idea there. It + will all come right in a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted the other sulkily; “those Englishmen are tough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” retorted Heron with a grim laugh and a leer of savagery that made + his gaunt face look positively hideous—“you would have given out + after three days, friend de Batz, would you not? And I warned you, didn’t + I? I told you if you tampered with the brat I would make you cry in mercy + to me for death.” + </p> + <p> + “And I warned you,” said the other imperturbably, “not to worry so much + about me, but to keep your eyes open for those cursed Englishmen.” + </p> + <p> + “I am keeping my eyes open for you, nevertheless, my friend. If I thought + you knew where the vermin’s spawn was at this moment I would—” + </p> + <p> + “You would put me on the same rack that you or your precious friend, + Chauvelin, have devised for the Englishman. But I don’t know where the lad + is. If I did I would not be in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” assented Heron with a sneer; “you would soon be after the + reward—over in Austria, what?—but I have your movements + tracked day and night, my friend. I dare say you are as anxious as we are + as to the whereabouts of the child. Had he been taken over the frontier + you would have been the first to hear of it, eh? No,” he added + confidently, and as if anxious to reassure himself, “my firm belief is + that the original idea of these confounded Englishmen was to try and get + the child over to England, and that they alone know where he is. I tell + you it won’t be many days before that very withered Scarlet Pimpernel will + order his followers to give little Capet up to us. Oh! they are hanging + about Paris some of them, I know that; citizen Chauvelin is convinced that + the wife isn’t very far away. Give her a sight of her husband now, say I, + and she’ll make the others give the child up soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed like some hyena gloating over its prey. Sir Andrew nearly + betrayed himself then. He had to dig his nails into his own flesh to + prevent himself from springing then and there at the throat of that wretch + whose monstrous ingenuity had invented torture for the fallen enemy far + worse than any that the cruelties of medieval Inquisitions had devised. + </p> + <p> + So they would not let him sleep! A simple idea born in the brain of a + fiend. Heron had spoken of Chauvelin as the originator of the devilry; a + man weakened deliberately day by day by insufficient food, and the + horrible process of denying him rest. It seemed inconceivable that human, + sentient beings should have thought of such a thing. Perspiration stood up + in beads on Sir Andrew’s brow when he thought of his friend, brought down + by want of sleep to—what? His physique was splendidly powerful, but + could it stand against such racking torment for long? And the clear, the + alert mind, the scheming brain, the reckless daring—how soon would + these become enfeebled by the slow, steady torture of an utter want of + rest? + </p> + <p> + Ffoulkes had to smother a cry of horror, which surely must have drawn the + attention of that fiend on himself had he not been so engrossed in the + enjoyment of his own devilry. As it is, he ran out of the stuffy + eating-house, for he felt as if its fetid air must choke him. + </p> + <p> + For an hour after that he wandered about the streets, not daring to face + Marguerite, lest his eyes betrayed some of the horror which was shaking + his very soul. + </p> + <p> + That was twenty-four hours ago. To-day he had learnt little else. It was + generally known that the Englishman was in the Conciergerie prison, that + he was being closely watched, and that his trial would come on within the + next few days; but no one seemed to know exactly when. The public was + getting restive, demanding that trial and execution to which every one + seemed to look forward as to a holiday. In the meanwhile the escape of the + Dauphin had been kept from the knowledge of the public; Heron and his + gang, fearing for their lives, had still hopes of extracting from the + Englishman the secret of the lad’s hiding-place, and the means they + employed for arriving at this end was worthy of Lucifer and his host of + devils in hell. + </p> + <p> + From other fragments of conversation which Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had gleaned + that same evening, it seemed to him that in order to hide their + defalcations Heron and the four commissaries in charge of little Capet had + substituted a deaf and dumb child for the escaped little prisoner. This + miserable small wreck of humanity was reputed to be sick and kept in a + darkened room, in bed, and was in that condition exhibited to any member + of the Convention who had the right to see him. A partition had been very + hastily erected in the inner room once occupied by the Simons, and the + child was kept behind that partition, and no one was allowed to come too + near to him. Thus the fraud was succeeding fairly well. Heron and his + accomplices only cared to save their skins, and the wretched little + substitute being really ill, they firmly hoped that he would soon die, + when no doubt they would bruit abroad the news of the death of Capet, + which would relieve them of further responsibility. + </p> + <p> + That such ideas, such thoughts, such schemes should have engendered in + human minds it is almost impossible to conceive, and yet we know from no + less important a witness than Madame Simon herself that the child who died + in the Temple a few weeks later was a poor little imbecile, a deaf and + dumb child brought hither from one of the asylums and left to die in + peace. There was nobody but kindly Death to take him out of his misery, + for the giant intellect that had planned and carried out the rescue of the + uncrowned King of France, and which alone might have had the power to save + him too, was being broken on the rack of enforced sleeplessness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE BITTEREST FOE + </h2> + <p> + That same evening Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, having announced his intention of + gleaning further news of Armand, if possible, went out shortly after seven + o’clock, promising to be home again about nine. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite, on the other hand, had to make her friend a solemn promise + that she would try and eat some supper which the landlady of these + miserable apartments had agreed to prepare for her. So far they had been + left in peaceful occupation of these squalid lodgings in a tumble-down + house on the Quai de la Ferraille, facing the house of Justice, the grim + walls of which Marguerite would watch with wide-open dry eyes for as long + as the grey wintry light lingered over them. + </p> + <p> + Even now, though the darkness had set in, and snow, falling in close, + small flakes, threw a thick white veil over the landscape, she sat at the + open window long after Sir Andrew had gone out, watching the few small + flicks of light that blinked across from the other side of the river, and + which came from the windows of the Chatelet towers. The windows of the + Conciergerie she could not see, for these gave on one of the inner + courtyards; but there was a melancholy consolation even in the gazing on + those walls that held in their cruel, grim embrace all that she loved in + the world. + </p> + <p> + It seemed so impossible to think of Percy—the laughter-loving, + irresponsible, light-hearted adventurer—as the prey of those fiends + who would revel in their triumph, who would crush him, humiliate him, + insult him—ye gods alive! even torture him, perhaps—that they + might break the indomitable spirit that would mock them even on the + threshold of death. + </p> + <p> + Surely, surely God would never allow such monstrous infamy as the + deliverance of the noble soaring eagle into the hands of those preying + jackals! Marguerite—though her heart ached beyond what human nature + could endure, though her anguish on her husband’s account was doubled by + that which she felt for her brother—could not bring herself to give + up all hope. Sir Andrew said it rightly; while there was life there was + hope. While there was life in those vigorous limbs, spirit in that daring + mind, how could puny, rampant beasts gain the better of the immortal soul? + As for Armand—why, if Percy were free she would have no cause to + fear for Armand. + </p> + <p> + She sighed a sigh of deep, of passionate regret and longing. If she could + only see her husband; if she could only look for one second into those + laughing, lazy eyes, wherein she alone knew how to fathom the infinity of + passion that lay within their depths; if she could but once feel his—ardent + kiss on her lips, she could more easily endure this agonising suspense, + and wait confidently and courageously for the issue. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the window, for the night was getting bitterly cold. + From the tower of St. Germain l’Auxerrois the clock slowly struck eight. + Even as the last sound of the historic bell died away in the distance she + heard a timid knocking at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Enter!” she called unthinkingly. + </p> + <p> + She thought it was her landlady, come up with more wood, mayhap, for the + fire, so she did not turn to the door when she heard it being slowly + opened, then closed again, and presently a soft tread on the threadbare + carpet. + </p> + <p> + “May I crave your kind attention, Lady Blakeney?” said a harsh voice, + subdued to tones of ordinary courtesy. + </p> + <p> + She quickly repressed a cry of terror. How well she knew that voice! When + last she heard it it was at Boulogne, dictating that infamous letter—the + weapon wherewith Percy had so effectually foiled his enemy. She turned and + faced the man who was her bitterest foe—hers in the person of the + man she loved. + </p> + <p> + “Chauvelin!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Himself at your service, dear lady,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + He stood in the full light of the lamp, his trim, small figure boldly cut + out against the dark wall beyond. He wore the usual sable-coloured clothes + which he affected, with the primly-folded jabot and cuffs edged with + narrow lace. + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for permission from her he quietly and deliberately placed + his hat and cloak on a chair. Then he turned once more toward her, and + made a movement as if to advance into the room; but instinctively she put + up a hand as if to ward off the calamity of his approach. + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders, and the shadow of a smile, that had neither + mirth nor kindliness in it, hovered round the corners of his thin lips. + </p> + <p> + “Have I your permission to sit?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” she replied slowly, keeping her wide-open eyes fixed upon + him as does a frightened bird upon the serpent whom it loathes and fears. + </p> + <p> + “And may I crave a few moments of your undivided attention, Lady + Blakeney?” he continued, taking a chair, and so placing it beside the + table that the light of the lamp when he sat remained behind him and his + face was left in shadow. + </p> + <p> + “Is it necessary?” asked Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he replied curtly, “if you desire to see and speak with your + husband—to be of use to him before it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, I pray you, speak, citizen, and I will listen.” + </p> + <p> + She sank into a chair, not heeding whether the light of the lamp fell on + her face or not, whether the lines in her haggard cheeks, or her + tear-dimmed eyes showed plainly the sorrow and despair that had traced + them. She had nothing to hide from this man, the cause of all the tortures + which she endured. She knew that neither courage nor sorrow would move + him, and that hatred for Percy—personal deadly hatred for the man + who had twice foiled him—had long crushed the last spark of humanity + in his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Lady Blakeney,” he began after a slight pause and in his smooth, + even voice, “it would interest you to hear how I succeeded in procuring + for myself this pleasure of an interview with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your spies did their usual work, I suppose,” she said coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. We have been on your track for three days, and yesterday evening + an unguarded movement on the part of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes gave us the final + clue to your whereabouts.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes?” she asked, greatly puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “He was in an eating-house, cleverly disguised, I own, trying to glean + information, no doubt as to the probable fate of Sir Percy Blakeney. As + chance would have it, my friend Heron, of the Committee of General + Security, chanced to be discussing with reprehensible openness—er—certain—what + shall I say?—certain measures which, at my advice, the Committee of + Public Safety have been forced to adopt with a view to—” + </p> + <p> + “A truce on your smooth-tongued speeches, citizen Chauvelin,” she + interposed firmly. “Sir Andrew Ffoulkes has told me naught of this—so + I pray you speak plainly and to the point, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed with marked irony. + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” he said. “Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, hearing certain matters of + which I will tell you anon, made a movement which betrayed him to one of + our spies. At a word from citizen Heron this man followed on the heels of + the young farrier who had shown such interest in the conversation of the + Chief Agent. Sir Andrew, I imagine, burning with indignation at what he + had heard, was perhaps not quite so cautious as he usually is. Anyway, the + man on his track followed him to this door. It was quite simple, as you + see. As for me, I had guessed a week ago that we would see the beautiful + Lady Blakeney in Paris before long. When I knew where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes + lodged, I had no difficulty in guessing that Lady Blakeney would not be + far off.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was there in citizen Heron’s conversation last night,” she asked + quietly, “that so aroused Sir Andrew’s indignation?” + </p> + <p> + “He has not told you?” “Oh! it is very simple. Let me tell you, Lady + Blakeney, exactly how matters stand. Sir Percy Blakeney—before lucky + chance at last delivered him into our hands—thought fit, as no doubt + you know, to meddle with our most important prisoner of State.” + </p> + <p> + “A child. I know it, sir—the son of a murdered father whom you and + your friends were slowly doing to death.” + </p> + <p> + “That is as it may be, Lady Blakeney,” rejoined Chauvelin calmly; “but it + was none of Sir Percy Blakeney’s business. This, however, he chose to + disregard. He succeeded in carrying little Capet from the Temple, and two + days later we had him under lock, and key.” + </p> + <p> + “Through some infamous and treacherous trick, sir,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin made no immediate reply; his pale, inscrutable eyes were fixed + upon her face, and the smile of irony round his mouth appeared more + strongly marked than before. + </p> + <p> + “That, again, is as it may be,” he said suavely; “but anyhow for the + moment we have the upper hand. Sir Percy is in the Conciergerie, guarded + day and night, more closely than Marie Antoinette even was guarded.” + </p> + <p> + “And he laughs at your bolts and bars, sir,” she rejoined proudly. + “Remember Calais, remember Boulogne. His laugh at your discomfiture, then, + must resound in your ear even to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but for the moment laughter is on our side. Still we are willing to + forego even that pleasure, if Sir Percy will but move a finger towards his + own freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “Again some infamous letter?” she asked with bitter contempt; “some + attempt against his honour?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Lady Blakeney,” he interposed with perfect blandness. “Matters + are so much simpler now, you see. We hold Sir Percy at our mercy. We could + send him to the guillotine to-morrow, but we might be willing—remember, + I only say we might—to exercise our prerogative of mercy if Sir + Percy Blakeney will on his side accede to a request from us.” + </p> + <p> + “And that request?” + </p> + <p> + “Is a very natural one. He took Capet away from us, and it is but credible + that he knows at the present moment exactly where the child is. Let him + instruct his followers—and I mistake not, Lady Blakeney, there are + several of them not very far from Paris just now—let him, I say, + instruct these followers of his to return the person of young Capet to us, + and not only will we undertake to give these same gentlemen a safe conduct + back to England, but we even might be inclined to deal somewhat less + harshly with the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel himself.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed a harsh, mirthless, contemptuous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that I quite understand,” she said after a moment or two, + whilst he waited calmly until her out-break of hysterical mirth had + subsided. “You want my husband—the Scarlet Pimpernel, citizen—to + deliver the little King of France to you after he has risked his life to + save the child out of your clutches? Is that what you are trying to say?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” rejoined Chauvelin complacently, “just what we have been saying + to Sir Percy Blakeney for the past six days, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! then you have had your answer, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied slowly; “but the answer has become weaker day by day.” + </p> + <p> + “Weaker? I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me explain, Lady Blakeney,” said Chauvelin, now with measured + emphasis. He put both elbows on the table and leaned well forward, peering + into her face, lest one of its varied expressions escaped him. “Just now + you taunted me with my failure in Calais, and again at Boulogne, with a + proud toss of the head, which I own is excessive becoming; you threw the + name of the Scarlet Pimpernel in my face like a challenge which I no + longer dare to accept. ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel,’ you would say to me, + ‘stands for loyalty, for honour, and for indomitable courage. Think you he + would sacrifice his honour to obtain your mercy? Remember Boulogne and + your discomfiture!’ All of which, dear lady, is perfectly charming and + womanly and enthusiastic, and I, bowing my humble head, must own that I + was fooled in Calais and baffled in Boulogne. But in Boulogne I made a + grave mistake, and one from which I learned a lesson, which I am putting + into practice now.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a while as if waiting for her reply. His pale, keen eyes had + already noted that with every phrase he uttered the lines in her beautiful + face became more hard and set. A look of horror was gradually spreading + over it, as if the icy-cold hand of death had passed over her eyes and + cheeks, leaving them rigid like stone. + </p> + <p> + “In Boulogne,” resumed Chauvelin quietly, satisfied that his words were + hitting steadily at her heart—“in Boulogne Sir Percy and I did not + fight an equal fight. Fresh from a pleasant sojourn in his own magnificent + home, full of the spirit of adventure which puts the essence of life into + a man’s veins, Sir Percy Blakeney’s splendid physique was pitted against + my feeble powers. Of course I lost the battle. I made the mistake of + trying to subdue a man who was in the zenith of his strength, whereas now—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen Chauvelin,” she said, “whereas now—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Percy Blakeney has been in the prison of the Conciergerie for exactly + one week, Lady Blakeney,” he replied, speaking very slowly, and letting + every one of his words sink individually into her mind. “Even before he + had time to take the bearings of his cell or to plan on his own behalf one + of those remarkable escapes for which he is so justly famous, our men + began to work on a scheme which I am proud to say originated with myself. + A week has gone by since then, Lady Blakeney, and during that time a + special company of prison guard, acting under the orders of the Committee + of General Security and of Public Safety, have questioned the prisoner + unremittingly—unremittingly, remember—day and night. Two by + two these men take it in turns to enter the prisoner’s cell every quarter + of an hour—lately it has had to be more often—and ask him the + one question, ‘Where is little Capet?’ Up to now we have received no + satisfactory reply, although we have explained to Sir Percy that many of + his followers are honouring the neighbourhood of Paris with their visit, + and that all we ask for from him are instructions to those gallant + gentlemen to bring young Capet back to us. It is all very simple, + unfortunately the prisoner is somewhat obstinate. At first, even, the idea + seemed to amuse him; he used to laugh and say that he always had the + faculty of sleeping with his eyes open. But our soldiers are untiring in + their efforts, and the want of sleep as well as of a sufficiency of food + and of fresh air is certainly beginning to tell on Sir Percy Blakeney’s + magnificent physique. I don’t think that it will be very long before he + gives way to our gentle persuasions; and in any case now, I assure you, + dear lady, that we need not fear any attempt on his part to escape. I + doubt if he could walk very steadily across this room—” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had sat quite silent and apparently impassive all the while + that Chauvelin had been speaking; even now she scarcely stirred. Her face + expressed absolutely nothing but deep puzzlement. There was a frown + between her brows, and her eyes, which were always of such liquid blue, + now looked almost black. She was trying to visualise that which Chauvelin + had put before her: a man harassed day and night, unceasingly, + unremittingly, with one question allowed neither respite nor sleep—his + brain, soul, and body fagged out at every hour, every moment of the day + and night, until mind and body and soul must inevitably give way under + anguish ten thousand times more unendurable than any physical torment + invented by monsters in barbaric times. + </p> + <p> + That man thus harassed, thus fagged out, thus martyrised at all hours of + the day and night, was her husband, whom she loved with every fibre of her + being, with every throb of her heart. + </p> + <p> + Torture? Oh, no! these were advanced and civilised times that could afford + to look with horror on the excesses of medieval days. This was a + revolution that made for progress, and challenged the opinion of the + world. The cells of the Temple of La Force or the Conciergerie held no + secret inquisition with iron maidens and racks and thumbscrews; but a few + men had put their tortuous brains together, and had said one to another: + “We want to find out from that man where we can lay our hands on little + Capet, so we won’t let him sleep until he has told us. It is not torture—oh, + no! Who would dare to say that we torture our prisoners? It is only a + little horseplay, worrying to the prisoner, no doubt; but, after all, he + can end the unpleasantness at any moment. He need but to answer our + question, and he can go to sleep as comfortably as a little child. The + want of sleep is very trying, the want of proper food and of fresh air is + very weakening; the prisoner must give way sooner or later—” + </p> + <p> + So these fiends had decided it between them, and they had put their idea + into execution for one whole week. Marguerite looked at Chauvelin as she + would on some monstrous, inscrutable Sphinx, marveling if God—even + in His anger—could really have created such a fiendish brain, or, + having created it, could allow it to wreak such devilry unpunished. + </p> + <p> + Even now she felt that he was enjoying the mental anguish which he had put + upon her, and she saw his thin, evil lips curled into a smile. + </p> + <p> + “So you came to-night to tell me all this?” she asked as soon as she could + trust herself to speak. Her impulse was to shriek out her indignation, her + horror of him, into his face. She longed to call down God’s eternal curse + upon this fiend; but instinctively she held herself in check. Her + indignation, her words of loathing would only have added to his delight. + </p> + <p> + “You have had your wish,” she added coldly; “now, I pray you, go.” + </p> + <p> + “Your pardon, Lady Blakeney,” he said with all his habitual blandness; “my + object in coming to see you tonight was twofold. Methought that I was + acting as your friend in giving you authentic news of Sir Percy, and in + suggesting the possibility of your adding your persuasion to ours.” + </p> + <p> + “My persuasion? You mean that I—” + </p> + <p> + “You would wish to see your husband, would you not, Lady Blakeney?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I pray you command me. I will grant you the permission whenever you + wish to go.” + </p> + <p> + “You are in the hope, citizen,” she said, “that I will do my best to break + my husband’s spirit by my tears or my prayers—is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily,” he replied pleasantly. “I assure you that we can manage + to do that ourselves, in time.” + </p> + <p> + “You devil!” The cry of pain and of horror was involuntarily wrung from + the depths of her soul. “Are you not afraid that God’s hand will strike + you where you stand?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said lightly; “I am not afraid, Lady Blakeney. You see, I do not + happen to believe in God. Come!” he added more seriously, “have I not + proved to you that my offer is disinterested? Yet I repeat it even now. If + you desire to see Sir Percy in prison, command me, and the doors shall be + open to you.” + </p> + <p> + She waited a moment, looking him straight and quite dispassionately in the + face; then she said coldly: + </p> + <p> + “Very well! I will go.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “This evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you wish. I would have to go and see my friend Heron first, and + arrange with him for your visit.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go. I will follow in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “C’est entendu. Will you be at the main entrance of the Conciergerie at + half-past nine? You know it, perhaps—no? It is in the Rue de la + Barillerie, immediately on the right at the foot of the great staircase of + the house of Justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the house of Justice!” she exclaimed involuntarily, a world of bitter + contempt in her cry. Then she added in her former matter-of-fact tones: + </p> + <p> + “Very good, citizen. At half-past nine I will be at the entrance you + name.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will be at the door prepared to escort you.” + </p> + <p> + He took up his hat and coat and bowed ceremoniously to her. Then he turned + to go. At the door a cry from her—involuntarily enough, God knows!—made + him pause. + </p> + <p> + “My interview with the prisoner,” she said, vainly trying, poor soul! to + repress that quiver of anxiety in her voice, “it will be private?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! Of course,” he replied with a reassuring smile. “Au revoir, Lady + Blakeney! Half-past nine, remember—” + </p> + <p> + She could no longer trust herself to look on him as he finally took his + departure. She was afraid—yes, absolutely afraid that her fortitude + would give way—meanly, despicably, uselessly give way; that she + would suddenly fling herself at the feet of that sneering, inhuman wretch, + that she would pray, implore—Heaven above! what might she not do in + the face of this awful reality, if the last lingering shred of vanishing + reason, of pride, and of courage did not hold her in check? + </p> + <p> + Therefore she forced herself not to look on that departing, sable-clad + figure, on that evil face, and those hands that held Percy’s fate in their + cruel grip; but her ears caught the welcome sound of his departure—the + opening and shutting of the door, his light footstep echoing down the + stone stairs. + </p> + <p> + When at last she felt that she was really alone she uttered a loud cry + like a wounded doe, and falling on her knees she buried her face in her + hands in a passionate fit of weeping. Violent sobs shook her entire frame; + it seemed as if an overwhelming anguish was tearing at her heart—the + physical pain of it was almost unendurable. And yet even through this + paroxysm of tears her mind clung to one root idea: when she saw Percy she + must be brave and calm, be able to help him if he wanted her, to do his + bidding if there was anything that she could do, or any message that she + could take to the others. Of hope she had none. The last lingering ray of + it had been extinguished by that fiend when he said, “We need not fear + that he will escape. I doubt if he could walk very steadily across this + room now.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE CONCIERGERIE + </h2> + <p> + Marguerite, accompanied by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, walked rapidly along the + quay. It lacked ten minutes to the half hour; the night was dark and + bitterly cold. Snow was still falling in sparse, thin flakes, and lay like + a crisp and glittering mantle over the parapets of the bridges and the + grim towers of the Chatelet prison. + </p> + <p> + They walked on silently now. All that they had wanted to say to one + another had been said inside the squalid room of their lodgings when Sir + Andrew Ffoulkes had come home and learned that Chauvelin had been. + </p> + <p> + “They are killing him by inches, Sir Andrew,” had been the heartrending + cry which burst from Marguerite’s oppressed heart as soon as her hands + rested in the kindly ones of her best friend. “Is there aught that we can + do?” + </p> + <p> + There was, of course, very little that could be done. One or two fine + steel files which Sir Andrew gave her to conceal beneath the folds of her + kerchief; also a tiny dagger with sharp, poisoned blade, which for a + moment she held in her hand hesitating, her eyes filling with tears, her + heart throbbing with unspeakable sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Then slowly—very slowly—she raised the small, death-dealing + instrument to her lips, and reverently kissed the narrow blade. + </p> + <p> + “If it must be!” she murmured, “God in His mercy will forgive!” + </p> + <p> + She sheathed the dagger, and this, too, she hid in the folds of her gown. + </p> + <p> + “Can you think of anything else, Sir Andrew, that he might want?” she + asked. “I have money in plenty, in case those soldiers—” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew sighed, and turned away from her so as to hide the hopelessness + which he felt. Since three days now he had been exhausting every + conceivable means of getting at the prison guard with bribery and + corruption. But Chauvelin and his friends had taken excellent precautions. + The prison of the Conciergerie, situated as it was in the very heart of + the labyrinthine and complicated structure of the Chatelet and the house + of Justice, and isolated from every other group of cells in the building, + was inaccessible save from one narrow doorway which gave on the guard-room + first, and thence on the inner cell beyond. Just as all attempts to rescue + the late unfortunate Queen from that prison had failed, so now every + attempt to reach the imprisoned Scarlet Pimpernel was equally doomed to + bitter disappointment. + </p> + <p> + The guard-room was filled with soldiers day and night; the windows of the + inner cell, heavily barred, were too small to admit of the passage of a + human body, and they were raised twenty feet from the corridor below. Sir + Andrew had stood in the corridor two days ago, he had looked on the window + behind which he knew that his friend must be eating out his noble heart in + a longing for liberty, and he had realised then that every effort at help + from the outside was foredoomed to failure. + </p> + <p> + “Courage, Lady Blakeney,” he said to Marguerite, when anon they had + crossed the Pont au Change, and were wending their way slowly along the + Rue de la Barillerie; “remember our proud dictum: the Scarlet Pimpernel + never fails! and also this, that whatever messages Blakeney gives you for + us, whatever he wishes us to do, we are to a man ready to do it, and to + give our lives for our chief. Courage! Something tells me that a man like + Percy is not going to die at the hands of such vermin as Chauvelin and his + friends.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached the great iron gates of the house of Justice. Marguerite, + trying to smile, extended her trembling band to this faithful, loyal + comrade. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not be far,” he said. “When you come out do not look to the right or + left, but make straight for home; I’ll not lose sight of you for a moment, + and as soon as possible will overtake you. God bless you both.” + </p> + <p> + He pressed his lips on her cold little hand, and watched her tall, elegant + figure as she passed through the great gates until the veil of falling + snow hid her from his gaze. Then with a deep sigh of bitter anguish and + sorrow he turned away and was soon lost in the gloom. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite found the gate at the bottom of the monumental stairs open when + she arrived. Chauvelin was standing immediately inside the building + waiting for her. + </p> + <p> + “We are prepared for your visit, Lady Blakeney,” he said, “and the + prisoner knows that you are coming.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way down one of the numerous and interminable corridors of the + building, and she followed briskly, pressing her hand against her bosom + there where the folds of her kerchief hid the steel files and the precious + dagger. + </p> + <p> + Even in the gloom of these ill-lighted passages she realised that she was + surrounded by guards. There were soldiers everywhere; two had stood behind + the door when first she entered, and had immediately closed it with a loud + clang behind her; and all the way down the corridors, through the + half-light engendered by feebly flickering lamps, she caught glimpses of + the white facings on the uniforms of the town guard, or occasionally the + glint of steel of a bayonet. Presently Chauvelin paused beside a door, + which he had just reached. His hand was on the latch, for it did not + appear to be locked, and he turned toward Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, Lady Blakeney,” he said in simple, deferential tones, + “that the prison authorities, who at my request are granting you this + interview at such an unusual hour, have made a slight condition to your + visit.” + </p> + <p> + “A condition?” she asked. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You must forgive me,” he said, as if purposely evading her question, “for + I give you my word that I had nothing to do with a regulation that you + might justly feel was derogatory to your dignity. If you will kindly step + in here a wardress in charge will explain to you what is required.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed open the door, and stood aside ceremoniously in order to allow + her to pass in. She looked on him with deep puzzlement and a look of dark + suspicion in her eyes. But her mind was too much engrossed with the + thought of her meeting with Percy to worry over any trifle that might—as + her enemy had inferred—offend her womanly dignity. + </p> + <p> + She walked into the room, past Chauvelin, who whispered as she went by: + </p> + <p> + “I will wait for you here. And, I pray you, if you have aught to complain + of summon me at once.” + </p> + <p> + Then he closed the door behind her. The room in which Marguerite now found + herself was a small unventilated quadrangle, dimly lighted by a hanging + lamp. A woman in a soiled cotton gown and lank grey hair brushed away from + a parchment-like forehead rose from the chair in which she had been + sitting when Marguerite entered, and put away some knitting on which she + had apparently been engaged. + </p> + <p> + “I was to tell you, citizeness,” she said the moment the door had been + closed and she was alone with Marguerite, “that the prison authorities + have given orders that I should search you before you visit the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + She repeated this phrase mechanically like a child who has been taught to + say a lesson by heart. She was a stoutish middle-aged woman, with that + pasty, flabby skin peculiar to those who live in want of fresh air; but + her small, dark eyes were not unkindly, although they shifted restlessly + from one object to another as if she were trying to avoid looking the + other woman straight in the face. + </p> + <p> + “That you should search me!” reiterated Marguerite slowly, trying to + understand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the woman. “I was to tell you to take off your clothes, so + that I might look them through and through. I have often had to do this + before when visitors have been allowed inside the prison, so it is no use + your trying to deceive me in any way. I am very sharp at finding out if + any one has papers, or files or ropes concealed in an underpetticoat. + Come,” she added more roughly, seeing that Marguerite had remained + motionless in the middle of the room; “the quicker you are about it the + sooner you will be taken to see the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + These words had their desired effect. The proud Lady Blakeney, inwardly + revolting at the outrage, knew that resistance would be worse than + useless. Chauvelin was the other side of the door. A call from the woman + would bring him to her assistance, and Marguerite was only longing to + hasten the moment when she could be with her husband. + </p> + <p> + She took off her kerchief and her gown and calmly submitted to the woman’s + rough hands as they wandered with sureness and accuracy to the various + pockets and folds that might conceal prohibited articles. The woman did + her work with peculiar stolidity; she did not utter a word when she found + the tiny steel files and placed them on a table beside her. In equal + silence she laid the little dagger beside them, and the purse which + contained twenty gold pieces. These she counted in front of Marguerite and + then replaced them in the purse. Her face expressed neither surprise, nor + greed nor pity. She was obviously beyond the reach of bribery—just a + machine paid by the prison authorities to do this unpleasant work, and no + doubt terrorised into doing it conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + When she had satisfied herself that Marguerite had nothing further + concealed about her person, she allowed her to put her dress on once more. + She even offered to help her on with it. When Marguerite was fully dressed + she opened the door for her. Chauvelin was standing in the passage waiting + patiently. At sight of Marguerite, whose pale, set face betrayed nothing + of the indignation which she felt, he turned quick, inquiring eyes on the + woman. + </p> + <p> + “Two files, a dagger and a purse with twenty louis,” said the latter + curtly. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin made no comment. He received the information quite placidly, as + if it had no special interest for him. Then he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “This way, citizeness!” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite followed him, and two minutes later he stood beside a heavy + nail-studded door that had a small square grating let into one of the + panels, and said simply: + </p> + <p> + “This is it.” + </p> + <p> + Two soldiers of the National Guard were on sentry at the door, two more + were pacing up and down outside it, and had halted when citizen Chauvelin + gave his name and showed his tricolour scarf of office. From behind the + small grating in the door a pair of eyes peered at the newcomers. + </p> + <p> + “Qui va la?” came the quick challenge from the guard-room within. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety,” was the prompt + reply. + </p> + <p> + There was the sound of grounding of arms, of the drawing of bolts and the + turning of a key in a complicated lock. The prison was kept locked from + within, and very heavy bars had to be moved ere the ponderous door slowly + swung open on its hinges. + </p> + <p> + Two steps led up into the guard-room. Marguerite mounted them with the + same feeling of awe and almost of reverence as she would have mounted the + steps of a sacrificial altar. + </p> + <p> + The guard-room itself was more brilliantly lighted than the corridor + outside. The sudden glare of two or three lamps placed about the room + caused her momentarily to close her eyes that were aching with many shed + and unshed tears. The air was rank and heavy with the fumes of tobacco, of + wine and stale food. A large barred window gave on the corridor + immediately above the door. + </p> + <p> + When Marguerite felt strong enough to look around her, she saw that the + room was filled with soldiers. Some were sitting, others standing, others + lay on rugs against the wall, apparently asleep. There was one who + appeared to be in command, for with a word he checked the noise that was + going on in the room when she entered, and then he said curtly: + </p> + <p> + “This way, citizeness!” + </p> + <p> + He turned to an opening in the wall on the left, the stone-lintel of a + door, from which the door itself had been removed; an iron bar ran across + the opening, and this the sergeant now lifted, nodding to Marguerite to go + within. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively she looked round for Chauvelin. + </p> + <p> + But he was nowhere to be seen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CAGED LION + </h2> + <p> + Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who allowed + Marguerite through the barrier into the prisoner’s cell? Had the wan face + of this beautiful woman stirred within his heart the last chord of + gentleness that was not wholly atrophied by the constant cruelties, the + excesses, the mercilessness which his service under this fraternising + republic constantly demanded of him? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some recollection of former years, when first he served his King + and country, recollection of wife or sister or mother pleaded within him + in favour of this sorely-stricken woman with the look of unspeakable + sorrow in her large blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + Certain it is that as soon as Marguerite passed the barrier he put himself + on guard against it with his back to the interior of the cell and to her. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had paused on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + After the glaring light of the guard-room the cell seemed dark, and at + first she could hardly see. The whole length of the long, narrow cubicle + lay to her left, with a slight recess at its further end, so that from the + threshold of the doorway she could not see into the distant corner. Swift + as a lightning flash the remembrance came back to her of proud Marie + Antoinette narrowing her life to that dark corner where the insolent eyes + of the rabble soldiery could not spy her every movement. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite stepped further into the room. Gradually by the dim light of an + oil lamp placed upon a table in the recess she began to distinguish + various objects: one or two chairs, another table, and a small but very + comfortable-looking camp bedstead. + </p> + <p> + Just for a few seconds she only saw these inanimate things, then she + became conscious of Percy’s presence. + </p> + <p> + He sat on a chair, with his left arm half-stretched out upon the table, + his head hidden in the bend of the elbow. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite did not utter a cry; she did not even tremble. Just for one + brief instant she closed her eyes, so as to gather up all her courage + before she dared to look again. Then with a steady and noiseless step she + came quite close to him. She knelt on the flagstones at his feet and + raised reverently to her lips the hand that hung nerveless and limp by his + side. + </p> + <p> + He gave a start; a shiver seemed to go right through him; he half raised + his head and murmured in a hoarse whisper: + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that I do not know, and if I did—” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms round him and pillowed her head upon his breast. He + turned his head slowly toward her, and now his eyes—hollowed and + rimmed with purple—looked straight into hers. + </p> + <p> + “My beloved,” he said, “I knew that you would come.” His arms closed round + her. There was nothing of lifelessness or of weariness in the passion of + that embrace; and when she looked up again it seemed to her as if that + first vision which she had had of him with weary head bent, and wan, + haggard face was not reality, only a dream born of her own anxiety for + him, for now the hot, ardent blood coursed just as swiftly as ever through + his veins, as if life—strong, tenacious, pulsating life—throbbed + with unabated vigour in those massive limbs, and behind that square, clear + brow as though the body, but half subdued, had transferred its vanishing + strength to the kind and noble heart that was beating with the fervour of + self-sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + “Percy,” she said gently, “they will only give us a few moments together. + They thought that my tears would break your spirit where their devilry had + failed.” + </p> + <p> + He held her glance with his own, with that close, intent look which binds + soul to soul, and in his deep blue eyes there danced the restless flames + of his own undying mirth: + </p> + <p> + “La! little woman,” he said with enforced lightness, even whilst his voice + quivered with the intensity of passion engendered by her presence, her + nearness, the perfume of her hair, “how little they know you, eh? Your + brave, beautiful, exquisite soul, shining now through your glorious eyes, + would defy the machinations of Satan himself and his horde. Close your + dear eyes, my love. I shall go mad with joy if I drink their beauty in any + longer.” + </p> + <p> + He held her face between his two hands, and indeed it seemed as if he + could not satiate his soul with looking into her eyes. In the midst of so + much sorrow, such misery and such deadly fear, never had Marguerite felt + quite so happy, never had she felt him so completely her own. The + inevitable bodily weakness, which of necessity had invaded even his + splendid physique after a whole week’s privations, had made a severe + breach in the invincible barrier of self-control with which the soul of + the inner man was kept perpetually hidden behind a mask of indifference + and of irresponsibility. + </p> + <p> + And yet the agony of seeing the lines of sorrow so plainly writ on the + beautiful face of the woman he worshipped must have been the keenest that + the bold adventurer had ever experienced in the whole course of his + reckless life. It was he—and he alone—who was making her + suffer; her for whose sake he would gladly have shed every drop of his + blood, endured every torment, every misery and every humiliation; her whom + he worshipped only one degree less than he worshipped his honour and the + cause which he had made his own. + </p> + <p> + Yet, in spite of that agony, in spite of the heartrending pathos of her + pale wan face, and through the anguish of seeing her tears, the ruling + passion—strong in death—the spirit of adventure, the mad, + wild, devil-may-care irresponsibility was never wholly absent. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart,” he said with a quaint sigh, whilst he buried his face in the + soft masses of her hair, “until you came I was so d—d fatigued.” + </p> + <p> + He was laughing, and the old look of boyish love of mischief illumined his + haggard face. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not lucky, dear heart,” he said a moment or two later, “that those + brutes do not leave me unshaved? I could not have faced you with a week’s + growth of beard round my chin. By dint of promises and bribery I have + persuaded one of that rabble to come and shave me every morning. They will + not allow me to handle a razor my-self. They are afraid I should cut my + throat—or one of theirs. But mostly I am too d—d sleepy to + think of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” she exclaimed with tender and passionate reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I know—I know, dear,” he murmured, “what a brute I am! Ah, God did + a cruel thing the day that He threw me in your path. To think that once—not + so very long ago—we were drifting apart, you and I. You would have + suffered less, dear heart, if we had continued to drift.” + </p> + <p> + Then as he saw that his bantering tone pained her, he covered her hands + with kisses, entreating her forgiveness. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart,” he said merrily, “I deserve that you should leave me to rot + in this abominable cage. They haven’t got me yet, little woman, you know; + I am not yet dead—only d—d sleepy at times. But I’ll cheat + them even now, never fear.” + </p> + <p> + “How, Percy—how?” she moaned, for her heart was aching with + intolerable pain; she knew better than he did the precautions which were + being taken against his escape, and she saw more clearly than he realised + it himself the terrible barrier set up against that escape by ever + encroaching physical weakness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear,” he said simply, “to tell you the truth I have not yet + thought of that all-important ‘how.’ I had to wait, you see, until you + came. I was so sure that you would come! I have succeeded in putting on + paper all my instructions for Ffoulkes and the others. I will give them to + you anon. I knew that you would come, and that I could give them to you; + until then I had but to think of one thing, and that was of keeping body + and soul together. My chance of seeing you was to let them have their will + with me. Those brutes were sure, sooner or later, to bring you to me, that + you might see the caged fox worn down to imbecility, eh? That you might + add your tears to their persuasion, and succeed where they have failed.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed lightly with an unstrained note of gaiety, only Marguerite’s + sensitive ears caught the faint tone of bitterness which rang through the + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Once I know that the little King of France is safe,” he said, “I can + think of how best to rob those d—d murderers of my skin.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly his manner changed. He still held her with one arm closely + to, him, but the other now lay across the table, and the slender, + emaciated hand was tightly clutched. He did not look at her, but straight + ahead; the eyes, unnaturally large now, with their deep purple rims, + looked far ahead beyond the stone walls of this grim, cruel prison. + </p> + <p> + The passionate lover, hungering for his beloved, had vanished; there sat + the man with a purpose, the man whose firm hand had snatched men and women + and children from death, the reckless enthusiast who tossed his life + against an ideal. + </p> + <p> + For a while he sat thus, while in his drawn and haggard face she could + trace every line formed by his thoughts—the frown of anxiety, the + resolute setting of the lips, the obstinate look of will around the firm + jaw. Then he turned again to her. + </p> + <p> + “My beautiful one,” he said softly, “the moments are very precious. God + knows I could spend eternity thus with your dear form nestling against my + heart. But those d—d murderers will only give us half an hour, and I + want your help, my beloved, now that I am a helpless cur caught in their + trap. Will you listen attentively, dear heart, to what I am going to say? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Percy, I will listen,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “And have you the courage to do just what I tell you, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not have courage to do aught else,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + “It means going from hence to-day, dear heart, and perhaps not meeting + again. Hush-sh-sh, my beloved,” he said, tenderly placing his thin hand + over her mouth, from which a sharp cry of pain had well-nigh escaped; + “your exquisite soul will be with me always. Try—try not to give way + to despair. Why! your love alone, which I see shining from your dear eyes, + is enough to make a man cling to life with all his might. Tell me! will + you do as I ask you?” + </p> + <p> + And she replied firmly and courageously: + </p> + <p> + “I will do just what you ask, Percy.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you for your courage, dear. You will have need of it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT + </h2> + <p> + The next instant he was kneeling on the floor and his hands were wandering + over the small, irregular flagstones immediately underneath the table. + Marguerite had risen to her feet; she watched her husband with intent and + puzzled eyes; she saw him suddenly pass his slender fingers along a + crevice between two flagstones, then raise one of these slightly and from + beneath it extract a small bundle of papers, each carefully folded and + sealed. Then he replaced the stone and once more rose to his knees. + </p> + <p> + He gave a quick glance toward the doorway. That corner of his cell, the + recess wherein stood the table, was invisible to any one who had not + actually crossed the threshold. Reassured that his movements could not + have been and were not watched, he drew Marguerite closer to him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart,” he whispered, “I want to place these papers in your care. + Look upon them as my last will and testament. I succeeded in fooling those + brutes one day by pretending to be willing to accede to their will. They + gave me pen and ink and paper and wax, and I was to write out an order to + my followers to bring the Dauphin hither. They left me in peace for one + quarter of an hour, which gave me time to write three letters—one + for Armand and the other two for Ffoulkes, and to hide them under the + flooring of my cell. You see, dear, I knew that you would come and that I + could give them to you then.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and that ghost of a smile once more hovered round his lips. He + was thinking of that day when he had fooled Heron and Chauvelin into the + belief that their devilry had succeeded, and that they had brought the + reckless adventurer to his knees. He smiled at the recollection of their + wrath when they knew that they had been tricked, and after a quarter of an + hour’s anxious waiting found a few sheets of paper scribbled over with + incoherent words or satirical verse, and the prisoner having apparently + snatched ten minutes’ sleep, which seemingly had restored to him quite a + modicum of his strength. + </p> + <p> + But of this he told Marguerite nothing, nor of the insults and the + humiliation which he had had to bear in consequence of that trick. He did + not tell her that directly afterwards the order went forth that the + prisoner was to be kept on bread and water in the future, nor that + Chauvelin had stood by laughing and jeering while... + </p> + <p> + No! he did not tell her all that; the recollection of it all had still the + power to make him laugh; was it not all a part and parcel of that great + gamble for human lives wherein he had held the winning cards himself for + so long? + </p> + <p> + “It is your turn now,” he had said even then to his bitter enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” Chauvelin had replied, “our turn at last. And you will not bend my + fine English gentleman, we’ll break you yet, never fear.” + </p> + <p> + It was the thought of it all, of that hand to hand, will to will, spirit + to spirit struggle that lighted up his haggard face even now, gave him a + fresh zest for life, a desire to combat and to conquer in spite of all, in + spite of the odds that had martyred his body but left the mind, the will, + the power still unconquered. + </p> + <p> + He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her fingers + tightly in his, and compelling her gaze with the ardent excitement of his + own. + </p> + <p> + “This first letter is for Ffoulkes,” he said. “It relates to the final + measures for the safety of the Dauphin. They are my instructions to those + members of the League who are in or near Paris at the present moment. + Ffoulkes, I know, must be with you—he was not likely, God bless his + loyalty, to let you come to Paris alone. Then give this letter to him, + dear heart, at once, to-night, and tell him that it is my express command + that he and the others shall act in minute accordance with my + instructions.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Dauphin surely is safe now,” she urged. “Ffoulkes and the others + are here in order to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “To help me, dear heart?” he interposed earnestly. “God alone can do that + now, and such of my poor wits as these devils do not succeed in crushing + out of me within the next ten days.” + </p> + <p> + Ten days! + </p> + <p> + “I have waited a week, until this hour when I could place this packet in + your hands; another ten days should see the Dauphin out of France—after + that, we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “Percy,” she exclaimed in an agony of horror, “you cannot endure this + another day—and live!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay!” he said in a tone that was almost insolent in its proud defiance, + “there is but little that a man cannot do an he sets his mind to it. For + the rest, ‘tis in God’s hands!” he added more gently. “Dear heart! you + swore that you would be brave. The Dauphin is still in France, and until + he is out of it he will not really be safe; his friends wanted to keep him + inside the country. God only knows what they still hope; had I been free I + should not have allowed him to remain so long; now those good people at + Mantes will yield to my letter and to Ffoulkes’ earnest appeal—they + will allow one of our League to convey the child safely out of France, and + I’ll wait here until I know that he is safe. If I tried to get away now, + and succeeded—why, Heaven help us! the hue and cry might turn + against the child, and he might be captured before I could get to him. + Dear heart! dear, dear heart! try to understand. The safety of that child + is bound with mine honour, but I swear to you, my sweet love, that the day + on which I feel that that safety is assured I will save mine own skin—what + there is left of it—if I can!” + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” she cried with a sudden outburst of passionate revolt, “you speak + as if the safety of that child were of more moment than your own. Ten + days!—but, God in Heaven! have you thought how I shall live these + ten days, whilst slowly, inch by inch, you give your dear, your precious + life for a forlorn cause? + </p> + <p> + “I am very tough, m’dear,” he said lightly; “‘tis not a question of life. + I shall only be spending a few more very uncomfortable days in this d—d + hole; but what of that?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes spoke the reply; her eyes veiled with tears, that wandered with + heart-breaking anxiety from the hollow circles round his own to the lines + of weariness about the firm lips and jaw. He laughed at her solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “I can last out longer than these brutes have any idea of,” he said gaily. + </p> + <p> + “You cheat yourself, Percy,” she rejoined with quiet earnestness. “Every + day that you spend immured between these walls, with that ceaseless + nerve-racking torment of sleeplessness which these devils have devised for + the breaking of your will—every day thus spent diminishes your power + of ultimately saving yourself. You see, I speak calmly—dispassionately—I + do not even urge my claims upon your life. But what you must weigh in the + balance is the claim of all those for whom in the past you have already + staked your life, whose lives you have purchased by risking your own. + What, in comparison with your noble life, is that of the puny descendant + of a line of decadent kings? Why should it be sacrificed—ruthlessly, + hopelessly sacrificed that a boy might live who is as nothing to the + world, to his country—even to his own people?” + </p> + <p> + She had tried to speak calmly, never raising her voice beyond a whisper. + Her hands still clutched that paper, which seemed to sear her fingers, the + paper which she felt held writ upon its smooth surface the death-sentence + of the man she loved. + </p> + <p> + But his look did not answer her firm appeal; it was fixed far away beyond + the prison walls, on a lonely country road outside Paris, with the rain + falling in a thin drizzle, and leaden clouds overhead chasing one another, + driven by the gale. + </p> + <p> + “Poor mite,” he murmured softly; “he walked so bravely by my side, until + the little feet grew weary; then he nestled in my arms and slept until we + met Ffoulkes waiting with the cart. He was no King of France just then, + only a helpless innocent whom Heaven aided me to save.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite bowed her head in silence. There was nothing more that she + could say, no plea that she could urge. Indeed, she had understood, as he + had begged her to understand. She understood that long ago he had mapped + out the course of his life, and now that that course happened to lead up a + Calvary of humiliation and of suffering he was not likely to turn back, + even though, on the summit, death already was waiting and beckoning with + no uncertain hand; not until he could murmur, in the wake of the great and + divine sacrifice itself, the sublime words: + </p> + <p> + “It is accomplished.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Dauphin is safe enough now,” was all that she said, after that + one moment’s silence when her heart, too, had offered up to God the + supreme abnegation of self, and calmly faced a sorrow which threatened to + break it at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he rejoined quietly, “safe enough for the moment. But he would be + safer still if he were out of France. I had hoped to take him one day with + me to England. But in this plan damnable Fate has interfered. His + adherents wanted to get him to Vienna, and their wish had best be + fulfilled now. In my instructions to Ffoulkes I have mapped out a simple + way for accomplishing the journey. Tony will be the one best suited to + lead the expedition, and I want him to make straight for Holland; the + Northern frontiers are not so closely watched as are the Austrian ones. + There is a faithful adherent of the Bourbon cause who lives at Delft, and + who will give the shelter of his name and home to the fugitive King of + France until he can be conveyed to Vienna. He is named Nauudorff. Once I + feel that the child is safe in his hands I will look after myself, never + fear.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, for his strength, which was only factitious, born of the + excitement that Marguerite’s presence had called forth, was threatening to + give way. His voice, though he had spoken in a whisper all along, was very + hoarse, and his temples were throbbing with the sustained effort to speak. + </p> + <p> + “If those friends had only thought of denying me food instead of sleep,” + he murmured involuntarily, “I could have held out until—” + </p> + <p> + Then with characteristic swiftness his mood changed in a moment. His arms + closed round Marguerite once more with a passion of self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forgive me for a selfish brute,” he said, whilst the ghost of a + smile once more lit up the whole of his face. “Dear soul, I must have + forgotten your sweet presence, thus brooding over my own troubles, whilst + your loving heart has a graver burden—God help me!—than it can + possibly bear. Listen, my beloved, for I don’t know how many minutes + longer they intend to give us, and I have not yet spoken to you about + Armand—” + </p> + <p> + “Armand!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + A twinge of remorse had gripped her. For fully ten minutes now she had + relegated all thoughts of her brother to a distant cell of her memory. + </p> + <p> + “We have no news of Armand,” she said. “Sir Andrew has searched all the + prison registers. Oh! were not my heart atrophied by all that it has + endured this past sennight it would feel a final throb of agonising pain + at every thought of Armand.” + </p> + <p> + A curious look, which even her loving eyes failed to interpret, passed + like a shadow over her husband’s face. But the shadow lifted in a moment, + and it was with a reassuring smile that he said to her: + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart! Armand is comparatively safe for the moment. Tell Ffoulkes + not to search the prison registers for him, rather to seek out + Mademoiselle Lange. She will know where to find Armand.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeanne Lange!” she exclaimed with a world of bitterness in the tone of + her voice, “the girl whom Armand loved, it seems, with a passion greater + than his loyalty. Oh! Sir Andrew tried to disguise my brother’s folly, but + I guessed what he did not choose to tell me. It was his disobedience, his + want of trust, that brought this unspeakable misery on us all.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not blame him overmuch, dear heart. Armand was in love, and love + excuses every sin committed in its name. Jeanne Lange was arrested and + Armand lost his reason temporarily. The very day on which I rescued the + Dauphin from the Temple I had the good fortune to drag the little lady out + of prison. I had given my promise to Armand that she should be safe, and I + kept my word. But this Armand did not know—or else—” + </p> + <p> + He checked himself abruptly, and once more that strange, enigmatical look + crept into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I took Jeanne Lange to a place of comparative safety,” he said after a + slight pause, “but since then she has been set entirely free.” + </p> + <p> + “Free?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Chauvelin himself brought me the news,” he replied with a quick, + mirthless laugh, wholly unlike his usual light-hearted gaiety. “He had to + ask me where to find Jeanne, for I alone knew where she was. As for + Armand, they’ll not worry about him whilst I am here. Another reason why I + must bide a while longer. But in the meanwhile, dear, I pray you find + Mademoiselle Lange; she lives at No. 5 Square du Roule. Through her I know + that you can get to see Armand. This second letter,” he added, pressing a + smaller packet into her hand, “is for him. Give it to him, dear heart; it + will, I hope, tend to cheer him. I fear me the poor lad frets; yet he only + sinned because he loved, and to me he will always be your brother—the + man who held your affection for all the years before I came into your + life. Give him this letter, dear; they are my instructions to him, as the + others are for Ffoulkes; but tell him to read them when he is all alone. + You will do that, dear heart, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Percy,” she said simply. “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + Great joy, and the expression of intense relief, lit up his face, whilst + his eyes spoke the gratitude which he felt. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is one thing more,” he said. “There are others in this cruel + city, dear heart, who have trusted me, and whom I must not fail—Marie + de Marmontel and her brother, faithful servants of the late queen; they + were on the eve of arrest when I succeeded in getting them to a place of + comparative safety; and there are others there, too all of these poor + victims have trusted me implicitly. They are waiting for me there, + trusting in my promise to convey them safely to England. Sweetheart, you + must redeem my promise to them. You will?—you will? Promise me that + you will—” + </p> + <p> + “I promise, Percy,” she said once more. + </p> + <p> + “Then go, dear, to-morrow, in the late afternoon, to No. 98, Rue de + Charonne. It is a narrow house at the extreme end of that long street + which abuts on the fortifications. The lower part of the house is occupied + by a dealer in rags and old clothes. He and his wife and family are + wretchedly poor, but they are kind, good souls, and for a consideration + and a minimum of risk to themselves they will always render service to the + English milors, whom they believe to be a band of inveterate smugglers. + Ffoulkes and all the others know these people and know the house; Armand + by the same token knows it too. Marie de Marmontel and her brother are + there, and several others; the old Comte de Lezardiere, the Abbe de + Firmont; their names spell suffering, loyalty, and hopelessness. I was + lucky enough to convey them safely to that hidden shelter. They trust me + implicitly, dear heart. They are waiting for me there, trusting in my + promise to them. Dear heart, you will go, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Percy,” she replied. “I will go; I have promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old clothes + dealer will supply the necessary disguises; he has a covered cart which he + uses for his business, and which you can borrow from him. Ffoulkes will + drive the little party to Achard’s farm in St. Germain, where other + members of the League should be in waiting for the final journey to + England. Ffoulkes will know how to arrange for everything; he was always + my most able lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appoint + Hastings to lead the party. But you, dear heart, must do as you wish. + Achard’s farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: if... I + know—I know, dear,” he added with infinite tenderness. “See I do not + even suggest that you should leave me. Ffoulkes will be with you, and I + know that neither he nor you would go even if I commanded. Either Achard’s + farm, or even the house in the Rue de Charonne, would be quite safe for + you, dear, under Ffoulkes’s protection, until the time when I myself can + carry you back—you, my precious burden—to England in mine own + arms, or until... Hush-sh-sh, dear heart,” he entreated, smothering with a + passionate kiss the low moan of pain which had escaped her lips; “it is + all in God’s hands now; I am in a tight corner—tighter than ever I + have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those brutes have not yet + paid the full price for my life. Tell me, dear heart, that you have + understood—that you will do all that I asked. Tell me again, my + dear, dear love; it is the very essence of life to hear your sweet lips + murmur this promise now.” + </p> + <p> + And for the third time she reiterated firmly: + </p> + <p> + “I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I promise on + your precious life to do what you ask.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment there came + from the guard-room beyond the sound of a harsh voice, saying + peremptorily: + </p> + <p> + “That half-hour is nearly over, sergeant; ‘tis time you interfered.” + </p> + <p> + “Three minutes more, citizen,” was the curt reply. + </p> + <p> + “Three minutes, you devils,” murmured Blakeney between set teeth, whilst a + sudden light which even Marguerite’s keen gaze failed to interpret leapt + into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter into her hand. + </p> + <p> + Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were close + one to the other, so near to him did he draw her, so tightly did he hold + her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers were pressed firmly + on hers. + </p> + <p> + “Put this in your kerchief, my beloved,” he whispered. “Let it rest on + your exquisite bosom where I so love to pillow my head. Keep it there + until the last hour when it seems to you that nothing more can come + between me and shame.... Hush-sh-sh, dear,” he added with passionate + tenderness, checking the hot protest that at the word “shame” had sprung + to her lips, “I cannot explain more fully now. I do not know what may + happen. I am only a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutes + might not devise for bringing the untamed adventurer to his knees. For the + next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, on his way + to safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to me. I can from + between these four walls follow him and his escort step by step. Well, + dear, I am but a man, already brought to shameful weakness by mere + physical discomfort—the want of sleep—such a trifle after all; + but in case my reason tottered—God knows what I might do—then + give this packet to Ffoulkes—it contains my final instructions—and + he will know how to act. Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open + the packet unless—unless mine own dishonour seems to you imminent—unless + I have yielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one of + the others orders to exchange the Dauphin’s life for mine; then, when mine + own handwriting hath proclaimed me a coward, then and then only, give this + packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that when you and he have + mastered its contents you will act exactly as I have commanded. Promise me + that, dear, in your own sweet name, which may God bless, and in that of + Ffoulkes, our loyal friend.” + </p> + <p> + Through the sobs that well-nigh choked her she murmured the promise he + desired. + </p> + <p> + His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable reaction + after the long and sustained effort, but the vigour of the spirit was + untouched, the fervour, the enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart,” he murmured, “do not look on me with those dear, scared eyes + of yours. If there is aught that puzzles you in what I said, try and trust + me a while longer. Remember, I must save the Dauphin at all costs; mine + honour is bound with his safety. What happens to me after that matters but + little, yet I wish to live for your dear sake.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The haggard + look had completely vanished from his face, the eyes were lighted up from + within, the very soul of reckless daring and immortal gaiety illumined his + whole personality. + </p> + <p> + “Do not look so sad, little woman,” he said with a strange and sudden + recrudescence of power; “those d—d murderers have not got me yet—even + now.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went down like a log. + </p> + <p> + The effort had been too prolonged—weakened nature reasserted her + rights and he lost consciousness. Marguerite, helpless and almost + distraught with grief, had yet the strength of mind not to call for + assistance. She pillowed the loved one’s head upon her breast, she kissed + the dear, tired eyes, the poor throbbing temples. The unutterable pathos + of seeing this man, who was always the personification of extreme + vitality, energy, and boundless endurance and pluck, lying thus helpless, + like a tired child, in her arms, was perhaps the saddest moment of this + day of sorrow. But in her trust she never wavered for one instant. Much + that he had said had puzzled her; but the word “shame” coming from his own + lips as a comment on himself never caused her the slightest pang of fear. + She had quickly hidden the tiny packet in her kerchief. She would act + point by point exactly as he had ordered her to do, and she knew that + Ffoulkes would never waver either. + </p> + <p> + Her heart ached well-nigh to breaking point. That which she could not + understand had increased her anguish tenfold. If she could only have given + way to tears she could have borne this final agony more easily. But the + solace of tears was not for her; when those loved eyes once more opened to + consciousness they should see hers glowing with courage and determination. + </p> + <p> + There had been silence for a few minutes in the little cell. The soldiery + outside, inured to their hideous duty, thought no doubt that the time had + come for them to interfere. The iron bar was raised and thrown back with a + loud crash, the butt-ends of muskets were grounded against the floor, and + two soldiers made noisy irruption into the cell. + </p> + <p> + “Hola, citizen! Wake up,” shouted one of the men; “you have not told us + yet what you have done with Capet!” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite uttered a cry of horror. Instinctively her arms were interposed + between the unconscious man and these inhuman creatures, with a beautiful + gesture of protecting motherhood. + </p> + <p> + “He has fainted,” she said, her voice quivering with indignation. “My God! + are you devils that you have not one spark of manhood in you?” + </p> + <p> + The men shrugged their shoulders, and both laughed brutally. They had seen + worse sights than these, since they served a Republic that ruled by + bloodshed and by terror. They were own brothers in callousness and cruelty + to those men who on this self-same spot a few months ago had watched the + daily agony of a martyred Queen, or to those who had rushed into the + Abbaye prison on that awful day in September, and at a word from their + infamous leaders had put eighty defenceless prisoners—men, women, + and children—to the sword. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to say what he has done with Capet,” said one of the soldiers + now, and this rough command was accompanied with a coarse jest that sent + the blood flaring up into Marguerite’s pale cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The brutal laugh, the coarse words which accompanied it, the insult flung + at Marguerite, had penetrated to Blakeney’s slowly returning + consciousness. With sudden strength, that appeared almost supernatural, he + jumped to his feet, and before any of the others could interfere he had + with clenched fist struck the soldier a full blow on the mouth. + </p> + <p> + The man staggered back with a curse, the other shouted for help; in a + moment the narrow place swarmed with soldiers; Marguerite was roughly torn + away from the prisoner’s side, and thrust into the far corner of the cell, + from where she only saw a confused mass of blue coats and white belts, and—towering + for one brief moment above what seemed to her fevered fancy like a + veritable sea of heads—the pale face of her husband, with wide + dilated eyes searching the gloom for hers. + </p> + <p> + “Remember!” he shouted, and his voice for that brief moment rang out clear + and sharp above the din. + </p> + <p> + Then he disappeared behind the wall of glistening bayonets, of blue coats + and uplifted arms; mercifully for her she remembered nothing more very + clearly. She felt herself being dragged out of the cell, the iron bar + being thrust down behind her with a loud clang. Then in a vague, dreamy + state of semi-unconsciousness she saw the heavy bolts being drawn back + from the outer door, heard the grating of the key in the monumental lock, + and the next moment a breath of fresh air brought the sensation of renewed + life into her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. AFTERWARDS + </h2> + <p> + “I am sorry, Lady Blakeney,” said a harsh, dry voice close to her; “the + incident at the end of your visit was none of our making, remember.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away, sickened with horror at thought of contact with this + wretch. She had heard the heavy oaken door swing to behind her on its + ponderous hinges, and the key once again turn in the lock. She felt as if + she had suddenly been thrust into a coffin, and that clods of earth were + being thrown upon her breast, oppressing her heart so that she could not + breathe. + </p> + <p> + Had she looked for the last time on the man whom she loved beyond + everything else on earth, whom she worshipped more ardently day by day? + Was she even now carrying within the folds of her kerchief a message from + a dying man to his comrades? + </p> + <p> + Mechanically she followed Chauvelin down the corridor and along the + passages which she had traversed a brief half-hour ago. From some distant + church tower a clock tolled the hour of ten. It had then really only been + little more than thirty brief minutes since first she had entered this + grim building, which seemed less stony than the monsters who held + authority within it; to her it seemed that centuries had gone over her + head during that time. She felt like an old woman, unable to straighten + her back or to steady her limbs; she could only dimly see some few paces + ahead the trim figure of Chauvelin walking with measured steps, his hands + held behind his back, his head thrown up with what looked like triumphant + defiance. + </p> + <p> + At the door of the cubicle where she had been forced to submit to the + indignity of being searched by a wardress, the latter was now standing, + waiting with characteristic stolidity. In her hand she held the steel + files, the dagger and the purse which, as Marguerite passed, she held out + to her. + </p> + <p> + “Your property, citizeness,” she said placidly. + </p> + <p> + She emptied the purse into her own hand, and solemnly counted out the + twenty pieces of gold. She was about to replace them all into the purse, + when Marguerite pressed one of them back into her wrinkled hand. + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen will be enough, citizeness,” she said; “keep one for yourself, + not only for me, but for all the poor women who come here with their heart + full of hope, and go hence with it full of despair.” + </p> + <p> + The woman turned calm, lack-lustre eyes on her, and silently pocketed the + gold piece with a grudgingly muttered word of thanks. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin during this brief interlude, had walked thoughtlessly on ahead. + Marguerite, peering down the length of the narrow corridor, spied his + sable-clad figure some hundred metres further on as it crossed the dim + circle of light thrown by one of the lamps. + </p> + <p> + She was about to follow, when it seemed to her as if some one was moving + in the darkness close beside her. The wardress was even now in the act of + closing the door of her cubicle, and there were a couple of soldiers who + were disappearing from view round one end of the passage, whilst + Chauvelin’s retreating form was lost in the gloom at the other. + </p> + <p> + There was no light close to where she herself was standing, and the + blackness around her was as impenetrable as a veil; the sound of a human + creature moving and breathing close to her in this intense darkness acted + weirdly on her overwrought nerves. + </p> + <p> + “Qui va la?” she called. + </p> + <p> + There was a more distinct movement among the shadows this time, as of a + swift tread on the flagstones of the corridor. All else was silent round, + and now she could plainly hear those footsteps running rapidly down the + passage away from her. She strained her eyes to see more clearly, and anon + in one of the dim circles of light on ahead she spied a man’s figure—slender + and darkly clad—walking quickly yet furtively like one pursued. As + he crossed the light the man turned to look back. It was her brother + Armand. + </p> + <p> + Her first instinct was to call to him; the second checked that call upon + her lips. + </p> + <p> + Percy had said that Armand was in no danger; then why should he be + sneaking along the dark corridors of this awful house of Justice if he was + free and safe? + </p> + <p> + Certainly, even at a distance, her brother’s movements suggested to + Marguerite that he was in danger of being seen. He cowered in the + darkness, tried to avoid the circles of light thrown by the lamps in the + passage. At all costs Marguerite felt that she must warn him that the way + he was going now would lead him straight into Chauvelin’s arms, and she + longed to let him know that she was close by. + </p> + <p> + Feeling sure that he would recognise her voice, she made pretence to turn + back to the cubicle through the door of which the wardress had already + disappeared, and called out as loudly as she dared: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, citizeness!” + </p> + <p> + But Armand—who surely must have heard—did not pause at the + sound. Rather was he walking on now more rapidly than before. In less than + a minute he would be reaching the spot where Chauvelin stood waiting for + Marguerite. That end of the corridor, however, received no light from any + of the lamps; strive how she might, Marguerite could see nothing now + either of Chauvelin or of Armand. + </p> + <p> + Blindly, instinctively, she ran forward, thinking only to reach Armand, + and to warn him to turn back before it was too late; before he found + himself face to face with the most bitter enemy he and his nearest and + dearest had ever had. But as she at last came to a halt at the end of the + corridor, panting with the exertion of running and the fear for Armand, + she almost fell up against Chauvelin, who was standing there alone and + imperturbable, seemingly having waited patiently for her. She could only + dimly distinguish his face, the sharp features and thin cruel mouth, but + she felt—more than she actually saw—his cold steely eyes fixed + with a strange expression of mockery upon her. + </p> + <p> + But of Armand there was no sign, and she—poor soul!—had + difficulty in not betraying the anxiety which she felt for her brother. + Had the flagstones swallowed him up? A door on the right was the only one + that gave on the corridor at this point; it led to the concierge’s lodge, + and thence out into the courtyard. Had Chauvelin been dreaming, sleeping + with his eyes open, whilst he stood waiting for her, and had Armand + succeeded in slipping past him under cover of the darkness and through + that door to safety that lay beyond these prison walls? + </p> + <p> + Marguerite, miserably agitated, not knowing what to think, looked somewhat + wild-eyed on Chauvelin; he smiled, that inscrutable, mirthless smile of + his, and said blandly: + </p> + <p> + “Is there aught else that I can do for you, citizeness? This is your + nearest way out. No doubt Sir Andrew will be waiting to escort you home.” + </p> + <p> + Then as she—not daring either to reply or to question—walked + straight up to the door, he hurried forward, prepared to open it for her. + But before he did so he turned to her once again: + </p> + <p> + “I trust that your visit has pleased you, Lady Blakeney,” he said suavely. + “At what hour do you desire to repeat it to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow?” she reiterated in a vague, absent manner, for she was still + dazed with the strange incident of Armand’s appearance and his flight. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You would like to see Sir Percy again to-morrow, would you not? I + myself would gladly pay him a visit from time to time, but he does not + care for my company. My colleague, citizen Heron, on the other hand, calls + on him four times in every twenty-four hours; he does so a few moments + before the changing of the guard, and stays chatting with Sir Percy until + after the guard is changed, when he inspects the men and satisfies himself + that no traitor has crept in among them. All the men are personally known + to him, you see. These hours are at five in the morning and again at + eleven, and then again at five and eleven in the evening. My friend Heron, + as you see, is zealous and assiduous, and, strangely enough, Sir Percy + does not seem to view his visit with any displeasure. Now at any other + hour of the day, Lady Blakeney, I pray you command me and I will arrange + that citizen Heron grant you a second interview with the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had only listened to Chauvelin’s lengthy speech with half an + ear; her thoughts still dwelt on the past half-hour with its bitter joy + and its agonising pain; and fighting through her thoughts of Percy there + was the recollection of Armand which so disquieted her. But though she had + only vaguely listened to what Chauvelin was saying, she caught the drift + of it. + </p> + <p> + Madly she longed to accept his suggestion. The very thought of seeing + Percy on the morrow was solace to her aching heart; it could feed on hope + to-night instead of on its own bitter pain. But even during this brief + moment of hesitancy, and while her whole being cried out for this joy that + her enemy was holding out to her, even then in the gloom ahead of her she + seemed to see a vision of a pale face raised above a crowd of swaying + heads, and of the eyes of the dreamer searching for her own, whilst the + last sublime cry of perfect self-devotion once more echoed in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “Remember!” + </p> + <p> + The promise which she had given him, that would she fulfil. The burden + which he had laid on her shoulders she would try to bear as heroically as + he was bearing his own. Aye, even at the cost of the supreme sorrow of + never resting again in the haven of his arms. + </p> + <p> + But in spite of sorrow, in spite of anguish so terrible that she could not + imagine Death itself to have a more cruel sting, she wished above all to + safeguard that final, attenuated thread of hope which was wound round the + packet that lay hidden on her breast. + </p> + <p> + She wanted, above all, not to arouse Chauvelin’s suspicions by markedly + refusing to visit the prisoner again—suspicions that might lead to + her being searched once more and the precious packet filched from her. + Therefore she said to him earnestly now: + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, citizen, for your solicitude on my behalf, but you will + understand, I think, that my visit to the prisoner has been almost more + than I could bear. I cannot tell you at this moment whether to-morrow I + should be in a fit state to repeat it.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” he replied urbanely. “But I pray you to remember one + thing, and that is—” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment while his restless eyes wandered rapidly over her face, + trying, as it were, to get at the soul of this woman, at her innermost + thoughts, which he felt were hidden from him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen,” she said quietly; “what is it that I am to remember?” + </p> + <p> + “That it rests with you, Lady Blakeney, to put an end to the present + situation.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you can persuade Sir Percy’s friends not to leave their chief in + durance vile. They themselves could put an end to his troubles to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “By giving up the Dauphin to you, you mean?” she retorted coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “And you hoped—you still hope that by placing before me the picture + of your own fiendish cruelty against my husband you will induce me to act + the part of a traitor towards him and a coward before his followers?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said deprecatingly, “the cruelty now is no longer mine. Sir + Percy’s release is in your hands, Lady Blakeney—in that of his + followers. I should only be too willing to end the present intolerable + situation. You and your friends are applying the last turn of the + thumbscrew, not I—” + </p> + <p> + She smothered the cry of horror that had risen to her lips. The man’s + cold-blooded sophistry was threatening to make a breach in her armour of + self-control. + </p> + <p> + She would no longer trust herself to speak, but made a quick movement + towards the door. + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders as if the matter were now entirely out of his + control. Then he opened the door for her to pass out, and as her skirts + brushed against him he bowed with studied deference, murmuring a cordial + “Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “And remember, Lady Blakeney,” he added politely, “that should you at any + time desire to communicate with me at my rooms, 19, Rue Dupuy, I hold + myself entirely at your service.” + </p> + <p> + Then as her tall, graceful figure disappeared in the outside gloom he + passed his thin hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the last lingering + signs of triumphant irony: + </p> + <p> + “The second visit will work wonders, I think, my fine lady,” he murmured + under his breath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. AN INTERLUDE + </h2> + <p> + It was close on midnight now, and still they sat opposite one another, he + the friend and she the wife, talking over that brief half-hour that had + meant an eternity to her. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had tried to tell Sir Andrew everything; bitter as it was to + put into actual words the pathos and misery which she had witnessed, yet + she would hide nothing from the devoted comrade whom she knew Percy would + trust absolutely. To him she repeated every word that Percy had uttered, + described every inflection of his voice, those enigmatical phrases which + she had not understood, and together they cheated one another into the + belief that hope lingered somewhere hidden in those words. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to despair, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew firmly; “and, + moreover, we are not going to disobey. I would stake my life that even now + Blakeney has some scheme in his mind which is embodied in the various + letters which he has given you, and which—Heaven help us in that + case!—we might thwart by disobedience. Tomorrow in the late + afternoon I will escort you to the Rue de Charonne. It is a house that we + all know well, and which Armand, of course, knows too. I had already + inquired there two days ago to ascertain whether by chance St. Just was + not in hiding there, but Lucas, the landlord and old-clothes dealer, knew + nothing about him.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite told him about her swift vision of Armand in the dark corridor + of the house of Justice. + </p> + <p> + “Can you understand it, Sir Andrew?” she asked, fixing her deep, luminous + eyes inquiringly upon him. + </p> + <p> + “No, I cannot,” he said, after an almost imperceptible moment of + hesitancy; “but we shall see him to-morrow. I have no doubt that + Mademoiselle Lange will know where to find him; and now that we know where + she is, all our anxiety about him, at any rate, should soon be at an end.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and made some allusion to the lateness of the hour. Somehow it + seemed to her that her devoted friend was trying to hide his innermost + thoughts from her. She watched him with an anxious, intent gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Can you understand it all, Sir Andrew?” she reiterated with a pathetic + note of appeal. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he said firmly. “On my soul, Lady Blakeney, I know no more of + Armand than you do yourself. But I am sure that Percy is right. The boy + frets because remorse must have assailed him by now. Had he but obeyed + implicitly that day, as we all did—” + </p> + <p> + But he could not frame the whole terrible proposition in words. Bitterly + as he himself felt on the subject of Armand, he would not add yet another + burden to this devoted woman’s heavy load of misery. + </p> + <p> + “It was Fate, Lady Blakeney,” he said after a while. “Fate! a damnable + fate which did it all. Great God! to think of Blakeney in the hands of + those brutes seems so horrible that at times I feel as if the whole thing + were a nightmare, and that the next moment we shall both wake hearing his + merry voice echoing through this room.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to cheer her with words of hope that he knew were but chimeras. A + heavy weight of despondency lay on his heart. The letter from his chief + was hidden against his breast; he would study it anon in the privacy of + his own apartment so as to commit every word to memory that related to the + measures for the ultimate safety of the child-King. After that it would + have to be destroyed, lest it fell into inimical hands. + </p> + <p> + Soon he bade Marguerite good-night. She was tired out, body and soul, and + he—her faithful friend—vaguely wondered how long she would be + able to withstand the strain of so much sorrow, such unspeakable misery. + </p> + <p> + When at last she was alone Marguerite made brave efforts to compose her + nerves so as to obtain a certain modicum of sleep this night. But, strive + how she might, sleep would not come. How could it, when before her wearied + brain there rose constantly that awful vision of Percy in the long, narrow + cell, with weary head bent over his arm, and those friends shouting + persistently in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Wake up, citizen! Tell us, where is Capet?” + </p> + <p> + The fear obsessed her that his mind might give way; for the mental agony + of such intense weariness must be well-nigh impossible to bear. In the + dark, as she sat hour after hour at the open window, looking out in the + direction where through the veil of snow the grey walls of the Chatelet + prison towered silent and grim, she seemed to see his pale, drawn face + with almost appalling reality; she could see every line of it, and could + study it with the intensity born of a terrible fear. + </p> + <p> + How long would the ghostly glimmer of merriment still linger in the eyes? + When would the hoarse, mirthless laugh rise to the lips, that awful laugh + that proclaims madness? Oh! she could have screamed now with the awfulness + of this haunting terror. Ghouls seemed to be mocking her out of the + darkness, every flake of snow that fell silently on the window-sill became + a grinning face that taunted and derided; every cry in the silence of the + night, every footstep on the quay below turned to hideous jeers hurled at + her by tormenting fiends. + </p> + <p> + She closed the window quickly, for she feared that she would go mad. For + an hour after that she walked up and down the room making violent efforts + to control her nerves, to find a glimmer of that courage which she + promised Percy that she would have. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. SISTERS + </h2> + <p> + The morning found her fagged out, but more calm. Later on she managed to + drink some coffee, and having washed and dressed, she prepared to go out. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew appeared in time to ascertain her wishes. + </p> + <p> + “I promised Percy to go to the Rue de Charonne in the late afternoon,” she + said. “I have some hours to spare, and mean to employ them in trying to + find speech with Mademoiselle Lange.” + </p> + <p> + “Blakeney has told you where she lives?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the Square du Roule. I know it well. I can be there in half an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + He, of course, begged to be allowed to accompany her, and anon they were + walking together quickly up toward the Faubourg St. Honore. The snow had + ceased falling, but it was still very cold, but neither Marguerite nor Sir + Andrew were conscious of the temperature or of any outward signs around + them. They walked on silently until they reached the torn-down gates of + the Square du Roule; there Sir Andrew parted from Marguerite after having + appointed to meet her an hour later at a small eating-house he knew of + where they could have some food together, before starting on their long + expedition to the Rue de Charonne. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later Marguerite Blakeney was shown in by worthy Madame + Belhomme, into the quaint and pretty drawing-room with its soft-toned + hangings and old-world air of faded grace. Mademoiselle Lange was sitting + there, in a capacious armchair, which encircled her delicate figure with + its frame-work of dull old gold. + </p> + <p> + She was ostensibly reading when Marguerite was announced, for an open book + lay on a table beside her; but it seemed to the visitor that mayhap the + young girl’s thoughts had played truant from her work, for her pose was + listless and apathetic, and there was a look of grave trouble upon the + childlike face. + </p> + <p> + She rose when Marguerite entered, obviously puzzled at the unexpected + visit, and somewhat awed at the appearance of this beautiful woman with + the sad look in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I must crave your pardon, mademoiselle,” said Lady Blakeney as soon as + the door had once more closed on Madame Belhomme, and she found herself + alone with the young girl. “This visit at such an early hour must seem to + you an intrusion. But I am Marguerite St. Just, and—” + </p> + <p> + Her smile and outstretched hand completed the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “St. Just!” exclaimed Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Armand’s sister!” + </p> + <p> + A swift blush rushed to the girl’s pale cheeks; her brown eyes expressed + unadulterated joy. Marguerite, who was studying her closely, was conscious + that her poor aching heart went out to this exquisite child, the far-off + innocent cause of so much misery. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne, a little shy, a little confused and nervous in her movements, was + pulling a chair close to the fire, begging Marguerite to sit. Her words + came out all the while in short jerky sentences, and from time to time she + stole swift shy glances at Armand’s sister. + </p> + <p> + “You will forgive me, mademoiselle,” said Marguerite, whose simple and + calm manner quickly tended to soothe Jeanne Lange’s confusion; “but I was + so anxious about my brother—I do not know where to find him.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you came to me, madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Was I wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! But what made you think that—that I would know?” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed,” said Marguerite with a smile. “You had heard about me then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Through whom? Did Armand tell you about me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, alas! I have not seen him this past fortnight, since you, + mademoiselle, came into his life; but many of Armand’s friends are in + Paris just now; one of them knew, and he told me.” + </p> + <p> + The soft blush had now overspread the whole of the girl’s face, even down + to her graceful neck. She waited to see Marguerite comfortably installed + in an armchair, then she resumed shyly: + </p> + <p> + “And it was Armand who told me all about you. He loves you so dearly.” + </p> + <p> + “Armand and I were very young children when we lost our parents,” said + Marguerite softly, “and we were all in all to each other then. And until I + married he was the man I loved best in all the world.” + </p> + <p> + “He told me you were married—to an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “He loves England too. At first he always talked of my going there with + him as his wife, and of the happiness we should find there together.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say ‘at first’?” + </p> + <p> + “He talks less about England now.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he feels that now you know all about it, and that you understand + each other with regard to the future.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne sat opposite to Marguerite on a low stool by the fire. Her elbows + were resting on her knees, and her face just now was half-hidden by the + wealth of her brown curls. She looked exquisitely pretty sitting like + this, with just the suggestion of sadness in the listless pose. Marguerite + had come here to-day prepared to hate this young girl, who in a few brief + days had stolen not only Armand’s heart, but his allegiance to his chief, + and his trust in him. Since last night, when she had seen her brother + sneak silently past her like a thief in the night, she had nurtured + thoughts of ill-will and anger against Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + But hatred and anger had melted at the sight of this child. Marguerite, + with the perfect understanding born of love itself, had soon realised the + charm which a woman like Mademoiselle Lange must of necessity exercise + over a chivalrous, enthusiastic nature like Armand’s. The sense of + protection—the strongest perhaps that exists in a good man’s heart—would + draw him irresistibly to this beautiful child, with the great, appealing + eyes, and the look of pathos that pervaded the entire face. Marguerite, + looking in silence on the dainty picture before her, found it in her + heart to forgive Armand for disobeying his chief when those eyes beckoned + to him in a contrary direction. + </p> + <p> + How could he, how could any chivalrous man endure the thought of this + delicate, fresh flower lying crushed and drooping in the hands of monsters + who respected neither courage nor purity? And Armand had been more than + human, or mayhap less, if he had indeed consented to leave the fate of the + girl whom he had sworn to love and protect in other hands than his own. + </p> + <p> + It seemed almost as if Jeanne was conscious of the fixity of Marguerite’s + gaze, for though she did not turn to look at her, the flush gradually + deepened in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Lange,” said Marguerite gently, “do you not feel that you + can trust me?” + </p> + <p> + She held out her two hands to the girl, and Jeanne slowly turned to her. + The next moment she was kneeling at Marguerite’s feet, and kissing the + beautiful kind hands that had been stretched out to her with such sisterly + love. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, indeed, I do trust you,” she said, and looked with tear-dimmed + eyes in the pale face above her. “I have longed for some one in whom I + could confide. I have been so lonely lately, and Armand—” + </p> + <p> + With an impatient little gesture she brushed away the tears which had + gathered in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What has Armand been doing?” asked Marguerite with an encouraging smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing to grieve me!” replied the young girl eagerly, “for he is + kind and good, and chivalrous and noble. Oh, I love him with all my heart! + I loved him from the moment that I set eyes on him, and then he came to + see me—perhaps you know! And he talked so beautiful about England, + and so nobly about his leader the Scarlet Pimpernel—have you heard + of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Marguerite, smiling. “I have heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + “It was that day that citizen Heron came with his soldiers! Oh! you do not + know citizen Heron. He is the most cruel man in France. In Paris he is + hated by every one, and no one is safe from his spies. He came to arrest + Armand, but I was able to fool him and to save Armand. And after that,” + she added with charming naivete, “I felt as if, having saved Armand’s + life, he belonged to me—and his love for me had made me his.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I was arrested,” she continued after a slight pause, and at the + recollection of what she had endured then her fresh voice still trembled + with horror. + </p> + <p> + “They dragged me to prison, and I spent two days in a dark cell, where—” + </p> + <p> + She hid her face in her hands, whilst a few sobs shook her whole frame; + then she resumed more calmly: + </p> + <p> + “I had seen nothing of Armand. I wondered where he was, and I knew that he + would be eating out his heart with anxiety for me. But God was watching + over me. At first I was transferred to the Temple prison, and there a kind + creature—a sort of man-of-all work in the prison took compassion on + me. I do not know how he contrived it, but one morning very early he + brought me some filthy old rags which he told me to put on quickly, and + when I had done that he bade me follow him. Oh! he was a very dirty, + wretched man himself, but he must have had a kind heart. He took me by the + hand and made me carry his broom and brushes. Nobody took much notice of + us, the dawn was only just breaking, and the passages were very dark and + deserted; only once some soldiers began to chaff him about me: ‘C’est ma + fille—quoi?’ he said roughly. I very nearly laughed then, only I had + the good sense to restrain myself, for I knew that my freedom, and perhaps + my life, depended on my not betraying myself. My grimy, tattered guide + took me with him right through the interminable corridors of that awful + building, whilst I prayed fervently to God for him and for myself. We got + out by one of the service stairs and exit, and then he dragged me through + some narrow streets until we came to a corner where a covered cart stood + waiting. My kind friend told me to get into the cart, and then he bade the + driver on the box take me straight to a house in the Rue St. Germain + l’Auxerrois. Oh! I was infinitely grateful to the poor creature who had + helped me to get out of that awful prison, and I would gladly have given + him some money, for I am sure he was very poor; but I had none by me. He + told me that I should be quite safe in the house in the Rue St. Germain + l’Auxerrois, and begged me to wait there patiently for a few days until I + heard from one who had my welfare at heart, and who would further arrange + for my safety.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had listened silently to this narrative so naively told by this + child, who obviously had no idea to whom she owed her freedom and her + life. While the girl talked, her mind could follow with unspeakable pride + and happiness every phase of that scene in the early dawn, when that + mysterious, ragged man-of-all-work, unbeknown even to the woman whom he + was saving, risked his own noble life for the sake of her whom his friend + and comrade loved. + </p> + <p> + “And did you never see again the kind man to whom you owe your life?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “No!” replied Jeanne. “I never saw him since; but when I arrived at the + Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois I was told by the good people who took charge + of me that the ragged man-of-all-work had been none other than the + mysterious Englishman whom Armand reveres, he whom they call the Scarlet + Pimpernel.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did not stay very long in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, did + you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Only three days. The third day I received a communique from the + Committee of General Security, together with an unconditional certificate + of safety. It meant that I was free—quite free. Oh! I could scarcely + believe it. I laughed and I cried until the people in the house thought + that I had gone mad. The past few days had been such a horrible + nightmare.” + </p> + <p> + “And then you saw Armand again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. They told him that I was free. And he came here to see me. He often + comes; he will be here anon.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you not afraid on his account and your own? He is—he must + be still—‘suspect’; a well-known adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel, + he would be safer out of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “No! oh, no! Armand is in no danger. He, too, has an unconditional + certificate of safety.” + </p> + <p> + “An unconditional certificate of safety?” asked Marguerite, whilst a deep + frown of grave puzzlement appeared between her brows. “What does that + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means that he is free to come and go as he likes; that neither he nor + I have anything to fear from Heron and his awful spies. Oh! but for that + sad and careworn look on Armand’s face we could be so happy; but he is so + unlike himself. He is Armand and yet another; his look at times quite + frightens me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you know why he is so sad,” said Marguerite in a strange, toneless + voice which she seemed quite unable to control, for that tonelessness came + from a terrible sense of suffocation, of a feeling as if her heart-strings + were being gripped by huge, hard hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Jeanne half hesitatingly, as if knowing, she was still + unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “His chief, his comrade, the friend of whom you speak, the Scarlet + Pimpernel, who risked his life in order to save yours, mademoiselle, is a + prisoner in the hands of those that hate him.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite had spoken with sudden vehemence. There was almost an appeal in + her voice now, as if she were trying not to convince Jeanne only, but also + herself, of something that was quite simple, quite straightforward, and + yet which appeared to be receding from her, an intangible something, a + spirit that was gradually yielding to a force as yet unborn, to a phantom + that had not yet emerged from out chaos. + </p> + <p> + But Jeanne seemed unconscious of all this. Her mind was absorbed in + Armand, the man whom she loved in her simple, whole-hearted way, and who + had seemed so different of late. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” she said with a deep, sad sigh, whilst the ever-ready tears + once more gathered in her eyes, “Armand is very unhappy because of him. + The Scarlet Pimpernel was his friend; Armand loved and revered him. Did + you know,” added the girl, turning large, horror-filled eyes on + Marguerite, “that they want some information from him about the Dauphin, + and to force him to give it they—they—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “Can you wonder, then, that Armand is unhappy. Oh! last night, after he + went from me, I cried for hours, just because he had looked so sad. He no + longer talks of happy England, of the cottage we were to have, and of the + Kentish orchards in May. He has not ceased to love me, for at times his + love seems so great that I tremble with a delicious sense of fear. But oh! + his love for me no longer makes him happy.” + </p> + <p> + Her head had gradually sunk lower and lower on her breast, her voice died + down in a murmur broken by heartrending sighs. Every generous impulse in + Marguerite’s noble nature prompted her to take that sorrowing child in her + arms, to comfort her if she could, to reassure her if she had the power. + But a strange icy feeling had gradually invaded her heart, even whilst she + listened to the simple unsophisticated talk of Jeanne Lange. Her hands + felt numb and clammy, and instinctively she withdrew away from the near + vicinity of the girl. She felt as if the room, the furniture in it, even + the window before her were dancing a wild and curious dance, and that from + everywhere around strange whistling sounds reached her ears, which caused + her head to whirl and her brain to reel. + </p> + <p> + Jeanne had buried her head in her hands. She was crying—softly, + almost humbly at first, as if half ashamed of her grief; then, suddenly it + seemed, as if she could not contain herself any longer, a heavy sob + escaped her throat and shook her whole delicate frame with its violence. + Sorrow no longer would be gainsaid, it insisted on physical expression—that + awful tearing of the heart-strings which leaves the body numb and panting + with pain. + </p> + <p> + In a moment Marguerite had forgotten; the dark and shapeless phantom that + had knocked at the gate of her soul was relegated back into chaos. It + ceased to be, it was made to shrivel and to burn in the great seething + cauldron of womanly sympathy. What part this child had played in the vast + cataclysm of misery which had dragged a noble-hearted enthusiast into the + dark torture-chamber, whence the only outlet led to the guillotine, she—Marguerite + Blakeney—did not know; what part Armand, her brother, had played in + it, that she would not dare to guess; all that she knew was that here was + a loving heart that was filled with pain—a young, inexperienced soul + that was having its first tussle with the grim realities of life—and + every motherly instinct in Marguerite was aroused. + </p> + <p> + She rose and gently drew the young girl up from her knees, and then closer + to her; she pillowed the grief-stricken head against her shoulder, and + murmured gentle, comforting words into the tiny ear. + </p> + <p> + “I have news for Armand,” she whispered, “that will comfort him, a message—a + letter from his friend. You will see, dear, that when Armand reads it he + will become a changed man; you see, Armand acted a little foolishly a few + days ago. His chief had given him orders which he disregarded—he was + so anxious about you—he should have obeyed; and now, mayhap, he + feels that his disobedience may have been the—the innocent cause of + much misery to others; that is, no doubt, the reason why he is so sad. The + letter from his friend will cheer him, you will see.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think so, madame?” murmured Jeanne, in whose tear-stained + eyes the indomitable hopefulness of youth was already striving to shine. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it,” assented Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + And for the moment she was absolutely sincere. The phantom had entirely + vanished. She would even, had he dared to re-appear, have mocked and + derided him for his futile attempt at turning the sorrow in her heart to a + veritable hell of bitterness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. LITTLE MOTHER + </h2> + <p> + The two women, both so young still, but each of them with a mark of sorrow + already indelibly graven in her heart, were clinging to one another, bound + together by the strong bond of sympathy. And but for the sadness of it all + it were difficult to conjure up a more beautiful picture than that which + they presented as they stood side by side; Marguerite, tall and stately as + an exquisite lily, with the crown of her ardent hair and the glory of her + deep blue eyes, and Jeanne Lange, dainty and delicate, with the brown + curls and the child-like droop of the soft, moist lips. + </p> + <p> + Thus Armand saw them when, a moment or two later, he entered unannounced. He + had pushed open the door and looked on the two women silently for a second + or two; on the girl whom he loved so dearly, for whose sake he had + committed the great, the unpardonable sin which would send him forever + henceforth, Cain-like, a wanderer on the face of the earth; and the other, + his sister, her whom a Judas act would condemn to lonely sorrow and + widowhood. + </p> + <p> + He could have cried out in an agony of remorse, and it was the groan of + acute soul anguish which escaped his lips that drew Marguerite’s attention + to his presence. + </p> + <p> + Even though many things that Jeanne Lange had said had prepared her for a + change in her brother, she was immeasurably shocked by his appearance. He + had always been slim and rather below the average in height, but now his + usually upright and trim figure seemed to have shrunken within itself; his + clothes hung baggy on his shoulders, his hands appeared waxen and + emaciated, but the greatest change was in his face, in the wide circles + round the eyes, that spoke of wakeful nights, in the hollow cheeks, and + the mouth that had wholly forgotten how to smile. + </p> + <p> + Percy after a week’s misery immured in a dark and miserable prison, + deprived of food and rest, did not look such a physical wreck as did + Armand St. Just, who was free. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite’s heart reproached her for what she felt had been neglect, + callousness on her part. Mutely, within herself, she craved his + forgiveness for the appearance of that phantom which should never have + come forth from out that chaotic hell which had engendered it. + </p> + <p> + “Armand!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + And the loving arms that had guided his baby footsteps long ago, the + tender hands that had wiped his boyish tears, were stretched out with + unalterable love toward him. + </p> + <p> + “I have a message for you, dear,” she said gently—“a letter from + him. Mademoiselle Jeanne allowed me to wait here for you until you came.” + </p> + <p> + Silently, like a little shy mouse, Jeanne had slipped out of the room. Her + pure love for Armand had ennobled every one of her thoughts, and her + innate kindliness and refinement had already suggested that brother and + sister would wish to be alone. At the door she had turned and met Armand’s + look. That look had satisfied her; she felt that in it she had read the + expression of his love, and to it she had responded with a glance that + spoke of hope for a future meeting. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the door had closed on Jeanne Lange, Armand, with an impulse + that refused to be checked, threw himself into his sister’s arms. The + present, with all its sorrows, its remorse and its shame, had sunk away; + only the past remained—the unforgettable past, when Marguerite was + “little mother”—the soother, the comforter, the healer, the + ever-willing receptacle wherein he had been wont to pour the burden of his + childish griefs, of his boyish escapades. + </p> + <p> + Conscious that she could not know everything—not yet, at any rate—he + gave himself over to the rapture of this pure embrace, the last time, + mayhap, that those fond arms would close round him in unmixed tenderness, + the last time that those fond lips would murmur words of affection and of + comfort. + </p> + <p> + To-morrow those same lips would, perhaps, curse the traitor, and the small + hand be raised in wrath, pointing an avenging finger on the Judas. + </p> + <p> + “Little mother,” he whispered, babbling like a child, “it is good to see + you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have brought you a message from Percy,” she said, “a letter which + he begged me to give you as soon as may be.” + </p> + <p> + “You have seen him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She nodded silently, unable to speak. Not now, not when her nerves were + strung to breaking pitch, would she trust herself to speak of that awful + yesterday. She groped in the folds of her gown and took the packet which + Percy had given her for Armand. It felt quite bulky in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “There is quite a good deal there for you to read, dear,” she said. “Percy + begged me to give you this, and then to let you read it when you were + alone.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed the packet into his hand. Armand’s face was ashen pale. He + clung to her with strange, nervous tenacity; the paper which he held in + one hand seemed to sear his fingers as with a branding-iron. + </p> + <p> + “I will slip away now,” she said, for strangely enough since Percy’s + message had been in Armand’s hands she was once again conscious of that + awful feeling of iciness round her heart, a sense of numbness that + paralysed her very thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You will make my excuses to Mademoiselle Lange,” she said, trying to + smile. “When you have read, you will wish to see her alone.” + </p> + <p> + Gently she disengaged herself from Armand’s grasp and made for the door. + He appeared dazed, staring down at that paper which was scorching his + fingers. Only when her hand was on the latch did he seem to realise that + she was going. + </p> + <p> + “Little mother,” came involuntarily to his lips. + </p> + <p> + She came straight back to him and took both his wrists in her small hands. + She was taller than he, and his head was slightly bent forward. Thus she + towered over him, loving but strong, her great, earnest eyes searching his + soul. + </p> + <p> + “When shall I see you again, little mother?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Read your letter, dear,” she replied, “and when you have read it, if you + care to impart its contents to me, come to-night to my lodgings, Quai de + la Ferraille, above the saddler’s shop. But if there is aught in it that + you do not wish me to know, then do not come; I shall understand. + Good-bye, dear.” + </p> + <p> + She took his head between her two cold hands, and as it was still bowed + she placed a tender kiss, as of a long farewell, upon his hair. + </p> + <p> + Then she went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LETTER + </h2> + <p> + Armand sat in the armchair in front of the fire. His head rested against + one hand; in the other he held the letter written by the friend whom he + had betrayed. + </p> + <p> + Twice he had read it now, and already was every word of that minute, clear + writing graven upon the innermost fibres of his body, upon the most secret + cells of his brain. + </p> + <p> + Armand, I know. I knew even before Chauvelin came to me, and stood there + hoping to gloat over the soul-agony a man who finds that he has been + betrayed by his dearest friend. But that d—d reprobate did not get + that satisfaction, for I was prepared. Not only do I know, Armand, but I + UNDERSTAND. I, who do not know what love is, have realised how small a + thing is honour, loyalty, or friendship when weighed in the balance of a + loved one’s need. + </p> + <p> + To save Jeanne you sold me to Heron and his crowd. We are men, Armand, and + the word forgiveness has only been spoken once these past two thousand + years, and then it was spoken by Divine lips. But Marguerite loves you, + and mayhap soon you will be all that is left her to love on this earth. + Because of this she must never know.... As for you, Armand—well, God + help you! But meseems that the hell which you are enduring now is ten + thousand times worse than mine. I have heard your furtive footsteps in the + corridor outside the grated window of this cell, and would not then have + exchanged my hell for yours. Therefore, Armand, and because Marguerite + loves you, I would wish to turn to you in the hour that I need help. I am + in a tight corner, but the hour may come when a comrade’s hand might mean + life to me. I have thought of you, Armand partly because having taken more + than my life, your own belongs to me, and partly because the plan which I + have in my mind will carry with it grave risks for the man who stands by + me. + </p> + <p> + I swore once that never would I risk a comrade’s life to save mine own; + but matters are so different now... we are both in hell, Armand, and I in + striving to get out of mine will be showing you a way out of yours. + </p> + <p> + Will you retake possession of your lodgings in the Rue de la Croix + Blanche? I should always know then where to find you in an emergency. But + if at any time you receive another letter from me, be its contents what + they may, act in accordance with the letter, and send a copy of it at once + to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. Keep in close touch with them both. Tell her + I so far forgave your disobedience (there was nothing more) that I may yet + trust my life and mine honour in your hands. + </p> + <p> + I shall have no means of ascertaining definitely whether you will do all + that I ask; but somehow, Armand, I know that you will. + </p> + <p> + For the third time Armand read the letter through. + </p> + <p> + “But, Armand,” he repeated, murmuring the words softly under his breath, + “I know that you will.” + </p> + <p> + Prompted by some indefinable instinct, moved by a force that compelled, he + allowed himself to glide from the chair on to the floor, on to his knees. + </p> + <p> + All the pent-up bitterness, the humiliation, the shame of the past few + days, surged up from his heart to his lips in one great cry of pain. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he whispered, “give me the chance of giving my life for him.” + </p> + <p> + Alone and unwatched, he gave himself over for a few moments to the almost + voluptuous delight of giving free rein to his grief. The hot Latin blood + in him, tempestuous in all its passions, was firing his heart and brain + now with the glow of devotion and of self-sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + The calm, self-centred Anglo-Saxon temperament—the almost fatalistic + acceptance of failure without reproach yet without despair, which Percy’s + letter to him had evidenced in so marked a manner—was, mayhap, + somewhat beyond the comprehension of this young enthusiast, with pure + Gallic blood in his veins, who was ever wont to allow his most elemental + passions to sway his actions. But though he did not altogether understand, + Armand St. Just could fully appreciate. All that was noble and loyal in + him rose triumphant from beneath the devastating ashes of his own shame. + </p> + <p> + Soon his mood calmed down, his look grew less wan and haggard. Hearing + Jeanne’s discreet and mouselike steps in the next room, he rose quickly + and hid the letter in the pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + She came in and inquired anxiously about Marguerite; a hurriedly expressed + excuse from him, however, satisfied her easily enough. She wanted to be + alone with Armand, happy to see that he held his head more erect to-day, + and that the look as of a hunted creature had entirely gone from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + She ascribed this happy change to Marguerite, finding it in her heart to + be grateful to the sister for having accomplished what the fiancee had + failed to do. + </p> + <p> + For awhile they remained together, sitting side by side, speaking at + times, but mostly silent, seeming to savour the return of truant + happiness. Armand felt like a sick man who has obtained a sudden surcease + from pain. He looked round him with a kind of melancholy delight on this + room which he had entered for the first time less than a fortnight ago, + and which already was so full of memories. + </p> + <p> + Those first hours spent at the feet of Jeanne Lange, how exquisite they + had been, how fleeting in the perfection of their happiness! Now they + seemed to belong to a far distant past, evanescent like the perfume of + violets, swift in their flight like the winged steps of youth. Blakeney’s + letter had effectually taken the bitter sting from out his remorse, but it + had increased his already over-heavy load of inconsolable sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day he turned his footsteps in the direction of the river, to + the house in the Quai de la Ferraille above the saddler’s shop. Marguerite + had returned alone from the expedition to the Rue de Charonne. Whilst Sir + Andrew took charge of the little party of fugitives and escorted them out + of Paris, she came back to her lodgings in order to collect her + belongings, preparatory to taking up her quarters in the house of Lucas, + the old-clothes dealer. She returned also because she hoped to see Armand. + </p> + <p> + “If you care to impart the contents of the letter to me, come to my + lodgings to-night,” she had said. + </p> + <p> + All day a phantom had haunted her, the phantom of an agonising suspicion. + </p> + <p> + But now the phantom had vanished never to return. Armand was sitting close + beside her, and he told her that the chief had selected him amongst all + the others to stand by him inside the walls of Paris until the last. + </p> + <p> + “I shall mayhap,” thus closed that precious document, “have no means of + ascertaining definitely whether you will act in accordance with this + letter. But somehow, Armand, I know that you will.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that you will, Armand,” reiterated Marguerite fervently. + </p> + <p> + She had only been too eager to be convinced; the dread and dark suspicion + which had been like a hideous poisoned sting had only vaguely touched her + soul; it had not gone in very deeply. How could it, when in its + death-dealing passage it encountered the rampart of tender, almost + motherly love? + </p> + <p> + Armand, trying to read his sister’s thoughts in the depths of her blue + eyes, found the look in them limpid and clear. Percy’s message to Armand + had reassured her just as he had intended that it should do. Fate had + dealt over harshly with her as it was, and Blakeney’s remorse for the + sorrow which he had already caused her, was scarcely less keen than + Armand’s. He did not wish her to bear the intolerable burden of hatred + against her brother; and by binding St. Just close to him at the supreme + hour of danger he hoped to prove to the woman whom he loved so + passionately that Armand was worthy of trust. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PART III. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. THE LAST PHASE + </h2> + <p> + “Well? How is it now?” + </p> + <p> + “The last phase, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “He will yield?” + </p> + <p> + “He must.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! you have said it yourself often enough; those English are tough.” + </p> + <p> + “It takes time to hack them to pieces, perhaps. In this case even you, + citizen Chauvelin, said that it would take time. Well, it has taken just + seventeen days, and now the end is in sight.” + </p> + <p> + It was close on midnight in the guard-room which gave on the innermost + cell of the Conciergerie. Heron had just visited the prisoner as was his + wont at this hour of the night. He had watched the changing of the guard, + inspected the night-watch, questioned the sergeant in charge, and finally + he had been on the point of retiring to his own new quarters in the house + of Justice, in the near vicinity of the Conciergerie, when citizen + Chauvelin entered the guard-room unexpectedly and detained his colleague + with the peremptory question: + </p> + <p> + “How is it now?” + </p> + <p> + “If you are so near the end, citizen Heron,” he now said, sinking his + voice to a whisper, “why not make a final effort and end it to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could; the anxiety is wearing me out more’n him,” he added with a + jerky movement of the head in direction of the inner cell. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I try?” rejoined Chauvelin grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an you wish.” + </p> + <p> + Citizen Heron’s long limbs were sprawling on a guard-room chair. In this + low narrow room he looked like some giant whose body had been carelessly + and loosely put together by a ‘prentice hand in the art of manufacture. + His broad shoulders were bent, probably under the weight of anxiety to + which he had referred, and his head, with the lank, shaggy hair + overshadowing the brow, was sunk deep down on his chest. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin looked on his friend and associate with no small measure of + contempt. He would no doubt have preferred to conclude the present + difficult transaction entirely in his own way and alone; but equally there + was no doubt that the Committee of Public Safety did not trust him quite + so fully as it used to do before the fiasco at Calais and the blunders of + Boulogne. Heron, on the other hand, enjoyed to its outermost the + confidence of his colleagues; his ferocious cruelty and his callousness + were well known, whilst physically, owing to his great height and bulky if + loosely knit frame, he had a decided advantage over his trim and slender + friend. + </p> + <p> + As far as the bringing of prisoners to trial was concerned, the chief + agent of the Committee of General Security had been given a perfectly free + hand by the decree of the 27th Nivose. At first, therefore, he had + experienced no difficulty when he desired to keep the Englishman in close + confinement for a time without hurrying on that summary trial and + condemnation which the populace had loudly demanded, and to which they + felt that they were entitled to as a public holiday. The death of the + Scarlet Pimpernel on the guillotine had been a spectacle promised by every + demagogue who desired to purchase a few votes by holding out visions of + pleasant doings to come; and during the first few days the mob of Paris + was content to enjoy the delights of expectation. + </p> + <p> + But now seventeen days had gone by and still the Englishman was not being + brought to trial. The pleasure-loving public was waxing impatient, and + earlier this evening, when citizen Heron had shown himself in the stalls + of the national theatre, he was greeted by a crowded audience with decided + expressions of disapproval and open mutterings of: + </p> + <p> + “What of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” + </p> + <p> + It almost looked as if he would have to bring that accursed Englishman to + the guillotine without having wrested from him the secret which he would + have given a fortune to possess. Chauvelin, who had also been present at + the theatre, had heard the expressions of discontent; hence his visit to + his colleague at this late hour of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I try?” he had queried with some impatience, and a deep sigh of + satisfaction escaped his thin lips when the chief agent, wearied and + discouraged, had reluctantly agreed. + </p> + <p> + “Let the men make as much noise as they like,” he added with an + enigmatical smile. “The Englishman and I will want an accompaniment to our + pleasant conversation.” + </p> + <p> + Heron growled a surly assent, and without another word Chauvelin turned + towards the inner cell. As he stepped in he allowed the iron bar to fall + into its socket behind him. Then he went farther into the room until the + distant recess was fully revealed to him. His tread had been furtive and + almost noiseless. Now he paused, for he had caught sight of the prisoner. For + a moment he stood quite still, with hands clasped behind his back in his + wonted attitude—still save for a strange, involuntary twitching of + his mouth, and the nervous clasping and interlocking of his fingers behind + his back. He was savouring to its utmost fulsomeness the supremest joy + which animal man can ever know—the joy of looking on a fallen enemy. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney sat at the table with one arm resting on it, the emaciated hand + tightly clutched, the body leaning forward, the eyes looking into + nothingness. + </p> + <p> + For the moment he was unconscious of Chauvelin’s presence, and the latter + could gaze on him to the full content of his heart. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, to all outward appearances there sat a man whom privations of + every sort and kind, the want of fresh air, of proper food, above all, of + rest, had worn down physically to a shadow. There was not a particle of + colour in cheeks or lips, the skin was grey in hue, the eyes looked like + deep caverns, wherein the glow of fever was all that was left of life. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin looked on in silence, vaguely stirred by something that he could + not define, something that right through his triumphant satisfaction, his + hatred and final certainty of revenge, had roused in him a sense almost of + admiration. + </p> + <p> + He gazed on the noiseless figure of the man who had endured so much for an + ideal, and as he gazed it seemed to him as if the spirit no longer dwelt + in the body, but hovered round in the dank, stuffy air of the narrow cell + above the head of the lonely prisoner, crowning it with glory that was no + longer of this earth. + </p> + <p> + Of this the looker-on was conscious despite himself, of that and of the + fact that stare as he might, and with perception rendered doubly keen by + hate, he could not, in spite of all, find the least trace of mental + weakness in that far-seeing gaze which seemed to pierce the prison walls, + nor could he see that bodily weakness had tended to subdue the ruling + passions. + </p> + <p> + Sir Percy Blakeney—a prisoner since seventeen days in close, + solitary confinement, half-starved, deprived of rest, and of that mental + and physical activity which had been the very essence of life to him + hitherto—might be outwardly but a shadow of his former brilliant + self, but nevertheless he was still that same elegant English gentleman, + that prince of dandies whom Chauvelin had first met eighteen months ago at + the most courtly Court in Europe. His clothes, despite constant wear and + the want of attention from a scrupulous valet, still betrayed the + perfection of London tailoring; he had put them on with meticulous care, + they were free from the slightest particle of dust, and the filmy folds of + priceless Mechlin still half-veiled the delicate whiteness of his shapely + hands. + </p> + <p> + And in the pale, haggard face, in the whole pose of body and of arm, there + was still the expression of that indomitable strength of will, that + reckless daring, that almost insolent challenge to Fate; it was there + untamed, uncrushed. Chauvelin himself could not deny to himself its + presence or its force. He felt that behind that smooth brow, which looked + waxlike now, the mind was still alert, scheming, plotting, striving for + freedom, for conquest and for power, and rendered even doubly keen and + virile by the ardour of supreme self-sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin now made a slight movement and suddenly Blakeney became + conscious of his presence, and swift as a flash a smile lit up his wan + face. + </p> + <p> + “Why! if it is not my engaging friend Monsieur Chambertin,” he said gaily. + </p> + <p> + He rose and stepped forward in the most approved fashion prescribed by the + elaborate etiquette of the time. But Chauvelin smiled grimly and a look of + almost animal lust gleamed in his pale eyes, for he had noted that as he + rose Sir Percy had to seek the support of the table, even whilst a dull + film appeared to gather over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The gesture had been quick and cleverly disguised, but it had been there + nevertheless—that and the livid hue that overspread the face as if + consciousness was threatening to go. All of which was sufficient still + further to assure the looker-on that that mighty physical strength was + giving way at last, that strength which he had hated in his enemy almost + as much as he had hated the thinly veiled insolence of his manner. + </p> + <p> + “And what procures me, sir, the honour of your visit?” continued Blakeney, + who had—at any rate, outwardly soon recovered himself, and whose + voice, though distinctly hoarse and spent, rang quite cheerfully across + the dank narrow cell. + </p> + <p> + “My desire for your welfare, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin with equal + pleasantry. + </p> + <p> + “La, sir; but have you not gratified that desire already, to an extent + which leaves no room for further solicitude? But I pray you, will you not + sit down?” he continued, turning back toward the table. “I was about to + partake of the lavish supper which your friends have provided for me. Will + you not share it, sir? You are most royally welcome, and it will mayhap + remind you of that supper we shared together in Calais, eh? when you, + Monsieur Chambertin, were temporarily in holy orders.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, offering his enemy a chair, and pointed with inviting gesture + to the hunk of brown bread and the mug of water which stood on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Such as it is, sir,” he said with a pleasant smile, “it is yours to + command.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin sat down. He held his lower lip tightly between his teeth, so + tightly that a few drops of blood appeared upon its narrow surface. He was + making vigorous efforts to keep his temper under control, for he would not + give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him resent his insolence. He + could afford to keep calm now that victory was at last in sight, now that + he knew that he had but to raise a finger, and those smiling, impudent + lips would be closed forever at last. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Percy,” he resumed quietly, “no doubt it affords you a certain amount + of pleasure to aim your sarcastic shafts at me. I will not begrudge you + that pleasure; in your present position, sir, your shafts have little or + no sting.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall have but few chances left to aim them at your charming self,” + interposed Blakeney, who had drawn another chair close to the table and + was now sitting opposite his enemy, with the light of the lamp falling + full on his own face, as if he wished his enemy to know that he had + nothing to hide, no thought, no hope, no fear. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Chauvelin dryly. “That being the case, Sir Percy, what say + you to no longer wasting the few chances which are left to you for safety? + The time is getting on. You are not, I imagine, quite as hopeful as you + were even a week ago,... you have never been over-comfortable in this + cell, why not end this unpleasant state of affairs now—once and for + all? You’ll not have cause to regret it. My word on it.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Percy leaned back in his chair. He yawned loudly and ostentatiously. + </p> + <p> + “I pray you, sir, forgive me,” he said. “Never have I been so d—d + fatigued. I have not slept for more than a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, Sir Percy. A night’s rest would do you a world of good.” + </p> + <p> + “A night, sir?” exclaimed Blakeney with what seemed like an echo of his + former inimitable laugh. “La! I should want a week.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid we could not arrange for that, but one night would greatly + refresh you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, sir, you are right; but those d—d fellows in the + next room make so much noise.” + </p> + <p> + “I would give strict orders that perfect quietude reigned in the + guard-room this night,” said Chauvelin, murmuring softly, and there was a + gentle purr in his voice, “and that you were left undisturbed for several + hours. I would give orders that a comforting supper be served to you at + once, and that everything be done to minister to your wants.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds d—d alluring, sir. Why did you not suggest this + before?” + </p> + <p> + “You were so—what shall I say—so obstinate, Sir Percy?” + </p> + <p> + “Call it pig-headed, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,” retorted Blakeney + gaily, “truly you would oblige me.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case you, sir, were acting in direct opposition to your own + interests.” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore you came,” concluded Blakeney airily, “like the good Samaritan + to take compassion on me and my troubles, and to lead me straight away to + comfort, a good supper and a downy bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably put, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin blandly; “that is exactly my + mission.” + </p> + <p> + “How will you set to work, Monsieur Chambertin?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite easily, if you, Sir Percy, will yield to the persuasion of my + friend citizen Heron.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes! He is anxious to know where little Capet is. A reasonable whim, + you will own, considering that the disappearance of the child is causing + him grave anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Monsieur Chambertin?” queried Sir Percy with that suspicion of + insolence in his manner which had the power to irritate his enemy even + now. “And yourself, sir; what are your wishes in the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine, Sir Percy?” retorted Chauvelin. “Mine? Why, to tell you the truth, + the fate of little Capet interests me but little. Let him rot in Austria + or in our prisons, I care not which. He’ll never trouble France overmuch, + I imagine. The teachings of old Simon will not tend to make a leader or a + king out of the puny brat whom you chose to drag out of our keeping. My + wishes, sir, are the annihilation of your accursed League, and the lasting + disgrace, if not the death, of its chief.” + </p> + <p> + He had spoken more hotly than he had intended, but all the pent-up rage of + the past eighteen months, the recollections of Calais and of Boulogne, had + all surged up again in his mind, because despite the closeness of these + prison walls, despite the grim shadow of starvation and of death that + beckoned so close at hand, he still encountered a pair of mocking eyes, + fixed with relentless insolence upon him. + </p> + <p> + Whilst he spoke Blakeney had once more leaned forward, resting his elbows + upon the table. Now he drew nearer to him the wooden platter on which + reposed that very uninviting piece of dry bread. With solemn intentness he + proceeded to break the bread into pieces; then he offered the platter to + Chauvelin. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” he said pleasantly, “that I cannot offer you more dainty + fare, sir, but this is all that your friends have supplied me with + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + He crumbled some of the dry bread in his slender fingers, then started + munching the crumbs with apparent relish. He poured out some water into + the mug and drank it. Then he said with a light laugh: + </p> + <p> + “Even the vinegar which that ruffian Brogard served us at Calais was + preferable to this, do you not imagine so, my good Monsieur Chambertin?” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin made no reply. Like a feline creature on the prowl, he was + watching the prey that had so nearly succumbed to his talons. Blakeney’s + face now was positively ghastly. The effort to speak, to laugh, to appear + unconcerned, was apparently beyond his strength. His cheeks and lips were + livid in hue, the skin clung like a thin layer of wax to the bones of + cheek and jaw, and the heavy lids that fell over the eyes had purple + patches on them like lead. + </p> + <p> + To a system in such an advanced state of exhaustion the stale water and + dusty bread must have been terribly nauseating, and Chauvelin himself + callous and thirsting for vengeance though he was, could hardly bear to + look calmly on the martyrdom of this man whom he and his colleagues were + torturing in order to gain their own ends. + </p> + <p> + An ashen hue, which seemed like the shadow of the hand of death, passed + over the prisoner’s face. Chauvelin felt compelled to avert his gaze. A + feeling that was almost akin to remorse had stirred a hidden chord in his + heart. The feeling did not last—the heart had been too long + atrophied by the constantly recurring spectacles of cruelties, massacres, + and wholesale hecatombs perpetrated in the past eighteen months in the + name of liberty and fraternity to be capable of a sustained effort in the + direction of gentleness or of pity. Any noble instinct in these + revolutionaries had long ago been drowned in a whirlpool of exploits that + would forever sully the records of humanity; and this keeping of a + fellow-creature on the rack in order to wring from him a Judas-like + betrayal was but a complement to a record of infamy that had ceased by its + very magnitude to weigh upon their souls. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin was in no way different from his colleagues; the crimes in which + he had had no hand he had condoned by continuing to serve the Government + that had committed them, and his ferocity in the present case was + increased a thousandfold by his personal hatred for the man who had so + often fooled and baffled him. + </p> + <p> + When he looked round a second or two later that ephemeral fit of remorse + did its final vanishing; he had once more encountered the pleasant smile, + the laughing if ashen-pale face of his unconquered foe. + </p> + <p> + “Only a passing giddiness, my dear sir,” said Sir Percy lightly. “As you + were saying—” + </p> + <p> + At the airily-spoken words, at the smile that accompanied them, Chauvelin + had jumped to his feet. There was something almost supernatural, weird, + and impish about the present situation, about this dying man who, like an + impudent schoolboy, seemed to be mocking Death with his tongue in his + cheek, about his laugh that appeared to find its echo in a widely yawning + grave. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God, Sir Percy,” he said roughly, as he brought his + clenched fist crashing down upon the table, “this situation is + intolerable. Bring it to an end to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir?” retorted Blakeney, “methought you and your kind did not + believe in God.” + </p> + <p> + “No. But you English do.” + </p> + <p> + “We do. But we do not care to hear His name on your lips.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in the name of the wife whom you love—” + </p> + <p> + But even before the words had died upon his lips, Sir Percy, too, had + risen to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Have done, man—have done,” he broke in hoarsely, and despite + weakness, despite exhaustion and weariness, there was such a dangerous + look in his hollow eyes as he leaned across the table that Chauvelin drew + back a step or two, and—vaguely fearful—looked furtively + towards the opening into the guard-room. “Have done,” he reiterated for + the third time; “do not name her, or by the living God whom you dared to + invoke I’ll find strength yet to smite you in the face.” + </p> + <p> + But Chauvelin, after that first moment of almost superstitious fear, had + quickly recovered his sang-froid. + </p> + <p> + “Little Capet, Sir Percy,” he said, meeting the other’s threatening glance + with an imperturbable smile, “tell me where to find him, and you may yet + live to savour the caresses of the most beautiful woman in England.” + </p> + <p> + He had meant it as a taunt, the final turn of the thumb-screw applied to a + dying man, and he had in that watchful, keen mind of his well weighed the + full consequences of the taunt. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he had paid to the full the anticipated price. Sir Percy + had picked up the pewter mug from the table—it was half-filled with + brackish water—and with a hand that trembled but slightly he hurled + it straight at his opponent’s face. + </p> + <p> + The heavy mug did not hit citizen Chauvelin; it went crashing against the + stone wall opposite. But the water was trickling from the top of his head + all down his eyes and cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders with a look of + benign indulgence directed at his enemy, who had fallen back into his + chair exhausted with the effort. + </p> + <p> + Then he took out his handkerchief and calmly wiped the water from his + face. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite so straight a shot as you used to be, Sir Percy,” he said + mockingly. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—apparently—not.” + </p> + <p> + The words came out in gasps. He was like a man only partly conscious. The + lips were parted, the eyes closed, the head leaning against the high back + of the chair. For the space of one second Chauvelin feared that his zeal + had outrun his prudence, that he had dealt a death-blow to a man in the + last stage of exhaustion, where he had only wished to fan the flickering + flame of life. Hastily—for the seconds seemed precious—he ran + to the opening that led into the guard-room. + </p> + <p> + “Brandy—quick!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Heron looked up, roused from the semi-somnolence in which he had lain for + the past half-hour. He disentangled his long limbs from out the guard-room + chair. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he queried. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Brandy,” reiterated Chauvelin impatiently; “the prisoner has fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” retorted the other with a callous shrug of the shoulders, “you are + not going to revive him with brandy, I imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “No. But you will, citizen Heron,” rejoined the other dryly, “for if you + do not he’ll be dead in an hour!” + </p> + <p> + “Devils in hell!” exclaimed Heron, “you have not killed him? You—you + d—d fool!” + </p> + <p> + He was wide awake enough now; wide awake and shaking with fury. Almost + foaming at the mouth and uttering volleys of the choicest oaths, he + elbowed his way roughly through the groups of soldiers who were crowding + round the centre table of the guard-room, smoking and throwing dice or + playing cards. They made way for him as hurriedly as they could, for it + was not safe to thwart the citizen agent when he was in a rage. + </p> + <p> + Heron walked across to the opening and lifted the iron bar. With scant + ceremony he pushed his colleague aside and strode into the cell, whilst + Chauvelin, seemingly not resenting the other’s ruffianly manners and + violent language, followed close upon his heel. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the room both men paused, and Heron turned with a surly + growl to his friend. + </p> + <p> + “You vowed he would be dead in an hour,” he said reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + The other shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “It does not look like it now certainly,” he said dryly. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney was sitting—as was his wont—close to the table, with + one arm leaning on it, the other, tightly clenched, resting upon his knee. + A ghost of a smile hovered round his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Not in an hour, citizen Heron,” he said, and his voice flow was scarce + above a whisper, “nor yet in two.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool, man,” said Heron roughly. “You have had seventeen days of + this. Are you not sick of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Heartily, my dear friend,” replied Blakeney a little more firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Seventeen days,” reiterated the other, nodding his shaggy head; “you came + here on the 2nd of Pluviose, today is the 19th.” + </p> + <p> + “The 19th Pluviose?” interposed Sir Percy, and a strange gleam suddenly + flashed in his eyes. “Demn it, sir, and in Christian parlance what may + that day be?” + </p> + <p> + “The 7th of February at your service, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir. In this d—d hole I had lost count of time.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin, unlike his rough and blundering colleague, had been watching + the prisoner very closely for the last moment or two, conscious of a + subtle, undefinable change that had come over the man during those few + seconds while he, Chauvelin, had thought him dying. The pose was certainly + the old familiar one, the head erect, the hand clenched, the eyes looking + through and beyond the stone walls; but there was an air of listlessness + in the stoop of the shoulders, and—except for that one brief gleam + just now—a look of more complete weariness round the hollow eyes! To + the keen watcher it appeared as if that sense of living power, of + unconquered will and defiant mind was no longer there, and as if he + himself need no longer fear that almost supersensual thrill which had a + while ago kindled in him a vague sense of admiration—almost of + remorse. + </p> + <p> + Even as he gazed, Blakeney slowly turned his eyes full upon him. + Chauvelin’s heart gave a triumphant bound. + </p> + <p> + With a mocking smile he met the wearied look, the pitiable appeal. His + turn had come at last—his turn to mock and to exult. He knew that + what he was watching now was no longer the last phase of a long and noble + martyrdom; it was the end—the inevitable end—that for which he + had schemed and striven, for which he had schooled his heart to ferocity + and callousness that were devilish in their intensity. It was the end + indeed, the slow descent of a soul from the giddy heights of attempted + self-sacrifice, where it had striven to soar for a time, until the body + and the will both succumbed together and dragged it down with them into + the abyss of submission and of irreparable shame. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. SUBMISSION + </h2> + <p> + Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two human + jackals stood motionless over their captured prey. + </p> + <p> + A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin’s eyes, and even Heron, dull and + brutal though he was, had become vaguely conscious of the great change + that had come over the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had once more + rested both his elbows on the table; his head fell heavy and almost + lifeless downward in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Curse you, man!” cried Heron almost involuntarily. “Why in the name of + hell did you wait so long?” + </p> + <p> + Then, as the prisoner made no reply, but only raised his head slightly, + and looked on the other two men with dulled, wearied eyes, Chauvelin + interposed calmly: + </p> + <p> + “More than a fortnight has been wasted in useless obstinacy, Sir Percy. + Fortunately it is not too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Capet?” said Heron hoarsely, “tell us, where is Capet?” + </p> + <p> + He leaned across the table, his eyes were bloodshot with the keenness of + his excitement, his voice shook with the passionate desire for the + crowning triumph. + </p> + <p> + “If you’ll only not worry me,” murmured the prisoner; and the whisper came + so laboriously and so low that both men were forced to bend their ears + close to the scarcely moving lips; “if you will let me sleep and rest, and + leave me in peace—” + </p> + <p> + “The peace of the grave, man,” retorted Chauvelin roughly; “if you will + only speak. Where is Capet?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you; the way is long, the road—intricate.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll lead you to him, if you will give me rest.” + </p> + <p> + “We don’t want you to lead us anywhere,” growled Heron with a smothered + curse; “tell us where Capet is; we’ll find him right enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot explain; the way is intricate; the place off the beaten track, + unknown except to me and my friends.” + </p> + <p> + Once more that shadow, which was so like the passing of the hand of Death, + overspread the prisoner’s face; his head rolled back against the chair. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll die before he can speak,” muttered Chauvelin under his breath. “You + usually are well provided with brandy, citizen Heron.” + </p> + <p> + The latter no longer demurred. He saw the danger as clearly as did his + colleague. It had been hell’s own luck if the prisoner were to die now + when he seemed ready to give in. He produced a flask from the pocket of + his coat, and this he held to Blakeney’s lips. + </p> + <p> + “Beastly stuff,” murmured the latter feebly. “I think I’d sooner faint—than + drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Capet? where is Capet?” reiterated Heron impatiently. +</p> + <p> + “One—two—three + hundred leagues from here. + I must let one of my friends know; he’ll communicate with the others; they + must be prepared,” replied the prisoner slowly. + </p> + <p> + Heron uttered a blasphemous oath. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Capet? Tell us where Capet is, or—” + </p> + <p> + He was like a raging tiger that had thought to hold its prey and suddenly + realised that it was being snatched from him. He raised his fist, and + without doubt the next moment he would have silenced forever the lips that + held the precious secret, but Chauvelin fortunately was quick enough to + seize his wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care, citizen,” he said peremptorily; “have a care! You called me + a fool just now when you thought I had killed the prisoner. It is his + secret we want first; his death can follow afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not in this d—d hole,” murmured Blakeney. + </p> + <p> + “On the guillotine if you’ll speak,” cried Heron, whose exasperation was + getting the better of his self-interest, “but if you’ll not speak then it + shall be starvation in this hole—yes, starvation,” he growled, + showing a row of large and uneven teeth like those of some mongrel cur, + “for I’ll have that door walled in to-night, and not another living soul + shall cross this threshold again until your flesh has rotted on your bones + and the rats have had their fill of you.” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner raised his head slowly, a shiver shook him as if caused by + ague, and his eyes, that appeared almost sightless, now looked with a + strange glance of horror on his enemy. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll die in the open,” he whispered, “not in this d—d hole.” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell us where Capet is.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot; I wish to God I could. But I’ll take you to him, I swear I + will. I’ll make my friends give him up to you. Do you think that I would + not tell you now, if I could.” + </p> + <p> + Heron, whose every instinct of tyranny revolted against this thwarting of + his will, would have continued to heckle the prisoner even now, had not + Chauvelin suddenly interposed with an authoritative gesture. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll gain nothing this way, citizen,” he said quietly; “the man’s mind + is wandering; he is probably quite unable to give you clear directions at + this moment.” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do, then?” muttered the other roughly. + </p> + <p> + “He cannot live another twenty-four hours now, and would only grow more + and more helpless as time went on.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you relax your strict regime with him.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I do we’ll only prolong this situation indefinitely; and in the + meanwhile how do we know that the brat is not being spirited away out of + the country?” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner, with his head once more buried in his arms, had fallen into + a kind of torpor, the only kind of sleep that the exhausted system would + allow. With a brutal gesture Heron shook him by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “He,” he shouted, “none of that, you know. We have not settled the matter + of young Capet yet.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as the prisoner made no movement, and the chief agent indulged in + one of his favourite volleys of oaths, Chauvelin placed a peremptory hand + on his colleague’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, citizen, that this is no use,” he said firmly. “Unless you + are prepared to give up all thoughts of finding Capet, you must try and + curb your temper, and try diplomacy where force is sure to fail.” + </p> + <p> + “Diplomacy?” retorted the other with a sneer. “Bah! it served you well at + Boulogne last autumn, did it not, citizen Chauvelin?” + </p> + <p> + “It has served me better now,” rejoined the other imperturbably. “You will + own, citizen, that it is my diplomacy which has placed within your reach + the ultimate hope of finding Capet.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” muttered the other, “you advised us to starve the prisoner. Are we + any nearer to knowing his secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. By a fortnight of weariness, of exhaustion and of starvation, you + are nearer to it by the weakness of the man whom in his full strength you + could never hope to conquer.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the cursed Englishman won’t speak, and in the meanwhile dies on my + hands—” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t do that if you will accede to his wish. Give him some good food + now, and let him sleep till dawn.” + </p> + <p> + “And at dawn he’ll defy me again. I believe now that he has some scheme in + his mind, and means to play us a trick.” + </p> + <p> + “That, I imagine, is more than likely,” retorted Chauvelin dryly; + “though,” he added with a contemptuous nod of the head directed at the + huddled-up figure of his once brilliant enemy, “neither mind nor body seem + to me to be in a sufficiently active state just now for hatching plot or + intrigue; but even if—vaguely floating through his clouded mind—there + has sprung some little scheme for evasion, I give you my word, citizen + Heron, that you can thwart him completely, and gain all that you desire, + if you will only follow my advice.” + </p> + <p> + There had always been a great amount of persuasive power in citizen + Chauvelin, ex-envoy of the revolutionary Government of France at the Court + of St. James, and that same persuasive eloquence did not fail now in its + effect on the chief agent of the Committee of General Security. The latter + was made of coarser stuff than his more brilliant colleague. Chauvelin was + like a wily and sleek panther that is furtive in its movements, that will + lure its prey, watch it, follow it with stealthy footsteps, and only + pounce on it when it is least wary, whilst Heron was more like a raging + bull that tosses its head in a blind, irresponsible fashion, rushes at an + obstacle without gauging its resisting powers, and allows its victim to + slip from beneath its weight through the very clumsiness and brutality of + its assault. + </p> + <p> + Still Chauvelin had two heavy black marks against him—those of his + failures at Calais and Boulogne. Heron, rendered cautious both by the + deadly danger in which he stood and the sense of his own incompetence to + deal with the present situation, tried to resist the other’s authority as + well as his persuasion. + </p> + <p> + “Your advice was not of great use to citizen Collot last autumn at + Boulogne,” he said, and spat on the ground by way of expressing both his + independence and his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Still, citizen Heron,” retorted Chauvelin with unruffled patience, “it is + the best advice that you are likely to get in the present emergency. You + have eyes to see, have you not? Look on your prisoner at this moment. + Unless something is done, and at once, too, he will be past negotiating + with in the next twenty-four hours; then what will follow?” + </p> + <p> + He put his thin hand once more on his colleague’s grubby coat-sleeve, he + drew him closer to himself away from the vicinity of that huddled figure, + that captive lion, wrapped in a torpid somnolence that looked already so + like the last long sleep. + </p> + <p> + “What will follow, citizen Heron?” he reiterated, sinking his voice to a + whisper; “sooner or later some meddlesome busybody who sits in the + Assembly of the Convention will get wind that little Capet is no longer in + the Temple prison, that a pauper child was substituted for him, and that + you, citizen Heron, together with the commissaries in charge, have thus + been fooling the nation and its representatives for over a fortnight. What + will follow then, think you?” + </p> + <p> + And he made an expressive gesture with his outstretched fingers across his + throat. + </p> + <p> + Heron found no other answer but blasphemy. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll make that cursed Englishman speak yet,” he said with a fierce oath. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot,” retorted Chauvelin decisively. “In his present state he is + incapable of it, even if he would, which also is doubtful.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then you do think that he still means to cheat us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. But I also know that he is no longer in a physical state to do + it. No doubt he thinks that he is. A man of that type is sure to overvalue + his own strength; but look at him, citizen Heron. Surely you must see that + we have nothing to fear from him now.” + </p> + <p> + Heron now was like a voracious creature that has two victims lying ready + for his gluttonous jaws. He was loath to let either of them go. He hated + the very thought of seeing the Englishman being led out of this narrow + cell, where he had kept a watchful eye over him night and day for a + fortnight, satisfied that with every day, every hour, the chances of + escape became more improbable and more rare; at the same time there was + the possibility of the recapture of little Capet, a possibility which made + Heron’s brain reel with the delightful vista of it, and which might never + come about if the prisoner remained silent to the end. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were quite sure,” he said sullenly, “that you were body and soul + in accord with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in accord with you, citizen Heron,” rejoined the other earnestly—“body + and soul in accord with you. Do you not believe that I hate this man—aye! + hate him with a hatred ten thousand times more strong than yours? I want + his death—Heaven or hell alone know how I long for that—but + what I long for most is his lasting disgrace. For that I have worked, + citizen Heron—for that I advised and helped you. When first you + captured this man you wanted summarily to try him, to send him to the + guillotine amidst the joy of the populace of Paris, and crowned with a + splendid halo of martyrdom. That man, citizen Heron, would have baffled + you, mocked you, and fooled you even on the steps of the scaffold. In the + zenith of his strength and of insurmountable good luck you and all your + myrmidons and all the assembled guard of Paris would have had no power + over him. The day that you led him out of this cell in order to take him + to trial or to the guillotine would have been that of your hopeless + discomfiture. Having once walked out of this cell hale, hearty and alert, + be the escort round him ever so strong, he never would have re-entered it + again. Of that I am as convinced as that I am alive. I know the man; you + don’t. Mine are not the only fingers through which he has slipped. Ask + citizen Collot d’Herbois, ask Sergeant Bibot at the barrier of + Menilmontant, ask General Santerre and his guards. They all have a tale to + tell. Did I believe in God or the devil, I should also believe that this + man has supernatural powers and a host of demons at his beck and call.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you talk now of letting him walk out of this cell to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a different man now, citizen Heron. On my advice you placed him on + a regime that has counteracted the supernatural power by simple physical + exhaustion, and driven to the four winds the host of demons who no doubt + fled in the face of starvation.” + </p> + <p> + “If only I thought that the recapture of Capet was as vital to you as it + is to me,” said Heron, still unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “The capture of Capet is just as vital to me as it is to you,” rejoined + Chauvelin earnestly, “if it is brought about through the instrumentality + of the Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, looking intently on his colleague, whose shifty eyes + encountered his own. Thus eye to eye the two men at last understood one + another. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Heron with a snort, “I think I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure that you do,” responded Chauvelin dryly. “The disgrace of this + cursed Scarlet Pimpernel and his League is as vital to me, and more, as + the capture of Capet is to you. That is why I showed you the way how to + bring that meddlesome adventurer to his knees; that is why I will help you + now both to find Capet and with his aid and to wreak what reprisals you + like on him in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Heron before he spoke again cast one more look on the prisoner. The latter + had not stirred; his face was hidden, but the hands, emaciated, nerveless + and waxen, like those of the dead, told a more eloquent tale, mayhap, then + than the eyes could do. The chief agent of the Committee of General + Security walked deliberately round the table until he stood once more + close beside the man from whom he longed with passionate ardour to wrest + an all-important secret. With brutal, grimy hand he raised the head that + lay, sunken and inert, against the table; with callous eyes he gazed + attentively on the face that was then revealed to him, he looked on the + waxen flesh, the hollow eyes, the bloodless lips; then he shrugged his + wide shoulders, and with a laugh that surely must have caused joy in hell, + he allowed the wearied head to fall back against the outstretched arms, + and turned once again to his colleague. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are right, citizen Chauvelin,” he said; “there is not much + supernatural power here. Let me hear your advice.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. CHAUVELIN’S ADVICE + </h2> + <p> + Citizen Chauvelin had drawn his colleague with him to the end of the cell + that was farthest away from the recess, and the table at which the + prisoner was sitting. + </p> + <p> + Here the noise and hubbub that went on constantly in the guard room would + effectually drown a whispered conversation. Chauvelin called to the + sergeant to hand him a couple of chairs over the barrier. These he placed + against the wall opposite the opening, and beckoning Heron to sit down, he + did likewise, placing himself close to his colleague. + </p> + <p> + From where the two men now sat they could see both into the guard-room + opposite them and into the recess at the furthermost end of the cell. + </p> + <p> + “First of all,” began Chauvelin after a while, and sinking his voice to a + whisper, “let me understand you thoroughly, citizen Heron. Do you want the + death of the Englishman, either to-day or to-morrow, either in this prison + or on the guillotine? For that now is easy of accomplishment; or do you + want, above all, to get hold of little Capet?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Capet I want,” growled Heron savagely under his breath. “Capet! + Capet! My own neck is dependent on my finding Capet. Curse you, have I not + told you that clearly enough?” + </p> + <p> + “You have told it me very clearly, citizen Heron; but I wished to make + assurance doubly sure, and also make you understand that I, too, want the + Englishman to betray little Capet into your hands. I want that more even + than I do his death.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in the name of hell, citizen, give me your advice.” + </p> + <p> + “My advice to you, citizen Heron, is this: Give your prisoner now just a + sufficiency of food to revive him—he will have had a few moments’ + sleep—and when he has eaten, and, mayhap, drunk a glass of wine, he + will, no doubt, feel a recrudescence of strength, then give him pen and + ink and paper. He must, as he says, write to one of his followers, who, in + his turn, I suppose, will communicate with the others, bidding them to be + prepared to deliver up little Capet to us; the letter must make it clear + to that crowd of English gentlemen that their beloved chief is giving up + the uncrowned King of France to us in exchange for his own safety. But I + think you will agree with me, citizen Heron, that it would not be + over-prudent on our part to allow that same gallant crowd to be forewarned + too soon of the proposed doings of their chief. Therefore, I think, we’ll + explain to the prisoner that his follower, whom he will first apprise of + his intentions, shall start with us to-morrow on our expedition, and + accompany us until its last stage, when, if it is found necessary, he may + be sent on ahead, strongly escorted of course, and with personal messages + from the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel to the members of his League.” + </p> + <p> + “What will be the good of that?” broke in Heron viciously. “Do you want + one of his accursed followers to be ready to give him a helping hand on + the way if he tries to slip through our fingers?” + </p> + <p> + “Patience, patience, my good Heron!” rejoined Chauvelin with a placid + smile. “Hear me out to the end. Time is precious. You shall offer what + criticism you will when I have finished, but not before.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, then. I listen.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not only proposing that one member of the Scarlet Pimpernel League + shall accompany us to-morrow,” continued Chauvelin, “but I would also + force the prisoner’s wife—Marguerite Blakeney—to follow in our + train.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman? Bah! What for?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you the reason of this presently. In her case I should not + let the prisoner know beforehand that she too will form a part of our + expedition. Let this come as a pleasing surprise for him. She could join + us on our way out of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “How will you get hold of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Easily enough. I know where to find her. I traced her myself a few days + ago to a house in the Rue de Charonne, and she is not likely to have gone + away from Paris while her husband was at the Conciergerie. But this is a + digression, let me proceed more consecutively. The letter, as I have said, + being written to-night by the prisoner to one of his followers, I will + myself see that it is delivered into the right hands. You, citizen Heron, + will in the meanwhile make all arrangements for the journey. We ought to + start at dawn, and we ought to be prepared, especially during the first + fifty leagues of the way, against organised attack in case the Englishman + leads us into an ambush.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He might even do that, curse him!” muttered Heron. + </p> + <p> + “He might, but it is unlikely. Still it is best to be prepared. Take a + strong escort, citizen, say twenty or thirty men, picked and trained + soldiers who would make short work of civilians, however well-armed they + might be. There are twenty members—including the chief—in that + Scarlet Pimpernel League, and I do not quite see how from this cell the + prisoner could organise an ambuscade against us at a given time. Anyhow, + that is a matter for you to decide. I have still to place before you a + scheme which is a measure of safety for ourselves and our men against + ambush as well as against trickery, and which I feel sure you will + pronounce quite adequate.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me hear it, then!” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner will have to travel by coach, of course. You can travel with + him, if you like, and put him in irons, and thus avert all chances of his + escaping on the road. But”—and here Chauvelin made a long pause, + which had the effect of holding his colleague’s attention still more + closely—“remember that we shall have his wife and one of his friends + with us. Before we finally leave Paris tomorrow we will explain to the + prisoner that at the first attempt to escape on his part, at the slightest + suspicion that he has tricked us for his own ends or is leading us into an + ambush—at the slightest suspicion, I say—you, citizen Heron, + will order his friend first, and then Marguerite Blakeney herself, to be + summarily shot before his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Heron gave a long, low whistle. Instinctively he threw a furtive, backward + glance at the prisoner, then he raised his shifty eyes to his colleague. + </p> + <p> + There was unbounded admiration expressed in them. One blackguard had met + another—a greater one than himself—and was proud to + acknowledge him as his master. + </p> + <p> + “By Lucifer, citizen Chauvelin,” he said at last, “I should never have + thought of such a thing myself.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin put up his hand with a gesture of self-deprecation. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly think that measure ought to be adequate,” he said with a + gentle air of assumed modesty, “unless you would prefer to arrest the + woman and lodge her here, keeping her here as an hostage.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” said Heron with a gruff laugh; “that idea does not appeal to me + nearly so much as the other. I should not feel so secure on the way.... I + should always be thinking that that cursed woman had been allowed to + escape.... No! no! I would rather keep her under my own eye—just as + you suggest, citizen Chauvelin... and under the prisoner’s, too,” he added + with a coarse jest. “If he did not actually see her, he might be more + ready to try and save himself at her expense. But, of course, he could not + see her shot before his eyes. It is a perfect plan, citizen, and does you + infinite credit; and if the Englishman tricked us,” he concluded with a + fierce and savage oath, “and we did not find Capet at the end of the + journey, I would gladly strangle his wife and his friend with my own + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “A satisfaction which I would not begrudge you, citizen,” said Chauvelin + dryly. “Perhaps you are right... the woman had best be kept under your own + eye... the prisoner will never risk her safety on that, I would stake my + life. We’ll deliver our final ‘either—or’ the moment that she has + joined our party, and before we start further on our way. Now, citizen + Heron, you have heard my advice; are you prepared to follow it?” + </p> + <p> + “To the last letter,” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + And their two hands met in a grasp of mutual understanding—two hands + already indelibly stained with much innocent blood, more deeply stained + now with seventeen past days of inhumanity and miserable treachery to + come. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAPITULATION + </h2> + <p> + What occurred within the inner cell of the Conciergerie prison within the + next half-hour of that 16th day of Pluviose in the year II of the Republic + is, perhaps, too well known to history to need or bear overfull + repetition. + </p> + <p> + Chroniclers intimate with the inner history of those infamous days have + told us how the chief agent of the Committee of General Security gave + orders one hour after midnight that hot soup, white bread and wine be + served to the prisoner, who for close on fourteen days previously had been + kept on short rations of black bread and water; the sergeant in charge of + the guard-room watch for the night also received strict orders that that + same prisoner was on no account to be disturbed until the hour of six in + the morning, when he was to be served with anything in the way of + breakfast that he might fancy. + </p> + <p> + All this we know, and also that citizen Heron, having given all necessary + orders for the morning’s expedition, returned to the Conciergerie, and + found his colleague Chauvelin waiting for him in the guard-room. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked with febrile impatience—“the prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems better and stronger,” replied Chauvelin. + </p> + <p> + “Not too well, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, only just well enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You have seen him—since his supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Only from the doorway. It seems he ate and drank hardly at all, and the + sergeant had some difficulty in keeping him awake until you came.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now for the letter,” concluded Heron with the same marked + feverishness of manner which sat so curiously on his uncouth personality. + “Pen, ink and paper, sergeant!” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + “On the table, in the prisoner’s cell, citizen,” replied the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + He preceded the two citizens across the guard-room to the doorway, and + raised for them the iron bar, lowering it back after them. + </p> + <p> + The next moment Heron and Chauvelin were once more face to face with their + prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Whether by accident or design the lamp had been so placed that as the two + men approached its light fell full upon their faces, while that of the + prisoner remained in shadow. He was leaning forward with both elbows on + the table, his thin, tapering fingers toying with the pen and ink-horn + which had been placed close to his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I trust that everything has been arranged for your comfort, Sir Percy?” + Chauvelin asked with a sarcastic little smile. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir,” replied Blakeney politely. + </p> + <p> + “You feel refreshed, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “Greatly so, I assure you. But I am still demmed sleepy; and if you would + kindly be brief—” + </p> + <p> + “You have not changed your mind, sir?” queried Chauvelin, and a note of + anxiety, which he vainly tried to conceal, quivered in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, my good M. Chambertin,” replied Blakeney with the same urbane + courtesy, “I have not changed my mind.” + </p> + <p> + A sigh of relief escaped the lips of both the men. The prisoner certainly + had spoken in a clearer and firmer voice; but whatever renewed strength + wine and food had imparted to him he apparently did not mean to employ in + renewed obstinacy. Chauvelin, after a moment’s pause, resumed more calmly: + </p> + <p> + “You are prepared to direct us to the place where little Capet lies + hidden?” + </p> + <p> + “I am prepared to do anything, sir, to get out of this d—d hole.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. My colleague, citizen Heron, has arranged for an escort of + twenty men picked from the best regiment of the Garde de Paris to + accompany us—yourself, him and me—to wherever you will direct + us. Is that clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not imagine for a moment that we, on the other hand, guarantee + to give you your life and freedom even if this expedition prove + unsuccessful.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not venture on suggesting such a wild proposition, sir,” said + Blakeney placidly. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin looked keenly on him. There was something in the tone of that + voice that he did not altogether like—something that reminded him of + an evening at Calais, and yet again of a day at Boulogne. He could not + read the expression in the eyes, so with a quick gesture he pulled the + lamp forward so that its light now fell full on the face of the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is certainly better, is it not, my dear M. Chambertin?” said Sir + Percy, beaming on his adversary with a pleasant smile. + </p> + <p> + His face, though still of the same ashen hue, looked serene if hopelessly + wearied; the eyes seemed to mock. But this Chauvelin decided in himself + must have been a trick of his own overwrought fancy. After a brief + moment’s pause he resumed dryly: + </p> + <p> + “If, however, the expedition turns out successful in every way—if + little Capet, without much trouble to our escort, falls safe and sound + into our hands—if certain contingencies which I am about to tell you + all fall out as we wish—then, Sir Percy, I see no reason why the + Government of this country should not exercise its prerogative of mercy + towards you after all.” + </p> + <p> + “An exercise, my dear M. Chambertin, which must have wearied through + frequent repetition,” retorted Blakeney with the same imperturbable smile. + </p> + <p> + “The contingency at present is somewhat remote; when the time comes we’ll + talk this matter over.... I will make no promise... and, anyhow, we can + discuss it later.” + </p> + <p> + “At present we are but wasting our valuable time over so trifling a + matter.... If you’ll excuse me, sir... I am so demmed fatigued—” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be glad to have everything settled quickly, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Heron was taking no part in the present conversation. He knew that his + temper was not likely to remain within bounds, and though he had nothing + but contempt for his colleague’s courtly manners, yet vaguely in his + stupid, blundering way he grudgingly admitted that mayhap it was better to + allow citizen Chauvelin to deal with the Englishman. There was always the + danger that if his own violent temper got the better of him, he might even + at this eleventh hour order this insolent prisoner to summary trial and + the guillotine, and thus lose the final chance of the more important + capture. + </p> + <p> + He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with his big + head sunk between his broad shoulders, his shifty, prominent eyes + wandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that of the other + man. + </p> + <p> + But now he gave a grunt of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin,” he muttered. “I have still a + great deal to see to if we are to start at dawn. Get the d—d letter + written, and—” + </p> + <p> + The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur. + Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders, paid no further heed to him; he + turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “I see with pleasure, Sir Percy,” he said, “that we thoroughly understand + one another. Having had a few hours’ rest you will, I know, feel quite + ready for the expedition. Will you kindly indicate to me the direction in + which we will have to travel?” + </p> + <p> + “Northwards all the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Towards the coast?” + </p> + <p> + “The place to which we must go is about seven leagues from the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, Crecy, and + so on?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “As far as the forest of Boulogne, shall we say?” + </p> + <p> + “Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to trust to + my guidance.” + </p> + <p> + “We might go there now, Sir Percy, and leave you here.” + </p> + <p> + “You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues is not + far from the coast. He might slip through your fingers.” + </p> + <p> + “And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send you to + the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” rejoined the prisoner placidly. “Methought, sir, that we had + decided that I should lead this little expedition? Surely,” he added, “it + is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as my share in this betrayal.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that as settled. + We go as far as Crecy, and thence place ourselves entirely in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “The journey should not take more than three days, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “During which you will travel in a coach in the company of my friend + Heron.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have chosen pleasanter company, sir; still, it will serve.” + </p> + <p> + “This being settled, Sir Percy. I understand that you desire to + communicate with one of your followers.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one must let the others know... those who have the Dauphin in their + charge.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that you have + decided to deliver the Dauphin into our hands in exchange for your own + safety.” + </p> + <p> + “You said just now that this you would not guarantee,” interposed Blakeney + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “If all turns out well,” retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt, “and + if you will write the exact letter which I shall dictate, we might even + give you that guarantee.” + </p> + <p> + “The quality of your mercy, sir, passes belief.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour of + the communication?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. He + can let the others know.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He paused awhile, hesitating. Would Sir + Percy Blakeney be ready—if his own safety demanded it—to + sacrifice the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous “either—or” + that was to be put to him, by-and-by, would he choose his own life and + leave Armand St. Just to perish? It was not for Chauvelin—or any man + of his stamp—to judge of what Blakeney would do under such + circumstances, and had it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap + Chauvelin would have hesitated still more at the present juncture. + </p> + <p> + But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage for the + final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel through the + disgrace of its chief. There was the wife—Marguerite Blakeney—sister + of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close + affection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in that + handful which Chauvelin already held. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other’s hesitation. He did not even + look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, and made ready + to write. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish me to say?” he asked simply. + </p> + <p> + “Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?” + queried Heron roughly. + </p> + <p> + Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quickly + re-assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Better than any one else,” he said firmly. “Will you write at my + dictation, Sir Percy? + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting to do so, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue.” + </p> + <p> + And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it left Blakeney’s + pen. + </p> + <p> + “‘I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and also + M. Chauvelin—’ Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H, + A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right— ‘have made this prison + a perfect hell for me.’” + </p> + <p> + Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!” he said; “I have really been + most comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manner + as I can,” retorted Chauvelin dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir. Pray proceed.” + </p> + <p> + “...‘a perfect hell for me,’” resumed the other. “Have you that? ... ‘and + I have been forced to give way. To-morrow we start from here at dawn; and + I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he can find the Dauphin. But + the authorities demand that one of my followers, one who has once been a + member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, shall accompany me on this + expedition. I therefore ask you’—or ‘desire you’ or ‘beg you’—whichever + you prefer, Sir Percy...” + </p> + <p> + “‘Ask you’ will do quite nicely. This is really very interesting, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “... ‘to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, and you + would be required to be at the main gate of the house of Justice at six + o’clock precisely. I have an assurance from the authorities that your life + should be in-violate, but if you refuse to accompany me, the guillotine + will await me on the morrow.’” + </p> + <p> + “‘The guillotine will await me on the morrow.’ That sounds quite cheerful, + does it not, M. Chambertin?” said the prisoner, who had not evinced the + slightest surprise at the wording of the letter whilst he wrote at the + other’s dictation. “Do you know, I quite enjoyed writing this letter; it + so reminded me of happy days in Boulogne.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a retort from + him would have been undignified, more especially as just at this moment + there came from the guard room the sound of men’s voices talking and + laughing, the occasional clang of steel, or of a heavy boot against the + tiled floor, the rattling of dice, or a sudden burst of laughter—sounds, + in fact, that betokened the presence of a number of soldiers close by. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin contented himself with a nod in the direction of the guard-room. + </p> + <p> + “The conditions are somewhat different now,” he said placidly, “from those + that reigned in Boulogne. But will you not sign your letter, Sir Percy?” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure, sir,” responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate flourish of + the pen he appended his name to the missive. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx by + their keenness. He took up the completed letter, read it through very + carefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind the very words which + he himself had dictated; he studied the signature, and looked vainly for a + mark or a sign that might convey a different sense to that which he had + intended. Finally, finding none, he folded the letter up with his own + hand, and at once slipped it in the pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, M. Chambertin,” said Blakeney lightly; “it will burn a hole in + that elegant vest of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy,” retorted Chauvelin blandly; + “an you will furnish me with citizen St. Just’s present address, I will + myself convey the letter to him at once.” + </p> + <p> + “At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he’ll be abed. But his + address, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix Blanche, on the first floor, the + door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know the room well, + citizen Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And now,” he added with a + loud and ostentatious yawn, “shall we all to bed? We start at dawn, you + said, and I am so d—d fatigued.” + </p> + <p> + Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his matured + plans, despite all the precautions that he meant to take for the success + of this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange sense of fear creeping into + his bones. Half an hour ago he had seen a man in what looked like the last + stage of utter physical exhaustion, a hunched up figure, listless and + limp, hands that twitched nervously, the face as of a dying man. Now those + outward symptoms were still there certainly; the face by the light of the + lamp still looked livid, the lips bloodless, the hands emaciated and + waxen, but the eyes!—they were still hollow, with heavy lids still + purple, but in their depths there was a curious, mysterious light, a look + that seemed to see something that was hidden to natural sight. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious of this, but + the Committee’s agent was sprawling on a chair, sucking a short-stemmed + pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction on the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and I, + citizen Chauvelin,” he said complacently. + </p> + <p> + “You think that everything is quite satisfactory?” asked the other with + anxious stress on his words. + </p> + <p> + “Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give final + orders for to-morrow, but I shall sleep in the guard-room.” + </p> + <p> + “And I on that inviting bed,” interposed the prisoner lightly, as he rose + to his feet. “Your servant, citizens!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two men + prepared to go. Chauvelin took a final long look at the man whom he firmly + believed he had at last brought down to abject disgrace. + </p> + <p> + Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures—one + slender hand was on the table. Chauvelin saw that it was leaning rather + heavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a final mocking laugh + sped him and his colleague on their way, the tall figure of the conquered + lion swayed like a stalwart oak that is forced to bend to the mighty fury + of an all-compelling wind. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, and + together the two men walked out of the cell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. KILL HIM! + </h2> + <p> + Two hours after midnight Armand St. Just was wakened from sleep by a + peremptory pull at his bell. In these days in Paris but one meaning could + as a rule be attached to such a summons at this hour of the night, and + Armand, though possessed of an unconditional certificate of safety, sat up + in bed, quite convinced that for some reason which would presently be + explained to him he had once more been placed on the list of the + “suspect,” and that his trial and condemnation on a trumped-up charge + would follow in due course. + </p> + <p> + Truth to tell, he felt no fear at the prospect, and only a very little + sorrow. The sorrow was not for himself; he regretted neither life nor + happiness. Life had become hateful to him since happiness had fled with it + on the dark wings of dishonour; sorrow such as he felt was only for + Jeanne! She was very young, and would weep bitter tears. She would be + unhappy, because she truly loved him, and because this would be the first + cup of bitterness which life was holding out to her. But she was very + young, and sorrow would not be eternal. It was better so. He, Armand St. + Just, though he loved her with an intensity of passion that had been + magnified and strengthened by his own overwhelming shame, had never really + brought his beloved one single moment of unalloyed happiness. + </p> + <p> + From the very first day when he sat beside her in the tiny boudoir of the + Square du Roule, and the heavy foot fall of Heron and his bloodhounds + broke in on their first kiss, down to this hour which he believed struck + his own death-knell, his love for her had brought more tears to her dear + eyes than smiles to her exquisite mouth. + </p> + <p> + Her he had loved so dearly, that for her sweet sake he had sacrificed + honour, friendship and truth; to free her, as he believed, from the hands + of impious brutes he had done a deed that cried Cain-like for vengeance to + the very throne of God. For her he had sinned, and because of that sin, + even before it was committed, their love had been blighted, and happiness + had never been theirs. + </p> + <p> + Now it was all over. He would pass out of her life, up the steps of the + scaffold, tasting as he mounted them the most entire happiness that he had + known since that awful day when he became a Judas. + </p> + <p> + The peremptory summons, once more repeated, roused him from his + meditations. He lit a candle, and without troubling to slip any of his + clothes on, he crossed the narrow ante-chamber, and opened the door that + gave on the landing. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of the people!” + </p> + <p> + He had expected to hear not only those words, but also the grounding of + arms and the brief command to halt. He had expected to see before him the + white facings of the uniform of the Garde de Paris, and to feel himself + roughly pushed back into his lodging preparatory to the search being made + of all his effects and the placing of irons on his wrists. + </p> + <p> + Instead of this, it was a quiet, dry voice that said without undue + harshness: + </p> + <p> + “In the name of the people!” + </p> + <p> + And instead of the uniforms, the bayonets and the scarlet caps with + tricolour cockades, he was confronted by a slight, sable-clad figure, + whose face, lit by the flickering light of the tallow candle, looked + strangely pale and earnest. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Chauvelin!” gasped Armand, more surprised than frightened at this + unexpected apparition. + </p> + <p> + “Himself, citizen, at your service,” replied Chauvelin with his quiet, + ironical manner. “I am the bearer of a letter for you from Sir Percy + Blakeney. Have I your permission to enter?” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically Armand stood aside, allowing the other man to pass in. He + closed the door behind his nocturnal visitor, then, taper in hand, he + preceded him into the inner room. + </p> + <p> + It was the same one in which a fortnight ago a fighting lion had been + brought to his knees. Now it lay wrapped in gloom, the feeble light of the + candle only lighting Armand’s face and the white frill of his shirt. The + young man put the taper down on the table and turned to his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I light the lamp?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Quite unnecessary,” replied Chauvelin curtly. “I have only a letter to + deliver, and after that to ask you one brief question.” + </p> + <p> + From the pocket of his coat he drew the letter which Blakeney had written + an hour ago. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner wrote this in my presence,” he said as he handed the letter + over to Armand. “Will you read it?” + </p> + <p> + Armand took it from him, and sat down close to the table; leaning forward + he held the paper near the light, and began to read. He read the letter + through very slowly to the end, then once again from the beginning. He was + trying to do that which Chauvelin had wished to do an hour ago; he was + trying to find the inner meaning which he felt must inevitably lie behind + these words which Percy had written with his own hand. + </p> + <p> + That these bare words were but a blind to deceive the enemy Armand never + doubted for a moment. In this he was as loyal as Marguerite would have + been herself. Never for a moment did the suspicion cross his mind that + Blakeney was about to play the part of a coward, but he, Armand, felt that + as a faithful friend and follower he ought by instinct to know exactly + what his chief intended, what he meant him to do. + </p> + <p> + Swiftly his thoughts flew back to that other letter, the one which + Marguerite had given him—the letter full of pity and of friendship + which had brought him hope and a joy and peace which he had thought at one + time that he would never know again. And suddenly one sentence in that + letter stood out so clearly before his eyes that it blurred the actual, + tangible ones on the paper which even now rustled in his hand. + </p> + <p> + But if at any time you receive another letter from me—be its + contents what they may—act in accordance with the letter, but send a + copy of it at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + Now everything seemed at once quite clear; his duty, his next actions, + every word that he would speak to Chauvelin. Those that Percy had written + to him were already indelibly graven on his memory. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin had waited with his usual patience, silent and imperturbable, + while the young man read. Now when he saw that Armand had finished, he + said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Just one question, citizen, and I need not detain you longer. But first + will you kindly give me back that letter? It is a precious document which + will for ever remain in the archives of the nation.” + </p> + <p> + But even while he spoke Armand, with one of those quick intuitions that + come in moments of acute crisis, had done just that which he felt Blakeney + would wish him to do. He had held the letter close to the candle. A corner + of the thin crisp paper immediately caught fire, and before Chauvelin + could utter a word of anger, or make a movement to prevent the + conflagration, the flames had licked up fully one half of the letter, and + Armand had only just time to throw the remainder on the floor and to stamp + out the blaze with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, citizen,” he said calmly; “an accident.” + </p> + <p> + “A useless act of devotion,” interposed Chauvelin, who already had + smothered the oath that had risen to his lips. “The Scarlet Pimpernel’s + actions in the present matter will not lose their merited publicity + through the foolish destruction of this document.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no thought, citizen,” retorted the young man, “of commenting on the + actions of my chief, or of trying to deny them that publicity which you + seem to desire for them almost as much as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “More, citizen, a great deal more! The impeccable Scarlet Pimpernel, the + noble and gallant English gentleman, has agreed to deliver into our hands + the uncrowned King of France—in exchange for his own life and + freedom. Methinks that even his worst enemy would not wish for a better + ending to a career of adventure, and a reputation for bravery unequalled + in Europe. But no more of this, time is pressing, I must help citizen + Heron with his final preparations for his journey. You, of course, citizen + St. Just, will act in accordance with Sir Percy Blakeney’s wishes?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” replied Armand. + </p> + <p> + “You will present yourself at the main entrance of the house of Justice at + six o’clock this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not fail you.” + </p> + <p> + “A coach will be provided for you. You will follow the expedition as + hostage for the good faith of your chief.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite understand.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! That’s brave! You have no fear, citizen St. Just?” + </p> + <p> + “Fear of what, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You will be a hostage in our hands, citizen; your life a guarantee that + your chief has no thought of playing us false. Now I was thinking of—of + certain events—which led to the arrest of Sir Percy Blakeney.” + </p> + <p> + “Of my treachery, you mean,” rejoined the young man calmly, even though + his face had suddenly become pale as death. “Of the damnable lie wherewith + you cheated me into selling my honour, and made me what I am—a + creature scarce fit to walk upon this earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” protested Chauvelin blandly. + </p> + <p> + “The damnable lie,” continued Armand more vehemently, “that hath made me + one with Cain and the Iscariot. When you goaded me into the hellish act, + Jeanne Lange was already free.” + </p> + <p> + “Free—but not safe.” + </p> + <p> + “A lie, man! A lie! For which you are thrice accursed. Great God, is it + not you that should have cause for fear? Methinks were I to strangle you + now I should suffer less of remorse.” + </p> + <p> + “And would be rendering your ex-chief but a sorry service,” interposed + Chauvelin with quiet irony. “Sir Percy Blakeney is a dying man, citizen + St. Just; he’ll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance by + six o’clock this morning. This is a private understanding between citizen + Heron and myself. We agreed to it before I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you take care of your own miserable skin well enough! But you need + not be afraid of me—I take my orders from my chief, and he has not + ordered me to kill you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was kind of him. Then we may count on you? You are not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid that the Scarlet Pimpernel would leave me in the lurch because of + the immeasurable wrong I have done to him?” retorted Armand, proud and + defiant in the name of his chief. “No, sir, I am not afraid of that; I + have spent the last fortnight in praying to God that my life might yet be + given for his.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! I think it most unlikely that your prayers will be granted, citizen; + prayers, I imagine, so very seldom are; but I don’t know, I never pray + myself. In your case, now, I should say that you have not the slightest + chance of the Deity interfering in so pleasant a manner. Even were Sir + Percy Blakeney prepared to wreak personal revenge on you, he would + scarcely be so foolish as to risk the other life which we shall also hold + as hostage for his good faith.” + </p> + <p> + “The other life?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Your sister, Lady Blakeney, will also join the expedition to-morrow. + This Sir Percy does not yet know; but it will come as a pleasant surprise + for him. At the slightest suspicion of false play on Sir Percy’s part, at + his slightest attempt at escape, your life and that of your sister are + forfeit; you will both be summarily shot before his eyes. I do not think + that I need be more precise, eh, citizen St. Just?” + </p> + <p> + The young man was quivering with passion. A terrible loathing for himself, + for his crime which had been the precursor of this terrible situation, + filled his soul to the verge of sheer physical nausea. A red film gathered + before his eyes, and through it he saw the grinning face of the inhuman + monster who had planned this hideous, abominable thing. It seemed to him + as if in the silence and the hush of the night, above the feeble, + flickering flame that threw weird shadows around, a group of devils were + surrounding him, and were shouting, “Kill him! Kill him now! Rid the earth + of this hellish brute!” + </p> + <p> + No doubt if Chauvelin had exhibited the slightest sign of fear, if he had + moved an inch towards the door, Armand, blind with passion, driven to + madness by agonising remorse more even than by rage, would have sprung at + his enemy’s throat and crushed the life out of him as he would out of a + venomous beast. But the man’s calm, his immobility, recalled St. Just to + himself. Reason, that had almost yielded to passion again, found strength + to drive the enemy back this time, to whisper a warning, an admonition, + even a reminder. Enough harm, God knows, had been done by tempestuous + passion already. And God alone knew what terrible consequences its triumph + now might bring in its trial, and striking on Armand’s buzzing ears + Chauvelin’s words came back as a triumphant and mocking echo: + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance by six + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + The red film lifted, the candle flickered low, the devils vanished, only + the pale face of the Terrorist gazed with gentle irony out of the gloom. + </p> + <p> + “I think that I need not detain you any longer, citizen, St. Just,” he + said quietly; “you can get three or four hours’ rest yet before you need + make a start, and I still have a great many things to see to. I wish you + good-night, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” murmured Armand mechanically. + </p> + <p> + He took the candle and escorted his visitor back to the door. He waited on + the landing, taper in hand, while Chauvelin descended the narrow, winding + stairs. + </p> + <p> + There was a light in the concierge’s lodge. No doubt the woman had struck + it when the nocturnal visitor had first demanded admittance. His name and + tricolour scarf of office had ensured him the full measure of her + attention, and now she was evidently sitting up waiting to let him out. + </p> + <p> + St. Just, satisfied that Chauvelin had finally gone, now turned back to + his own rooms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. GOD HELP US ALL + </h2> + <p> + He carefully locked the outer door. Then he lit the lamp, for the candle + gave but a flickering light, and he had some important work to do. + </p> + <p> + Firstly, he picked up the charred fragment of the letter, and smoothed it + out carefully and reverently as he would a relic. Tears had gathered in + his eyes, but he was not ashamed of them, for no one saw them; but they + eased his heart, and helped to strengthen his resolve. It was a mere + fragment that had been spared by the flame, but Armand knew every word of + the letter by heart. + </p> + <p> + He had pen, ink and paper ready to his hand, and from memory wrote out a + copy of it. To this he added a covering letter from himself to Marguerite: + </p> + <p> + This—which I had from Percy through the hands of Chauvelin—I + neither question nor understand.... He wrote the letter, and I have no + thought but to obey. In his previous letter to me he enjoined me, if ever + he wrote to me again, to obey him implicitly, and to communicate with you. + To both these commands do I submit with a glad heart. But of this must I + give you warning, little mother—Chauvelin desires you also to + accompany us to-morrow.... Percy does not know this yet, else he would + never start. But those fiends fear that his readiness is a blind... and + that he has some plan in his head for his own escape and the continued + safety of the Dauphin.... This plan they hope to frustrate through holding + you and me as hostages for his good faith. God only knows how gladly I + would give my life for my chief... but your life, dear little mother... is + sacred above all.... I think that I do right in warning you. God help us + all. + </p> + <p> + Having written the letter, he sealed it, together with the copy of Percy’s + letter which he had made. Then he took up the candle and went downstairs. + </p> + <p> + There was no longer any light in the concierge’s lodge, and Armand had + some difficulty in making himself heard. At last the woman came to the + door. She was tired and cross after two interruptions of her night’s rest, + but she had a partiality for her young lodger, whose pleasant ways and + easy liberality had been like a pale ray of sunshine through the squalor + of every-day misery. + </p> + <p> + “It is a letter, citoyenne,” said Armand, with earnest entreaty, “for my + sister. She lives in the Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications, and + must have it within an hour; it is a matter of life and death to her, to + me, and to another who is very dear to us both.” + </p> + <p> + The concierge threw up her hands in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications,” she exclaimed, “and within an + hour! By the Holy Virgin, citizen, that is impossible. Who will take it? + There is no way.” + </p> + <p> + “A way must be found, citoyenne,” said Armand firmly, “and at once; it is + not far, and there are five golden louis waiting for the messenger!” + </p> + <p> + Five golden louis! The poor, hardworking woman’s eyes gleamed at the + thought. Five louis meant food for at least two months if one was careful, + and— + </p> + <p> + “Give me the letter, citizen,” she said, “time to slip on a warm petticoat + and a shawl, and I’ll go myself. It’s not fit for the boy to go at this + hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You will bring me back a line from my sister in reply to this,” said + Armand, whom circumstances had at last rendered cautious. “Bring it up to + my rooms that I may give you the five louis in exchange.” + </p> + <p> + He waited while the woman slipped back into her room. She heard him + speaking to her boy; the same lad who a fortnight ago had taken the + treacherous letter which had lured Blakeney to the house into the fatal + ambuscade that had been prepared for him. Everything reminded Armand of + that awful night, every hour that he had since spent in the house had been + racking torture to him. Now at last he was to leave it, and on an errand + which might help to ease the load of remorse from his heart. + </p> + <p> + The woman was soon ready. Armand gave her final directions as to how to + find the house; then she took the letter and promised to be very quick, + and to bring back a reply from the lady. + </p> + <p> + Armand accompanied her to the door. The night was dark, a thin drizzle was + falling; he stood and watched until the woman’s rapidly walking figure was + lost in the misty gloom. + </p> + <p> + Then with a heavy sigh he once more went within. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD + </h2> + <p> + In a small upstairs room in the Rue de Charonne, above the shop of Lucas + the old-clothes dealer, Marguerite sat with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. Armand’s + letter, with its message and its warning, lay open on the table between + them, and she had in her hand the sealed packet which Percy had given her + just ten days ago, and which she was only to open if all hope seemed to be + dead, if nothing appeared to stand any longer between that one dear life + and irretrievable shame. + </p> + <p> + A small lamp placed on the table threw a feeble yellow light on the + squalid, ill-furnished room, for it lacked still an hour or so before + dawn. Armand’s concierge had brought her lodger’s letter, and Marguerite + had quickly despatched a brief reply to him, a reply that held love and + also encouragement. + </p> + <p> + Then she had summoned Sir Andrew. He never had a thought of leaving her + during these days of dire trouble, and he had lodged all this while in a + tiny room on the top-most floor of this house in the Rue de Charonne. + </p> + <p> + At her call he had come down very quickly, and now they sat together at + the table, with the oil-lamp illumining their pale, anxious faces; she the + wife and he the friend holding a consultation together in this most + miserable hour that preceded the cold wintry dawn. + </p> + <p> + Outside a thin, persistent rain mixed with snow pattered against the small + window panes, and an icy wind found out all the crevices in the worm-eaten + woodwork that would afford it ingress to the room. But neither Marguerite + nor Ffoulkes was conscious of the cold. They had wrapped their cloaks + round their shoulders, and did not feel the chill currents of air that + caused the lamp to flicker and to smoke. + </p> + <p> + “I can see now,” said Marguerite in that calm voice which comes so + naturally in moments of infinite despair—“I can see now exactly what + Percy meant when he made me promise not to open this packet until it + seemed to me—to me and to you, Sir Andrew—that he was about to + play the part of a coward. A coward! Great God!” She checked the sob that + had risen to her throat, and continued in the same calm manner and quiet, + even voice: + </p> + <p> + “You do think with me, do you not, that the time has come, and that we + must open this packet?” + </p> + <p> + “Without a doubt, Lady Blakeney,” replied Ffoulkes with equal earnestness. + “I would stake my life that already a fortnight ago Blakeney had that same + plan in his mind which he has now matured. Escape from that awful + Conciergerie prison with all the precautions so carefully taken against it + was impossible. I knew that alas! from the first. But in the open all + might yet be different. I’ll not believe it that a man like Blakeney is + destined to perish at the hands of those curs.” + </p> + <p> + She looked on her loyal friend with tear-dimmed eyes through which shone + boundless gratitude and heart-broken sorrow. + </p> + <p> + He had spoken of a fortnight! It was ten days since she had seen Percy. It + had then seemed as if death had already marked him with its grim sign. + Since then she had tried to shut away from her mind the terrible visions + which her anguish constantly conjured up before her of his growing + weakness, of the gradual impairing of that brilliant intellect, the + gradual exhaustion of that mighty physical strength. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Sir Andrew, for your enthusiasm and for your trust,” she + said with a sad little smile; “but for you I should long ago have lost all + courage, and these last ten days—what a cycle of misery they + represent—would have been maddening but for your help and your + loyalty. God knows I would have courage for everything in life, for + everything save one, but just that, his death; that would be beyond my + strength—neither reason nor body could stand it. Therefore, I am so + afraid, Sir Andrew,” she added piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Of what, Lady Blakeney?” + </p> + <p> + “That when he knows that I too am to go as hostage, as Armand says in his + letter, that my life is to be guarantee for his, I am afraid that he will draw + back—that he will—my God!” she cried with sudden fervour, + “tell me what to do!” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we open the packet?” asked Ffoulkes gently, “and then just make up + our minds to act exactly as Blakeney has enjoined us to do, neither more + nor less, but just word for word, deed for deed, and I believe that that + will be right—whatever may betide—in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Once more his quiet strength, his earnestness and his faith comforted her. + She dried her eyes and broke open the seal. There were two separate + letters in the packet, one unaddressed, obviously intended for her and + Ffoulkes, the other was addressed to M. le baron Jean de Batz, 15, Rue St. + Jean de Latran a Paris. + </p> + <p> + “A letter addressed to that awful Baron de Batz,” said Marguerite, looking + with puzzled eyes on the paper as she turned it over and over in her hand, + “to that bombastic windbag! I know him and his ways well! What can Percy + have to say to him?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew too looked puzzled. But neither of them had the mind to waste + time in useless speculations. Marguerite unfolded the letter which was + intended for her, and after a final look on her friend, whose kind face + was quivering with excitement, she began slowly to read aloud: + </p> + <p> + I need not ask either of you two to trust me, knowing that you will. But I + could not die inside this hole like a rat in a trap—I had to try and + free myself, at the worst to die in the open beneath God’s sky. You two + will understand, and understanding you will trust me to the end. Send the + enclosed letter at once to its address. And you, Ffoulkes, my most sincere + and most loyal friend, I beg with all my soul to see to the safety of + Marguerite. Armand will stay by me—but you, Ffoulkes, do not leave + her, stand by her. As soon as you read this letter—and you will not + read it until both she and you have felt that hope has fled and I myself + am about to throw up the sponge—try and persuade her to make for the + coast as quickly as may be.... At Calais you can open up communications + with the Day-Dream in the usual way, and embark on her at once. Let no + member of the League remain on French soil one hour longer after that. + Then tell the skipper to make for Le Portel—the place which he knows—and + there to keep a sharp outlook for another three nights. After that make + straight for home, for it will be no use waiting any longer. I shall not + come. These measures are for Marguerite’s safety, and for you all who are + in France at this moment. Comrade, I entreat you to look on these measures + as on my dying wish. To de Batz I have given rendezvous at the Chapelle of + the Holy Sepulchre, just outside the park of the Chateau d’Ourde. He will + help me to save the Dauphin, and if by good luck he also helps me to save + myself I shall be within seven leagues of Le Portel, and with the Liane + frozen as she is I could reach the coast. + </p> + <p> + But Marguerite’s safety I leave in your hands, Ffoulkes. Would that I + could look more clearly into the future, and know that those devils will + not drag her into danger. Beg her to start at once for Calais immediately + you have both read this. I only beg, I do not command. I know that you, + Ffoulkes, will stand by her whatever she may wish to do. God’s blessing be + for ever on you both. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite’s voice died away in the silence that still lay over this + deserted part of the great city and in this squalid house where she and + Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had found shelter these last ten days. The agony of + mind which they had here endured, never doubting, but scarcely ever + hoping, had found its culmination at last in this final message, which + almost seemed to come to them from the grave. + </p> + <p> + It had been written ten days ago. A plan had then apparently formed in + Percy’s mind which he had set forth during the brief half-hour’s respite + which those fiends had once given him. Since then they had never given him + ten consecutive minutes’ peace; since then ten days had gone by; how much + power, how much vitality had gone by too on the leaden wings of all those + terrible hours spent in solitude and in misery? + </p> + <p> + “We can but hope, Lady Blakeney,” said Sir Andrew Ffoulkes after a while, + “that you will be allowed out of Paris; but from what Armand says—” + </p> + <p> + “And Percy does not actually send me away,” she rejoined with a pathetic + little smile. + </p> + <p> + “No. He cannot compel you, Lady Blakeney. You are not a member of the + League.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I am!” she retorted firmly; “and I have sworn obedience, just as + all of you have done. I will go, just as he bids me, and you, Sir Andrew, + you will obey him too?” + </p> + <p> + “My orders are to stand by you. That is an easy task.” + </p> + <p> + “You know where this place is?” she asked—“the Chateau d’Ourde?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, we all know it! It is empty, and the park is a wreck; the owner + fled from it at the very outbreak of the revolution; he left some kind of + steward nominally in charge, a curious creature, half imbecile; the + chateau and the chapel in the forest just outside the grounds have oft + served Blakeney and all of us as a place of refuge on our way to the + coast.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Dauphin is not there?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No. According to the first letter which you brought me from Blakeney ten + days ago, and on which I acted, Tony, who has charge of the Dauphin, must + have crossed into Holland with his little Majesty to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she said simply. “But then—this letter to de Batz?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there I am completely at sea! But I’ll deliver it, and at once too, + only I don’t like to leave you. Will you let me get you out of Paris + first? I think just before dawn it could be done. We can get the cart from + Lucas, and if we could reach St. Germain before noon, I could come + straight back then and deliver the letter to de Batz. This, I feel, I + ought to do myself; but at Achard’s farm I would know that you were safe + for a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do whatever you think right, Sir Andrew,” she said simply; “my + will is bound up with Percy’s dying wish. God knows I would rather follow + him now, step by step,—as hostage, as prisoner—any way so long + as I can see him, but—” + </p> + <p> + She rose and turned to go, almost impassive now in that great calm born of + despair. + </p> + <p> + A stranger seeing her now had thought her indifferent. She was very pale, + and deep circles round her eyes told of sleepless nights and days of + mental misery, but otherwise there was not the faintest outward symptom of + that terrible anguish which was rending her heartstrings. Her lips did not + quiver, and the source of her tears had been dried up ten days ago. + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes and I’ll be ready, Sir Andrew,” she said. “I have but few + belongings. Will you the while see Lucas about the cart?” + </p> + <p> + He did as she desired. Her calm in no way deceived him; he knew that she + must be suffering keenly, and would suffer more keenly still while she + would be trying to efface her own personal feelings all through that + coming dreary journey to Calais. + </p> + <p> + He went to see the landlord about the horse and cart, and a quarter of an + hour later Marguerite came downstairs ready to start. She found Sir Andrew + in close converse with an officer of the Garde de Paris, whilst two + soldiers of the same regiment were standing at the horse’s head. + </p> + <p> + When she appeared in the doorway Sir Andrew came at once up to her. + </p> + <p> + “It is just as I feared, Lady Blakeney,” he said; “this man has been sent + here to take charge of you. Of course, he knows nothing beyond the fact + that his orders are to convey you at once to the guard-house of the Rue + Ste. Anne, where he is to hand you over to citizen Chauvelin of the + Committee of Public Safety.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew could not fail to see the look of intense relief which, in the + midst of all her sorrow, seemed suddenly to have lighted up the whole of + Marguerite’s wan face. The thought of wending her own way to safety whilst + Percy, mayhap, was fighting an uneven fight with death had been well-nigh + intolerable; but she had been ready to obey without a murmur. Now Fate and + the enemy himself had decided otherwise. She felt as if a load had been + lifted from her heart. + </p> + <p> + “I will at once go and find de Batz,” Sir Andrew contrived to whisper + hurriedly. “As soon as Percy’s letter is safely in his hands I will make + my way northwards and communicate with all the members of the League, on + whom the chief has so strictly enjoined to quit French soil immediately. + We will proceed to Calais first and open up communication with the + Day-Dream in the usual way. The others had best embark on board her, and + the skipper shall then make for the known spot of Le Portel, of which + Percy speaks in his letter. I myself will go by land to Le Portel, and + thence, if I have no news of you or of the expedition, I will slowly work + southwards in the direction of the Chateau d’Ourde. That is all that I can + do. If you can contrive to let Percy or even Armand know my movements, do + so by all means. I know that I shall be doing right, for, in a way, I + shall be watching over you and arranging for your safety, as Blakeney + begged me to do. God bless you, Lady Blakeney, and God save the Scarlet + Pimpernel!” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her hand, and she intimated to the officer that she + was ready. He had a hackney coach waiting for her lower down the street. + To it she walked with a firm step, and as she entered it she waved a last + farewell to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. ANNE + </h2> + <p> + The little cortege was turning out of the great gates of the house of + Justice. It was intensely cold; a bitter north-easterly gale was blowing + from across the heights of Montmartre, driving sleet and snow and + half-frozen rain into the faces of the men, and finding its way up their + sleeves, down their collars and round the knees of their threadbare + breeches. + </p> + <p> + Armand, whose fingers were numb with the cold, could scarcely feel the + reins in his hands. Chauvelin was riding close beside him, but the two men + had not exchanged one word since the moment when the small troop of some + twenty mounted soldiers had filed up inside the courtyard, and Chauvelin, + with a curt word of command, had ordered one of the troopers to take + Armand’s horse on the lead. + </p> + <p> + A hackney coach brought up the rear of the cortege, with a man riding at + either door and two more following at a distance of twenty paces. Heron’s + gaunt, ugly face, crowned with a battered, sugar-loaf hat, appeared from + time to time at the window of the coach. He was no horseman, and, + moreover, preferred to keep the prisoner closely under his own eye. The + corporal had told Armand that the prisoner was with citizen Heron inside + the coach—in irons. Beyond that the soldiers could tell him nothing; + they knew nothing of the object of this expedition. Vaguely they might + have wondered in their dull minds why this particular prisoner was thus + being escorted out of the Conciergerie prison with so much paraphernalia + and such an air of mystery, when there were thousands of prisoners in the + city and the provinces at the present moment who anon would be bundled up + wholesale into carts to be dragged to the guillotine like a flock of sheep + to the butchers. + </p> + <p> + But even if they wondered they made no remarks among themselves. Their + faces, blue with the cold, were the perfect mirrors of their own + unconquerable stolidity. + </p> + <p> + The tower clock of Notre Dame struck seven when the small cavalcade + finally moved slowly out of the monumental gates. In the east the wan + light of a February morning slowly struggled out of the surrounding gloom. + Now the towers of many churches loomed ghostlike against the dull grey + sky, and down below, on the right, the frozen river, like a smooth sheet + of steel, wound its graceful curves round the islands and past the facade + of the Louvres palace, whose walls looked grim and silent, like the + mausoleum of the dead giants of the past. + </p> + <p> + All around the great city gave signs of awakening; the business of the day + renewed its course every twenty-four hours, despite the tragedies of death + and of dishonour that walked with it hand in hand. From the Place de La + Revolution the intermittent roll of drums came from time to time with its + muffled sound striking the ear of the passer-by. Along the quay opposite + an open-air camp was already astir; men, women, and children engaged in + the great task of clothing and feeding the people of France, armed against + tyranny, were bending to their task, even before the wintry dawn had + spread its pale grey tints over the narrower streets of the city. + </p> + <p> + Armand shivered under his cloak. This silent ride beneath the leaden sky, + through the veil of half-frozen rain and snow, seemed like a dream to him. + And now, as the outriders of the little cavalcade turned to cross the Pont + au Change, he saw spread out on his left what appeared like the living + panorama of these three weeks that had just gone by. He could see the + house of the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois where Percy had lodged before he + carried through the rescue of the little Dauphin. Armand could even see + the window at which the dreamer had stood, weaving noble dreams that his + brilliant daring had turned into realities, until the hand of a traitor + had brought him down to—to what? Armand would not have dared at this + moment to look back at that hideous, vulgar hackney coach wherein that + proud, reckless adventurer, who had defied Fate and mocked Death, sat, in + chains, beside a loathsome creature whose very propinquity was an outrage. + </p> + <p> + Now they were passing under the very house on the Quai de La Ferraille, + above the saddler’s shop, the house where Marguerite had lodged ten days + ago, whither Armand had come, trying to fool himself into the belief that + the love of “little mother” could be deceived into blindness against his + own crime. He had tried to draw a veil before those eyes which he had + scarcely dared encounter, but he knew that that veil must lift one day, + and then a curse would send him forth, outlawed and homeless, a wanderer + on the face of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Soon as the little cortege wended its way northwards it filed out beneath + the walls of the Temple prison; there was the main gate with its sentry + standing at attention, there the archway with the guichet of the + concierge, and beyond it the paved courtyard. Armand closed his eyes + deliberately; he could not bear to look. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that he shivered and tried to draw his cloak closer around him. + Every stone, every street corner was full of memories. The chill that + struck to the very marrow of his bones came from no outward cause; it was + the very hand of remorse that, as it passed over him, froze the blood in + his veins and made the rattle of those wheels behind him sound like a + hellish knell. + </p> + <p> + At last the more closely populated quarters of the city were left behind. + On ahead the first section of the guard had turned into the Rue St. Anne. + The houses became more sparse, intersected by narrow pieces of terrains + vagues, or small weed-covered bits of kitchen garden. + </p> + <p> + Then a halt was called. + </p> + <p> + It was quite light now. As light as it would ever be beneath this leaden + sky. Rain and snow still fell in gusts, driven by the blast. + </p> + <p> + Some one ordered Armand to dismount. It was probably Chauvelin. He did as + he was told, and a trooper led him to the door of an irregular brick + building that stood isolated on the right, extended on either side by a + low wall, and surrounded by a patch of uncultivated land, which now looked + like a sea of mud. + </p> + <p> + On ahead was the line of fortifications dimly outlined against the grey of + the sky, and in between brown, sodden earth, with here and there a + detached house, a cabbage patch, a couple of windmills deserted and + desolate. + </p> + <p> + The loneliness of an unpopulated outlying quarter of the great mother + city, a useless limb of her active body, an ostracised member of her vast + family. + </p> + <p> + Mechanically Armand had followed the soldier to the door of the building. + Here Chauvelin was standing, and bade him follow. A smell of hot coffee + hung in the dark narrow passage in front. Chauvelin led the way to a room + on the left. + </p> + <p> + Still that smell of hot coffee. Ever after it was associated in Armand’s + mind with this awful morning in the guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne, when + the rain and snow beat against the windows, and he stood there in the low + guard-room shivering and half-numbed with cold. + </p> + <p> + There was a table in the middle of the room, and on it stood cups of hot + coffee. Chauvelin bade him drink, suggesting, not unkindly, that the warm + beverage would do him good. Armand advanced further into the room, and saw + that there were wooden benches all round against the wall. On one of these + sat his sister Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + When she saw him she made a sudden, instinctive movement to go to him, but + Chauvelin interposed in his usual bland, quiet manner. + </p> + <p> + “Not just now, citizeness,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She sat down again, and Armand noted how cold and stony seemed her eyes, + as if life within her was at a stand-still, and a shadow that was almost + like death had atrophied every emotion in her. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you have not suffered too much from the cold, Lady Blakeney,” + resumed Chauvelin politely; “we ought not to have kept you waiting here + for so long, but delay at departure is sometimes inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply, only acknowledging his reiterated inquiry as to her + comfort with an inclination of the head. + </p> + <p> + Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the moment he + felt less chilled. He held the cup between his two hands, and gradually + some warmth crept into his bones. + </p> + <p> + “Little mother,” he said in English, “try and drink some of this, it will + do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dear,” she replied. “I have had some. I am not cold.” + </p> + <p> + Then a door at the end of the room was pushed open, and Heron stalked in. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to be all day in this confounded hole?” he queried roughly. + </p> + <p> + Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she started at + the sight of the wretch, and seemed immediately to shrink still further + within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly luminous and dilated, rested on + him like those of a captive bird upon an approaching cobra. + </p> + <p> + But Chauvelin was not to be shaken out of his suave manner. + </p> + <p> + “One moment, citizen Heron,” he said; “this coffee is very comforting. Is + the prisoner with you?” he added lightly. + </p> + <p> + Heron nodded in the direction of the other room. + </p> + <p> + “In there,” he said curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Then, perhaps, if you will be so good, citizen, to invite him thither, I + could explain to him his future position and our own.” + </p> + <p> + Heron muttered something between his fleshy lips, then he turned back + towards the open door, solemnly spat twice on the threshold, and nodded + his gaunt head once or twice in a manner which apparently was understood + from within. + </p> + <p> + “No, sergeant, I don’t want you,” he said gruffly; “only the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + A second or two later Sir Percy Blakeney stood in the doorway; his hands + were behind his back, obviously hand-cuffed, but he held himself very + erect, though it was clear that this caused him a mighty effort. As soon + as he had crossed the threshold his quick glance had swept right round the + room. + </p> + <p> + He saw Armand, and his eyes lit up almost imperceptibly. + </p> + <p> + Then he caught sight of Marguerite, and his pale face took on suddenly a + more ashen hue. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin was watching him with those keen, light-coloured eyes of his. + Blakeney, conscious of this, made no movement, only his lips tightened, + and the heavy lids fell over the hollow eyes, completely hiding their + glance. + </p> + <p> + But what even the most astute, most deadly enemy could not see was that + subtle message of understanding that passed at once between Marguerite and + the man she loved; it was a magnetic current, intangible, invisible to all + save to her and to him. She was prepared to see him, prepared to see in + him all that she had feared; the weakness, the mental exhaustion, the + submission to the inevitable. Therefore she had also schooled her glance + to express to him all that she knew she would not be allowed to say—the + reassurance that she had read his last letter, that she had obeyed it to + the last word, save where Fate and her enemy had interfered with regard to + herself. + </p> + <p> + With a slight, imperceptible movement—imperceptible to every one + save to him, she had seemed to handle a piece of paper in her kerchief, + then she had nodded slowly, with her eyes—steadfast, reassuring—fixed + upon him, and his glance gave answer that he had understood. + </p> + <p> + But Chauvelin and Heron had seen nothing of this. They were satisfied that + there had been no communication between the prisoner and his wife and + friend. + </p> + <p> + “You are no doubt surprised, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin after a while, “to + see Lady Blakeney here. She, as well as citizen St. Just, will accompany + our expedition to the place where you will lead us. We none of us know + where that place is—citizen Heron and myself are entirely in your + hands—you might be leading us to certain death, or again to a spot + where your own escape would be an easy matter to yourself. You will not be + surprised, therefore, that we have thought fit to take certain precautions + both against any little ambuscade which you may have prepared for us, or + against your making one of those daring attempts at escape for which the + noted Scarlet Pimpernel is so justly famous.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and only Heron’s low chuckle of satisfaction broke the + momentary silence that followed. Blakeney made no reply. Obviously he knew + exactly what was coming. He knew Chauvelin and his ways, knew the kind of + tortuous conception that would find origin in his brain; the moment that + he saw Marguerite sitting there he must have guessed that Chauvelin once + more desired to put her precious life in the balance of his intrigues. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Heron is impatient, Sir Percy,” resumed Chauvelin after a while, + “so I must be brief. Lady Blakeney, as well as citizen St. Just, will + accompany us on this expedition to whithersoever you may lead us. They + will be the hostages which we will hold against your own good faith. At + the slightest suspicion—a mere suspicion perhaps—that you have + played us false, at a hint that you have led us into an ambush, or that + the whole of this expedition has been but a trick on your part to effect + your own escape, or if merely our hope of finding Capet at the end of our + journey is frustrated, the lives of our two hostages belong to us, and + your friend and your wife will be summarily shot before your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Outside the rain pattered against the window-panes, the gale whistled + mournfully among the stunted trees, but within this room not a sound + stirred the deadly stillness of the air, and yet at this moment hatred and + love, savage lust and sublime self-abnegation—the most power full + passions the heart of man can know—held three men here enchained; + each a slave to his dominant passion, each ready to stake his all for the + satisfaction of his master. Heron was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said with a fierce oath, “what are we waiting for? The prisoner + knows how he stands. Now we can go.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, citizen,” interposed Chauvelin, his quiet manner contrasting + strangely with his colleague’s savage mood. “You have quite understood, + Sir Percy,” he continued, directly addressing the prisoner, “the + conditions under which we are all of us about to proceed on this journey?” + </p> + <p> + “All of us?” said Blakeney slowly. “Are you taking it for granted then + that I accept your conditions and that I am prepared to proceed on the + journey?” + </p> + <p> + “If you do not proceed on the journey,” cried Heron with savage fury, + “I’ll strangle that woman with my own hands—now!” + </p> + <p> + Blakeney looked at him for a moment or two through half-closed lids, and + it seemed then to those who knew him well, to those who loved him and to + the man who hated him, that the mighty sinews almost cracked with the + passionate desire to kill. Then the sunken eyes turned slowly to + Marguerite, and she alone caught the look—it was a mere flash, of a + humble appeal for pardon. + </p> + <p> + It was all over in a second; almost immediately the tension on the pale + face relaxed, and into the eyes there came that look of acceptance—nearly + akin to fatalism—an acceptance of which the strong alone are + capable, for with them it only comes in the face of the inevitable. + </p> + <p> + Now he shrugged his broad shoulders, and once more turning to Heron he + said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “You leave me no option in that case. As you have remarked before, citizen + Heron, why should we wait any longer? Surely we can now go.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. THE DREARY JOURNEY + </h2> + <p> + Rain! Rain! Rain! Incessant, monotonous and dreary! The wind had changed + round to the southwest. It blew now in great gusts that sent weird, + sighing sounds through the trees, and drove the heavy showers into the + faces of the men as they rode on, with heads bent forward against the + gale. + </p> + <p> + The rain-sodden bridles slipped through their hands, bringing out sores + and blisters on their palms; the horses were fidgety, tossing their heads + with wearying persistence as the wet trickled into their ears, or the + sharp, intermittent hailstones struck their sensitive noses. + </p> + <p> + Three days of this awful monotony, varied only by the halts at wayside + inns, the changing of troops at one of the guard-houses on the way, the + reiterated commands given to the fresh squad before starting on the next + lap of this strange, momentous way; and all the while, audible above the + clatter of horses’ hoofs, the rumbling of coach-wheels—two closed + carriages, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses; which were changed at + every halt. A soldier on each box urged them to a good pace to keep up + with the troopers, who were allowed to go at an easy canter or light + jog-trot, whatever might prove easiest and least fatiguing. And from time + to time Heron’s shaggy, gaunt head would appear at the window of one of + the coaches, asking the way, the distance to the next city or to the + nearest wayside inn; cursing the troopers, the coachman, his colleague and + every one concerned, blaspheming against the interminable length of the + road, against the cold and against the wet. + </p> + <p> + Early in the evening on the second day of the journey he had met with an + accident. The prisoner, who presumably was weak and weary, and not over + steady on his feet, had fallen up against him as they were both about to + re-enter the coach after a halt just outside Amiens, and citizen Heron had + lost his footing in the slippery mud of the road. His head came in violent + contact with the step, and his right temple was severely cut. Since then + he had been forced to wear a bandage across the top of his face, under his + sugar-loaf hat, which had added nothing to his beauty, but a great deal to + the violence of his temper. He wanted to push the men on, to force the + pace, to shorten the halts; but Chauvelin knew better than to allow + slackness and discontent to follow in the wake of over-fatigue. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers were always well rested and well fed, and though the delay + caused by long and frequent halts must have been just as irksome to him as + it was to Heron, yet he bore it imperturbably, for he would have had no + use on this momentous journey for a handful of men whose enthusiasm and + spirit had been blown away by the roughness of the gale, or drowned in the + fury of the constant downpour of rain. + </p> + <p> + Of all this Marguerite had been conscious in a vague, dreamy kind of way. + She seemed to herself like the spectator in a moving panoramic drama, + unable to raise a finger or to do aught to stop that final, inevitable + ending, the cataclysm of sorrow and misery that awaited her, when the + dreary curtain would fall on the last act, and she and all the other + spectators—Armand, Chauvelin, Heron, the soldiers—would slowly + wend their way home, leaving the principal actor behind the fallen + curtain, which never would be lifted again. + </p> + <p> + After that first halt in the guard-room of the Rue Ste. Anne she had been + bidden to enter a second hackney coach, which, followed the other at a + distance of fifty metres or so, and was, like that other, closely + surrounded by a squad of mounted men. + </p> + <p> + Armand and Chauvelin rode in this carriage with her; all day she sat + looking out on the endless monotony of the road, on the drops of rain that + pattered against the window-glass, and ran down from it like a perpetual + stream of tears. + </p> + <p> + There were two halts called during the day—one for dinner and one + midway through the afternoon—when she and Armand would step out of + the coach and be led—always with soldiers close around them—to + some wayside inn, where some sort of a meal was served, where the + atmosphere was close and stuffy and smelt of onion soup and of stale + cheese. + </p> + <p> + Armand and Marguerite would in most cases have a room to themselves, with + sentinels posted outside the door, and they would try and eat enough to + keep body and soul together, for they would not allow their strength to + fall away before the end of the journey was reached. + </p> + <p> + For the night halt—once at Beauvais and the second night at + Abbeville—they were escorted to a house in the interior of the city, + where they were accommodated with moderately clean lodgings. Sentinels, + however, were always at their doors; they were prisoners in all but name, + and had little or no privacy; for at night they were both so tired that + they were glad to retire immediately, and to lie down on the hard beds + that had been provided for them, even if sleep fled from their eyes, and + their hearts and souls were flying through the city in search of him who + filled their every thought. + </p> + <p> + Of Percy they saw little or nothing. In the daytime food was evidently + brought to him in the carriage, for they did not see him get down, and on + those two nights at Beauvais and Abbeville, when they caught sight of him + stepping out of the coach outside the gates of the barracks, he was so + surrounded by soldiers that they only saw the top of his head and his + broad shoulders towering above those of the men. + </p> + <p> + Once Marguerite had put all her pride, all her dignity by, and asked + citizen Chauvelin for news of her husband. + </p> + <p> + “He is well and cheerful, Lady Blakeney,” he had replied with his + sarcastic smile. “Ah!” he added pleasantly, “those English are remarkable + people. We, of Gallic breed, will never really understand them. Their + fatalism is quite Oriental in its quiet resignation to the decree of Fate. + Did you know, Lady Blakeney, that when Sir Percy was arrested he did not + raise a hand. I thought, and so did my colleague, that he would have + fought like a lion. And now, that he has no doubt realised that quiet + submission will serve him best in the end, he is as calm on this journey + as I am myself. In fact,” he concluded complacently, “whenever I have + succeeded in peeping into the coach I have invariably found Sir Percy + Blakeney fast asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “He—” she murmured, for it was so difficult to speak to this callous + wretch, who was obviously mocking her in her misery—“he—you—you + are not keeping him in irons?” + </p> + <p> + “No! Oh no!” replied Chauvelin with perfect urbanity. “You see, now that + we have you, Lady Blakeney, and citizen St. Just with us we have no reason + to fear that that elusive Pimpernel will spirit himself away.” + </p> + <p> + A hot retort had risen to Armand’s lips. The warm Latin blood in him + rebelled against this intolerable situation, the man’s sneers in the face + of Marguerite’s anguish. But her restraining, gentle hand had already + pressed his. What was the use of protesting, of insulting this brute, who + cared nothing for the misery which he had caused so long as he gained his + own ends? + </p> + <p> + And Armand held his tongue and tried to curb his temper, tried to + cultivate a little of that fatalism which Chauvelin had said was + characteristic of the English. He sat beside his sister, longing to + comfort her, yet feeling that his very presence near her was an outrage + and a sacrilege. She spoke so seldom to him, even when they were alone, + that at times the awful thought which had more than once found birth in + his weary brain became crystallised and more real. Did Marguerite guess? + Had she the slightest suspicion that the awful cataclysm to which they + were tending with every revolution of the creaking coach-wheels had been + brought about by her brother’s treacherous hand? + </p> + <p> + And when that thought had lodged itself quite snugly in his mind he began + to wonder whether it would not be far more simple, far more easy, to end + his miserable life in some manner that might suggest itself on the way. + When the coach crossed one of those dilapidated, parapetless bridges, over + abysses fifty metres deep, it might be so easy to throw open the carriage + door and to take one final jump into eternity. + </p> + <p> + So easy—but so damnably cowardly. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite’s near presence quickly brought him back to himself. His life + was no longer his own to do with as he pleased; it belonged to the chief + whom he had betrayed, to the sister whom he must endeavour to protect. + </p> + <p> + Of Jeanne now he thought but little. He had put even the memory of her by—tenderly, + like a sprig of lavender pressed between the faded leaves of his own + happiness. His hand was no longer fit to hold that of any pure woman—his + hand had on it a deep stain, immutable, like the brand of Cain. + </p> + <p> + Yet Marguerite beside him held his hand and together they looked out on + that dreary, dreary road and listened to of the patter of the rain and the + rumbling of the wheels of that other coach on ahead—and it was all + so dismal and so horrible, the rain, the soughing of the wind in the + stunted trees, this landscape of mud and desolation, this eternally grey + sky. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. THE HALT AT CRECY + </h2> + <p> + “Now, then, citizen, don’t go to sleep; this is Crecy, our last halt!” + </p> + <p> + Armand woke up from his last dream. They had been moving steadily on since + they left Abbeville soon after dawn; the rumble of the wheels, the swaying + and rocking of the carriage, the interminable patter of the rain had + lulled him into a kind of wakeful sleep. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin had already alighted from the coach. He was helping Marguerite + to descend. Armand shook the stiffness from his limbs and followed in the + wake of his sister. Always those miserable soldiers round them, with their + dank coats of rough blue cloth, and the red caps on their heads! Armand + pulled Marguerite’s hand through his arm, and dragged her with him into + the house. + </p> + <p> + The small city lay damp and grey before them; the rough pavement of the + narrow street glistened with the wet, reflecting the dull, leaden sky + overhead; the rain beat into the puddles; the slate-roofs shone in the + cold wintry light. + </p> + <p> + This was Crecy! The last halt of the journey, so Chauvelin had said. The + party had drawn rein in front of a small one-storied building that had a + wooden verandah running the whole length of its front. + </p> + <p> + The usual low narrow room greeted Armand and Marguerite as they entered; + the usual mildewed walls, with the colour wash flowing away in streaks + from the unsympathetic beam above; the same device, “Liberte, Egalite, + Fraternite!” scribbled in charcoal above the black iron stove; the usual + musty, close atmosphere, the usual smell of onion and stale cheese, the + usual hard straight benches and central table with its soiled and tattered + cloth. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite seemed dazed and giddy; she had been five hours in that stuffy + coach with nothing to distract her thoughts except the rain-sodden + landscape, on which she had ceaselessly gazed since the early dawn. + </p> + <p> + Armand led her to the bench, and she sank down on it, numb and inert, + resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “If it were only all over!” she sighed involuntarily. “Armand, at times + now I feel as if I were not really sane—as if my reason had already + given way! Tell me, do I seem mad to you at times?” + </p> + <p> + He sat down beside her and tried to chafe her little cold hands. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for permission + Chauvelin entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “My humble apologies to you, Lady Blakeney,” he said in his usual suave + manner, “but our worthy host informs me that this is the only room in + which he can serve a meal. Therefore I am forced to intrude my presence + upon you.” + </p> + <p> + Though he spoke with outward politeness, his tone had become more + peremptory, less bland, and he did not await Marguerite’s reply before he + sat down opposite to her and continued to talk airily. + </p> + <p> + “An ill-conditioned fellow, our host,” he said—“quite reminds me of + our friend Brogard at the Chat Gris in Calais. You remember him, Lady + Blakeney?” + </p> + <p> + “My sister is giddy and over-tired,” interposed Armand firmly. “I pray + you, citizen, to have some regard for her.” + </p> + <p> + “All regard in the world, citizen St. Just,” protested Chauvelin jovially. + “Methought that those pleasant reminiscences would cheer her. Ah! here + comes the soup,” he added, as a man in blue blouse and breeches, with + sabots on his feet, slouched into the room, carrying a tureen which he + incontinently placed upon the table. “I feel sure that in England Lady + Blakeney misses our excellent croutes-au-pot, the glory of our bourgeois + cookery—Lady Blakeney, a little soup?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, sir,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Do try and eat something, little mother,” Armand whispered in her ear; + “try and keep up your strength for his sake, if not for mine.” + </p> + <p> + She turned a wan, pale face to him, and tried to smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try, dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You have taken bread and meat to the citizens in the coach?” Chauvelin + called out to the retreating figure of mine host. + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted the latter in assent. + </p> + <p> + “And see that the citizen soldiers are well fed, or there will be + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted the man again. After which he banged the door to behind + him. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight,” explained + Chauvelin lightly, “now that we have reached the last, most important + stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy’s mid-day meal in the + interior of the coach.” + </p> + <p> + He ate his soup with a relish, ostentatiously paying many small attentions + to Marguerite all the time. He ordered meat for her—bread, butter—asked + if any dainties could be got. He was apparently in the best of tempers. + </p> + <p> + After he had eaten and drunk he rose and bowed ceremoniously to her. + </p> + <p> + “Your pardon, Lady Blakeney,” he said, “but I must confer with the + prisoner now, and take from him full directions for the continuance of our + journey. After that I go to the guard-house, which is some distance from + here, right at the other end of the city. We pick up a fresh squad here, + twenty hardened troopers from a cavalry regiment usually stationed at + Abbeville. They have had work to do in this town, which is a hot-bed of + treachery. I must go inspect the men and the sergeant who will be in + command. Citizen Heron leaves all these inspections to me; he likes to + stay by his prisoner. In the meanwhile you will be escorted back to your + coach, where I pray you to await my arrival, when we change guard first, + then proceed on our way.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite was longing to ask him many questions; once again she would + have smothered her pride and begged for news of her husband, but Chauvelin + did not wait. He hurried out of the room, and Armand and Marguerite could + hear him ordering the soldiers to take them forthwith back to the coach. + </p> + <p> + As they came out of the inn they saw the other coach some fifty metres + further up the street. The horses that had done duty since leaving + Abbeville had been taken out, and two soldiers in ragged shirts, and with + crimson caps set jauntily over their left ear, were leading the two fresh + horses along. The troopers were still mounting guard round both the + coaches; they would be relieved presently. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite would have given ten years of her life at this moment for the + privilege of speaking to her husband, or even of seeing him—of + seeing that he was well. A quick, wild plan sprang up in her mind that she + would bribe the sergeant in command to grant her wish while citizen + Chauvelin was absent. The man had not an unkind face, and he must be very + poor—people in France were very poor these days, though the rich had + been robbed and luxurious homes devastated ostensibly to help the poor. + </p> + <p> + She was about to put this sudden thought into execution when Heron’s + hideous face, doubly hideous now with that bandage of doubtful cleanliness + cutting across his brow, appeared at the carriage window. + </p> + <p> + He cursed violently and at the top of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What are those d—d aristos doing out there?” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Just getting into the coach, citizen,” replied the sergeant promptly. + </p> + <p> + And Armand and Marguerite were immediately ordered back into the coach. + </p> + <p> + Heron remained at the window for a few moments longer; he had a toothpick + in his hand which he was using very freely. + </p> + <p> + “How much longer are we going to wait in this cursed hole?” he called out + to the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Only a few moments longer, citizen. Citizen Chauvelin will be back soon + with the guard.” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later the clatter of cavalry horses on the rough, + uneven pavement drew Marguerite’s attention. She lowered the carriage + window and looked out. Chauvelin had just returned with the new escort. He + was on horseback; his horse’s bridle, since he was but an indifferent + horseman, was held by one of the troopers. + </p> + <p> + Outside the inn he dismounted; evidently he had taken full command of the + expedition, and scarcely referred to Heron, who spent most of his time + cursing at the men or the weather when he was not lying half-asleep and + partially drunk in the inside of the carriage. + </p> + <p> + The changing of the guard was now accomplished quietly and in perfect + order. The new escort consisted of twenty mounted men, including a + sergeant and a corporal, and of two drivers, one for each coach. The + cortege now was filed up in marching order; ahead a small party of scouts, + then the coach with Marguerite and Armand closely surrounded by mounted + men, and at a short distance the second coach with citizen Heron and the + prisoner equally well guarded. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin superintended all the arrangements himself. He spoke for some + few moments with the sergeant, also with the driver of his own coach. He + went to the window of the other carriage, probably in order to consult + with citizen Heron, or to take final directions from the prisoner, for + Marguerite, who was watching him, saw him standing on the step and leaning + well forward into the interior, whilst apparently he was taking notes on a + small tablet which he had in his hand. + </p> + <p> + A small knot of idlers had congregated in the narrow street; men in + blouses and boys in ragged breeches lounged against the verandah of the + inn and gazed with inexpressive, stolid eyes on the soldiers, the coaches, + the citizen who wore the tricolour scarf. They had seen this sort of thing + before now—aristos being conveyed to Paris under arrest, prisoners + on their way to or from Amiens. They saw Marguerite’s pale face at the + carriage window. It was not the first woman’s face they had seen under + like circumstances, and there was no special interest about this aristo. + They were smoking or spitting, or just lounging idly against the + balustrade. Marguerite wondered if none of them had wife, sister, or + mother, or child; if every sympathy, every kind of feeling in these poor + wretches had been atrophied by misery or by fear. + </p> + <p> + At last everything was in order and the small party ready to start. + </p> + <p> + “Does any one here know the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, close by the + park of the Chateau d’Ourde?” asked Chauvelin, vaguely addressing the knot + of gaffers that stood closest to him. + </p> + <p> + The men shook their heads. Some had dimly heard of the Chateau d’Ourde; it + was some way in the interior of the forest of Boulogne, but no one knew + about a chapel; people did not trouble about chapels nowadays. With the + indifference so peculiar to local peasantry, these men knew no more of the + surrounding country than the twelve or fifteen league circle that was + within a walk of their sleepy little town. + </p> + <p> + One of the scouts on ahead turned in his saddle and spoke to citizen + Chauvelin: + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the way pretty well; citizen Chauvelin,” he said; “at any + rate, I know it as far as the forest of Boulogne.” + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin referred to his tablets. + </p> + <p> + “That’s good,” he said; “then when you reach the mile-stone that stands on + this road at the confine of the forest, bear sharply to your right and + skirt the wood until you see the hamlet of—Le—something. Le—Le—yes—Le + Crocq—that’s it in the valley below.” + </p> + <p> + “I know Le Crocq, I think,” said the trooper. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then; at that point it seems that a wide road strikes at right + angles into the interior of the forest; you follow that until a stone + chapel with a colonnaded porch stands before you on your left, and the + walls and gates of a park on your right. That is so, is it not, Sir + Percy?” he added, once more turning towards the interior of the coach. + </p> + <p> + Apparently the answer satisfied him, for he gave the quick word of + command, “En avant!” then turned back towards his own coach and finally + entered it. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the Chateau d’Ourde, citizen St. Just?” he asked abruptly as + soon as the carriage began to move. + </p> + <p> + Armand woke—as was habitual with him these days—from some + gloomy reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen,” he replied. “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know it too.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, he knew the chateau well, and the little chapel in the forest, + whither the fisher-folk from Portel and Boulogne came on a pilgrimage once + a year to lay their nets on the miracle-working relic. The chapel was + disused now. Since the owner of the chateau had fled no one had tended it, + and the fisher-folk were afraid to wander out, lest their superstitious + faith be counted against them by the authorities, who had abolished le bon + Dieu. + </p> + <p> + But Armand had found refuge there eighteen months ago, on his way to + Calais, when Percy had risked his life in order to save him—Armand—from + death. He could have groaned aloud with the anguish of this recollection. + But Marguerite’s aching nerves had thrilled at the name. + </p> + <p> + The Chateau d’Ourde! The Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre! That was the place + which Percy had mentioned in his letter, the place where he had given + rendezvous to de Batz. Sir Andrew had said that the Dauphin could not + possibly be there, yet Percy was leading his enemies thither, and had + given the rendezvous there to de Batz. And this despite that whatever + plans, whatever hopes, had been born in his mind when he was still immured + in the Conciergerie prison must have been set at naught by the clever + counter plot of Chauvelin and Heron. + </p> + <p> + “At the merest suspicion that you have played us false, at a hint that you + have led us into an ambush, or if merely our hopes of finding Capet at the + end of the journey are frustrated, the lives of your wife and of your + friend are forfeit to us, and they will both be shot before your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + With these words, with this precaution, those cunning fiends had + effectually not only tied the schemer’s hands, but forced him either to + deliver the child to them or to sacrifice his wife and his friend. + </p> + <p> + The impasse was so horrible that she could not face it even in her + thoughts. A strange, fever-like heat coursed through her veins, yet left + her hands icy-cold; she longed for, yet dreaded, the end of the journey—that + awful grappling with the certainty of coming death. Perhaps, after all, + Percy, too, had given up all hope. Long ago he had consecrated his life to + the attainment of his own ideals; and there was a vein of fatalism in him; + perhaps he had resigned himself to the inevitable, and his only desire now + was to give up his life, as he had said, in the open, beneath God’s sky, + to draw his last breath with the storm-clouds tossed through infinity + above him, and the murmur of the wind in the trees to sing him to rest. + </p> + <p> + Crecy was gradually fading into the distance, wrapped in a mantle of damp + and mist. For a long while Marguerite could see the sloping slate roofs + glimmering like steel in the grey afternoon light, and the quaint church + tower with its beautiful lantern, through the pierced stonework of which + shone patches of the leaden sky. + </p> + <p> + Then a sudden twist of the road hid the city from view; only the outlying + churchyard remained in sight, with its white monuments and granite + crosses, over which the dark yews, wet with the rain and shaken by the + gale, sent showers of diamond-like sprays. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE + </h2> + <p> + Progress was not easy, and very slow along the muddy road; the two coaches + moved along laboriously, with wheels creaking and sinking deeply from time + to time in the quagmire. + </p> + <p> + When the small party finally reached the edge of the wood the greyish + light of this dismal day had changed in the west to a dull reddish glow—a + glow that had neither brilliance nor incandescence in it; only a weird + tint that hung over the horizon and turned the distance into lines of + purple. + </p> + <p> + The nearness of the sea made itself already felt; there was a briny taste + in the damp atmosphere, and the trees all turned their branches away in + the same direction against the onslaught of the prevailing winds. + </p> + <p> + The road at this point formed a sharp fork, skirting the wood on either + side, the forest lying like a black close mass of spruce and firs on the + left, while the open expanse of country stretched out on the right. The + south-westerly gale struck with full violence against the barrier of + forest trees, bending the tall crests of the pines and causing their small + dead branches to break and fall with a sharp, crisp sound like a cry of + pain. + </p> + <p> + The squad had been fresh at starting; now the men had been four hours in + the saddle under persistent rain and gusty wind; they were tired, and the + atmosphere of the close, black forest so near the road was weighing upon + their spirits. + </p> + <p> + Strange sounds came to them from out the dense network of trees—the + screeching of night-birds, the weird call of the owls, the swift and + furtive tread of wild beasts on the prowl. The cold winter and lack of + food had lured the wolves from their fastnesses—hunger had + emboldened them, and now, as gradually the grey light fled from the sky, + dismal howls could be heard in the distance, and now and then a pair of + eyes, bright with the reflection of the lurid western glow, would shine + momentarily out of the darkness like tiny glow-worms, and as quickly + vanish away. + </p> + <p> + The men shivered—more with vague superstitious fear than with cold. + They would have urged their horses on, but the wheels of the coaches stuck + persistently in the mud, and now and again a halt had to be called so that + the spokes and axles might be cleared. + </p> + <p> + They rode on in silence. No one had a mind to speak, and the mournful + soughing of the wind in the pine-trees seemed to check the words on every + lip. The dull thud of hoofs in the soft road, the clang of steel bits and + buckles, the snorting of the horses alone answered the wind, and also the + monotonous creaking of the wheels ploughing through the ruts. + </p> + <p> + Soon the ruddy glow in the west faded into soft-toned purple and then into + grey; finally that too vanished. Darkness was drawing in on every side + like a wide, black mantle pulled together closer and closer overhead by + invisible giant hands. + </p> + <p> + The rain still fell in a thin drizzle that soaked through caps and coats, + made the bridles slimy and the saddles slippery and damp. A veil of vapour + hung over the horses’ cruppers, and was rendered fuller and thicker every + moment with the breath that came from their nostrils. The wind no longer + blew with gusty fury—its strength seemed to have been spent with the + grey light of day—but now and then it would still come sweeping + across the open country, and dash itself upon the wall of forest trees, + lashing against the horses’ ears, catching the corner of a mantle here, an + ill-adjusted cap there, and wreaking its mischievous freak for a while, + then with a sigh of satisfaction die, murmuring among the pines. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from the + drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his head out of the carriage window. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The scouts, citizen,” replied the sergeant, who had been riding close to + the coach door all this while; “they have returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell one man to come straight to me and report.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live + momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt neither + fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting of the horse close + by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside the carriage door. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Chauvelin curtly. + </p> + <p> + “This is the cross-road, citizen,” replied the man; “it strikes straight + into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in the valley on the + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you follow the road in the wood?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a + small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling among the trees. + Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wrought-iron gates at + the corner, and from these a wide drive leads through a park.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you turn into the drive?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that all + is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw no one?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “The chateau, then, lies some distance from the gates?” + </p> + <p> + “A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are outhouses and + stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with your men + now, but only some two hundred metres or so. Stay!” he added, as if on + second thoughts. “Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if we + are on the right track.” + </p> + <p> + The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heard-the clang of + metal and the sound of retreating hoofs. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later the man returned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen,” he reported, “the prisoner says it is quite right. The + Chateau d’Ourde lies a full league from its gates. This is the nearest + road to the chapel and the chateau. He says we should reach the former in + half an hour. It will be very dark in there,” he added with a significant + nod in the direction of the wood. + </p> + <p> + Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach. Marguerite + watched him, leaning out of the window, following his small trim figure as + he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men, catching at a horse’s + bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for himself amongst the + restless, champing animals, without the slightest hesitation or fear. + </p> + <p> + Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against the + evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil of vapour which was blown out of + the horses’ nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers; it became more + vague, almost ghost-like, through the mist and the fast-gathering gloom. + </p> + <p> + Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she + could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called to citizen + Heron. + </p> + <p> + “We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen,” she heard him say. + “If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet should be in our + charge within the hour.” + </p> + <p> + A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the + forest answered him. + </p> + <p> + “If he is not,” and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen Heron—“if + he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in this wood tomorrow for the + wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way back to Paris with + me.” + </p> + <p> + Some one laughed. It might have been one of the troopers, more callous + than his comrades, but to Marguerite the laugh had a strange, familiar + ring in it, the echo of something long since past and gone. + </p> + <p> + Then Chauvelin’s voice once more came clearly to her ear: + </p> + <p> + “My suggestion, citizen,” he was saying, “is that the prisoner shall now + give me an order—couched in whatever terms he may think necessary—but + a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without any + resistance. I could then take some of the men with me, and ride as quickly + as the light will allow up to the chateau, and take possession of it, of + Capet, and of those who are with him. We could get along faster thus. One + man can give up his horse to me and continue the journey on the box of + your coach. The two carriages could then follow at foot pace. But I fear + that if we stick together complete darkness will overtake us and we might + find ourselves obliged to pass a very uncomfortable night in this wood.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t spend another night in this suspense—it would kill me,” + growled Heron to the accompaniment of one of his choicest oaths. “You must + do as you think right—you planned the whole of this affair—see + to it that it works out well in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “How many men shall I take with me? Our advance guard is here, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t spare you more than four more men—I shall want the + others to guard the prisoners.” + </p> + <p> + “Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance guard. + That will leave you twelve men for guarding your prisoners, and you really + only need to guard the woman—her life will answer for the others.” + </p> + <p> + He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending that + Marguerite and Armand should hear. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll ahead,” he continued, apparently in answer to an assent from + his colleague. “Sir Percy, will you be so kind as to scribble the + necessary words on these tablets?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the long and + dismal cry of a night bird that, mayhap, was seeking its mate. Then + Chauvelin’s voice was raised again. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,” he said; “this certainly should be quite effectual. And + now, citizen Heron, I do not think that under the circumstances we need + fear an ambuscade or any kind of trickery—you hold the hostages. And + if by any chance I and my men are attacked, or if we encounter armed + resistance at the chateau, I will despatch a rider back straightway to + you, and—well, you will know what to do.” + </p> + <p> + His voice died away, merged in the soughing of the wind, drowned by the + clang of metal, of horses snorting, of men living and breathing. + Marguerite felt that beside her Armand had shuddered, and that in the + darkness his trembling hand had sought and found hers. + </p> + <p> + She leaned well out of the window, trying to see. The gloom had gathered + more closely in, and round her the veil of vapour from the horses’ + steaming cruppers hung heavily in the misty air. In front of her the + straight lines of a few fir trees stood out dense and black against the + greyness beyond, and between these lines purple tints of various tones and + shades mingled one with the other, merging the horizon line with the sky. + Here and there a more solid black patch indicated the tiny houses of the + hamlet of Le Crocq far down in the valley below; from some of these houses + small lights began to glimmer like blinking yellow eyes. Marguerite’s + gaze, however, did not rest on the distant landscape—it tried to + pierce the gloom that hid her immediate surroundings; the mounted men were + all round the coach—more closely round her than the trees in the + forest. But the horses were restless, moving all the time, and as they + moved she caught glimpses of that other coach and of Chauvelin’s ghostlike + figure, walking rapidly through the mist. Just for one brief moment she + saw the other coach, and Heron’s head and shoulders leaning out of the + window. His sugar-loaf hat was on his head, and the bandage across his + brow looked like a sharp, pale streak below it. + </p> + <p> + “Do not doubt it, citizen Chauvelin,” he called out loudly in his harsh, + raucous voice, “I shall know what to do; the wolves will have their meal + to-night, and the guillotine will not be cheated either.” + </p> + <p> + Armand put his arm round his sister’s shoulders and gently drew her back + into the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Little mother,” he said, “if you can think of a way whereby my life would + redeem Percy’s and yours, show me that way now.” + </p> + <p> + But she replied quietly and firmly: + </p> + <p> + “There is no way, Armand. If there is, it is in the hands of God.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI. OTHERS IN THE PARK + </h2> + <p> + Chauvelin and his picked escort had in the meanwhile detached themselves + from the main body of the squad. Soon the dull thud of their horses’ hoofs + treading the soft ground came more softly—then more softly still as + they turned into the wood, and the purple shadows seemed to enfold every + sound and finally to swallow them completely. + </p> + <p> + Armand and Marguerite from the depth of the carriage heard Heron’s voice + ordering his own driver now to take the lead. They sat quite still and + watched, and presently the other coach passed them slowly on the road, its + silhouette standing out ghostly and grim for a moment against the indigo + tones of the distant country. + </p> + <p> + Heron’s head, with its battered sugar-loaf hat, and the soiled bandage + round the brow, was as usual out of the carriage window. He leered across + at Marguerite when he saw the outline of her face framed by the window of + the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Say all the prayers you have ever known, citizeness,” he said with a loud + laugh, “that my friend Chauvelin may find Capet at the chateau, or else + you may take a last look at the open country, for you will not see the sun + rise on it to-morrow. It is one or the other, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She tried not to look at him; the very sight of him filled her with horror—that + blotched, gaunt face of his, the fleshy lips, that hideous bandage across + his face that hid one of his eyes! She tried not to see him and not to + hear him laugh. + </p> + <p> + Obviously he too laboured under the stress of great excitement. So far + everything had gone well; the prisoner had made no attempt at escape, and + apparently did not mean to play a double game. But the crucial hour had + come, and with it darkness and the mysterious depths of the forest with + their weird sounds and sudden flashes of ghostly lights. They naturally + wrought on the nerves of men like Heron, whose conscience might have been + dormant, but whose ears were nevertheless filled with the cries of + innocent victims sacrificed to their own lustful ambitions and their + blind, unreasoning hates. + </p> + <p> + He gave sharp orders to the men to close up round the carriages, and then + gave the curt word of command: + </p> + <p> + “En avant!” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite could but strain her ears to listen. All her senses, all her + faculties had merged into that of hearing, rendering it doubly keen. It + seemed to her that she could distinguish the faint sound—that even + as she listened grew fainter and fainter yet—of Chauvelin and his + squad moving away rapidly into the thickness of the wood some distance + already ahead. + </p> + <p> + Close to her there was the snorting of horses, the clanging and noise of + moving mounted men. Heron’s coach had taken the lead; she could hear the + creaking of its wheels, the calls of the driver urging his beasts. + </p> + <p> + The diminished party was moving at foot-pace in the darkness that seemed + to grow denser at every step, and through that silence which was so full + of mysterious sounds. + </p> + <p> + The carriage rolled and rocked on its springs; Marguerite, giddy and + overtired, lay back with closed eyes, her hand resting in that of Armand. + Time, space and distance had ceased to be; only Death, the great Lord of + all, had remained; he walked on ahead, scythe on skeleton shoulder, and + beckoned patiently, but with a sure, grim hand. + </p> + <p> + There was another halt, the coach-wheels groaned and creaked on their + axles, one or two horses reared with the sudden drawing up of the curb. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” came Heron’s hoarse voice through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “It is pitch-dark, citizen,” was the response from ahead. “The drivers + cannot see their horses’ ears. They wait to know if they may light their + lanthorns and then lead their horses.” + </p> + <p> + “They can lead their horses,” replied Heron roughly, “but I’ll have no + lanthorns lighted. We don’t know what fools may be lurking behind trees, + hoping to put a bullet through my head—or yours, sergeant—we + don’t want to make a lighted target of ourselves—what? But let the + drivers lead their horses, and one or two of you who are riding greys + might dismount too and lead the way—the greys would show up perhaps + in this cursed blackness.” + </p> + <p> + While his orders were being carried out, he called out once more: + </p> + <p> + “Are we far now from that confounded chapel?” + </p> + <p> + “We can’t be far, citizen; the whole forest is not more than six leagues + wide at any point, and we have gone two since we turned into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” Heron’s voice suddenly broke in hoarsely. “What was that? Silence, + I say. Damn you—can’t you hear?” + </p> + <p> + There was a hush—every ear straining to listen; but the horses were + not still—they continued to champ their bits, to paw the ground, and + to toss their heads, impatient to get on. Only now and again there would + come a lull even through these sounds—a second or two, mayhap, of + perfect, unbroken silence—and then it seemed as if right through the + darkness a mysterious echo sent back those same sounds—the champing + of bits, the pawing of soft ground, the tossing and snorting of animals, + human life that breathed far out there among the trees. + </p> + <p> + “It is citizen Chauvelin and his men,” said the sergeant after a while, + and speaking in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Silence—I want to hear,” came the curt, hoarsely-whispered command. + </p> + <p> + Once more every one listened, the men hardly daring to breathe, clinging + to their bridles and pulling on their horses’ mouths, trying to keep them + still, and again through the night there came like a faint echo which + seemed to throw back those sounds that indicated the presence of men and + of horses not very far away. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it must be citizen Chauvelin,” said Heron at last; but the tone of + his voice sounded as if he were anxious and only half convinced; “but I + thought he would be at the chateau by now.” + </p> + <p> + “He may have had to go at foot-pace; it is very dark, citizen Heron,” + remarked the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “En avant, then,” quoth the other; “the sooner we come up with him the + better.” + </p> + <p> + And the squad of mounted men, the two coaches, the drivers and the advance + section who were leading their horses slowly restarted on the way. The + horses snorted, the bits and stirrups clanged, and the springs and wheels + of the coaches creaked and groaned dismally as the ramshackle vehicles + began once more to plough the carpet of pine-needles that lay thick upon + the road. + </p> + <p> + But inside the carriage Armand and Marguerite held one another tightly by + the hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is de Batz—with his friends,” she whispered scarce above her + breath. + </p> + <p> + “De Batz?” he asked vaguely and fearfully, for in the dark he could not + see her face, and as he did not understand why she should suddenly be + talking of de Batz he thought with horror that mayhap her prophecy anent + herself had come true, and that her mind wearied and over-wrought—had + become suddenly unhinged. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, de Batz,” she replied. “Percy sent him a message, through me, to + meet him—here. I am not mad, Armand,” she added more calmly. “Sir + Andrew took Percy’s letter to de Batz the day that we started from Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” exclaimed Armand, and instinctively, with a sense of + protection, he put his arms round his sister. “Then, if Chauvelin or the + squad is attacked—if—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said calmly; “if de Batz makes an attack on Chauvelin, or if he + reaches the chateau first and tries to defend it, they will shoot us... + Armand, and Percy.” + </p> + <p> + “But is the Dauphin at the Chateau d’Ourde?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! I think not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why should Percy have invoked the aid of de Batz? Now, when—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she murmured helplessly. “Of course, when he wrote the + letter he could not guess that they would hold us as hostages. He may have + thought that under cover of darkness and of an unexpected attack he might + have saved himself had he been alone; but now—now that you and I are + here—Oh! it is all so horrible, and I cannot understand it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark!” broke in Armand, suddenly gripping her arm more tightly. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” rang the sergeant’s voice through the night. + </p> + <p> + This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from no far + distance. It was the sound of a man running and panting, and now and again + calling out as he ran. + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself was + hushed between two gusts, even the rain had ceased its incessant + pattering. Heron’s harsh voice was raised in the stillness. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “A runner, citizen,” replied the sergeant, “coming through the wood from + the right.” + </p> + <p> + “From the right?” and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley of + oaths; “the direction of the chateau? Chauvelin has been attacked; he is + sending a messenger back to me. Sergeant—sergeant, close up round + that coach; guard your prisoners as you value your life, and—” + </p> + <p> + The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury that the + horses, already over-nervous and fidgety, reared in mad terror, and the + men had the greatest difficulty in holding them in. For a few minutes + noisy confusion prevailed, until the men could quieten their quivering + animals with soft words and gentle pattings. + </p> + <p> + Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein brother and + sister sat huddled against one another. + </p> + <p> + One of the men said under his breath: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but the citizen agent knows how to curse! One day he will break his + gullet with the fury of his oaths.” + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile the runner had come nearer, always at the same breathless + speed. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he was challenged: + </p> + <p> + “Qui va la?” + </p> + <p> + “A friend!” he replied, panting and exhausted. “Where is citizen Heron?” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” came the reply in a voice hoarse with passionate excitement. “Come + up, damn you. Be quick!” + </p> + <p> + “A lanthorn, citizen,” suggested one of the drivers. + </p> + <p> + “No—no—not now. Here! Where the devil are we?” + </p> + <p> + “We are close to the chapel on our left, citizen,” said the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had drawn + nearer to the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “The gates of the chateau,” he said, still somewhat breathlessly, “are + just opposite here on the right, citizen. I have just come through them.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak up, man!” and Heron’s voice now sounded as if choked with passion. + “Citizen Chauvelin sent you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the chateau, and + that Capet is not there.” + </p> + <p> + A series of citizen Heron’s choicest oaths interrupted the man’s speech. + Then he was curtly ordered to proceed, and he resumed his report. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while he was + admitted by an old servant, who appeared to be in charge, but the place + seemed otherwise absolutely deserted—only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only what? Go on; what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being watched, + and followed. We heard distinctly the sound of horses behind and around + us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I ran back, again I heard. + There are others in the park to-night besides us, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence after that. It seemed as if the flood of Heron’s + blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at last. + </p> + <p> + “Others in the park!” And now his voice was scarcely above a whisper, + hoarse and trembling. “How many? Could you see?” + </p> + <p> + “No, citizen, we could not see; but there are horsemen lurking round the + chateau now. Citizen Chauvelin took four men into the house with him and + left the others on guard outside. He bade me tell you that it might be + safer to send him a few more men if you could spare them. There are a + number of disused farm buildings quite close to the gates, and he + suggested that all the horses be put up there for the night, and that the + men come up to the chateau on foot; it would be quicker and safer, for the + darkness is intense.” + </p> + <p> + Even while the man spoke the forest in the distance seemed to wake from + its solemn silence, the wind on its wings brought sounds of life and + movement different from the prowling of beasts or the screeching of + night-birds. It was the furtive advance of men, the quick whispers of + command, of encouragement, of the human animal preparing to attack his + kind. But all in the distance still, all muffled, all furtive as yet. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant!” It was Heron’s voice, but it too was subdued, and almost calm + now; “can you see the chapel?” + </p> + <p> + “More clearly, citizen,” replied the sergeant. “It is on our left; quite a + small building, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Then dismount, and walk all round it. See that there are no windows or + door in the rear.” + </p> + <p> + There was a prolonged silence, during which those distant sounds of men + moving, of furtive preparations for attack, struck distinctly through the + night. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite and Armand, clinging to one another, not knowing what to think, + nor yet what to fear, heard the sounds mingling with those immediately + round them, and Marguerite murmured under her breath: + </p> + <p> + “It is de Batz and some of his friends; but what can they do? What can + Percy hope for now?” + </p> + <p> + But of Percy she could hear and see nothing. The darkness and the silence + had drawn their impenetrable veil between his unseen presence and her own + consciousness. She could see the coach in which he was, but Heron’s + hideous personality, his head with its battered hat and soiled bandage, + had seemed to obtrude itself always before her gaze, blotting out from her + mind even the knowledge that Percy was there not fifty yards away from + her. + </p> + <p> + So strong did this feeling grow in her that presently the awful dread + seized upon her that he was no longer there; that he was dead, worn out + with fatigue and illness brought on by terrible privations, or if not dead + that he had swooned, that he was unconscious—his spirit absent from + his body. She remembered that frightful yell of rage and hate which Heron + had uttered a few minutes ago. Had the brute vented his fury on his + helpless, weakened prisoner, and stilled forever those lips that, mayhap, + had mocked him to the last? + </p> + <p> + Marguerite could not guess. She hardly knew what to hope. Vaguely, when + the thought of Percy lying dead beside his enemy floated through her + aching brain, she was almost conscious of a sense of relief at the thought + that at least he would be spared the pain of the final, inevitable + cataclysm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII. THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE + </h2> + <p> + The sergeant’s voice broke in upon her misery. + </p> + <p> + The man had apparently done as the citizen agent had ordered, and had + closely examined the little building that stood on the left—a vague, + black mass more dense than the surrounding gloom. + </p> + <p> + “It is all solid stone, citizen,” he said; “iron gates in front, closed + but not locked, rusty key in the lock, which turns quite easily; no + windows or door in the rear.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite certain, citizen; it is plain, solid stone at the back, and the + only possible access to the interior is through the iron gate in front.” + </p> + <p> + “Good.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite could only just hear Heron speaking to the sergeant. Darkness + enveloped every form and deadened every sound. Even the harsh voice which + she had learned to loathe and to dread sounded curiously subdued and + unfamiliar. Heron no longer seemed inclined to storm, to rage, or to + curse. The momentary danger, the thought of failure, the hope of revenge, + had apparently cooled his temper, strengthened his determination, and + forced his voice down to a little above a whisper. He gave his orders + clearly and firmly, and the words came to Marguerite on the wings of the + wind with strange distinctness, borne to her ears by the darkness itself, + and the hush that lay over the wood. + </p> + <p> + “Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant,” she heard him say, “and join + citizen Chauvelin at the chateau. You can stable your horses in the farm + buildings close by, as he suggests and run to him on foot. You and your + men should quickly get the best of a handful of midnight prowlers; you are + well armed and they only civilians. Tell citizen Chauvelin that I in the + meanwhile will take care of our prisoners. The Englishman I shall put in + irons and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the command of + your corporal to guard him, the other two I will drive myself straight to + Crecy with what is left of the escort. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “We may not reach Crecy until two hours after midnight, but directly I + arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin further reinforcements, which, + however, I hope may not necessary, but which will reach him in the early + morning. Even if he is seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he + will have with him, hold out inside the castle through the night. Tell him + also that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in the + courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy, but that whether he has got hold of + Capet or not he had best pick up the Englishman in the chapel in the + morning and bring him straight to Crecy, where I shall be awaiting him + ready to return to Paris. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “Then repeat what I said.” + </p> + <p> + “I am to take six men with me to reinforce citizen Chauvelin now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crecy, and will send us + further reinforcements from there, which will reach us in the early + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “We are to hold the chateau against those unknown marauders if necessary + until the reinforcements come from Crecy. Having routed them, we return + here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have locked up in the chapel + under a strong guard commanded by Corporal Cassard, and join you forthwith + at Crecy.” + </p> + <p> + “This, whether citizen Chauvelin has got hold of Capet or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen, I understand,” concluded the sergeant imperturbably; “and I + am also to tell citizen Chauvelin that the two prisoners will be shot at + dawn in the courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That is all. Try to find the leader of the attacking party, and + bring him along to Crecy with the Englishman; but unless they are in very + small numbers do not trouble about the others. Now en avant; citizen + Chauvelin might be glad of your help. And—stay—order all the + men to dismount, and take the horses out of one of the coaches, then let + the men you are taking with you each lead a horse, or even two, and stable + them all in the farm buildings. I shall not need them, and could not spare + any of my men for the work later on. Remember that, above all, silence is + the order. When you are ready to start, come back to me here.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the citizen + agent’s orders to the soldiers. The dismounting was carried on in + wonderful silence—for silence had been one of the principal commands—only + one or two words reached her ears. + </p> + <p> + “First section and first half of second section fall in, right wheel. + First section each take two horses on the lead. Quietly now there; don’t + tug at his bridle—let him go.” + </p> + <p> + And after that a simple report: + </p> + <p> + “All ready, citizen!” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” was the response. “Now detail your corporal and two men to come + here to me, so that we may put the Englishman in irons, and take him at + once to the chapel, and four men to stand guard at the doors of the other + coach.” + </p> + <p> + The necessary orders were given, and after that there came the curt + command: + </p> + <p> + “En avant!” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant, with his squad and all the horses, was slowly moving away in + the night. The horses’ hoofs hardly made a noise on the soft carpet of + pine-needles and of dead fallen leaves, but the champing of the bits was + of course audible, and now and then the snorting of some poor, tired horse + longing for its stable. + </p> + <p> + Somehow in Marguerite’s fevered mind this departure of a squad of men + seemed like the final flitting of her last hope; the slow agony of the + familiar sounds, the retreating horses and soldiers moving away amongst + the shadows, took on a weird significance. Heron had given his last + orders. Percy, helpless and probably unconscious, would spend the night in + that dank chapel, while she and Armand would be taken back to Crecy, + driven to death like some insentient animals to the slaughter. + </p> + <p> + When the grey dawn would first begin to peep through the branches of the + pines Percy would be led back to Paris and the guillotine, and she and + Armand will have been sacrificed to the hatred and revenge of brutes. + </p> + <p> + The end had come, and there was nothing more to be done. Struggling, + fighting, scheming, could be of no avail now; but she wanted to get to her + husband; she wanted to be near him now that death was so imminent both for + him and for her. + </p> + <p> + She tried to envisage it all, quite calmly, just as she knew that Percy + would wish her to do. The inevitable end was there, and she would not give + to these callous wretches here the gratuitous spectacle of a despairing + woman fighting blindly against adverse Fate. + </p> + <p> + But she wanted to go to her husband. She felt that she could face death + more easily on the morrow if she could but see him once, if she could but + look once more into the eyes that had mirrored so much enthusiasm, such + absolute vitality and whole-hearted self-sacrifice, and such an intensity + of love and passion; if she could but kiss once more those lips that had + smiled through life, and would smile, she knew, even in the face of death. + </p> + <p> + She tried to open the carriage door, but it was held from without, and a + harsh voice cursed her, ordering her to sit still. + </p> + <p> + But she could lean out of the window and strain her eyes to see. They were + by now accustomed to the gloom, the dilated pupils taking in pictures of + vague forms moving like ghouls in the shadows. The other coach was not + far, and she could hear Heron’s voice, still subdued and calm, and the + curses of the men. But not a sound from Percy. + </p> + <p> + “I think the prisoner is unconscious,” she heard one of the men say. + </p> + <p> + “Lift him out of the carriage, then,” was Heron’s curt command; “and you + go and throw open the chapel gates.” + </p> + <p> + Marguerite saw it all. The movement, the crowd of men, two vague, black + forms lifting another one, which appeared heavy and inert, out of the + coach, and carrying it staggering up towards the chapel. + </p> + <p> + Then the forms disappeared, swallowed up by the more dense mass of the + little building, merged in with it, immovable as the stone itself. + </p> + <p> + Only a few words reached her now. + </p> + <p> + “He is unconscious.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave him there, then; he’ll not move!” + </p> + <p> + “Now close the gates!” + </p> + <p> + There was a loud clang, and Marguerite gave a piercing scream. She tore at + the handle of the carriage door. + </p> + <p> + “Armand, Armand, go to him!” she cried; and all her self-control, all her + enforced calm, vanished in an outburst of wild, agonising passion. “Let me + get to him, Armand! This is the end; get me to him, in the name of God!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that woman screaming,” came Heron’s voice clearly through the night. + “Put her and the other prisoner in irons—quick!” + </p> + <p> + But while Marguerite expended her feeble strength in a mad, pathetic + effort to reach her husband, even now at this last hour, when all hope was + dead and Death was so nigh, Armand had already wrenched the carriage door + from the grasp of the soldier who was guarding it. He was of the South, + and knew the trick of charging an unsuspecting adversary with head thrust + forward like a bull inside a ring. Thus he knocked one of the soldiers + down and made a quick rush for the chapel gates. + </p> + <p> + The men, attacked so suddenly and in such complete darkness, did not wait + for orders. They closed in round Armand; one man drew his sabre and hacked + away with it in aimless rage. + </p> + <p> + But for the moment he evaded them all, pushing his way through them, not + heeding the blows that came on him from out the darkness. At last he + reached the chapel. With one bound he was at the gate, his numb fingers + fumbling for the lock, which he could not see. + </p> + <p> + It was a vigorous blow from Heron’s fist that brought him at last to his + knees, and even then his hands did not relax their hold; they gripped the + ornamental scroll of the gate, shook the gate itself in its rusty hinges, + pushed and pulled with the unreasoning strength of despair. He had a sabre + cut across his brow, and the blood flowed in a warm, trickling stream down + his face. But of this he was unconscious; all that he wanted, all that he + was striving for with agonising heart-beats and cracking sinews, was to + get to his friend, who was lying in there unconscious, abandoned—dead, + perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “Curse you,” struck Heron’s voice close to his ear. “Cannot some of you + stop this raving maniac?” + </p> + <p> + Then it was that the heavy blow on his head caused him a sensation of + sickness, and he fell on his knees, still gripping the ironwork. + </p> + <p> + Stronger hands than his were forcing him to loosen his hold; blows that + hurt terribly rained on his numbed fingers; he felt himself dragged away, + carried like an inert mass further and further from that gate which he + would have given his lifeblood to force open. + </p> + <p> + And Marguerite heard all this from the inside of the coach where she was + imprisoned as effectually as was Percy’s unconscious body inside that dark + chapel. She could hear the noise and scramble, and Heron’s hoarse + commands, the swift sabre strokes as they cut through the air. + </p> + <p> + Already a trooper had clapped irons on her wrists, two others held the + carriage doors. Now Armand was lifted back into the coach, and she could + not even help to make him comfortable, though as he was lifted in she + heard him feebly moaning. Then the carriage doors were banged to again. + </p> + <p> + “Do not allow either of the prisoners out again, on peril of your lives!” + came with a vigorous curse from Heron. + </p> + <p> + After which there was a moment’s silence; whispered commands came + spasmodically in deadened sound to her ear. + </p> + <p> + “Will the key turn?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “All secure?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, citizen. The prisoner is groaning.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him groan.” + </p> + <p> + “The empty coach, citizen? The horses have been taken out.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave it standing where it is, then; citizen Chauvelin will need it in + the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Armand,” whispered Marguerite inside the coach, “did you see Percy?” + </p> + <p> + “It was so dark,” murmured Armand feebly; “but I saw him, just inside the + gates, where they had laid him down. I heard him groaning. Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, dear!” she said. “We can do nothing more, only die, as he lived, + bravely and with a smile on our lips, in memory of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Number 35 is wounded, citizen,” said one of the men. + </p> + <p> + “Curse the fool who did the mischief,” was the placid response. “Leave him + here with the guard.” + </p> + <p> + “How many of you are there left, then?” asked the same voice a moment + later. + </p> + <p> + “Only two, citizen; if one whole section remains with me at the chapel + door, and also the wounded man.” + </p> + <p> + “Two are enough for me, and five are not too many at the chapel door.” And + Heron’s coarse, cruel laugh echoed against the stone walls of the little + chapel. “Now then, one of you get into the coach, and the other go to the + horses’ heads; and remember, Corporal Cassard, that you and your men who + stay here to guard that chapel door are answerable to the whole nation + with your lives for the safety of the Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage door was thrown open, and a soldier stepped in and sat down + opposite Marguerite and Armand. Heron in the meanwhile was apparently + scrambling up the box. Marguerite could hear him muttering curses as he + groped for the reins, and finally gathered them into his hand. + </p> + <p> + The springs of the coach creaked and groaned as the vehicle slowly swung + round; the wheels ploughed deeply through the soft carpet of dead leaves. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite felt Armand’s inert body leaning heavily against her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in pain, dear?” she asked softly. + </p> + <p> + He made no reply, and she thought that he had fainted. It was better so; + at least the next dreary hours would flit by for him in the blissful state + of unconsciousness. Now at last the heavy carriage began to move more + evenly. The soldier at the horses’ heads was stepping along at a rapid + pace. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite would have given much even now to look back once more at the + dense black mass, blacker and denser than any shadow that had ever + descended before on God’s earth, which held between its cold, cruel walls + all that she loved in the world. + </p> + <p> + But her wrists were fettered by the irons, which cut into her flesh when + she moved. She could no longer lean out of the window, and she could not + even hear. The whole forest was hushed, the wind was lulled to rest; wild + beasts and night-birds were silent and still. And the wheels of the coach + creaked in the ruts, bearing Marguerite with every turn further and + further away from the man who lay helpless in the chapel of the Holy + Sepulchre. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII. THE WANING MOON + </h2> + <p> + Armand had wakened from his attack of faintness, and brother and sister + sat close to one another, shoulder touching shoulder. That sense of + nearness was the one tiny spark of comfort to both of them on this dreary, + dreary way. + </p> + <p> + The coach had lumbered on unceasingly since all eternity—so it + seemed to them both. Once there had been a brief halt, when Heron’s rough + voice had ordered the soldier at the horses’ heads to climb on the box + beside him, and once—it had been a very little while ago—a + terrible cry of pain and terror had rung through the stillness of the + night. Immediately after that the horses had been put at a more rapid + pace, but it had seemed to Marguerite as if that one cry of pain had been + repeated by several others which sounded more feeble and soon appeared to + be dying away in the distance behind. + </p> + <p> + The soldier who sat opposite to them must have heard the cry too, for he + jumped up, as if wakened from sleep, and put his head out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that cry, citizen?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + But only a curse answered him, and a peremptory command not to lose sight + of the prisoners by poking his head out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear the cry?” asked the soldier of Marguerite as he made haste + to obey. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! What could it be?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It seems dangerous to drive so fast in this darkness,” muttered the + soldier. + </p> + <p> + After which remark he, with the stolidity peculiar to his kind, + figuratively shrugged his shoulders, detaching himself, as it were, of the + whole affair. + </p> + <p> + “We should be out of the forest by now,” he remarked in an undertone a + little while later; “the way seemed shorter before.” + </p> + <p> + Just then the coach gave an unexpected lurch to one side, and after much + groaning and creaking of axles and springs it came to a standstill, and + the citizen agent was heard cursing loudly and then scrambling down from + the box. + </p> + <p> + The next moment the carriage-door was pulled open from without, and the + harsh voice called out peremptorily: + </p> + <p> + “Citizen soldier, here—quick!—quick!—curse you!—we’ll + have one of the horses down if you don’t hurry!” + </p> + <p> + The soldier struggled to his feet; it was never good to be slow in obeying + the citizen agent’s commands. He was half-asleep and no doubt numb with + cold and long sitting still; to accelerate his movements he was suddenly + gripped by the arm and dragged incontinently out of the coach. + </p> + <p> + Then the door was slammed to again, either by a rough hand or a sudden + gust of wind, Marguerite could not tell; she heard a cry of rage and one + of terror, and Heron’s raucous curses. She cowered in the corner of the + carriage with Armand’s head against her shoulder, and tried to close her + ears to all those hideous sounds. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly all the sounds were hushed and all around everything became + perfectly calm and still—so still that at first the silence + oppressed her with a vague, nameless dread. It was as if Nature herself + had paused, that she might listen; and the silence became more and more + absolute, until Marguerite could hear Armand’s soft, regular breathing + close to her ear. + </p> + <p> + The window nearest to her was open, and as she leaned forward with that + paralysing sense of oppression a breath of pure air struck full upon her + nostrils and brought with it a briny taste as if from the sea. + </p> + <p> + It was not quite so dark; and there was a sense as of open country + stretching out to the limits of the horizon. Overhead a vague greyish + light suffused the sky, and the wind swept the clouds in great rolling + banks right across that light. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite gazed upward with a more calm feeling that was akin to + gratitude. That pale light, though so wan and feeble, was thrice welcome + after that inky blackness wherein shadows were less dark than the lights. + She watched eagerly the bank of clouds driven by the dying gale. + </p> + <p> + The light grew brighter and faintly golden, now the banks of clouds—storm-tossed + and fleecy—raced past one another, parted and reunited like veils of + unseen giant dancers waved by hands that controlled infinite space—advanced + and rushed and slackened speed again—united and finally torn asunder + to reveal the waning moon, honey-coloured and mysterious, rising as if + from an invisible ocean far away. + </p> + <p> + The wan pale light spread over the wide stretch of country, throwing over + it as it spread dull tones of indigo and of blue. Here and there sparse, + stunted trees with fringed gaunt arms bending to prevailing winds + proclaimed the neighbourhood of the sea. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite gazed on the picture which the waning moon had so suddenly + revealed; but she gazed with eyes that knew not what they saw. The moon + had risen on her right—there lay the east—and the coach must + have been travelling due north, whereas Crecy... + </p> + <p> + In the absolute silence that reigned she could perceive from far, very far + away, the sound of a church clock striking the midnight hour; and now it + seemed to her supersensitive senses that a firm footstep was treading the + soft earth, a footstep that drew nearer—and then nearer still. + </p> + <p> + Nature did pause to listen. The wind was hushed, the night-birds in the + forest had gone to rest. Marguerite’s heart beat so fast that its + throbbings choked her, and a dizziness clouded her consciousness. + </p> + <p> + But through this state of torpor she heard the opening of the carriage + door, she felt the onrush of that pure, briny air, and she felt a long, + burning kiss upon her hands. + </p> + <p> + She thought then that she was really dead, and that God in His infinite + love had opened to her the outer gates of Paradise. + </p> + <p> + “My love!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + She was leaning back in the carriage and her eyes were closed, but she + felt that firm fingers removed the irons from her wrists, and that a pair + of warm lips were pressed there in their stead. + </p> + <p> + “There, little woman, that’s better so—is it not? Now let me get + hold of poor old Armand!” + </p> + <p> + It was Heaven, of course, else how could earth hold such heavenly joy? + </p> + <p> + “Percy!” exclaimed Armand in an awed voice. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, dear!” murmured Marguerite feebly; “we are in Heaven you and I—” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon a ringing laugh woke the echoes of the silent night. + </p> + <p> + “In Heaven, dear heart!” And the voice had a delicious earthly ring in its + whole-hearted merriment. “Please God, you’ll both be at Portel with me + before dawn.” + </p> + <p> + Then she was indeed forced to believe. She put out her hands and groped + for him, for it was dark inside the carriage; she groped, and felt his + massive shoulders leaning across the body of the coach, while his fingers + busied themselves with the irons on Armand’s wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch that brute’s filthy coat with your dainty fingers, dear + heart,” he said gaily. “Great Lord! I have worn that wretch’s clothes for + over two hours; I feel as if the dirt had penetrated to my bones.” + </p> + <p> + Then with that gesture so habitual to him he took her head between his two + hands, and drawing her to him until the wan light from without lit up the + face that he worshipped, he gazed his fill into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She could only see the outline of his head silhouetted against the + wind-tossed sky; she could not see his eyes, nor his lips, but she felt + his nearness, and the happiness of that almost caused her to swoon. + </p> + <p> + “Come out into the open, my lady fair,” he murmured, and though she could + not see, she could feel that he smiled; “let God’s pure air blow through + your hair and round your dear head. Then, if you can walk so far, there’s + a small half-way house close by here. I have knocked up the none too + amiable host. You and Armand could have half an hour’s rest there before + we go further on our way.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Percy?—are you safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, m’dear, we are all of us safe until morning-time enough to reach Le + Portel, and to be aboard the Day-Dream before mine amiable friend M. + Chambertin has discovered his worthy colleague lying gagged and bound + inside the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. By Gad! how old Heron will curse—the + moment he can open his mouth!” + </p> + <p> + He half helped, half lifted her out of the carriage. The strong pure air + suddenly rushing right through to her lungs made her feel faint, and she + almost fell. But it was good to feel herself falling, when one pair of + arms amongst the millions on the earth were there to receive her. + </p> + <p> + “Can you walk, dear heart?” he asked. “Lean well on me—it is not + far, and the rest will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Percy—” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and the most complete joy of living seemed to resound through + that laugh. Her arm was in his, and for one moment he stood still while + his eyes swept the far reaches of the country, the mellow distance still + wrapped in its mantle of indigo, still untouched by the mysterious light + of the waning moon. + </p> + <p> + He pressed her arm against his heart, but his right hand was stretched out + towards the black wall of the forest behind him, towards the dark crests + of the pines in which the dying wind sent its last mournful sighs. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart,” he said, and his voice quivered with the intensity of his + excitement, “beyond the stretch of that wood, from far away over there, + there are cries and moans of anguish that come to my ear even now. But for + you, dear, I would cross that wood to-night and re-enter Paris to-morrow. + But for you, dear—but for you,” he reiterated earnestly as he + pressed her closer to him, for a bitter cry had risen to her lips. + </p> + <p> + She went on in silence. Her happiness was great—as great as was her + pain. She had found him again, the man whom she worshipped, the husband + whom she thought never to see again on earth. She had found him, and not + even now—not after those terrible weeks of misery and suffering + unspeakable—could she feel that love had triumphed over the wild, + adventurous spirit, the reckless enthusiasm, the ardour of self-sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX. THE LAND OF ELDORADO + </h2> + <p> + It seems that in the pocket of Heron’s coat there was a letter-case with + some few hundred francs. It was amusing to think that the brute’s money + helped to bribe the ill-tempered keeper of the half-way house to receive + guests at midnight, and to ply them well with food, drink, and the shelter + of a stuffy coffee-room. + </p> + <p> + Marguerite sat silently beside her husband, her hand in his. Armand, + opposite to them, had both elbows on the table. He looked pale and wan, + with a bandage across his forehead, and his glowing eyes were resting on + his chief. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! you demmed young idiot,” said Blakeney merrily, “you nearly upset my + plan in the end, with your yelling and screaming outside the chapel + gates.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to get to you, Percy. I thought those brutes had got you there + inside that building.” + </p> + <p> + “Not they!” he exclaimed. “It was my friend Heron whom they had trussed + and gagged, and whom my amiable friend M. Chambertin will find in there + to-morrow morning. By Gad! I would go back if only for the pleasure of + hearing Heron curse when first the gag is taken from his mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “But how was it all done, Percy? And there was de Batz—” + </p> + <p> + “De Batz was part of the scheme I had planned for mine own escape before I + knew that those brutes meant to take Marguerite and you as hostages for my + good behaviour. What I hoped then was that under cover of a tussle or a + fight I could somehow or other contrive to slip through their fingers. It + was a chance, and you know my belief in bald-headed Fortune, with the one + solitary hair. Well, I meant to grab that hair; and at the worst I could + but die in the open and not caged in that awful hole like some noxious + vermin. I knew that de Batz would rise to the bait. I told him in my + letter that the Dauphin would be at the Chateau d’Ourde this night, but + that I feared the revolutionary Government had got wind of this fact, and + were sending an armed escort to bring the lad away. This letter Ffoulkes + took to him; I knew that he would make a vigorous effort to get the + Dauphin into his hands, and that during the scuffle that one hair on + Fortune’s head would for one second only, mayhap, come within my reach. I + had so planned the expedition that we were bound to arrive at the forest + of Boulogne by nightfall, and night is always a useful ally. But at the + guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne I realised for the first time that those + brutes had pressed me into a tighter corner than I had pre-conceived.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and once again that look of recklessness swept over his face, + and his eyes—still hollow and circled—shone with the + excitement of past memories. + </p> + <p> + “I was such a weak, miserable wretch, then,” he said, in answer to + Marguerite’s appeal. “I had to try and build up some strength, when—Heaven + forgive me for the sacrilege—I had unwittingly risked your precious + life, dear heart, in that blind endeavour to save mine own. By Gad! it was + no easy task in that jolting vehicle with that noisome wretch beside me + for sole company; yet I ate and I drank and I slept for three days and two + nights, until the hour when in the darkness I struck Heron from behind, + half-strangled him first, then gagged him, and finally slipped into his + filthy coat and put that loathsome bandage across my head, and his + battered hat above it all. The yell he gave when first I attacked him made + every horse rear—you must remember it—the noise effectually + drowned our last scuffle in the coach. Chauvelin was the only man who + might have suspected what had occurred, but he had gone on ahead, and + bald-headed Fortune had passed by me, and I had managed to grab its one + hair. After that it was all quite easy. The sergeant and the soldiers had + seen very little of Heron and nothing of me; it did not take a great + effort to deceive them, and the darkness of the night was my most faithful + friend. His raucous voice was not difficult to imitate, and darkness + always muffles and changes every tone. Anyway, it was not likely that + those loutish soldiers would even remotely suspect the trick that was + being played on them. The citizen agent’s orders were promptly and + implicitly obeyed. The men never even thought to wonder that after + insisting on an escort of twenty he should drive off with two prisoners + and only two men to guard them. If they did wonder, it was not theirs to + question. Those two troopers are spending an uncomfortable night somewhere + in the forest of Boulogne, each tied to a tree, and some two leagues apart + one from the other. And now,” he added gaily, “en voiture, my fair lady; + and you, too, Armand. ‘Tis seven leagues to Le Portel, and we must be + there before dawn.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Andrew’s intention was to make for Calais first, there to open + communication with the Day-Dream and then for Le Portel,” said Marguerite; + “after that he meant to strike back for the Chateau d’Ourde in search of + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ll still find him at Le Portel—I shall know how to lay + hands on him; but you two must get aboard the Day-Dream at once, for + Ffoulkes and I can always look after ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + It was one hour after midnight when—refreshed with food and rest—Marguerite, + Armand and Sir Percy left the half-way house. Marguerite was standing in + the doorway ready to go. Percy and Armand had gone ahead to bring the + coach along. + </p> + <p> + “Percy,” whispered Armand, “Marguerite does not know?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course she does not, you young fool,” retorted Percy lightly. “If you + try and tell her I think I would smash your head.” + </p> + <p> + “But you—” said the young man with sudden vehemence; “can you bear + the sight of me? My God! when I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think, my good Armand—not of that anyway. Only think of the + woman for whose sake you committed a crime—if she is pure and good, + woo her and win her—not just now, for it were foolish to go back to + Paris after her, but anon, when she comes to England and all these past + days are forgotten—then love her as much as you can, Armand. Learn + your lesson of love better than I have learnt mine; do not cause Jeanne + Lange those tears of anguish which my mad spirit brings to your sister’s + eyes. You were right, Armand, when you said that I do not know how to + love!” + </p> + <p> + But on board the Day-Dream, when all danger was past, Marguerite felt that + he did. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EL DORADO *** + +***** This file should be named 1752-h.htm or 1752-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/1752/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +EL DORADO +by Baroness Orczy + + + + +FOREWORD + +There has of late years crept so much confusion into the mind of +the student as well as of the general reader as to the identity of +the Scarlet Pimpernel with that of the Gascon Royalist plotter +known to history as the Baron de Batz, that the time seems +opportune for setting all doubts on that subject at rest. + +The identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is in no way whatever +connected with that of the Baron de Batz, and even superficial +reflection will soon bring the mind to the conclusion that great +fundamental differences existed in these two men, in their +personality, in their character, and, above all, in their aims. + +According to one or two enthusiastic historians, the Baron de Batz +was the chief agent in a vast network of conspiracy, entirely +supported by foreign money--both English and Austrian--and which +had for its object the overthrow of the Republican Government and +the restoration of the monarchy in France. + +In order to attain this political goal, it is averred that he set +himself the task of pitting the members of the revolutionary +Government one against the other, and bringing hatred and +dissensions amongst them, until the cry of "Traitor!" resounded +from one end of the Assembly of the Convention to the other, and +the Assembly itself became as one vast den of wild beasts wherein +wolves and hyenas devoured one another and, still unsatiated, +licked their streaming jaws hungering for more prey. + +Those same enthusiastic historians, who have a firm belief in the +so-called "Foreign Conspiracy," ascribe every important event of +the Great Revolution--be that event the downfall of the Girondins, +the escape of the Dauphin from the Temple, or the death of +Robespierre--to the intrigues of Baron de Batz. He it was, so +they say, who egged the Jacobins on against the Mountain, +Robespierre against Danton, Hebert against Robespierre. He it was +who instigated the massacres of September, the atrocities of +Nantes, the horrors of Thermidor, the sacrileges, the noyades: +all with the view of causing every section of the National +Assembly to vie with the other in excesses and in cruelty, until +the makers of the Revolution, satiated with their own lust, turned +on one another, and Sardanapalus-like buried themselves and their +orgies in the vast hecatomb of a self-consumed anarchy. + +Whether the power thus ascribed to Baron de Batz by his historians +is real or imaginary it is not the purpose of this preface to +investigate. Its sole object is to point out the difference +between the career of this plotter and that of the Scarlet +Pimpernel. + +The Baron de Batz himself was an adventurer without substance, +save that which he derived from abroad. He was one of those men +who have nothing to lose and everything to gain by throwing +themselves headlong in the seething cauldron of internal politics. + +Though he made several attempts at rescuing King Louis first, and +then the Queen and Royal Family from prison and from death, he +never succeeded, as we know, in any of these undertakings, and he +never once so much as attempted the rescue of other equally +innocent, if not quite so distinguished, victims of the most +bloodthirsty revolution that has ever shaken the foundations of +the civilised world. + +Nay more; when on the 29th Prairial those unfortunate men and +women were condemned and executed for alleged complicity in the +so-called " Foreign Conspiracy," de Batz, who is universally +admitted to have been the head and prime-mover of that conspiracy +--if, indeed, conspiracy there was--never made either the +slightest attempt to rescue his confederates from the guillotine, +or at least the offer to perish by their side if he could not +succeed in saving them. + +And when we remember that the martyrs of the 29th Prairial +included women like Grandmaison, the devoted friend of de Batz, +the beautiful Emilie de St. Amaranthe, little Cecile Renault--a +mere child not sixteen years of age--also men like Michonis and +Roussell, faithful servants of de Batz, the Baron de Lezardiere, +and the Comte de St. Maurice, his friends, we no longer can have +the slightest doubt that the Gascon plotter and the English +gentleman are indeed two very different persons. + +The latter's aims were absolutely non-political. He never +intrigued for the restoration of the monarchy, or even for the +overthrow of that Republic which lie loathed. + +His only concern was the rescue of the innocent, the stretching +out of a saving hand to those unfortunate creatures who had fallen +into the nets spread out for them by their fellow-men; by those +who--godless, lawless, penniless themselves--had sworn to +exterminate all those who clung to their belongings, to their +religion, and to their beliefs. + +The Scarlet Pimpernel did not take it upon himself to punish the +guilty; his care was solely of the helpless and of the innocent. + +For this aim he risked his life every time that he set foot on +French soil, for it he sacrificed his fortune, and even his +personal happiness, and to it he devoted his entire existence. + +Moreover, whereas the French plotter is said to have had +confederates even in the Assembly of the Convention, confederates +who were sufficiently influential and powerful to secure his own +immunity, the Englishman when he was bent on his errands of mercy +had the whole of France against him. + +The Baron de Batz was a man who never justified either his own +ambitions or even his existence; the Scarlet Pimpernel was a +personality of whom an entire nation might justly be proud. + + +CONTENTS + +PART I +I IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL +II WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS +III THE DEMON CHANCE +IV MADEMOISELLE LANGE +V THE TEMPLE PRISON +VI THE COMMITTEE'S AGENT +VII THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE +VIII ARCADES AMBO +IX WHAT LOVE CAN DO +X SHADOWS +XI THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL +XII WHAT LOVE IS +XIII THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK +XIV THE CHIEF +XV THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE +XVI THE WEARY SEARCH +XVII CHAUVELIN +XVIII THE REMOVAL +XIX IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN +XX THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY +XXI BACK TO PARIS +XXII OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION +XXIII THE OVERWHELMING ODDS + +PART II +XXIV THE NEWS +XXV PARIS ONCE MORE +XXVI THE BITTEREST FOE +XXVI IN THE CONCIERGERIE +XXVIII THE CAGED LION +XXIX FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT +XXX AFTERWARDS +XXXI AN INTERLUDE +XXXII SISTERS +XXXIII LITTLE MOTHER +XXXIV THE LETTER + +PART III +XXXV THE LAST PHASE +XXXVI SUBMISSION +XXXVII CHAUVELIN'S ADVICE +XXXVIII CAPITULATION +XXXIX KILL HIM! +XL GOD HELP US ALL +XLI WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD +XLII THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE.ANNE +XLIII THE DREARY JOURNEY +XLIV THE HALT AT CRECY +XLV THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE +XLVI OTHERS IN THE PARK +XLVII THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE +XLVIII THE WANING MOON +XLIX THE LAND OF ELDORADO + + + +PART I +CHAPTER I +IN THE THEATRE NATIONAL + +And yet people found the opportunity to amuse themselves, to dance +and to go to the theatre, to enjoy music and open-air cafes and +promenades in the Palais Royal. + +New fashions in dress made their appearance, milliners produced +fresh "creations," and jewellers were not idle. A grim sense of +humour, born of the very intensity of ever-present danger, had +dubbed the cut of certain tunics "tete tranche," or a favourite +ragout was called "a la guillotine." + +On three evenings only during the past memorable four and a half +years did the theatres close their doors, and these evenings were +the ones immediately following that terrible 2nd of September the +day of the butchery outside the Abbaye prison, when Paris herself +was aghast with horror, and the cries of the massacred might have +drowned the calls of the audience whose hands upraised for +plaudits would still be dripping with blood. + +On all other evenings of these same four and a half years the +theatres in the Rue de Richelieu, in the Palais Royal, the +Luxembourg, and others, had raised their curtains and taken money +at their doors. The same audience that earlier in the day had +whiled away the time by witnessing the ever-recurrent dramas of +the Place de la Revolution assembled here in the evenings and +filled stalls, boxes, and tiers, laughing over the satires of +Voltaire or weeping over the sentimental tragedies of persecuted +Romeos and innocent Juliets. + +Death knocked at so many doors these days! He was so constant a +guest in the houses of relatives and friends that those who had +merely shaken him by the hand, those on whom he had smiled, and +whom he, still smiling, had passed indulgently by, looked on him +with that subtle contempt born of familiarity, shrugged their +shoulders at his passage, and envisaged his probable visit on the +morrow with lighthearted indifference. + +Paris--despite the horrors that had stained her walls had remained +a city of pleasure, and the knife of the guillotine did scarce +descend more often than did the drop-scenes on the stage. + +On this bitterly cold evening of the 27th Nivose, in the second +year of the Republic--or, as we of the old style still persist in +calling it, the 16th of January, 1794--the auditorium of the +Theatre National was filled with a very brilliant company. + +The appearance of a favourite actress in the part of one of +Moliere's volatile heroines had brought pleasure-loving Paris to +witness this revival of "Le Misanthrope," with new scenery, +dresses, and the aforesaid charming actress to add piquancy to the +master's mordant wit. + +The Moniteur, which so impartially chronicles the events of +those times, tells us under that date that the Assembly of the +Convention voted on that same day a new law giving fuller power to +its spies, enabling them to effect domiciliary searches at their +discretion without previous reference to the Committee of General +Security, authorising them to proceed against all enemies of +public happiness, to send them to prison at their own discretion, +and assuring them the sum of thirty-five livres "for every piece +of game thus beaten up for the guillotine." Under that same date +the Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National +was filled to its utmost capacity for the revival of the late +citoyen Moliere's comedy. + +The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which +placed the lives of thousands at the mercy of a few human +bloodhounds, adjourned its sitting and proceeded to the Rue de +Richelieu. + +Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made +their way to the seats which had been reserved for them. An awed +hush descended on the throng as one by one the men whose very +names inspired horror and dread filed in through the narrow +gangways of the stalls or took their places in the tiny boxes +around. + +Citizen Robespierre's neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of +these; his bosom friend St. Just was with him, and also his sister +Charlotte. Danton, like a big, shaggy-coated lion, elbowed his +way into the stalls, whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and +idol of the people of Paris, was loudly acclaimed as his huge +frame, gorgeously clad in the uniform of the National Guard, was +sighted on one of the tiers above. + +The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered +excitedly; the awe-inspiring names flew about hither and thither +on the wings of the overheated air. Women craned their necks to +catch sight of heads which mayhap on the morrow would roll into +the gruesome basket at the foot of the guillotine. + +In one of the tiny avant-scene boxes two men had taken their seats +long before the bulk of the audience had begun to assemble in the +house. The inside of the box was in complete darkness, and the +narrow opening which allowed but a sorry view of one side of the +stage helped to conceal rather than display the occupants. + +The younger one of these two men appeared to be something of a +stranger in Paris, for as the public men and the well-known +members of the Government began to arrive he often turned to his +companion for information regarding these notorious personalities. + +"Tell me, de Batz," he said, calling the other's attention to a +group of men who had just entered the house, "that creature there +in the green coat--with his hand up to his face now--who is he?" + +"Where? Which do you mean?" + +"There! He looks this way now, and he has a playbill in his hand. +The man with the protruding chin and the convex forehead, a face +like a marmoset, and eyes like a jackal. What?" + +The other leaned over the edge of the box, and his small, restless +eyes wandered over the now closely-packed auditorium. + +"Oh!" he said as soon as he recognised the face which his friend +had pointed out to him, "that is citizen Foucquier-Tinville." + +"The Public Prosecutor?" + +"Himself. And Heron is the man next to him." + +"Heron?" said the younger man interrogatively. + +"Yes. He is chief agent to the Committee of General Security +now." + +"What does that mean?" + +Both leaned back in their chairs, and their sombrely-clad figures +were once more merged in the gloom of the narrow box. Instinctively, +since the name of the Public Prosecutor had been mentioned between +them, they had allowed their voices to sink to a whisper. + +The older man--a stoutish, florid-looking individual, with small, +keen eyes, and skin pitted with small-pox--shrugged his shoulders +at his friend's question, and then said with an air of +contemptuous indifference: + +"It means, my good St. Just, that these two men whom you see down +there, calmly conning the programme of this evening's entertainment, +and preparing to enjoy themselves to-night in the company of the late +M. de Moliere, are two hell-hounds as powerful as they are cunning." + +"Yes, yes," said St. Just, and much against his will a slight +shudder ran through his slim figure as he spoke. "Foucquier-Tinville +I know; I know his cunning, and I know his power--but the other?" + +"The other?" retorted de Batz lightly. "Heron? Let me tell you, +my friend, that even the might and lust of that damned Public +Prosecutor pale before the power of Heron!" + +"But how? I do not understand." + +"Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though +no doubt the main plot of our hideous tragedy has reached your +ken, you have no cognisance of the actors who play the principal +parts on this arena flooded with blood and carpeted with hate. +They come and go, these actors, my good St. Just--they come and +go. Marat is already the man of yesterday, Robespierre is the man +of to-morrow. To-day we still have Danton and Foucquier-Tinville; +we still have Pere Duchesne, and your own good cousin Antoine St. +Just, but Heron and his like are with us always." + +"Spies, of course?" + +"Spies," assented the other. "And what spies! Were you present +at the sitting of the Assembly to-day?" + +"I was. I heard the new decree which already has passed into law. +Ah! I tell you, friend, that we do not let the grass grow under +our feet these days. Robespierre wakes up one morning with a +whim; by the afternoon that whim has become law, passed by a +servile body of men too terrified to run counter to his will, +fearful lest they be accused of moderation or of humanity--the +greatest crimes that can be committed nowadays." + +"But Danton?" + +"Ah! Danton? He would wish to stem the tide that his own passions +have let loose; to muzzle the raging beasts whose fangs he himself +has sharpened. I told you that Danton is still the man of to-day; +to-morrow he will be accused of moderation. Danton and moderation! +--ye gods! Eh? Danton, who thought the guillotine too slow in its +work, and armed thirty soldiers with swords, so that thirty heads +might fall at one and the same time. Danton, friend, will perish +to-morrow accused of treachery against the Revolution, of moderation +towards her enemies; and curs like Heron will feast on the blood of +lions like Danton and his crowd." + +He paused a moment, for he dared not raise his voice, and his +whispers were being drowned by the noise in the auditorium. The +curtain, timed to be raised at eight o'clock, was still down, +though it was close on half-past, and the public was growing +impatient. There was loud stamping of feet, and a few shrill +whistles of disapproval proceeded from the gallery. + +"If Heron gets impatient," said de Batz lightly, when the noise +had momentarily subsided, the manager of this theatre and mayhap +his leading actor and actress will spend an unpleasant day +to-morrow." + +"Always Heron!" said St. Just, with a contemptuous smile. + +"Yes, my friend," rejoined the other imperturbably, "always Heron. +And he has even obtained a longer lease of existence this +afternoon." + +"By the new decree?" + +"Yes. The new decree. The agents of the Committee of General +Security, of whom Heron is the chief, have from to-day powers of +domiciliary search; they have full powers to proceed against all +enemies of public welfare. Isn't that beautifully vague? And +they have absolute discretion; every one may become an enemy of +public welfare, either by spending too much money or by spending +too little, by laughing to-day or crying to-morrow, by mourning +for one dead relative or rejoicing over the execution of another. +He may be a bad example to the public by the cleanliness of his +person or by the filth upon his clothes, he may offend by walking +to-day and by riding in a carriage next week; the agents of the +Committee of General Security shall alone decide what constitutes +enmity against public welfare. All prisons are to be opened at +their bidding to receive those whom they choose to denounce; they +have henceforth the right to examine prisoners privately and +without witnesses, and to send them to trial without further +warrants; their duty is clear--they must 'beat up game for the +guillotine.' Thus is the decree worded; they must furnish the +Public Prosecutor with work to do, the tribunals with victims to +condemn, the Place de la Revolution with death-scenes to amuse the +people, and for their work they will be rewarded thirty-five +livres for every head that falls under the guillotine Ah! if +Heron and his like and his myrmidons work hard and well they can +make a comfortable income of four or five thousand livres a week. +We are getting on, friend St. Just--we are getting on." + +He had not raised his voice while he spoke, nor in the recounting +of such inhuman monstrosity, such vile and bloodthirsty conspiracy +against the liberty, the dignity, the very life of an entire +nation, did he appear to feel the slightest indignation; rather +did a tone of amusement and even of triumph strike through his +speech; and now he laughed good-humouredly like an indulgent +parent who is watching the naturally cruel antics of a spoilt boy. + +"Then from this hell let loose upon earth," exclaimed St. Just +hotly, "must we rescue those who refuse to ride upon this tide of +blood." + +His cheeks were glowing, his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He +looked very young and very eager. Armand St. Just, the brother of +Lady Blakeney, had something of the refined beauty of his lovely +sister, but the features though manly--had not the latent strength +expressed in them which characterised every line of Marguerite's +exquisite face. The forehead suggested a dreamer rather than a +thinker, the blue-grey eyes were those of an idealist rather than +of a man of action. + +De Batz's keen piercing eyes had no doubt noted this, even whilst +he gazed at his young friend with that same look of good-humoured +indulgence which seemed habitual to him. + +"We have to think of the future, my good St. Just," he said after +a slight pause, and speaking slowly and decisively, like a father +rebuking a hot-headed child, "not of the present. What are a few +lives worth beside the great principles which we have at stake?" + +"The restoration of the monarchy--I know," retorted St. Just, +still unsobered, "but, in the meanwhile--" + +"In the meanwhile," rejoined de Batz earnestly, "every victim to +the lust of these men is a step towards the restoration of law and +order--that is to say, of the monarchy. It is only through these +violent excesses perpetrated in its name that the nation will +realise how it is being fooled by a set of men who have only their +own power and their own advancement in view, and who imagine that +the only way to that power is over the dead bodies of those who +stand in their way. Once the nation is sickened by these orgies +of ambition and of hate, it will turn against these savage brutes, +and gladly acclaim the restoration of all that they are striving +to destroy. This is our only hope for the future, and, believe +me, friend, that every head snatched from the guillotine by your +romantic hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a stone laid for the +consolidation of this infamous Republic." + +"I'll not believe it," protested St. Just emphatically. + +De Batz, with a gesture of contempt indicative also of complete +self-satisfaction and unalterable self-belief, shrugged his broad +shoulders. His short fat fingers, covered with rings, beat a +tattoo upon the ledge of the box. + +Obviously, he was ready with a retort. His young friend's +attitude irritated even more than it amused him. But he said +nothing for the moment, waiting while the traditional three knocks +on the floor of the stage proclaimed the rise of the curtain. The +growing impatience of the audience subsided as if by magic at the +welcome call; everybody settled down again comfortably in their +seats, they gave up the contemplation of the fathers of the +people, and turned their full attention to the actors on the +boards. + + + +CHAPTER II +WIDELY DIVERGENT AIMS + +This was Armand S. Just's first visit to Paris since that +memorable day when first he decided to sever his connection from +the Republican party, of which he and his beautiful sister +Marguerite had at one time been amongst the most noble, most +enthusiastic followers. Already a year and a half ago the +excesses of the party had horrified him, and that was long before +they had degenerated into the sickening orgies which were +culminating to-day in wholesale massacres and bloody hecatombs of +innocent victims. + +With the death of Mirabeau the moderate Republicans, whose sole +and entirely pure aim had been to free the people of France from +the autocratic tyranny of the Bourbons, saw the power go from +their clean hands to the grimy ones of lustful demagogues, who +knew no law save their own passions of bitter hatred against all +classes that were not as self-seeking, as ferocious as themselves. + +It was no longer a question of a fight for political and religious +liberty only, but one of class against class, man against man, and +let the weaker look to himself. The weaker had proved himself to +be, firstly, the man of property and substance, then the +law-abiding citizen, lastly the man of action who had obtained for +the people that very same liberty of thought and of belief which +soon became so terribly misused. + +Armand St. Just, one of the apostles of liberty, fraternity, and +equality, soon found that the most savage excesses of tyranny were +being perpetrated in the name of those same ideals which he had +worshipped. + +His sister Marguerite, happily married in England, was the final +temptation which caused him to quit the country the destinies of +which he no longer could help to control. The spark of enthusiasm +which he and the followers of Mirabeau had tried to kindle in the +hearts of an oppressed people had turned to raging tongues of +unquenchable flames. The taking of the Bastille had been the +prelude to the massacres of September, and even the horror of +these had since paled beside the holocausts of to-day. + +Armand, saved from the swift vengeance of the revolutionaries by +the devotion of the Scarlet Pimpernel, crossed over to England and +enrolled himself tinder the banner of the heroic chief. But he +had been unable hitherto to be an active member of the League. +The chief was loath to allow him to run foolhardy risks. The St. +Justs--both Marguerite and Armand--were still very well-known in +Paris. Marguerite was not a woman easily forgotten, and her +marriage with an English "aristo" did not please those republican +circles who had looked upon her as their queen. Armand's secession +from his party into the ranks of the emigres had singled him out +for special reprisals, if and whenever he could be got hold of, +and both brother and sister had an unusually bitter enemy in their +cousin Antoine St. Just--once an aspirant to Marguerite's hand, +and now a servile adherent and imitator of Robespierre, whose +ferocious cruelty he tried to emulate with a view to ingratiating +himself with the most powerful man of the day. + +Nothing would have pleased Antoine St. Just more than the +opportunity of showing his zeal and his patriotism by denouncing +his own kith and kin to the Tribunal of the Terror, and the +Scarlet Pimpernel, whose own slender fingers were held on the +pulse of that reckless revolution, had no wish to sacrifice +Armand's life deliberately, or even to expose it to unnecessary +dangers. + +Thus it was that more than a year had gone by before Armand St. +Just--an enthusiastic member of the League of the Scarlet +Pimpernel--was able to do aught for its service. He had chafed +under the enforced restraint placed upon him by the prudence of +his chief, when, indeed, he was longing to risk his life with the +comrades whom he loved and beside the leader whom he revered. + +At last, in the beginning of '94 he persuaded Blakeney to allow +him to join the next expedition to France. What the principal aim +of that expedition was the members of the League did not know as +yet, but what they did know was that perils--graver even than +hitherto--would attend them on their way. + +The circumstances had become very different of late At first the +impenetrable mystery which had surrounded the personality of the +chief had been a full measure of safety, but now one tiny corner +of that veil of mystery had been lifted by two rough pairs of +hands at least; Chauvelin, ex-ambassador at the English Court, was +no longer in any doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet +Pimpernel, whilst Collot d'Herbois had seen him at Boulogne, and +had there been effectually foiled by him. + +Four months had gone by since that day, and the Scarlet Pimpernel +was hardly ever out of France now; the massacres in Paris and in +the provinces had multiplied with appalling rapidity, the +necessity for the selfless devotion of that small band of heroes +had become daily, hourly more pressing. They rallied round their +chief with unbounded enthusiasm, and let it be admitted at once +that the sporting instinct--inherent in these English gentlemen-- +made them all the more keen, all the more eager now that the +dangers which beset their expeditions were increased tenfold. + +At a word from the beloved leader, these young men--the spoilt +darlings of society--would leave the gaieties, the pleasures, the +luxuries of London or of Bath, and, taking their lives tn their +hands, they placed them, together with their fortunes, and even +their good names, at the service of the innocent and helpless +victims of merciless tyranny. The married men--Ffoulkes, my Lord +Hastings, Sir Jeremiah Wallescourt--left wife and children at a +call from the chief, at the cry of the wretched. Armand-- +unattached and enthusiastic--had the right to demand that he +should no longer be left behind. + +He had only been away a little over fifteen months, and yet he +found Paris a different city from the one he had left immediately +after the terrible massacres of September. An air of grim +loneliness seemed to hang over her despite the crowds that +thronged her streets; the men whom he was wont to meet in public +places fifteen months ago--friends and political allies--were no +longer to be seen; strange faces surrounded him on every side-- +sullen, glowering faces, all wearing a certain air of horrified +surprise and of vague, terrified wonder, as if life had become +one awful puzzle, the answer to which must be found in the brief +interval between the swift passages of death. + +Armand St. Just, having settled his few simple belongings in the +squalid lodgings which had been assigned to him, had started out +after dark to wander somewhat aimlessly through the streets. +Instinctively he seemed to be searching for a familiar face, some +one who would come to him out of that merry past which he had +spent with Marguerite in their pretty apartment in the Rue St. +Honore. + +For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times +it appeared to him as if he did recognise a face or figure that +passed him swiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully +make up his mind to that, the face or figure had already disappeared, +gliding furtively down some narrow unlighted by-street, without +turning to look to right or left, as if dreading fuller recognition. +Armand felt a total stranger in his own native city. + +The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolution +were fortunately over, the tumbrils no longer rattled along the +uneven pavements, nor did the death-cry of the unfortunate victims +resound through the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first +day of his arrival, spared the sight of this degradation of the +once lovely city; but her desolation, her general appearance of +shamefaced indigence and of cruel aloofness struck a chill in the +young man's heart. + +It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way +slowly back to his lodging he was accosted by a pleasant, cheerful +voice, that he responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a +smooth, oily timbre, as if the owner kept it well greased for +purposes of amiable speech, was like an echo of the past, when +jolly, irresponsible Baron de Batz, erst-while officer of the +Guard in the service of the late King, and since then known to be +the most inveterate conspirator for the restoration of the +monarchy, used to amuse Marguerite by his vapid, senseless plans +for the overthrow of the newly-risen power of the people. + +Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that +a good talk over old times would be vastly agreeable, the younger +man gladly acceded, The two men, though certainly not mistrustful +of one another, did not seem to care to reveal to each other the +place where they lodged. De Batz at once proposed the avant-scene +box of one of the theatres as being the safest place where old +friends could talk without fear of spying eyes or ears. + +"There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my +young friend," he said "I have tried every sort of nook and +cranny in this accursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have +come to the conclusion that a small avant-scene box is the most +perfect den of privacy there is in the entire city. The voices of +the actors on the stage and the hum among the audience in the +house will effectually drown all individual conversation to every +ear save the one for whom it is intended." + +It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely and +somewhat forlorn in a large city to while away an evening in the +companionship of a cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially +good company. His vapourings had always been amusing, but Armand +now gave him credit for more seriousness of purpose; and though +the chief had warned him against picking up acquaintances in +Paris, the young man felt that that restriction would certainly +not apply to a man like de Batz, whose hot partisanship of the +Royalist cause and hare-brained schemes for its restoration must +make him at one with the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +Armand accepted the other's cordial invitation. He, too, felt +that he would indeed be safer from observation in a crowded +theatre than in the streets. Among a closely packed throng bent +on amusement the sombrely-clad figure of a young man, with the +appearance of a student or of a journalist, would easily pass +unperceived. + +But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz' company +within the gloomy shelter of the small avant-scene box, Armand +already repented of the impulse which had prompted him to come to +the theatre to-night, and to renew acquaintanceship with the +ex-officer of the late King's Guard. Though he knew de Batz to be +an ardent Royalist, and even an active adherent of the monarchy, +he was soon conscious of a vague sense of mistrust of this +pompous, self-complacent individual, whose every utterance +breathed selfish aims rather than devotion to a forlorn cause. + +Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of +Moliere's witty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately towards the +stage and tried to interest himself in the wordy quarrel between +Philinte and Alceste. + +But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to +suit his newly-found friend. It was clear that de Batz did not +consider the topic of conversation by any means exhausted, and +that it had been more with a view to a discussion like the present +interrupted one that he had invited St. Just to come to the +theatre with him to-night, rather than for the purpose of +witnessing Mile. Lange's debut in the part of Celimene. + +The presence of St. Just in Paris had as a matter of fact +astonished de Batz not a little, and had set his intriguing brain +busy on conjectures. It was in order to turn these conjectures +into certainties that he had desired private talk with the young +man. + +He waited silently now for a moment or two, his keen, small eyes +resting with evident anxiety on Armand's averted head, his fingers +still beating the impatient tattoo upon the velvet-covered cushion +of the box. Then at the first movement of St. Just towards him he +was ready in an instant to re-open the subject under discussion. + +With a quick nod of his head he called his young friend's +attention back to the men in the auditorium. + +"Your good cousin Antoine St. Just is hand and glove with +Robespierre now," he said. "When you left Paris more than a year +ago you could afford to despise him as an empty-headed windbag; +now, if you desire to remain in France, you will have to fear him +as a power and a menace." + +"Yes, I knew that he had taken to herding with the wolves," +rejoined Armand lightly. "At one time he was in love with my +sister. I thank God that she never cared for him." + +"They say that he herds with the wolves because of this +disappointment," said de Batz. "The whole pack is made up of men +who have been disappointed, and who have nothing more to lose. +When all these wolves will have devoured one another, then and +then only can we hope for the restoration of the monarchy in +France. And they will not turn on one another whilst prey for +their greed lies ready to their jaws. Your friend the Scarlet +Pimpernel should feed this bloody revolution of ours rather than +starve it, if indeed he hates it as he seems to do." + +His restless eyes peered with eager interrogation into those of +the younger man. He paused as if waiting for a reply; then, as +St. Just remained silent, he reiterated slowly, almost in the +tones of a challenge: + +"If indeed he hates this bloodthirsty revolution of ours as he +seems to do." + +The reiteration implied a doubt. In a moment St. Just's loyalty +was up in arms. + +The Scarlet Pimpernel," he said, "cares naught for your political +aims. The work of mercy that he does, he does for justice and for +humanity." + +"And for sport," said de Batz with a sneer, "so I've been told." + +"He is English," assented St. Just, " and as such will never own +to sentiment. Whatever be the motive, look at the result! + +"Yes! a few lives stolen from the guillotine." + +"Women and children--innocent victims--would have perished but +for his devotion." + +"The more innocent they were, the more helpless, the more +pitiable, the louder would their blood have cried for reprisals +against the wild beasts who sent them to their death." + +St. Just made no reply. It was obviously useless to attempt to +argue with this man, whose political aims were as far apart from +those of the Scarlet Pimpernel as was the North Pole from the +South. + +"If any of you have influence over that hot-headed leader of +yours," continued de Batz, unabashed by the silence of his friend, +"I wish to God you would exert it now." + +"In what way?" queried St. Just, smiling in spite of himself at +the thought of his or any one else's control over Blakeney and his +plans. + +It was de Batz' turn to be silent. He paused for a moment or two, +then he asked abruptly: + +"Your Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now, is he not?" + +"I cannot tell you," replied Armand. + +"Bah! there is no necessity to fence with me, my friend. The +moment I set eyes on you this afternoon I knew that you had not +come to Paris alone." + +"You are mistaken, my good de Batz," rejoined the young man +earnestly; "I came to Paris alone." + +"Clever parrying, on my word--but wholly wasted on my unbelieving +ears. Did I not note at once that you did not seem overpleased +to-day when I accosted you?" + +"Again you are mistaken. I was very pleased to meet you, for I +had felt singularly lonely all day, and was glad to shake a friend +by the hand. What you took for displeasure was only surprise." + +"Surprise? Ah, yes! I don't wonder that you were surprised to see +me walking unmolested and openly in the streets of Paris--whereas +you had heard of me as a dangerous conspirator, eh ?--and as a man +who has the entire police of his country at his heels--on whose +head there is a price--what?" + +"I knew that you had made several noble efforts to rescue the +unfortunate King and Queen from the hands of these brutes." + +"All of which efforts were unsuccessful," assented de Batz +imperturbably, "every one of them having been either betrayed by +some d--d confederate or ferreted out by some astute spy eager for +gain. Yes, my friend, I made several efforts to rescue King Louis +and Queen Marie Antoinette from the scaffold, and every time I was +foiled, and yet here I am, you see, unscathed and free. I walk +about the streets boldly, and talk to my friends as I meet them." + +"You are lucky," said St. Just, not without a tinge of sarcasm. + +"I have been prudent," retorted de Batz. "I have taken the +trouble to make friends there where I thought I needed them +most--the mammon of unrighteousness, you know-what?" + +And he laughed a broad, thick laugh of perfect self-satisfaction. + +"Yes, I know," rejoined St. Just, with the tone of sarcasm still +more apparent in his voice now. " You have Austrian money at your +disposal." + +"Any amount," said the other complacently, "and a great deal of it +sticks to the grimy fingers of these patriotic makers of +revolutions. Thus do I ensure my own safety. I buy it with the +Emperor's money, and thus am I able to work for the restoration of +the monarchy in France." + +Again St. Just was silent. What could he say? Instinctively now, +as the fleshy personality of the Gascon Royalist seemed to spread +itself out and to fill the tiny box with his ambitious schemes and +his far-reaching plans, Armand's thoughts flew back to that other +plotter, the man with the pure and simple aims, the man whose +slender fingers had never handled alien gold, but were ever there +ready stretched out to the helpless and the weak, whilst his +thoughts were only of the help that he might give them, but never +of his own safety. + +De Batz, however, seemed blandly unconscious of any such +disparaging thoughts in the mind of his young friend, for he +continued quite amiably, even though a note of anxiety seemed to +make itself felt now in his smooth voice: + +"We advance slowly, but step by step, my good St. Just," he said. +"I have not been able to save the monarchy in the person of the +King or the Queen, but I may yet do it in the person of the +Dauphin." + +"The Dauphin," murmured St. Just involuntarily. + +That involuntary murmur, scarcely audible, so soft was it, seemed +in some way to satisfy de Batz, for the keenness of his gaze +relaxed, and his fat fingers ceased their nervous, intermittent +tattoo on the ledge of the box. + +"Yes ! the Dauphin," he said, nodding his head as if in answer to +his own thoughts, "or rather, let me say, the reigning King of +France--Louis XVII, by the grace of God--the most precious life at +present upon the whole of this earth." + +"You are right there, friend de Batz," assented Armand fervently, +"the most precious life, as you say, and one that must be saved at +all costs." + +"Yes," said de Batz calmly, "but not by your friend the Scarlet +Pimpernel." + +"Why not?" + +Scarce were those two little words out of St. Just's mouth than he +repented of them. He bit his lip, and with a dark frown upon his +face he turned almost defiantly towards his friend. + +But de Batz smiled with easy bonhomie. + +"Ah, friend Armand," he said, "you were not cut out for diplomacy, +nor yet for intrigue. So then," he added more seriously, "that +gallant hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, has hopes of rescuing our +young King from the clutches of Simon the cobbler and of the herd +of hyenas on the watch for his attenuated little corpse, eh?" + +"I did not say that," retorted St. Just sullenly. + +"No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my +over-loyal young friend. Could I, or any one else, doubt for a +moment that sooner or later your romantic hero would turn his +attention to the most pathetic sight in the whole of Europe--the +child-martyr in the Temple prison? The wonder were to me if the +Scarlet Pimpernel ignored our little King altogether for the sake +of his subjects. No, no; do not think for a moment that you have +betrayed your friend's secret to me. When I met you so luckily +today I guessed at once that you were here under the banner of the +enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went a +step further in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris +now in the hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple prison." + +"If that is so, you must not only rejoice but should be able to +help." + +"And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the +other in the future," said de Batz placidly. "I happen to be a +Frenchman, you see." + +"What has that to do with such a question?" + +"Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman +too, do not look through my spectacles. Louis XVII is King of +France, my good St. Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to +us Frenchmen, and to no one else." + +"That is sheer madness, man," retorted Armand. "Would you have the +child perish for the sake of your own selfish ideas?" + +"You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a +measure selfish. What does the rest of the world care if we are a +republic or a monarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work +for ourselves and to please ourselves, and I for one will not +brook foreign interference." + +"Yet you work with foreign money!" + +"That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get +it where I can; but I can arrange for the escape of Louis XVII is +King of France, my good St. Just; he must of France should belong +the honour and glory of having saved our King." + +For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; +he was gazing wide-eyed, almost appalled at this impudent display +of well-nigh ferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling +and complacent, was leaning back in his chair, looking at his +young friend with perfect contentment expressed in every line of +his pock-marked face and in the very attitude of his well-fed +body. It was easy enough now to understand the remarkable +immunity which this man was enjoying, despite the many foolhardy +plots which he hatched, and which had up to now invariably come to +naught. + +A regular braggart and empty windbag, he had taken but one good +care, and that was of his own skin. Unlike other less fortunate +Royalists of France, he neither fought in the country nor braved +dangers in town. He played a safer game--crossed the frontier and +constituted himself agent of Austria; he succeeded in gaining the +Emperor's money for the good of the Royalist cause, and for his +own most especial benefit. + +Even a less astute man of the world than was Armand St. Just would +easily have guessed that de Batz' desire to be the only instrument +in the rescue of the poor little Dauphin from the Temple was not +actuated by patriotism, but solely by greed. Obviously there was +a rich reward waiting for him in Vienna the day that he brought +Louis XVII safely into Austrian territory; that reward he would +miss if a meddlesome Englishman interfered in this affair. Whether +in this wrangle he risked the life of the child-King or not +mattered to him not at all. It was de Batz who was to get the +reward, and whose welfare and prosperity mattered more than the +most precious life in Europe. + + + +CHAPTER III +THE DEMON CHANCE + +St. Just would have given much to be back in his lonely squalid +lodgings now. Too late did he realise how wise had been the +dictum which had warned him against making or renewing friendships +in France. + +Men had changed with the times. How terribly they had changed! +Personal safety had become a fetish with most--a goal so difficult +to attain that it had to be fought for and striven for, even at +the expense of humanity and of self-respect. + +Selfishness--the mere, cold-blooded insistence for self-advancement +--ruled supreme. De Batz, surfeited with foreign money, used it +firstly to ensure his own immunity, scattering it to right and left +to still the ambition of the Public Prosecutor or to satisfy the +greed of innumerable spies. + +What was left over he used for the purpose of pitting the +bloodthirsty demagogues one against the other, making of the +National Assembly a gigantic bear-den, wherein wild beasts could +rend one another limb from limb. + +In the meanwhile, what cared he--he said it himself--whether +hundreds of innocent martyrs perished miserably and uselessly? +They were the necessary food whereby the Revolution was to be +satiated and de Batz' schemes enabled to mature. The most +precious life in Europe even was only to be saved if its price +went to swell the pockets of de Batz, or to further his future +ambitions. + +Times had indeed changed an entire nation. St. Just felt as +sickened with this self-seeking Royalist as he did with the savage +brutes who struck to right or left for their own delectation. He +was meditating immediate flight back to his lodgings, with a hope +of finding there a word for him from the chief--a word to remind +him that men did live nowadays who had other aims besides their +own advancement--other ideals besides the deification of self. + +The curtain had descended on the first act, and traditionally, as +the works of M. de Moliere demanded it, the three knocks were +heard again without any interval. St. Just rose ready with a +pretext for parting with his friend. The curtain was being slowly +drawn up on the second act, and disclosed Alceste in wrathful +conversation with Celimene. + +Alceste's opening speech is short. Whilst the actor spoke it +Armand had his back to the stage; with hand outstretched, he was +murmuring what he hoped would prove a polite excuse for thus +leaving his amiable host while the entertainment had only just +begun. + +De Batz--vexed and impatient--had not by any means finished with +his friend yet. He thought that his specious arguments--delivered +with boundless conviction--had made some impression on the mind of +the young man. That impression, however, he desired to deepen, and +whilst Armand was worrying his brain to find a plausible excuse +for going away, de Batz was racking his to find one for keeping +him here. + +Then it was that the wayward demon Chance intervened. Had St. Just +risen but two minutes earlier, had his active mind suggested the +desired excuse more readily, who knows what unspeakable sorrow, +what heartrending misery, what terrible shame might have been +spared both him and those for whom he cared? Those two minutes-- +did he but know it--decided the whole course of his future life. +The excuse hovered on his lips, de Batz reluctantly was preparing +to bid him good-bye, when Celimene, speaking common-place words +enough in answer to her quarrelsome lover, caused him to drop the +hand which he was holding out to his friend and to turn back towards +the stage. + +It was an exquisite voice that had spoken--a voice mellow and +tender, with deep tones in it that betrayed latent power. The +voice had caused Armand to look, the lips that spoke forged the +first tiny link of that chain which riveted him forever after to +the speaker. + +It is difficult to say if such a thing really exists as love at +first sight. Poets and romancists will have us believe that it +does; idealists swear by it as being the only true love worthy of +the name. + +I do not know if I am prepared to admit their theory with regard +to Armand St. Just. Mlle. Lange's exquisite voice certainly had +charmed him to the extent of making him forget his mistrust of de +Batz and his desire to get away. Mechanically almost he sat down +again, and leaning both elbows on the edge of the box, he rested +his chin in his hand, and listened. The words which the late M. +de Moliere puts into the mouth of Celimene are trite and flippant +enough, yet every time that Mlle. Lange's lips moved Armand +watched her, entranced. + +There, no doubt, the matter would have ended: a young man +fascinated by a pretty woman on the stage--'tis a small matter, +and one from which there doth not often spring a weary trail of +tragic circumstances. Armand, who had a passion for music, would +have worshipped at the shrine of Mlle. Lange's perfect voice until +the curtain came down on the last act, had not his friend de Batz +seen the keen enchantment which the actress had produced on the +young enthusiast. + +Now de Batz was a man who never allowed an opportunity to slip by, +if that opportunity led towards the furtherance of his own desires. +He did not want to lose sight of Armand just yet, and here the good +demon Chance had given him an opportunity for obtaining what he wanted. + +He waited quietly until the fall of the curtain at the end of Act +II.; then, as Armand, with a sigh of delight, leaned back in his +chair, and closing his eyes appeared to be living the last +half-hour all over again, de Batz remarked with well-assumed +indifference: + +"Mlle. Lange is a promising young actress. Do you not think so, +my friend?" + +"She has a perfect voice--it was exquisite melody to the ear," +replied Armand. "I was conscious of little else." + +"She is a beautiful woman, nevertheless," continued de Batz with a +smile. "During the next act, my good St. Just, I would suggest +that you opened your eyes as well as your ears. + +Armand did as he was bidden. The whole appearance of Mlle. Lange +seemed in harmony with her voice. She was not very tall, but +eminently graceful, with a small, oval face and slender, almost +childlike figure, which appeared still more so above the wide +hoops and draped panniers of the fashions of Moliere's time. + +Whether she was beautiful or not the young man hardly knew. +Measured by certain standards, she certainly was not so, for her +mouth was not small, and her nose anything but classical in +outline. But the eyes were brown, and they had that half-veiled +look in them--shaded with long lashes that seemed to make a +perpetual tender appeal to the masculine heart: the lips, too, +were full and moist, and the teeth dazzling white. Yes!--on the +whole we might easily say that she was exquisite, even though we +did not admit that she was beautiful. + +Painter David has made a sketch of her; we have all seen it at the +Musee Carnavalet, and all wondered why that charming, if +irregular, little face made such an impression of sadness. + +There are five acts in "Le Misanthrope," during which Celimene is +almost constantly on the stage. At the end of the fourth act de +Batz said casually to his friend: + +"I have the honour of personal acquaintanceship with Mlle. Lange. +An you care for an introduction to her, we can go round to the +green room after the play." + +Did prudence then whisper, "Desist"? Did loyalty to the leader +murmur, "Obey"? It were indeed difficult to say. Armand St. Just +was not five-and-twenty, and Mlle. Lange's melodious voice spoke +louder than the whisperings of prudence or even than the call of +duty. + +He thanked de Batz warmly, and during the last half-hour, while +the misanthropical lover spurned repentant Celimene, he was +conscious of a curious sensation of impatience, a tingling of his +nerves, a wild, mad longing to hear those full moist lips +pronounce his name, and have those large brown eyes throw their +half-veiled look into his own. + + + +CHAPTER IV +MADEMOISELLE LANGE + +The green-room was crowded when de Batz and St. Just arrived there +after the performance. The older man cast a hasty glance through +the open door. The crowd did not suit his purpose, and he dragged +his companion hurriedly away from the contemplation of Mlle. +Lange, sitting in a far corner of the room, surrounded by an +admiring throng, and by innumerable floral tributes offered to her +beauty and to her success. + +De Batz without a word led the way back towards the stage. Here, +by the dim light of tallow candles fixed in sconces against the +surrounding walls, the scene-shifters were busy moving +drop-scenes, back cloths and wings, and paid no heed to the two +men who strolled slowly up and down silently, each wrapped in his +own thoughts. + +Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his +head bent forward on his chest; but every now and again he threw +quick, apprehensive glances round him whenever a firm step echoed +along the empty stage or a voice rang clearly through the now +deserted theatre. + +"Are we wise to wait here?" he asked, speaking to himself rather +than to his companion. + +He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz +had impressed themselves upon his mind: "Heron and his spies we +have always with us." + +From the green-room a separate foyer and exit led directly out +into the street. Gradually the sound of many voices, the loud +laughter and occasional snatches of song which for the past +half-hour had proceeded from that part of the house, became more +subdued and more rare. One by one the friends of the artists were +leaving the theatre, after having paid the usual banal compliments +to those whom they favoured, or presented the accustomed offering +of flowers to the brightest star of the night. + +The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the +ones who could no longer command a court of admirers round them. +They all filed out of the greenroom and crossed the stage to +where, at the back, a narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their +so-called dressing-rooms--tiny, dark cubicles, ill-lighted, +unventilated, where some half-dozen of the lesser stars tumbled +over one another while removing wigs and grease-paint. + +Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal +impatience. Mlle. Lange was the last to leave the green-room. +For some time, since the crowd had become thinner round her, +Armand had contrived to catch glimpses of her slight, elegant +figure. A short passage led from the stage to the green-room +door, which was wide open, and at the corner of this passage the +young man had paused from time to time in his walk, gazing with +earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl's head, +with its wig of powdered curls that seemed scarcely whiter than +the creamy brilliance of her skin. + +De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks +in the direction of the crowd that prevented her leaving the +green-room. He did watch Armand, however--noted his eager look, +his brisk and alert movements, the obvious glances of admiration +which he cast in the direction of the young actress, and this +seemed to afford him a considerable amount of contentment. + +The best part of an hour had gone by since the fall of the curtain +before Mlle. Lange finally dismissed her many admirers, and de +Batz had the satisfaction of seeing her running down the passage, +turning back occasionally in order to bid gay "good-nights" to the +loiterers who were loath to part from her. She was a child in all +her movements, quite unconscious of self or of her own charms, but +frankly delighted with her success. She was still dressed in the +ridiculous hoops and panniers pertaining to her part, and the +powdered peruke hid the charm of her own hair; the costume gave a +certain stilted air to her unaffected personality, which, by this +very sense of contrast, was essentially fascinating. + +In her arms she held a huge sheaf of sweet-scented narcissi, the +spoils of some favoured spot far away in the South. Armand +thought that never in his life had he seen anything so winsome or +so charming. + +Having at last said the positively final adieu, Mlle. Lange with +a happy little sigh turned to run down the passage. + +She came face to face with Armand, and gave a sudden little gasp +of terror. It was not good these days to come on any loiterer +unawares. + +But already de Batz had quickly joined his friend, and his smooth, +pleasant voice, and podgy, beringed hand extended towards Mlle. +Lange, were sufficient to reassure her. + +"You were so surrounded in the green-room, mademoiselle," he said +courteously, "I did not venture to press in among the crowd of +your admirers. Yet I had the great wish to present my respectful +congratulations in person." + +"Ah! c'est ce cher de Batz!" exclaimed mademoiselle gaily, in +that exquisitely rippling voice of hers. "And where in the world +do you spring from, my friend? + +"Hush-sh-sh!" he whispered, holding her small bemittened hand in +his, and putting one finger to his lips with an urgent entreaty +for discretion; "not my name, I beg of you, fair one." + +"Bah!" she retorted lightly, even though her full lips trembled +now as she spoke and belied her very words. You need have no fear +whilst you are in this part of the house. It is an understood +thing that the Committee of General Security does not send its +spies behind the curtain of a theatre. Why, if all of us actors +and actresses were sent to the guillotine there would be no play +on the morrow. Artistes are not replaceable in a few hours; those +that are in existence must perforce be spared, or the citizens who +govern us now would not know where to spend their evenings." + +But though she spoke so airily and with her accustomed gaiety, it +was easily perceived that even on this childish mind the dangers +which beset every one these days had already imprinted their mark +of suspicion and of caution. + +"Come into my dressing-room," she said. "I must not tarry here +any longer, for they will be putting out the lights. But I have +a room to myself, and we can talk there quite agreeably." + +She led the way across the stage towards the wooden stairs. +Armand, who during this brief colloquy between his friend and the +young girl had kept discreetly in the background, felt undecided +what to do. But at a peremptory sign from de Batz he, too, turned +in the wake of the gay little lady, who ran swiftly up the rickety +steps, humming snatches of popular songs the while, and not +turning to see if indeed the two men were following her. + +She had the sheaf of narcissi still in her arms, and the door of +her tiny dressing-room being open, she ran straight in and threw +the flowers down in a confused, sweet-scented mass upon the small +table that stood at one end of the room, littered with pots and +bottles, letters, mirrors, powder-puffs, silk stockings, and +cambric handkerchiefs. + +Then she turned and faced the two men, a merry look of unalterable +gaiety dancing in her eyes. + +"Shut the door, mon ami," she said to de Batz, "and after that +sit down where you can, so long as it is not on my most precious +pot of unguent or a box of costliest powder." + +While de Batz did as he was told, she turned to Armand and said +with a pretty tone of interrogation in her melodious voice: + +"Monsieur?" + +"St. Just, at your service, mademoiselle," said Armand, bowing +very low in the most approved style obtaining at the English +Court. + +"St. Just?" she repeated, a look of puzzlement in her brown eyes. +"Surely--" + +"A kinsman of citizen St. Just, whom no doubt you know, mademoiselle," +he exclaimed. + +"My friend Armand St. Just," interposed de Batz, "is practically +a new-comer in Paris. He lives in England habitually." + +"In England?" she exclaimed. "Oh! do tell me all about England. +I would love to go there. Perhaps I may have to go some day. Oh! +do sit down, de Batz," she continued, talking rather volubly, even +as a delicate blush heightened the colour in her cheeks under the +look of obvious admiration from Armand St. Just's expressive eyes. + +She swept a handful of delicate cambric and silk from off a chair, +making room for de Batz' portly figure. Then she sat upon the +sofa, and with an inviting gesture and a call from the eyes she +bade Armand sit down next to her. She leaned back against the +cushions, and the table being close by, she stretched out a hand +and once more took up the bunch of narcissi, and while she talked +to Armand she held the snow-white blooms quite close to her +face--so close, in fact, that he could not see her mouth and chin, +only her dark eyes shone across at him over the heads of the +blossoms. + +"Tell me all about England," she reiterated, settling herself down +among the cushions like a spoilt child who is about to listen to +an oft-told favourite story. + +Armand was vexed that de Batz was sitting there. He felt he could +have told this dainty little lady quite a good deal about England +if only his pompous, fat friend would have had the good sense to +go away. + +As it was, he felt unusually timid and gauche, not quite knowing +what to say, a fact which seemed to amuse Mlle. Lange not a little. + +"I am very fond of England," he said lamely; "my sister is married +to an Englishman, and I myself have taken up my permanent +residence there." + +"Among the society of emigres?" she queried. + +Then, as Armand made no reply, de Batz interposed quickly: + +"Oh! you need not fear to admit it, my good Armand; Mademoiselle +Lange, has many friends among the emigres--have you not, +mademoiselle?" + +"Yes, of course," she replied lightly; "I have friends everywhere. +Their political views have nothing to do with me. Artistes, I +think, should have naught to do with politics. You see, citizen +St. Just, I never inquired of you what were your views. Your name +and kinship would proclaim you a partisan of citizen Robespierre, +yet I find you in the company of M. de Batz; and you tell me that +you live in England." + +"He is no partisan of citizen Robespierre," again interposed de +Batz; "in fact, mademoiselle, I may safely tell you, I think, that +my friend has but one ideal on this earth, whom he has set up in +a shrine, and whom he worships with all the ardour of a Christian +for his God." + +"How romantic!" she said, and she looked straight at Armand. +"Tell me, monsieur, is your ideal a woman or a man?" + +His look answered her, even before he boldly spoke the two words: + +"A woman." + +She took a deep draught of sweet, intoxicating scent from the +narcissi, and his gaze once more brought blushes to her cheeks. +De Batz' good-humoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted +access of confusion. + +"That was well turned, friend Armand," he said lightly; "but I +assure you, mademoiselle, that before I brought him here to-night +his ideal was a man." + +"A man!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous little pout. "Who was +it?" + +"I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificant +flower--the Scarlet Pimpernel," replied de Batz. + +"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" she ejaculated, dropping the flowers +suddenly, and gazing on Armand with wide, wondering eyes. "And do +you know him, monsieur?" + +He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt +at sitting so close to this charming little lady, and feeling that +in a measure his presence and his personality interested her. But +he felt irritated with de Batz, and angered at what he considered +the latter's indiscretion. To him the very name of his leader was +almost a sacred one; he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who +only care to name the idol of their dreams with bated breath, and +only in the ears of those who would understand and sympathise. + +Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with +mademoiselle he could have told her all about the Scarlet +Pimpernel, knowing that in her he would find a ready listener, a +helping and a loving heart; but as it was he merely replied tamely +enough: + +Yes, mademoiselle, I do know him." + +"You have seen him?" she queried eagerly; "spoken to him?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! do tell me all about him. You know quite a number of us in +France have the greatest possible admiration for your national +hero. We know, of course, that he is an enemy of our Government-- +but, oh! we feel that he is not an enemy of France because of +that. We are a nation of heroes, too, monsieur," she added with a +pretty, proud toss of the head; "we can appreciate bravery and +resource, and we love the mystery that surrounds the personality +of your Scarlet Pimpernel. But since you know him, monsieur, tell +me what is he like? + +Armand was smiling again. He was yielding himself up wholly to +the charm which emanated from this young girl's entire being, from +her gaiety and her unaffectedness, her enthusiasm, and that +obvious artistic temperament which caused her to feel every +sensation with superlative keenness and thoroughness. + +"What is he like?" she insisted. + +"That, mademoiselle," he replied, "I am not at liberty to tell +you." + +"Not at liberty to tell me!" she exclaimed; "but monsieur, if I +command you--" + +"At risk of falling forever under the ban of your displeasure, +mademoiselle, I would still remain silent on that subject." + +She gazed on him with obvious astonishment. It was quite an +unusual thing for this spoilt darling of an admiring public to be +thus openly thwarted in her whims. + +"How tiresome and pedantic!" she said, with a shrug of her pretty +shoulders and a moue of discontent. "And, oh! how ungallant! You +have learnt ugly, English ways, monsieur; for there, I am told, +men hold their womenkind in very scant esteem. There!" she added, +turning with a mock air of hopelessness towards de Batz, "am I not +a most unlucky woman? For the past two years I have used my best +endeavours to catch sight of that interesting Scarlet Pimpernel; +here do I meet monsieur, who actually knows him (so he says), and +he is so ungallant that he even refuses to satisfy the first +cravings of my just curiosity." + +"Citizen St. Just will tell you nothing now, mademoiselle," +rejoined de Batz with his good-humoured laugh; "it is my presence, +I assure you, which is setting a seal upon his lips. He is, +believe me, aching to confide in you, to share in your enthusiasm, +and to see your beautiful eyes glowing in response to his ardour +when he describes to you the exploits of that prince of heroes. +En tete-a-tete one day, you will, I know, worm every secret out +of my discreet friend Armand." + +Mademoiselle made no comment on this--that is to say, no audible +comment--but she buried the whole of her face for a few seconds +among the flowers, and Armand from amongst those flowers caught +sight of a pair of very bright brown eyes which shone on him with +a puzzled look. + +She said nothing more about the Scarlet Pimpernel or about England +just then, but after awhile she began talking of more indifferent +subjects: the state of the weather, the price of food, the +discomforts of her own house, now that the servants had been put +on perfect equality with their masters. + +Armand soon gathered that the burning questions of the day, the +horrors of massacres, the raging turmoil of politics, had not +affected her very deeply as yet. She had not troubled her pretty +head very much about the social and humanitarian aspect of the +present seething revolution. She did not really wish to think +about it at all. An artiste to her finger-tips, she was spending +her young life in earnest work, striving to attain perfection in +her art, absorbed in study during the day, and in the expression +of what she had learnt in the evenings. + +The terrors of the guillotine affected her a little, but somewhat +vaguely still. She had not realised that any dangers could assail +her whilst she worked for the artistic delectation of the public. + +It was not that she did not understand what went on around her, +but that her artistic temperament and her environment had kept her +aloof from it all. The horrors of the Place de la Revolution made +her shudder, but only in the same way as the tragedies of M. +Racine or of Sophocles which she had studied caused her to +shudder, and she had exactly the same sympathy for poor Queen +Marie Antoinette as she had for Mary Stuart, and shed as many +tears for King Louis as she did for Polyeucte. + +Once de Batz mentioned the Dauphin, but mademoiselle put up her +hand quickly and said in a trembling voice, whilst the tears +gathered in her eyes: + +"Do not speak of the child to me, de Batz. What can I, a lonely, +hard-working woman, do to help him? I try not to think of him, +for if I did, knowing my own helplessness, I feel that I could +hate my countrymen, and speak my bitter hatred of them across the +footlights; which would be more than foolish," she added naively, +"for it would not help the child, and I should be sent to the +guillotine. But oh sometimes I feel that I would gladly die if +only that poor little child-martyr were restored to those who love +him and given back once more to joy and happiness. But they would +not take my life for his, I am afraid," she concluded, smiling +through her tears. "My life is of no value in comparison with +his." + +Soon after this she dismissed her two visitors. De Batz, well +content with the result of this evening's entertainment, wore an +urbane, bland smile on his rubicund face. Armand, somewhat serious +and not a little in love, made the hand-kiss with which he took +his leave last as long as he could. + +"You will come and see me again, citizen St. Just?" she asked +after that preliminary leave-taking. + +"At your service, mademoiselle," he replied with alacrity. + +"How long do you stay in Paris?" + +"I may be called away at any time." + +"Well, then, come to-morrow. I shall be free towards four +o'clock. Square du Roule. You cannot miss the house. Any one +there will tell you where lives citizeness Lange." + +"At your service, mademoiselle," he replied. + +The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they +took final leave of her, spoke the gratitude and the joy which he +felt. + + + +CHAPTER V +THE TEMPLE PRISON + +It was close on midnight when the two friends finally parted +company outside the doors of the theatre. The night air struck +with biting keenness against them when they emerged from the +stuffy, overheated building, and both wrapped their caped cloaks +tightly round their shoulders. Armand--more than ever now--was +anxious to rid himself of de Batz. The Gascon's platitudes +irritated him beyond the bounds of forbearance, and he wanted to +be alone, so that he might think over the events of this night, +the chief event being a little lady with an enchanting voice and +the most fascinating brown eyes he had ever seen. + +Self-reproach, too, was fighting a fairly even fight with the +excitement that had been called up by that same pair of brown +eyes. Armand for the past four or five hours had acted in direct +opposition to the earnest advice given to him by his chief; he had +renewed one friendship which had been far better left in oblivion, +and he had made an acquaintance which already was leading him +along a path that he felt sure his comrade would disapprove. But +the path was so profusely strewn with scented narcissi that +Armand's sensitive conscience was quickly lulled to rest by the +intoxicating fragrance. + +Looking neither to right nor left, he made his way very quickly up +the Rue Richelieu towards the Montmartre quarter, where he lodged. + +De Batz stood and watched him for as long as the dim lights of the +street lamps illumined his slim, soberly-clad figure; then he +turned on his heel and walked off in the opposite direction. + +His florid, pock-marked face wore an air of contentment not +altogether unmixed with a kind of spiteful triumph. + +"So, my pretty Scarlet Pimpernel," he muttered between his closed +lips, "you wish to meddle in my affairs, to have for yourself and +your friends the credit and glory of snatching the golden prize +from the clutches of these murderous brutes. Well, we shall see! +We shall see which is the wiliest--the French ferret or the +English fox." + +He walked deliberately away from the busy part of the town, +turning his back on the river, stepping out briskly straight +before him, and swinging his gold-beaded cane as he walked. + +The streets which he had to traverse were silent and deserted, +save occasionally where a drinking or an eating house had its +swing-doors still invitingly open. From these places, as de Batz +strode rapidly by, came sounds of loud voices, rendered raucous by +outdoor oratory; volleys of oaths hurled irreverently in the midst +of impassioned speeches; interruptions from rowdy audiences that +vied with the speaker in invectives and blasphemies; wordy +war-fares that ended in noisy vituperations; accusations hurled +through the air heavy with tobacco smoke and the fumes of cheap +wines and of raw spirits. + +De Batz took no heed of these as he passed, anxious only that the +crowd of eating-house politicians did not, as often was its wont, +turn out pele-mele into the street, and settle its quarrel by the +weight of fists. He did not wish to be embroiled in a street +fight, which invariably ended in denunciations and arrests, and +was glad when presently he had left the purlieus of the Palais +Royal behind him, and could strike on his left toward the lonely +Faubourg du Temple. + +From the dim distance far away came at intervals the mournful +sound of a roll of muffled drums, half veiled by the intervening +hubbub of the busy night life of the great city. It proceeded +from the Place de la Revolution, where a company of the National +Guard were on night watch round the guillotine. The dull, +intermittent notes of the drum came as a reminder to the free +people of France that the watchdog of a vengeful revolution was +alert night and day, never sleeping, ever wakeful, "beating up +game for the guillotine," as the new decree framed to-day by the +Government of the people had ordered that it should do. + +From time to time now the silence of this lonely street was broken +by a sudden cry of terror, followed by the clash of arms, the +inevitable volley of oaths, the call for help, the final moan of +anguish. They were the ever-recurring brief tragedies which told +of denunciations, of domiciliary search, of sudden arrests, of an +agonising desire for life and for freedom--for life under these +same horrible conditions of brutality and of servitude, for +freedom to breathe, if only a day or two longer, this air, +polluted by filth and by blood. + +De Batz, hardened to these scenes, paid no heed to them. He had +heard it so often, that cry in the night, followed by death-like +silence; it came from comfortable bourgeois houses, from squalid +lodgings, or lonely cul-de-sac, wherever some hunted quarry was +run to earth by the newly-organised spies of the Committee of +General Security. + +Five and thirty livres for every head that falls trunkless into +the basket at the foot of the guillotine! Five and thirty pieces +of silver, now as then, the price of innocent blood. Every cry in +the night, every call for help, meant game for the guillotine, and +five and thirty livres in the hands of a Judas. + +And de Batz walked on unmoved by what he saw and heard, swinging +his cane and looking satisfied. Now he struck into the Place de +la Victoire, and looked on one of the open-air camps that had +recently been established where men, women, and children were +working to provide arms and accoutrements for the Republican army +that was fighting the whole of Europe. + +The people of France were up in arms against tyranny; and on the +open places of their mighty city they were encamped day and night +forging those arms which were destined to make them free, and in +the meantime were bending under a yoke of tyranny more complete, +more grinding and absolute than any that the most despotic kings +had ever dared to inflict. + +Here by the light of resin torches, at this late hour of the +night, raw lads were being drilled into soldiers, half-naked under +the cutting blast of the north wind, their knees shaking tinder +them, their arms and legs blue with cold, their stomachs empty, +and their teeth chattering with fear; women were sewing shirts for +the great improvised army, with eyes straining to see the stitches +by the flickering light of the torches, their throats parched with +the continual inhaling of smoke-laden air; even children, with +weak, clumsy little fingers, were picking rags to be woven into +cloth again all, all these slaves were working far into the night, +tired, hungry, and cold, but working unceasingly, as the country +had demanded it: "the people of France in arms against tyranny!" +The people of France had to set to work to make arms, to clothe +the soldiers, the defenders of the people's liberty. + +And from this crowd of people--men, women, and children--there +came scarcely a sound, save raucous whispers, a moan or a sigh +quickly suppressed. A grim silence reigned in this thickly-peopled +camp; only the crackling of the torches broke that silence now and +then, or the flapping of canvas in the wintry gale. They worked on +sullen, desperate, and starving, with no hope of payment save the +miserable rations wrung from poor tradespeople or miserable farmers, +as wretched, as oppressed as themselves; no hope of payment, only +fear of punishment, for that was ever present. + +The people of France in arms against tyranny were not allowed to +forget that grim taskmaster with the two great hands stretched +upwards, holding the knife which descended mercilessly, +indiscriminately on necks that did not bend willingly to the task. + +A grim look of gratified desire had spread over de Batz' face as +he skirted the open-air camp. Let them toil, let them groan, let +them starve! The more these clouts suffer, the more brutal the +heel that grinds them down, the sooner will the Emperor's money +accomplish its work, the sooner will these wretches be clamoring +for the monarchy, which would mean a rich reward in de Batz' +pockets. + +To him everything now was for the best: the tyranny, the +brutality, the massacres. He gloated in the holocausts with as +much satisfaction as did the most bloodthirsty Jacobin in the +Convention. He would with his own hands have wielded the +guillotine that worked too slowly for his ends. Let that end +justify the means, was his motto. What matter if the future King +of France walked up to his throne over steps made of headless +corpses and rendered slippery with the blood of martyrs? + +The ground beneath de Batz' feet was hard and white with the +frost. Overhead the pale, wintry moon looked down serene and +placid on this giant city wallowing in an ocean of misery. + +There, had been but little snow as yet this year, and the cold was +intense. On his right now the Cimetiere des SS. Innocents lay +peaceful and still beneath the wan light of the moon. A thin +covering of snow lay evenly alike on grass mounds and smooth +stones. Here and there a broken cross with chipped arms still +held pathetically outstretched, as if in a final appeal for human +love, bore mute testimony to senseless excesses and spiteful +desire for destruction. + +But here within the precincts of the dwelling of the eternal +Master a solemn silence reigned; only the cold north wind shook +the branches of the yew, causing them to send forth a melancholy +sigh into the night, and to shed a shower of tiny crystals of snow +like the frozen tears of the dead. + +And round the precincts of the lonely graveyard, and down narrow +streets or open places, the night watchmen went their rounds, +lanthorn in hand, and every five minutes their monotonous call +rang clearly out in the night: + +"Sleep, citizens! everything is quiet and at peace!" + + + +We may take it that de Batz did not philosophise over-much on what +went on around him. He had walked swiftly up the Rue St. Martin, +then turning sharply to his right he found himself beneath the +tall, frowning walls of the Temple prison, the grim guardian of so +many secrets, such terrible despair, such unspeakable tragedies. + +Here, too, as in the Place de la Revolution, an intermittent roll +of muffled drums proclaimed the ever-watchful presence of the +National Guard. But with that exception not a sound stirred round +the grim and stately edifice; there were no cries, no calls, no +appeals around its walls. All the crying and wailing was shut in +by the massive stone that told no tales. + +Dim and flickering lights shone behind several of the small +windows in the facade of the huge labyrinthine building. Without +any hesitation de Batz turned down the Rue du Temple, and soon +found himself in front of the main gates which gave on the +courtyard beyond. The sentinel challenged him, but he had the +pass-word, and explained that he desired to have speech with +citizen Heron. + +With a surly gesture the guard pointed to the heavy bell-pull up +against the gate, and de Batz pulled it with all his might. The +long clang of the brazen bell echoed and re-echoed round the solid +stone walls. Anon a tiny judas in the gate was cautiously pushed +open, and a peremptory voice once again challenged the midnight +intruder. + +De Batz, more peremptorily this time, asked for citizen Heron, +with whom he had immediate and important business, and a glimmer +of a piece of silver which he held up close to the judas secured +him the necessary admittance. + +The massive gates slowly swung open on their creaking hinges, and +as de Batz passed beneath the archway they closed again behind him. + +The concierge's lodge was immediately on his left. Again he was +challenged, and again gave the pass-word. But his face was +apparently known here, for no serious hindrance to proceed was put +in his way. + +A man, whose wide, lean frame was but ill-covered by a threadbare +coat and ragged breeches, and with soleless shoes on his feet, was +told off to direct the citoyen to citizen Heron's rooms. The man +walked slowly along with bent knees and arched spine, and shuffled +his feet as he walked; the bunch of keys which he carried rattled +ominously in his long, grimy hands; the passages were badly +lighted, and he also carried a lanthorn to guide himself on the +way. + +Closely followed by de Batz, he soon turned into the central +corridor, which is open to the sky above, and was spectrally +alight now with flag-stones and walls gleaming beneath the silvery +sheen of the moon, and throwing back the fantastic elongated +shadows of the two men as they walked. + +On the left, heavily barred windows gave on the corridor, as did +here and there the massive oaken doors, with their gigantic hinges +and bolts, on the steps of which squatted groups of soldiers +wrapped in their cloaks, with wild, suspicious eyes beneath their +capotes, peering at the midnight visitor as he passed. + +There was no thought of silence here. The very walls seemed alive +with sounds, groans and tears, loud wails and murmured prayers; +they exuded from the stones and trembled on the frost-laden air. + +Occasionally at one of the windows a pair of white hands would +appear, grasping the heavy iron bar, trying to shake it in its +socket, and mayhap, above the hands, the dim vision of a haggard +face, a man's or a woman's, trying to get a glimpse of the outside +world, a final look at the sky, before the last journey to the +place of death to-morrow. Then one of the soldiers, with a loud, +angry oath, would struggle to his feet, and with the butt-end of +his gun strike at the thin, wan fingers till their hold on the +iron bar relaxed, and the pallid face beyond would sink back into +the darkness with a desperate cry of pain. + +A quick, impatient sigh escaped de Batz' lips. He had skirted the +wide courtyard in the wake of his guide, and from where he was he +could see the great central tower, with its tiny windows lighted +from within, the grim walls behind which the descendant of the +world's conquerors, the bearer of the proudest name in Europe, and +wearer of its most ancient crown, had spent the last days of his +brilliant life in abject shame, sorrow, and degradation. The +memory had swiftly surged up before him of that night when he all +but rescued King Louis and his family from this same miserable +prison: the guard had been bribed, the keeper corrupted, +everything had been prepared, save the reckoning with the one +irresponsible factor--chance! + +He had failed then and had tried again, and again had failed; a +fortune had been his reward if he had succeeded. He had failed, +but even now, when his footsteps echoed along the flagged +courtyard, over which an unfortunate King and Queen had walked on +their way to their last ignominious Calvary, he hugged himself +with the satisfying thought that where he had failed at least no +one else had succeeded. + +Whether that meddlesome English adventurer, who called himself the +Scarlet Pimpernel, had planned the rescue of King Louis or of +Queen Marie Antoinette at any time or not--that he did not 'know; +but on one point at least he was more than ever determined, and +that was that no power on earth should snatch from him the golden +prize offered by Austria for the rescue of the little Dauphin. + +"I would sooner see the child perish, if I cannot save him myself," +was the burning thought in this man's tortuous brain. "And let +that accursed Englishman look to himself and to his d--d confederates," +be added, muttering a fierce oath beneath his breath. + +A winding, narrow stone stair, another length or two of corridor, +and his guide's shuffling footsteps paused beside a low +iron-studded door let into the solid stone. De Batz dismissed his +ill-clothed guide and pulled the iron bell-handle which hung +beside the door. + +The bell gave forth a dull and broken clang, which seemed like an +echo of the wails of sorrow that peopled the huge building with +their weird and monotonous sounds. + +De Batz--a thoroughly unimaginative person--waited patiently +beside the door until it was opened from within, and he was +confronted by a tall stooping figure, wearing a greasy coat of +snuff-brown cloth, and holding high above his head a lanthorn that +threw its feeble light on de Batz' jovial face and form. + +"It is even I, citizen Heron," he said, breaking in swiftly on the +other's ejaculation of astonishment, which threatened to send his +name echoing the whole length of corridors and passages, until +round every corner of the labyrinthine house of sorrow the murmur +would be borne on the wings of the cold night breeze: "Citizen +Heron is in parley with ci-devant Baron de Batz!" + +A fact which would have been equally unpleasant for both these +worthies. + +"Enter!" said Heron curtly. + +He banged the heavy door to behind his visitor; and de Batz, who +seemed to know his way about the place, walked straight across the +narrow landing to where a smaller door stood invitingly open. + +He stepped boldly in, the while citizen Heron put the lanthorn +down on the floor of the couloir, and then followed his nocturnal +visitor into the room. + + + +CHAPTER VI +THE COMMITTEE'S AGENT + +It was a narrow, ill-ventilated place, with but one barred window +that gave on the courtyard. An evil-smelling lamp hung by a chain +from the grimy ceiling, and in a corner of the room a tiny iron +stove shed more unpleasant vapour than warm glow around. + +There was but little furniture: two or three chairs, a table which +was littered with papers, and a corner-cupboard--the open doors of +which revealed a miscellaneous collection--bundles of papers, a +tin saucepan, a piece of cold sausage, and a couple of pistols. +The fumes of stale tobacco-smoke hovered in the air, and mingled +most unpleasantly with those of the lamp above, and of the mildew +that penetrated through the walls just below the roof. + +Heron pointed to one of the chairs, and then sat down on the +other, close to the table, on which he rested his elbow. He picked +up a short-stemmed pipe, which he had evidently laid aside at the +sound of the bell, and having taken several deliberate long-drawn +puffs from it, he said abruptly: + +"Well, what is it now?" + +In the meanwhile de Batz had made himself as much at home in this +uncomfortable room as he possibly could. He had deposited his hat +and cloak on one rickety rush-bottomed chair, and drawn another +close to the fire. He sat down with one leg crossed over the +other, his podgy be-ringed hand wandering with loving gentleness +down the length of his shapely calf. + +He was nothing if not complacent, and his complacency seemed +highly to irritate his friend Heron. + +"Well, what is it?" reiterated the latter, drawing his visitor's +attention roughly to himself by banging his fist on the table. +"Out with it! What do you want? Why have you come at this hour +of the night to compromise me, I suppose--bring your own d--d neck +and mine into the same noose--what?" + +"Easy, easy, my friend," responded de Batz imperturbably; "waste +not so much time in idle talk. Why do I usually come to see you? +Surely you have had no cause to complain hitherto of the +unprofitableness of my visits to you?" + +"They will have to be still more profitable to me in the future," +growled the other across the table. "I have more power now." + +"I know you have," said de Batz suavely. "The new decree? What? +You may denounce whom you please, search whom you please, arrest +whom you please, and send whom you please to the Supreme Tribunal +without giving them the slightest chance of escape." + +"Is it in order to tell me all this that you have come to see me +at this hour of the night?" queried Heron with a sneer. + +"No; I came at this hour of the night because I surmised that in +the future you and your hell-hounds would be so busy all day +'beating up game for the guillotine' that the only time you would +have at the disposal of your friends would be the late hours of +the night. I saw you at the theatre a couple of hours ago, friend +Heron; I didn't think to find you yet abed." + +"Well, what do you want?" + +"Rather," retorted de Batz blandly, "shall we say, what do YOU +want, citizen Heron?" + +"For what? + +"For my continued immunity at the hands of yourself and your pack?" + +Heron pushed his chair brusquely aside and strode across the +narrow room deliberately facing the portly figure of de Batz, who +with head slightly inclined on one side, his small eyes narrowed +till they appeared mere slits in his pockmarked face, was steadily +and quite placidly contemplating this inhuman monster who had this +very day been given uncontrolled power over hundreds of thousands +of human lives. + +Heron was one of those tall men who look mean in spite of their +height. His head was small and narrow, and his hair, which was +sparse and lank, fell in untidy strands across his forehead. He +stooped slightly from the neck, and his chest, though wide, was +hollow between the shoulders. But his legs were big and bony, +slightly bent at the knees, like those of an ill-conditioned +horse. + +The face was thin and the cheeks sunken; the eyes, very large and +prominent, had a look in them of cold and ferocious cruelty, a +look which contrasted strangely with the weakness and petty greed +apparent in the mouth, which was flabby, with full, very red lips, +and chin that sloped away to the long thin neck. + +Even at this moment as he gazed on de Batz the greed and the +cruelty in him were fighting one of those battles the issue of +which is always uncertain in men of his stamp. + +"I don't know," he said slowly, "that I am prepared to treat with +you any longer. You are an intolerable bit of vermin that has +annoyed the Committee of General Security for over two years now. +It would be excessively pleasant to crush you once and for all, as +one would a buzzing fly." + +"Pleasant, perhaps, but immeasurably foolish," rejoined de Batz +coolly; "you would only get thirty-five livres for my head, and I +offer you ten times that amount for the self-same commodity." + +"I know, I know; but the whole thing has become too dangerous." + +"Why? I am very modest. I don't ask a great deal. Let your +hounds keep off my scent." + +"You have too many d--d confederates." + +"Oh! Never mind about the others. I am not bargaining about +them. Let them look after themselves." + +"Every time we get a batch of them, one or the other denounces +you." + +"Under torture, I know," rejoined de Batz placidly, holding his +podgy hands to the warm glow of the fire. "For you have started +torture in your house of Justice now, eh, friend Heron? You and +your friend the Public Prosecutor have gone the whole gamut of +devilry--eh?" + +"What's that to you?" retorted the other gruffly. + +"Oh, nothing, nothing! I was even proposing to pay you three +thousand five hundred livres for the privilege of taking no +further interest in what goes on inside this prison!" + +"Three thousand five hundred!" ejaculated Heron involuntarily, and +this time even his eyes lost their cruelty; they joined issue with +the mouth in an expression of hungering avarice. + +"Two little zeros added to the thirty-five, which is all you would +get for handing me over to your accursed Tribunal," said de Batz, +and, as if thoughtlessly, his hand wandered to the inner pocket of +his coat, and a slight rustle as of thin crisp paper brought drops +of moisture to the lips of Heron. + +"Leave me alone for three weeks and the money is yours," concluded +de Batz pleasantly. + +There was silence in the room now. Through the narrow barred +window the steely rays of the moon fought with the dim yellow +light of the oil lamp, and lit up the pale face of the Committee's +agent with its lines of cruelty in sharp conflict with those of +greed. + +"Well! is it a bargain?" asked de Batz at last in his usual +smooth, oily voice, as he half drew from out his pocket that +tempting little bundle of crisp printed paper. "You have only to +give me the usual receipt for the money and it is yours." + +Heron gave a vicious snarl. + +"It is dangerous, I tell you. That receipt, if it falls into some +cursed meddler's hands, would send me straight to the guillotine." + +"The receipt could only fall into alien hands," rejoined de Batz +blandly, "if I happened to be arrested, and even in that case they +could but fall into those of the chief agent of the Committee of +General Security, and he hath name Heron. You must take some +risks, my friend. I take them too. We are each in the other's +hands. The bargain is quite fair." + +For a moment or two longer Heron appeared to be hesitating whilst +de Batz watched him with keen intentness. He had no doubt himself +as to the issue. He had tried most of these patriots in his own +golden crucible, and had weighed their patriotism against Austrian +money, and had never found the latter wanting. + +He had not been here to-night if he were not quite sure. This +inveterate conspirator in the Royalist cause never took personal +risks. He looked on Heron now, smiling to himself the while with +perfect satisfaction. + +"Very well," said the Committee's agent with sudden decision, +"I'll take the money. But on one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"That you leave little Capet alone." + +"The Dauphin!" + +"Call him what you like," said Heron, taking a step nearer to de +Batz, and from his great height glowering down in fierce hatred +and rage upon his accomplice; "call the young devil what you like, +but leave us to deal with him." + +"To kill him, you mean? Well, how can I prevent it, my friend?" + +"You and your like are always plotting to get him out of here. I +won't have it. I tell you I won't have it. If the brat disappears +I am a dead man. Robespierre and his gang have told me as much. +So you leave him alone, or I'll not raise a finger to help you, but +will lay my own hands on your accursed neck." + +He looked so ferocious and so merciless then, that despite himself, +the selfish adventurer, the careless self-seeking intriguer, shuddered +with a quick wave of unreasoning terror. He turned away from Heron's +piercing gaze, the gaze of a hyena whose prey is being snatched from +beneath its nails. For a moment he stared thoughtfully into the fire. + +He heard the other man's heavy footsteps cross and re-cross the +narrow room, and was conscious of the long curved shadow creeping +up the mildewed wall or retreating down upon the carpetless floor. + +Suddenly, without any warning he felt a grip upon his shoulder. +He gave a start and almost uttered a cry of alarm which caused +Heron to laugh. The Committee's agent was vastly amused at his +friend's obvious access of fear. There was nothing that he liked +better than that he should inspire dread in the hearts of all +those with whom he came in contact + +"I am just going on my usual nocturnal round," he said abruptly. +"Come with me, citizen de Batz." + +A certain grim humour was apparent in his face as he proffered +this invitation, which sounded like a rough command. As de Batz +seemed to hesitate he nodded peremptorily to him to follow. +Already he had gone into the hall and picked up his lanthorn. +From beneath his waistcoat he drew forth a bunch of keys, which he +rattled impatiently, calling to his friend to come. + +"Come, citizen," he said roughly. "I wish to show you the one +treasure in this house which your d--d fingers must not touch." + +Mechanically de Batz rose at last. He tried to be master of the +terror which was invading his very bones. He would not own to +himself even that he was afraid, and almost audibly he kept +murmuring to himself that he had no cause for fear. + +Heron would never touch him. The spy's avarice, his greed of +money were a perfect safeguard for any man who had the control of +millions, and Heron knew, of course, that he could make of this +inveterate plotter a comfortable source of revenue for himself. +Three weeks would soon be over, and fresh bargains could be made +time and again, while de Batz was alive and free. + +Heron was still waiting at the door, even whilst de Batz wondered +what this nocturnal visitation would reveal to him of atrocity and +of outrage. He made a final effort to master his nervousness, +wrapped his cloak tightly around him, and followed his host out of +the room. + + + +CHAPTER VII +THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE + +Once more he was being led through the interminable corridors of +the gigantic building. Once more from the narrow, barred windows +close by him he heard the heart-breaking sighs, the moans, the +curses which spoke of tragedies that he could only guess. + +Heron was walking on ahead of him, preceding him by some fifty +metres or so, his long legs covering the distances more rapidly +than de Batz could follow them. The latter knew his way well +about the old prison. Few men in Paris possessed that accurate +knowledge of its intricate passages and its network of cells and +halls which de Batz had acquired after close and persevering +study. + +He himself could have led Heron to the doors of the tower where +the little Dauphin was being kept imprisoned, but unfortunately he +did not possess the keys that would open all the doors which led +to it. There were sentinels at every gate, groups of soldiers at +each end of every corridor, the great--now empty--courtyards, +thronged with prisoners in the daytime, were alive with soldiery +even now. Some walked up and down with fixed bayonet on shoulder, +others sat in groups on the stone copings or squatted on the +ground, smoking or playing cards, but all of them were alert and +watchful. + +Heron was recognised everywhere the moment he appeared, and though +in these days of equality no one presented arms, nevertheless +every guard stood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened +a gate for the powerful chief agent of the Committee of General +Security. + +Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him +to the presence of the martyred little King. + +Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding the +other. De Batz walked leisurely, thought-fully, taking stock of +everything he saw--the gates, the barriers, the positions of +sentinels and warders, of everything in fact that might prove a +help or a hindrance presently, when the great enterprise would be +hazarded. At last--still in the wake of Heron--he found himself +once more behind the main entrance gate, underneath the archway on +which gave the guichet of the concierge. + +Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: +two were doing sentinel outside the guichet, but there were others +in a file against the wall. + +Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge's +lodge, then, as it was not immediately opened from within, he +pushed it open with his foot. + +"The concierge?" he queried peremptorily. + +From a corner of the small panelled room there came a grunt and a +reply: + +"Gone to bed, quoi!" + +The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron's door slowly +struggled to his feet. He had been squatting somewhere in the +gloom, and had been roused by Heron's rough command. He slouched +forward now still carrying a boot in one hand and a blacking brush +in the other. + +"Take this lanthorn, then," said the chief agent with a snarl +directed at the sleeping concierge, "and come along. Why are you +still here?" he added, as if in after-thought. + +"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done +his boots," muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat +contemptuously on the floor; "an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place +this ... twenty cells to sweep out every day ... and boots to +clean for every aristo of a concierge or warder who demands it.... +Is that work for a free born patriot, I ask?" + +"Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont," retorted Heron +dryly, "you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of +others ready to do your work..." + +"Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I +have had fourteen days of this convict work..." + +He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no +further heed to him, turned abruptly towards a group of soldiers +stationed outside. + +"En avant, corporal!" he said; "bring four men with you ... we go +up to the tower." + +The small procession was formed. On ahead the lanthorn-bearer, +with arched spine and shaking knees, dragging shuffling footsteps +along the corridor, then the corporal with two of his soldiers, +then Heron closely followed by de Batz, and finally two more +soldiers bringing up the rear. + +Heron had given the bunch of keys to the man Dupont. The latter, +on ahead, holding the lanthorn aloft, opened one gate after +another. At each gate he waited for the little procession to file +through, then he re-locked the gate and passed on. + +Up two or three flights of winding stairs set in the solid stone, +and the final heavy door was reached. + +De Batz was meditating. Heron's precautions for the safe-guarding +of the most precious life in Europe were more complete than he had +anticipated. What lavish liberality would be required! what +superhuman ingenuity and boundless courage in order to break down +all the barriers that had been set up round that young life that +flickered inside this grim tower! + +Of these three requisites the corpulent, complacent intriguer +possessed only the first in a considerable degree. He could be +exceedingly liberal with the foreign money which he had at his +disposal. As for courage and ingenuity, he believed that he +possessed both, but these qualities had not served him in very +good stead in the attempts which he had made at different times to +rescue the unfortunate members of the Royal Family from prison. +His overwhelming egotism would not admit for a moment that in +ingenuity and pluck the Scarlet Pimpernel and his English +followers could outdo him, but he did wish to make quite sure that +they would not interfere with him in the highly remunerative work +of saving the Dauphin. + +Heron's impatient call roused him from these meditations. The +little party had come to a halt outside a massive iron-studded +door. + +At a sign from the chief agent the soldiers stood at attention. +He then called de Batz and the lanthorn-bearer to him. + +He took a key from his breeches pocket, and with his own hand +unlocked the massive door. He curtly ordered the lanthorn-bearer +and de Batz to go through, then he himself went in, and finally +once more re-locked the door behind him, the soldiers remaining on +guard on the landing outside. + +Now the three men were standing in a square antechamber, dank and +dark, devoid of furniture save for a large cupboard that filled +the whole of one wall; the others, mildewed and stained, were +covered with a greyish paper, which here and there hung away in +strips. + +Heron crossed this ante-chamber, and with his knuckles rapped +against a small door opposite. + +"Hola!" he shouted, "Simon, mon vieux, tu es la?" + +From the inner room came the sound of voices, a man's and a +woman's, and now, as if in response to Heron's call, the shrill +tones of a child. There was some shuffling, too, of footsteps, +and some pushing about of furniture, then the door was opened, and +a gruff voice invited the belated visitors to enter. + +The atmosphere in this further room was so thick that at first de +Batz was only conscious of the evil smells that pervaded it; +smells which were made up of the fumes of tobacco, of burning +coke, of a smoky lamp, and of stale food, and mingling through it +all the pungent odour of raw spirits. + +Heron had stepped briskly in, closely followed by de Batz. The man +Dupont with a mutter of satisfaction put down his lanthorn and +curled himself up in a corner of the antechamber. His interest in +the spectacle so favoured by citizen Heron had apparently been +exhausted by constant repetition. + +De Batz looked round him with keen curiosity with which disgust +was ready enough to mingle. + +The room itself might have been a large one; it was almost +impossible to judge of its size, so crammed was it with heavy and +light furniture of every conceivable shape and type. There was a +monumental wooden bedstead in one corner, a huge sofa covered in +black horsehair in another. A large table stood in the centre of +the room, and there were at least four capacious armchairs round +it. There were wardrobes and cabinets, a diminutive washstand and +a huge pier-glass, there were innumerable boxes and packing-cases, +cane-bottomed chairs and what-nots every-where. The place looked +like a depot for second-hand furniture. + +In the midst of all the litter de Batz at last became conscious of +two people who stood staring at him and at Heron. He saw a man +before him, somewhat fleshy of build, with smooth, mouse-coloured +hair brushed away from a central parting, and ending in a heavy +curl above each ear; the eyes were wide open and pale in colour, +the lips unusually thick and with a marked downward droop. Close +beside him stood a youngish-looking woman, whose unwieldy bulk, +however, and pallid skin revealed the sedentary life and the +ravages of ill-health. + +Both appeared to regard Heron with a certain amount of awe, and de +Batz with a vast measure of curiosity. + +Suddenly the woman stood aside, and in the far corner of the room +there was displayed to the Gascon Royalist's cold, calculating +gaze the pathetic figure of the uncrowned King of France. + +"How is it Capet is not yet in bed?" queried Heron as soon as he +caught sight of the child. + +"He wouldn't say his prayers this evening," replied Simon with a +coarse laugh, "and wouldn't drink his medicine. Bah!" he added +with a snarl, "this is a place for dogs and not for human folk." + +"If you are not satisfied, mon vieux," retorted Heron curtly, "you +can send in your resignation when you like. There are plenty who +will be glad of the place." + +The ex-cobbler gave another surly growl and expectorated on the +floor in the direction where stood the child. + +"Little vermin," he said, "he is more trouble than man or woman +can bear." + +The boy in the meanwhile seemed to take but little notice of the +vulgar insults put upon him by his guardian. He stood, a quaint, +impassive little figure, more interested apparently in de Batz, +who was a stranger to him, than in the three others whom he knew. +De Batz noted that the child looked well nourished, and that he +was warmly clad in a rough woollen shirt and cloth breeches, with +coarse grey stockings and thick shoes; but he also saw that the +clothes were indescribably filthy, as were the child's hands and +face. The golden curls, among which a young and queenly mother had +once loved to pass her slender perfumed fingers, now hung +bedraggled, greasy, and lank round the little face, from the lines +of which every trace of dignity and of simplicity had long since +been erased. + +There was no look of the martyr about this child now, even though, +mayhap, his small back had often smarted under his vulgar tutor's +rough blows; rather did the pale young face wear the air of sullen +indifference, and an abject desire to please, which would have +appeared heart-breaking to any spectator less self-seeking and +egotistic than was this Gascon conspirator. + +Madame Simon had called him to her while her man and the citizen +Heron were talking, and the child went readily enough, without any +sign of fear. She took the corner of her coarse dirty apron in +her hand, and wiped the boy's mouth and face with it. + +"I can't keep him clean," she said with an apologetic shrug of the +shoulders and a look at de Batz. "There now," she added, speaking +once more to the child, "drink like a good boy, and say your +lesson to please maman, and then you shall go to bed." + +She took a glass from the table, which was filled with a clear +liquid that de Batz at first took to be water, and held it to the +boy's lips. He turned his head away and began to whimper. + +"Is the medicine very nasty?" queried de Batz. + +"Mon Dieu! but no, citizen," exclaimed the woman, "it is good +strong eau de vie, the best that can be procured. Capet likes it +really--don't you, Capet? It makes you happy and cheerful, and +sleep well of nights. Why, you had a glassful yesterday and +enjoyed it. Take it now," she added in a quick whisper, seeing +that Simon and Heron were in close conversation together; "you +know it makes papa angry if you don't have at least half a glass +now and then." + +The child wavered for a moment longer, making a quaint little +grimace of distaste. But at last he seemed to make up his mind +that it was wisest to yield over so small a matter, and he took +the glass from Madame Simon. + +And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St. Louis quaffing a +glass of raw spirit at the bidding of a rough cobbler's wife, whom +he called by the fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman! + +Selfish egoist though he was, de Batz turned away in loathing. + +Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction. He +chuckled audibly when the child drank the spirit, and called +Heron's attention to him, whilst a look of triumph lit tip his +wide, pale eyes. + +"And now, mon petit," he said jovially, "let the citizen hear you +say your prayers!" + +He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal of +enjoyment for the visitor from what was coming. From a heap of +litter in a corner of the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet +adorned with a tricolour cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, +which had once been white, and had golden fleur-de-lys embroidered +upon it. + +The cap he set on the child's head, and the flag he threw upon the +floor. + +"Now, Capet--your prayers!" he said with another chuckle of amusement. + +All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiously +coarse. He banged against the furniture as he moved about the +room, kicking a footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair. +De Batz instinctively thought of the perfumed stillness of the +rooms at Versailles, of the army of elegant high-born ladies who +had ministered to the wants of this child, who stood there now +before him, a cap on his yellow hair, and his shoulder held up to +his ear with that gesture of careless indifference peculiar to +children when they are sullen or uncared for. + +Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag +which Henri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had +flaunted in the face of the armies of Europe. The son of the +Bourbons was spitting on their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its +tattered folds. With shrill cracked voice he sang the Carmagnole, +"Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a la lanterne!" until de Batz himself +felt inclined to stop his ears and to rush from the place in +horror. + +Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France +by the grace of God, the child of the Bourbons, the eldest son of +the Church, was stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, +which he had been taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he +danced, his eyes shone with the unnatural light kindled in them by +the intoxicating liquor; with one slender hand he waved the red cap +with the tricolour cockade, and shouted "Vive la Republique!" + +Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with +obvious pride, and a kind of rough maternal affection. Simon was +gazing on Heron for approval, and the latter nodded his bead, +murmuring words of encouragement and of praise. + +"Thy catechism now, Capet--thy catechism," shouted Simon in a +hoarse voice. + +The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs +wide apart, and feet firmly planted on the fleur-de-lys, the glory +of his forefathers. + +"Thy name?" queried Simon. + +"Louis Capet," replied the child in a clear, high-pitched voice. + +"What art thou?" + +"A citizen of the Republic of France." + +"What was thy father?" + +"Louis Capet, ci-devant king, a tyrant who perished by the will of +the people!" + +"What was thy mother?" + +"A --" + +De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man's +private character was, he had been born a gentleman, and his every +instinct revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene had +positively sickened him. He turned precipitately towards the door. + +"How now, citizen?" queried the Committee's agent with a sneer. +"Are you not satisfied with what you see?" + +"Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden +chair," interposed Simon the cobbler with a sneer, "and me and my +wife kneeling and kissing his hand--what?" + +"'Tis the heat of the room," stammered de Batz, who was fumbling +with the lock of the door; "my head began to swim." + +"Spit on their accursed flag, then, like a good patriot, like +Capet," retorted Simon gruffly. "Here, Capet, my son," he added, +pulling the boy by the arm with a rough gesture, "get thee to bed; +thou art quite drunk enough to satisfy any good Republican." + +By way of a caress he tweaked the boy's ear and gave him a prod in +the back with his bent knee. He was not wilfully unkind, for just +now he was not angry with the lad; rather was he vastly amused +with the effect Capet's prayer and Capet's recital of his +catechism had had on the visitor. + +As to the lad, the intensity of excitement in him was immediately +followed by an overwhelming desire for sleep. Without any +preliminary of undressing or of washing, he tumbled, just as he +was, on to the sofa. Madame Simon, with quite pleasing +solicitude, arranged a pillow under his head, and the very next +moment the child was fast asleep. + +"'Tis well, citoyen Simon," said Heron in his turn, going towards +the door. "I'll report favourably on you to the Committee of +Public Security. As for the citoyenne, she had best be more +careful," he added, turning to the woman Simon with a snarl on his +evil face. "There was no cause to arrange a pillow under the head +of that vermin's spawn. Many good patriots have no pillows to put +under their heads. Take that pillow away; and I don't like the +shoes on the brat's feet; sabots are quite good enough." + +Citoyenne Simon made no reply. Some sort of retort had apparently +hovered on her lips, but had been checked, even before it was +uttered, by a peremptory look from her husband. Simon the +cobbler, snarling in speech but obsequious in manner, prepared to +accompany the citizen agent to the door. + +De Batz was taking a last look at the sleeping child; the +uncrowned King of France was wrapped in a drunken sleep, with the +last spoken insult upon his dead mother still hovering on his +childish lips. + + + +CHAPTER VIII +ARCADES AMBO + +"That is the way we conduct our affairs, citizen," said Heron +gruffly, as he once more led his guest back into his office. + +It was his turn to be complacent now. De Batz, for once in his +life cowed by what he had seen, still wore a look of horror and +disgust upon his florid face. + +"What devils you all are!" he said at last. + +"We are good patriots," retorted Heron, "and the tyrant's spawn +leads but the life that hundreds of thousands of children led +whilst his father oppressed the people. Nay! what am I saying? +He leads a far better, far happier life. He gets plenty to eat and +plenty of warm clothes. Thousands of innocent children, who have +not the crimes of a despot father upon their conscience, have to +starve whilst he grows fat." + +The leer in his face was so evil that once more de Batz felt that +eerie feeling of terror creeping into his bones. Here were +cruelty and bloodthirsty ferocity personified to their utmost +extent. At thought of the Bourbons, or of all those whom he +considered had been in the past the oppressors of the people, +Heron was nothing but a wild and ravenous beast, hungering for +revenge, longing to bury his talons and his fangs into the body of +those whose heels had once pressed on his own neck. + +And de Batz knew that even with millions or countless money at his +command he could not purchase from this carnivorous brute the life +and liberty of the son of King Louis. No amount of bribery would +accomplish that; it would have to be ingenuity pitted against +animal force, the wiliness of the fox against the power of the +wolf. + +Even now Heron was darting savagely suspicious looks upon him. + +"I shall get rid of the Simons," he said; "there's something in +that woman's face which I don't trust. They shall go within the +next few hours, or as soon as I can lay my hands upon a better +patriot than that mealy-mouthed cobbler. And it will be better +not to have a woman about the place. Let me see--to-day is +Thursday, or else Friday morning. By Sunday I'll get those Simons +out of the place. Methought I saw you ogling that woman," he +added, bringing his bony fist crashing down on the table so that +papers, pen, and inkhorn rattled loudly; "and if I thought that +you--" + +De Batz thought it well at this point to finger once more +nonchalantly the bundle of crisp paper in the pocket of his coat. + +"Only on that one condition," reiterated Heron in a hoarse voice; +"if you try to get at Capet, I'll drag you to the Tribunal with my +own hands." + +"Always presuming that you can get me, my friend," murmured de +Batz, who was gradually regaining his accustomed composure. + +Already his active mind was busily at work. One or two things +which he had noted in connection with his visit to the Dauphin's +prison had struck him as possibly useful in his schemes. But he +was disappointed that Heron was getting rid of the Simons. The +woman might have been very useful and more easily got at than a +man. The avarice of the French bourgeoise would have proved a +promising factor. But this, of course, would now be out of the +question. At the same time it was not because Heron raved and +stormed and uttered cries like a hyena that he, de Batz, meant to +give up an enterprise which, if successful, would place millions +into his own pocket. + +As for that meddling Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and his +crack-brained followers, they must be effectually swept out of the +way first of all. De Batz felt that they were the real, the most +likely hindrance to his schemes. He himself would have to go very +cautiously to work, since apparently Heron would not allow him to +purchase immunity for himself in that one matter, and whilst he +was laying his plans with necessary deliberation so as to ensure +his own safety, that accursed Scarlet Pimpernel would mayhap +snatch the golden prize from the Temple prison right under his +very nose. + +When he thought of that the Gascon Royalist felt just as +vindictive as did the chief agent of the Committee of General +Security. + +While these thoughts were coursing through de Batz' head, Heron +had been indulging in a volley of vituperation. + +"If that little vermin escapes," he said, "my life will not be +worth an hour's purchase. In twenty-four hours I am a dead man, +thrown to the guillotine like those dogs of aristocrats! You say +I am a night-bird, citizen. I tell you that I do not sleep night +or day thinking of that brat and the means to keep him safely +under my hand. I have never trusted those Simons--" + +"Not trusted them!" exclaimed de Batz; "surely you could not find +anywhere more inhuman monsters!" + +"Inhuman monsters?" snarled Heron. "Bah! they don't do their +business thoroughly; we want the tyrant's spawn to become a true +Republican and a patriot--aye! to make of him such an one that +even if you and your cursed confederates got him by some hellish +chance, he would be no use to you as a king, a tyrant to set above +the people, to set up in your Versailles, your Louvre, to eat off +golden plates and wear satin clothes. You have seen the brat! By +the time he is a man he should forget how to eat save with his +fingers, and get roaring drunk every night. That's what we +want!--to make him so that he shall be no use to you, even if you +did get him away; but you shall not! You shall not, not if I have +to strangle him with my own hands." + +He picked up his short-stemmed pipe and pulled savagely at it for +awhile. De Batz was meditating. + +"My friend," he said after a little while, "you are agitating +yourself quite unnecessarily, and gravely jeopardising your +prospects of getting a comfortable little income through keeping +your fingers off my person. Who said I wanted to meddle with the +child?" + +"You had best not," growled Heron. + +"Exactly. You have said that before. But do you not think that +you would be far wiser, instead of directing your undivided +attention to my unworthy self, to turn your thoughts a little to +one whom, believe me, you have far greater cause to fear?" + +"Who is that?" + +"The Englishman." + +"You mean the man they call the Scarlet Pimpernel?" + +"Himself. Have you not suffered from his activity, friend Heron? +I fancy that citizen Chauvelin and citizen Collot would have quite +a tale to tell about him." + +"They ought both to have been guillotined for that blunder last +autumn at Boulogne." + +"Take care that the same accusation be not laid at your door this +year, my friend," commented de Batz placidly. + +"Bah!" + +"The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris even now." + +"The devil he is!" + +"And on what errand, think you?" + +There was a moment's silence, and then de Batz continued with slow +and dramatic emphasis: + +"That of rescuing your most precious prisoner from the Temple." + +"How do you know?" Heron queried savagely. + +"I guessed." + +"How?" + +"I saw a man in the Theatre National to-day ..." + +"Well?" + +"Who is a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel." + +"D-- him! Where can I find him?" + +"Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred +livres, which I am pining to hand over to you, my friend, and I +will tell you?" + +"Where's the money?" + +"In my pocket." + +Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of +paper towards him, took up a pen, and wrote a few words rapidly in +a loose, scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then +handed it across the table to de Batz. + +"Will that do?" he asked briefly. + +The other was reading the note through carefully. + +"I see you only grant me a fortnight," he remarked casually. + +"For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an +extension you must pay more." + +"So be it," assented de Batz coolly, as he folded the paper +across. "On the whole a fortnight's immunity in France these days +is quite a pleasant respite. And I prefer to keep in touch with +you, friend Heron. I'll call on you again this day fortnight." + +He took out a letter-case from his pocket. Out of this he drew a +packet of bank-notes, which he laid on the table in front of +Heron, then he placed the receipt carefully into the letter-case, +and this back into his pocket. + +Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The light +of ferocity had entirely gone from his eyes; momentarily the whole +expression of the face was one of satisfied greed. + +"Well!" he said at last when he had assured himself that the +number of notes was quite correct, and he had transferred the +bundle of crisp papers into an inner pocket of his coat--"well, +what about your friend?" + +"I knew him years ago," rejoined de Batz coolly; "he is a kinsman +of citizen St. Just. I know that he is one of the confederates of +the Scarlet Pimpernel." + +"Where does he lodge?" + +"That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and +afterwards in the green-room; he was making himself agreeable to +the citizeness Lange. I heard him ask for leave to call on her +to-morrow at four o'clock. You know where she lodges, of course!" + +He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap +of paper, then he quietly rose to go. He took up his cloak and +once again wrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more +to be said, and he was anxious to go. + +The leave-taking between the two men was neither cordial nor more +than barely courteous. De Batz nodded to Heron, who escorted him +to the outside door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a +soldier who was doing sentinel at the further end of the corridor. + +"Show this citizen the way to the guichet," he said curtly. +"Good-night, citizen," he added finally, nodding to de Batz. + +Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue du +Temple between the great outer walls of the prison and the silent +little church and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where +in the central tower a small grated window lighted from within +showed the place where the last of the Bourbons was being taught +to desecrate the traditions of his race, at the bidding of a +mender of shoes--a naval officer cashiered for misconduct and +fraud. + +Such is human nature in its self-satisfied complacency that de +Batz, calmly ignoring the vile part which he himself had played in +the last quarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee's +agent, found it in him to think of Heron with loathing, and even +of the cobbler Simon with disgust. + +Then with a self-righteous sense of duty performed, and an +indifferent shrug of the shoulders, he dismissed Heron from his +mind. + +"That meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel will find his hands over-full +to-morrow, and mayhap will not interfere in my affairs for some +time to come," he mused; "meseems that that will be the first time +that a member of his precious League has come within the clutches +of such unpleasant people as the sleuth-hounds of my friend +Heron!" + + + +CHAPTER IX +WHAT LOVE CAN DO + +"Yesterday you were unkind and ungallant. How could I smile when +you seemed so stern?" + +"Yesterday I was not alone with you. How could I say what lay +next my heart, when indifferent ears could catch the words that +were meant only for you?" + +"Ah, monsieur, do they teach you in England how to make pretty +speeches?" + +"No, mademoiselle, that is an instinct that comes into birth by +the fire of a woman's eyes." + +Mademoiselle Lange was sitting upon a small sofa of antique +design, with cushions covered in faded silks heaped round her +pretty head. Armand thought that she looked like that carved +cameo which his sister Marguerite possessed. + +He himself sat on a low chair at some distance from her. He had +brought her a large bunch of early violets, for he knew that she +was fond of flowers, and these lay upon her lap, against the +opalescent grey of her gown. + +She seemed a little nervous and agitated, his obvious admiration +bringing a ready blush to her cheeks. + +The room itself appeared to Armand to be a perfect frame for the +charming picture which she presented. The furniture in it was +small and old; tiny tables of antique Vernis-Martin, softly faded +tapestries, a pale-toned Aubusson carpet. Everything mellow and +in a measure pathetic. Mademoiselle Lange, who was an orphan, +lived alone under the duennaship of a middle-aged relative, a +penniless hanger-on of the successful young actress, who acted as +her chaperone, housekeeper, and maid, and kept unseemly or +over-bold gallants at bay. + +She told Armand all about her early life, her childhood in the +backshop of Maitre Meziere, the jeweller, who was a relative of +her mother's; of her desire for an artistic career, her struggles +with the middle-class prejudices of her relations, her bold +defiance of them, and final independence. + +She made no secret of her humble origin, her want of education in +those days; on the contrary, she was proud of what she had +accomplished for herself. She was only twenty years of age, and +already held a leading place in the artistic world of Paris. + +Armand listened to her chatter, interested in everything she said, +questioning her with sympathy and discretion. She asked him a good +deal about himself, and about his beautiful sister Marguerite, +who, of course, had been the most brilliant star in that most +brilliant constellation, the Comedie Francaise. She had never +seen Marguerite St. Just act, but, of course, Paris still rang +with her praises, and all art-lovers regretted that she should +have married and left them to mourn for her. + +Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England. +Mademoiselle professed a vast interest in the citizen's country of +adoption. + +"I had always," she said, "thought it an ugly country, with the +noise and bustle of industrial life going on everywhere, and smoke +and fog to cover the landscape and to stunt the trees." + +"Then, in future, mademoiselle," he replied, "must you think of it +as one carpeted with verdure, where in the spring the orchard +trees covered with delicate blossom would speak to you of +fairyland, where the dewy grass stretches its velvety surface in +the shadow of ancient monumental oaks, and ivy-covered towers rear +their stately crowns to the sky." + +"And the Scarlet Pimpernel? Tell me about him, monsieur." + +"Ah, mademoiselle, what can I tell you that you do not already +know? The Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who has devoted his entire +existence to the benefit of suffering mankind. He has but one +thought, and that is for those who need him; he hears but one +sound the cry of the oppressed." + +"But they do say, monsieur, that philanthropy plays but a sorry +part in your hero's schemes. They aver that he looks on his own +efforts and the adventures through which he goes only in the light +of sport." + +"Like all Englishmen, mademoiselle, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a +little ashamed of sentiment. He would deny its very existence +with his lips, even whilst his noble heart brimmed over with it. +Sport? Well! mayhap the sporting instinct is as keen as that of +charity--the race for lives, the tussle for the rescue of human +creatures, the throwing of a life on the hazard of a die." + +"They fear him in France, monsieur. He has saved so many whose +death had been decreed by the Committee of Public Safety." + +"Please God, he will save many yet." + +"Ah, monsieur, the poor little boy in the Temple prison!" + +"He has your sympathy, mademoiselle?" + +"Of every right-minded woman in France, monsieur. Oh!" she added +with a pretty gesture of enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, +and looking at Armand with large eyes filled with tears, "if your +noble Scarlet Pimpernel will do aught to save that poor innocent +lamb, I would indeed bless him in my heart, and help him with all +my humble might if I could." + +"May God's saints bless you for those words, mademoiselle," he +said, whilst, carried away by her beauty, her charm, her perfect +femininity, he stooped towards her until his knee touched the +carpet at her feet. "I had begun to lose my belief in my poor +misguided country, to think all men in France vile, and all women +base. I could thank you on my knees for your sweet words of +sympathy, for the expression of tender motherliness that came into +your eyes when you spoke of the poor forsaken Dauphin in the +Temple." + +She did not restrain her tears; with her they came very easily, +just as with a child, and as they gathered in her eyes and rolled +down her fresh cheeks they iii no way marred the charm of her +face. One hand lay in her lap fingering a diminutive bit of +cambric, which from time to time she pressed to her eyes. The +other she had almost unconsciously yielded to Armand. + +The scent of the violets filled the room. It seemed to emanate +from her, a fitting attribute of her young, wholly unsophisticated +girlhood. The citizen was goodly to look at; he was kneeling at +her feet, and his lips were pressed against her hand. + +Armand was young and he was an idealist. I do not for a moment +imagine that just at this moment he was deeply in love. The +stronger feeling had not yet risen up in him; it came later when +tragedy encompassed him and brought passion to sudden maturity. +Just now he was merely yielding himself up to the intoxicating +moment, with all the abandonment, all the enthusiasm of the Latin +race. There was no reason why he should not bend the knee before +this exquisite little cameo, that by its very presence was giving +him an hour of perfect pleasure and of aesthetic joy. + +Outside the world continued its hideous, relentless way; men +butchered one another, fought and hated. Here in this small +old-world salon, with its faded satins and bits of ivory-tinted +lace, the outer universe had never really penetrated. It was a +tiny world--quite apart from the rest of mankind, perfectly +peaceful and absolutely beautiful. + +If Armand had been allowed to depart from here now, without having +been the cause as well as the chief actor in the events that +followed, no doubt that Mademoiselle Lange would always have +remained a charming memory with him, an exquisite bouquet of +violets pressed reverently between the leaves of a favourite book +of poems, and the scent of spring flowers would in after years +have ever brought her dainty picture to his mind. + +He was murmuring pretty words of endearment; carried away by +emotion, his arm stole round her waist; he felt that if another +tear came like a dewdrop rolling down her cheek he must kiss it +away at its very source. Passion was not sweeping them off their +feet--not yet, for they were very young, and life had not as yet +presented to them its most unsolvable problem. + +But they yielded to one another, to the springtime of their life, +calling for Love, which would come presently hand in hand with his +grim attendant, Sorrow. + +Even as Armand's glowing face was at last lifted up to hers asking +with mute lips for that first kiss which she already was prepared +to give, there came the loud noise of men's heavy footsteps +tramping up the old oak stairs, then some shouting, a woman's cry, +and the next moment Madame Belhomme, trembling, wide-eyed, and in +obvious terror, came rushing into the room. + +"Jeanne! Jeanne! My child! It is awful! It is awful! Mon +Dieu--mon Dieu! What is to become of us?" + +She was moaning and lamenting even as she ran in, and now she +threw her apron over her face and sank into a chair, continuing +her moaning and her lamentations. + +Neither Mademoiselle nor Armand had stirred. They remained like +graven images, he on one knee, she with large eyes fixed upon his +face. They had neither of them looked on the old woman; they +seemed even now unconscious of her presence. But their ears had +caught the sound of that measured tramp of feet up the stairs of +the old house, and the halt upon the landing; they had heard the +brief words of command: + +"Open, in the name of the people!" + +They knew quite well what it all meant; they had not wandered so +far in the realms of romance that reality--the grim, horrible +reality of the moment--had not the power to bring them back to +earth. + +That peremptory call to open in the name of the people was the +prologue these days to a drama which had but two concluding acts: +arrest, which was a certainty; the guillotine, which was more than +probable. Jeanne and Armand, these two young people who but a +moment ago had tentatively lifted the veil of life, looked +straight into each other's eyes and saw the hand of death +interposed between them: they looked straight into each other's +eyes and knew that nothing but the hand of death would part them +now. Love had come with its attendant, Sorrow; but he had come +with no uncertain footsteps. Jeanne looked on the man before her, +and he bent his head to imprint a glowing kiss upon her hand. + +"Aunt Marie!" + +It was Jeanne Lange who spoke, but her voice was no longer that of +an irresponsible child; it was firm, steady and hard. Though she +spoke to the old woman, she did not look at her; her luminous +brown eyes rested on the bowed head of Armand St. Just. + +"Aunt Marie!" she repeated more peremptorily, for the old woman, +with her apron over her head, was still moaning, and unconscious +of all save an overmastering fear. + +"Open, in the name of the people!" came in a loud harsh voice once +more from the other side of the front door. + +"Aunt Marie, as you value your life and mine, pull yourself +together," said Jeanne firmly. + +"What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do?" moaned Madame Belhomme. +But she had dragged the apron away from her face, and was looking +with some puzzlement at meek, gentle little Jeanne, who had +suddenly become so strange, so dictatorial, all unlike her +habitual somewhat diffident self. + +"You need not have the slightest fear, Aunt Marie, if you will +only do as I tell you," resumed Jeanne quietly; "if you give way +to fear, we are all of us undone. As you value your life and +mine," she now repeated authoritatively, "pull yourself together, +and do as I tell you." + +The girl's firmness, her perfect quietude had the desired effect. +Madame Belhomme, though still shaken up with sobs of terror, made +a great effort to master herself; she stood up, smoothed down her +apron, passed her hand over her ruffled hair, and said in a +quaking voice: + +"What do you think we had better do?" + +"Go quietly to the door and open it." + +"But--the soldiers--" + +"If you do not open quietly they will force the door open within +the next two minutes," interposed Jeanne calmly. "Go quietly and +open the door. Try and hide your fears, grumble in an audible +voice at being interrupted in your cooking, and tell the soldiers +at once that they will find mademoiselle in the boudoir. Go, for +God's sake!" she added, whilst suppressed emotion suddenly made +her young voice vibrate; "go, before they break open that door!" + +Madame Belhomme, impressed and cowed, obeyed like an automaton. +She turned and marched fairly straight out of the room. It was +not a minute too soon. From outside had already come the third +and final summons: + +"Open, in the name of the people!" + +After that a crowbar would break open the door. + +Madame Belhomme's heavy footsteps were heard crossing the +ante-chamber. Armand still knelt at Jeanne's feet, holding her +trembling little hand in his. + +"A love-scene," she whispered rapidly, "a love-scene--quick--do +you know one?" + +And even as he had tried to rise she held him hack, down on his +knees. + +He thought that fear was making her distracted. + +"Mademoiselle--" he murmured, trying to soothe her. + +"Try and understand," she said with wonderful calm, "and do as I +tell you. Aunt Marie has obeyed. Will you do likewise?" + +"To the death!" he whispered eagerly. + +"Then a love-scene," she entreated. "Surely you know one. +Rodrigue and Chimene! Surely--surely," she urged, even as tears +of anguish rose into her eyes, "you must--you must, or, if not +that, something else. Quick! The very seconds are precious!" + +They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, +had gone to the door and opened it; even her well-feigned +grumblings could now be heard and the rough interrogations from +the soldiery. + +"Citizeness Lange!" said a gruff voice. + +"In her boudoir, quoi!" + +Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her +part remarkably well. + +"Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!" she went on +grumbling and muttering. + +"Oh, think--think!" murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, +her hot little hand grasping his so tightly that her nails were +driven into his flesh. "You must know something, that will +do--anything--for dear life's sake .... Armand!" + +His name--in the tense excitement of this terrible moment--had +escaped her lips. + +All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, +and even as the door of the boudoir was thrown violently open +Armand--still on his knees, but with one hand pressed to his +heart, the other stretched upwards to the ceiling in the most +approved dramatic style, was loudly declaiming: + + "Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour, + Pour venger sa maitresse il a quitte le jour!" + +Whereupon Mademoiselle Lange feigned the most perfect impatience. + +"No, no, my good cousin," she said with a pretty moue of disdain, +"that will never do! You must not thus emphasise the end of every +line; the verses should flow more evenly, as thus...." + +Heron had paused at the door. It was he who had thrown it +open--he who, followed by a couple of his sleuth-hounds, had +thought to find here the man denounced by de Batz as being one of +the followers of that irrepressible Scarlet Pimpernel. The +obviously Parisian intonation of the man kneeling in front of +citizeness Lange in an attitude no ways suggestive of personal +admiration, and coolly reciting verses out of a play, had somewhat +taken him aback. + +"What does this mean?" he asked gruffly, striding forward into the +room and glaring first at mademoiselle, then at Armand. + +Mademoiselle gave a little cry of surprise. + +"Why, if it isn't citizen Heron!" she cried, jumping up with a +dainty movement of coquetry and embarrassment. "Why did not Aunt +Marie announce you? ... It is indeed remiss of her, but she is so +ill-tempered on baking days I dare not even rebuke her. Won't you +sit down, citizen Heron? And you, cousin," she added, looking +down airily on Armand, "I pray you maintain no longer that foolish +attitude." + +The febrileness of her manner, the glow in her cheeks were easily +attributable to natural shyness in face of this unexpected visit. +Heron, completely bewildered by this little scene, which was so +unlike what he expected, and so unlike those to which he was +accustomed in the exercise of his horrible duties, was practically +speechless before the little lady who continued to prattle along +in a simple, unaffected manner. + +"Cousin," she said to Armand, who in the meanwhile had risen to +his knees, "this is citizen Heron, of whom you have heard me +speak. My cousin Belhomme," she continued, once more turning to +Heron, "is fresh from the country, citizen. He hails from +Orleans, where he has played leading parts in the tragedies of the +late citizen Corneille. But, ah me! I fear that he will find +Paris audiences vastly more critical than the good Orleanese. Did +you hear him, citizen, declaiming those beautiful verses just now? +He was murdering them, say I--yes, murdering them--the gaby!" + +Then only did it seem as if she realised that there was something +amiss, that citizen Heron had come to visit her, not as an admirer +of her talent who would wish to pay his respects to a successful +actress, but as a person to be looked on with dread. + +She gave a quaint, nervous little laugh, and murmured in the tones +of a frightened child: + +"La, citizen, how glum you look! I thought you had come to +compliment me on my latest success. I saw you at the theatre last +night, though you did not afterwards come to see me in the +green-room. Why! I had a regular ovation! Look at my flowers!" she +added more gaily, pointing to several bouquets in vases about the +room. "Citizen Danton brought me the violets himself, and citizen +Santerre the narcissi, and that laurel wreath--is it not +charming?--that was a tribute from citizen Robespierre himself." + +She was so artless, so simple, and so natural that Heron was +completely taken off his usual mental balance. He had expected to +find the usual setting to the dramatic episodes which he was wont +to conduct--screaming women, a man either at bay, sword in hand, +or hiding in a linen cupboard or up a chimney. + +Now everything puzzled him. De Batz--he was quite sure--had spoken +of an Englishman, a follower of the Scarlet Pimpernel; every +thinking French patriot knew that all the followers of the Scarlet +Pimpernel were Englishmen with red hair and prominent teeth, +whereas this man.... + +Armand--who deadly danger had primed in his improvised role--was +striding up and down the room declaiming with ever-varying +intonations: + + "Joignez tous vos efforts contre un espoir si doux + Pour en venir a bout, c'est trop peu que de vous." + +"No! no!" said mademoiselle impatiently; "you must not make that +ugly pause midway in the last line: 'pour en venir a bout, c'est +trop peu que de vous!'" + +She mimicked Armand's diction so quaintly, imitating his stride, +his awkward gesture, and his faulty phraseology with such funny +exaggeration that Heron laughed in spite of himself. + +"So that is a cousin from Orleans, is it?" he asked, throwing his +lanky body into an armchair, which creaked dismally under his +weight. + +"Yes! a regular gaby--what?" she said archly. "Now, citizen Heron, +you must stay and take coffee with me. Aunt Marie will be +bringing it in directly. Hector," she added, turning to Armand, +"come down from the clouds and ask Aunt Marie to be quick." + +This certainly was the first time in the whole of his experience +that Heron had been asked to stay and drink coffee with the quarry +he was hunting down. Mademoiselle's innocent little ways, her +desire for the prolongation of his visit, further addled his +brain. De Batz had undoubtedly spoken of an Englishman, and the +cousin from Orleans was certainly a Frenchman every inch of him. + +Perhaps had the denunciation come from any one else but de Batz, +Heron might have acted and thought more circumspectly; but, of +course, the chief agent of the Committee of General Security was +more suspicious of the man from whom he took a heavy bribe than of +any one else in France. The thought had suddenly crossed his mind +that mayhap de Batz had sent him on a fool's errand in order to +get him safely out of the way of the Temple prison at a given hour +of the day. + +The thought took shape, crystallised, caused him to see a rapid +vision of de Batz sneaking into his lodgings and stealing his +keys, the guard being slack, careless, inattentive, allowing the +adventurer to pass barriers that should have been closed against +all comers. + +Now Heron was sure of it; it was all a conspiracy invented by de +Batz. He had forgotten all about his theories that a man under +arrest is always safer than a man that is free. Had his brain +been quite normal, and not obsessed, as it always was now by +thoughts of the Dauphin's escape from prison, no doubt he would +have been more suspicious of Armand, but all his worst suspicions +were directed against de Batz. Armand seemed to him just a fool, +an actor quoi? and so obviously not an Englishman. + +He jumped to his feet, curtly declining mademoiselle's offers of +hospitality. He wanted to get away at once. Actors and actresses +were always, by tacit consent of the authorities, more immune than +the rest of the community. They provided the only amusement in +the intervals of the horrible scenes around the scaffolds; they +were irresponsible, harmless creatures who did not meddle in +politics. + +Jeanne the while was gaily prattling on, her luminous eyes fixed +upon the all-powerful enemy, striving to read his thoughts, to +understand what went on behind those cruel, prominent eyes, the +chances that Armand had of safety and of life. + +She knew, of course, that the visit was directed against +Armand--some one had betrayed him, that odious de Batz mayhap--and +she was fighting for Armand's safety, for his life. Her armoury +consisted of her presence of mind, her cool courage, her +self-control; she used all these weapons for his sake, though at +times she felt as if the strain on her nerves would snap the +thread of life in her. The effort seemed more than she could bear. + +But she kept up her part, rallying Heron for the shortness of his +visit, begging him to tarry for another five minutes at least, +throwing out--with subtle feminine intuition--just those very +hints anent little Capet's safety that were most calculated to +send him flying back towards the Temple. + +"I felt so honoured last night, citizen," she said coquettishly, +"that you even forgot little Capet in order to come and watch my +debut as Celimene." + +"Forget him!" retorted Heron, smothering a curse, "I never forget +the vermin. I must go back to him; there are too many cats nosing +round my mouse. Good day to you, citizeness. I ought to have +brought flowers, I know; but I am a busy man--a harassed man." + +"Je te crois," she said with a grave nod of the head; "but do come +to the theatre to-night. I am playing Camille--such a fine part! +one of my greatest successes." + +"Yes, yes, I'll come--mayhap, mayhap--but I'll go now--glad to +have seen you, citizeness. Where does your cousin lodge?" he +asked abruptly. + +"Here," she replied boldly, on the spur of the moment. + +"Good. Let him report himself to-morrow morning at the +Conciergerie, and get his certificate of safety. It is a new +decree, and you should have one, too." + +"Very well, then. Hector and I will come together, and perhaps +Aunt Marie will come too. Don't send us to maman guillotine yet +awhile, citizen," she said lightly; "you will never get such +another Camille, nor yet so good a Celimene." + +She was gay, artless to the last. She accompanied Heron to the +door herself, chaffing him about his escort. + +"You are an aristo, citizen," she said, gazing with well-feigned +admiration on the two sleuth-hounds who stood in wait in the +anteroom; "it makes me proud to see so many citizens at my door. +Come and see me play Camille--come to-night, and don't forget the +green-room door--it will always be kept invitingly open for you." + +She bobbed him a curtsey, and he walked out, closely followed by +his two men; then at last she closed the door behind them. She +stood there for a while, her ear glued against the massive panels, +listening for their measured tread down the oak staircase. At +last it rang more sharply against the flagstones of the courtyard +below; then she was satisfied that they had gone, and went slowly +back to the boudoir. + + + +CHAPTER X +SHADOWS + +The tension on her nerves relaxed; there was the inevitable +reaction. Her knees were shaking under her, and she literally +staggered into the room. + +But Armand was already near her, down on both his knees this time, +his arms clasping the delicate form that swayed like the slender +stems of narcissi in the breeze. + +"Oh! you must go out of Paris at once--at once," she said through +sobs which no longer would be kept back. + +"He'll return--I know that he will return--and you will not be +safe until you are back in England." + +But he could not think of himself or of anything in the future. +He had forgotten Heron, Paris, the world; he could only think of +her. + +"I owe my life to you!" he murmured. "Oh, how beautiful you +are--how brave! How I love you!" + +It seemed that he had always loved her, from the moment that first +in his boyish heart he had set up an ideal to worship, and then, +last night, in the box of the theatre--he had his back turned +toward the stage, and was ready to go--her voice had called him +back; it had held him spellbound; her voice, and also her eyes.... +He did not know then that it was Love which then and there had +enchained him. Oh, how foolish he had been! for now he knew that +he had loved her with all his might, with all his soul, from the +very instant that his eyes had rested upon her. + +He babbled along--incoherently--in the intervals of covering her +hands and the hem of her gown with kisses. He stooped right down +to the ground and kissed the arch of her instep; he had become a +devotee worshipping at the shrine of his saint, who had performed +a great and a wonderful miracle. + +Armand the idealist had found his ideal in a woman. That was the +great miracle which the woman herself had performed for him. He +found in her all that he had admired most, all that he had admired +in the leader who hitherto had been the only personification of +his ideal. But Jeanne possessed all those qualities which had +roused his enthusiasm in the noble hero whom he revered. Her +pluck, her ingenuity, her calm devotion which had averted the +threatened danger from him! + +What had he done that she should have risked her own sweet life +for his sake? + +But Jeanne did not know. She could not tell. Her nerves now were +somewhat unstrung, and the tears that always came so readily to +her eyes flowed quite unchecked. She could not very well move, for +he held her knees imprisoned in his arms, but she was quite +content to remain like this, and to yield her hands to him so that +he might cover them with kisses. + +Indeed, she did not know at what precise moment love for him had +been born in her heart. Last night, perhaps ... she could not say +... but when they parted she felt that she must see him again ... +and then today ... perhaps it was the scent of the violets ... +they were so exquisitely sweet ... perhaps it was his enthusiasm +and his talk about England ... but when Heron came she knew that +she must save Armand's life at all cost ... that she would die if +they dragged him away to prison. + +Thus these two children philosophised, trying to understand the +mystery of the birth of Love. But they were only children; they +did not really understand. Passion was sweeping them off their +feet, because a common danger had bound them irrevocably to one +another. The womanly instinct to save and to protect had given +the young girl strength to bear a difficult part, and now she +loved him for the dangers from which she had rescued him, and he +loved her because she had risked her life for him. + +The hours sped on; there was so much to say, so much that was +exquisite to listen to. The shades of evening were gathering +fast; the room, with its pale-toned hangings and faded tapestries, +was sinking into the arms of gloom. Aunt Marie was no doubt too +terrified to stir out of her kitchen; she did not bring the lamps, +but the darkness suited Armand's mood, and Jeanne was glad that +the gloaming effectually hid the perpetual blush in her cheeks. + +In the evening air the dying flowers sent their heady fragrance +around. Armand was intoxicated with the perfume of violets that +clung to Jeanne's fingers, with the touch of her satin gown that +brushed his cheek, with the murmur of her voice that quivered +through her tears. + +No noise from the ugly outer world reached this secluded spot. In +the tiny square outside a street lamp had been lighted, and its +feeble rays came peeping in through the lace curtains at the +window. They caught the dainty silhouette of the young girl, +playing with the loose tendrils of her hair around her forehead, +and outlining with a thin band of light the contour of neck and +shoulder, making the satin of her gown shimmer with an opalescent +glow. + +Armand rose from his knees. Her eyes were calling to him, her +lips were ready to yield. + +"Tu m'aimes?" he whispered. + +And like a tired child she sank upon his breast. + +He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips; her skin was fragrant as +the flowers of spring, the tears on her cheeks glistened like +morning dew. + + + +Aunt Marie came in at last, carrying the lamp. She found them +sitting side by side, like two children, hand in hand, mute with +the eloquence which comes from boundless love. They were under a +spell, forgetting even that they lived, knowing nothing except +that they loved. + +The lamp broke the spell, and Aunt Marie's still trembling voice: + +"Oh, my dear! how did you manage to rid yourself of those brutes? + +But she asked no other question, even when the lamp showed up +quite clearly the glowing cheeks of Jeanne and the ardent eyes of +Armand. In her heart, long since atrophied, there were a few +memories, carefully put away in a secret cell, and those memories +caused the old woman to understand. + +Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been +broken, but the dream lingered on; they did not see Aunt Marie +putting the room tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door. + +But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition. +After Armand had asked for the hundredth time: "Tu m'aimes?" and +Jeanne for the hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, +her fears for him suddenly returned. + +Something had awakened her from her trance--a heavy footstep, +mayhap, in the street below, the distant roll of a drum, or only +the clash of steel saucepans in Aunt Marie's kitchen. But +suddenly Jeanne was alert, and with her alertness came terror for +the beloved. + +"Your life," she said--for he had called her his life just then, +"your life--and I was forgetting that it is still in danger ... +your dear, your precious life!" + +"Doubly dear now," he replied, "since I owe it to you." + +"Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sake--make +all haste to leave Paris ... oh, this I beg of you!" she continued +more earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; "every hour +you spend in it brings danger nearer to your door." + +"I could not leave Paris while you are here." + +"But I am safe here," she urged; "quite, quite safe, I assure you. +I am only a poor actress, and the Government takes no heed of us +mimes. Men must be amused, even between the intervals of killing +one another. Indeed, indeed, I should be far safer here now, +waiting quietly for awhile, while you make preparations to go ... +My hasty departure at this moment would bring disaster on us +both." + +There was logic in what she said. And yet how could he leave her? +now that he had found this perfect woman--this realisation of his +highest ideals, how could he go and leave her in this awful Paris, +with brutes like Heron forcing their hideous personality into her +sacred presence, threatening that very life he would gladly give +his own to keep inviolate? + +"Listen, sweetheart," he said after awhile, when presently reason +struggled back for first place in his mind. "Will you allow me to +consult with my chief, with the Scarlet Pimpernel, who is in Paris +at the present moment? I am under his orders; I could not leave +France just now. My life, my entire person are at his disposal. I +and my comrades are here under his orders, for a great undertaking +which he has not yet unfolded to us, but which I firmly believe is +framed for the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple." + +She gave an involuntary exclamation of horror. + +"No, no!" she said quickly and earnestly; "as far as you are +concerned, Armand, that has now become an impossibility. Some one +has betrayed you, and you are henceforth a marked man. I think +that odious de Batz had a hand in Heron's visit of this afternoon. +We succeeded in putting these spies off the scent, but only for a +moment ... within a few hours--less perhaps--Heron will repent him +of his carelessness; he'll come back--I know that he will come +back. He may leave me, personally, alone; but he will be on your +track; he'll drag you to the Conciergerie to report yourself, and +there your true name and history are bound to come to light. If +you succeed in evading him, he will still be on your track. If +the Scarlet Pimpernel keeps you in Paris now, your death will be +at his door." + +Her voice had become quite hard and trenchant as she said these +last words; womanlike, she was already prepared to hate the man +whose mysterious personality she had hitherto admired, now that +the life and safety of Armand appeared to depend on the will of +that elusive hero. + +"You must not be afraid for me, Jeanne," he urged. "The Scarlet +Pimpernel cares for all his followers; he would never allow me to +run unnecessary risks." + +She was unconvinced, almost jealous now of his enthusiasm for that +unknown man. Already she had taken full possession of Armand; she +had purchased his life, and he had given her his love. She would +share neither treasure with that nameless leader who held Armand's +allegiance. + +"It is only for a little while, sweetheart," he reiterated again +and again. "I could not, anyhow, leave Paris whilst I feel that +you are here, maybe in danger. The thought would be horrible. I +should go mad if I had to leave you." + +Then he talked again of England, of his life there, of the +happiness and peace that were in store for them both. + +"We will go to England together," he whispered, "and there we will +be happy together, you and I. We will have a tiny house among the +Kentish hills, and its walls will be covered with honeysuckle and +roses. At the back of the house there will be an orchard, and in +May, when the fruit-blossom is fading and soft spring breezes blow +among the trees, showers of sweet-scented petals will envelop us +as we walk along, falling on us like fragrant snow. You will +come, sweetheart, will you not?" + +"If you still wish it, Armand," she murmured. + +Still wish it! He would gladly go to-morrow if she would come with +him. But, of course, that could not be arranged. She had her +contract to fulfil at the theatre, then there would be her house +and furniture to dispose of, and there was Aunt Marie.... But, of +course, Aunt Marie would come too.... She thought that she could +get away some time before the spring; and he swore that he could +not leave Paris until she came with him. + +It seemed a terrible deadlock, for she could not bear to think of +him alone in those awful Paris streets, where she knew that spies +would always be tracking him. She had no illusions as to the +impression which she had made on Heron; she knew that it could +only be a momentary one, and that Armand would henceforth be in +daily, hourly danger. + +At last she promised him that she would take the advice of his +chief; they would both be guided by what he said. Armand would +confide in him to-night, and if it could be arranged she would +hurry on her preparations and, mayhap, be ready to join him in a +week. + +"In the meanwhile, that cruel man must not risk your dear life," +she said. "Remember, Armand, your life belongs to me. Oh, I +could hate him for the love you bear him!" + +"Sh--sh--sh!" he said earnestly. "Dear heart, you must not speak +like that of the man whom, next to your perfect self, I love most +upon earth." + +"You think of him more than of me. I shall scarce live until I +know that you are safely out of Paris." + +Though it was horrible to part, yet it was best, perhaps, that he +should go back to his lodgings now, in case Heron sent his spies +back to her door, and since he meant to consult with his chief. +She had a vague hope that if the mysterious hero was indeed the +noble-hearted man whom Armand represented him to be, surely he +would take compassion on the anxiety of a sorrowing woman, and +release the man she loved from bondage. + +This thought pleased her and gave her hope. She even urged Armand +now to go. + +"When may I see you to-morrow?" he asked. + +"But it will be so dangerous to meet," she argued. + +"I must see you. I could not live through the day without seeing +you." + +"The theatre is the safest place." + +"I could not wait till the evening. May I not come here?" + +"No, no. Heron's spies may be about." + +"Where then?" + +She thought it over for a moment. + +"At the stage-door of the theatre at one o'clock,"she said at +last. "We shall have finished rehearsal. Slip into the guichet +of the concierge. I will tell him to admit you, and send my +dresser to meet you there; she will bring you along to my room, +where we shall be undisturbed for at least half an hour." + +He had perforce to be content with that, though he would so much +rather have seen her here again, where the faded tapestries and +soft-toned hangings made such a perfect background for her +delicate charm. He had every intention of confiding in Blakeney, +and of asking his help for getting Jeanne out of Paris as quickly +as may be. + +Thus this perfect hour was past; the most pure, the fullest of joy +that these two young people were ever destined to know. Perhaps +they felt within themselves the consciousness that their great +love would rise anon to yet greater, fuller perfection when Fate +had crowned it with his halo of sorrow. Perhaps, too, it was that +consciousness that gave to their kisses now the solemnity of a +last farewell. + + + +CHAPTER XI +THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL + +Armand never could say definitely afterwards whither he went when +he left the Square du Roule that evening. No doubt he wandered +about the streets for some time in an absent, mechanical way, +paying no heed to the passers-by, none to the direction in which +he was going. + +His mind was full of Jeanne, her beauty, her courage, her attitude +in face of the hideous bloodhound who had come to pollute that +charming old-world boudoir by his loathsome presence. He recalled +every word she uttered, every gesture she made. + +He was a man in love for the first time--wholly, irremediably in +love. + +I suppose that it was the pangs of hunger that first recalled him +to himself. It was close on eight o'clock now, and he had fed on +his imaginings--first on anticipation, then on realisation, and +lastly on memory--during the best part of the day. Now he awoke +from his day-dream to find himself tired and hungry, hut +fortunately not very far from that quarter of Paris where food is +easily obtainable. + +He was somewhere near the Madeleine--a quarter he knew well. Soon +he saw in front of him a small eating-house which looked fairly +clean and orderly. He pushed open its swing-door, and seeing an +empty table in a secluded part of the room, he sat down and +ordered some supper. + +The place made no impression upon his memory. He could not have +told you an hour later where it was situated, who had served him, +what he had eaten, or what other persons were present in the +dining-room at the time that he himself entered it. + +Having eaten, however, he felt more like his normal self--more +conscious of his actions. When he finally left the eating-house, +he realised, for instance, that it was very cold--a fact of which +he had for the past few hours been totally unaware. The snow was +falling in thin close flakes, and a biting north-easterly wind was +blowing those flakes into his face and down his collar. He +wrapped his cloak tightly around him. It was a good step yet to +Blakeney's lodgings, where he knew that he was expected. + +He struck quickly into the Rue St. Honore, avoiding the great open +places where the grim horrors of this magnificent city in revolt +against civilisation were displayed in all their grim +nakedness--on the Place de la Revolution the guillotine, on the +Carrousel the open-air camps of workers under the lash of +slave-drivers more cruel than the uncivilised brutes of the Far +West. + +And Armand had to think of Jeanne in the midst of all these +horrors. She was still a petted actress to-day, but who could +tell if on the morrow the terrible law of the "suspect" would not +reach her in order to drag her before a tribunal that knew no +mercy, and whose sole justice was a condemnation? + +The young man hurried on; he was anxious to be among his own +comrades, to hear his chief's pleasant voice, to feel assured that +by all the sacred laws of friendship Jeanne henceforth would +become the special care of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his league. + +Blakeney lodged in a small house situated on the Quai de l'Ecole, +at the back of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, from whence he had a clear +and uninterrupted view across the river, as far as the irregular +block of buildings of the Chatelet prison and the house of +Justice. + +The same tower-clock that two centuries ago had tolled the signal +for the massacre of the Huguenots was even now striking nine. +Armand slipped through the half-open porte cochere, crossed the +narrow dark courtyard, and ran up two flights of winding stone +stairs. At the top of these, a door on his right allowed a thin +streak of light to filtrate between its two folds. An iron bell +handle hung beside it; Armand gave it a pull. + +Two minutes later he was amongst his friends. He heaved a great +sigh of content and relief. The very atmosphere here seemed to be +different. As far as the lodging itself was concerned, it was as +bare, as devoid of comfort as those sort of places--so-called +chambres garnies--usually were in these days. The chairs looked +rickety and uninviting, the sofa was of black horsehair, the +carpet was threadbare, and in places in actual holes; but there +was a certain something in the air which revealed, in the midst of +all this squalor, the presence of a man of fastidious taste. + +To begin with, the place was spotlessly clean; the stove, highly +polished, gave forth a pleasing warm glow, even whilst the window, +slightly open, allowed a modicum of fresh air to enter the room. +In a rough earthenware jug on the table stood a large bunch of +Christmas roses, and to the educated nostril the slight scent of +perfumes that hovered in the air was doubly pleasing after the +fetid air of the narrow streets. + +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, also my Lord Tony, and Lord +Hastings. They greeted Armand with whole-hearted cheeriness. + +"Where is Blakeney?" asked the young man as soon as he had shaken +his friends by the hand. + +"Present!" came in loud, pleasant accents from the door of an +inner room on the right. + +And there he stood under the lintel of the door, the man against +whom was raised the giant hand of an entire nation--the man for +whose head the revolutionary government of France would gladly pay +out all the savings of its Treasury--the man whom human +bloodhounds were tracking, hot on the scent--for whom the nets of +a bitter revenge and relentless reprisals were constantly being +spread. + +Was he unconscious of it, or merely careless? His closest friend, +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, could not say. Certain it is that, as he now +appeared before Armand, picturesque as ever in perfectly tailored +clothes, with priceless lace at throat and wrists, his slender +fingers holding an enamelled snuff-box and a handkerchief of +delicate cambric, his whole personality that of a dandy rather +than a man of action, it seemed impossible to connect him with the +foolhardy escapades which had set one nation glowing with +enthusiasm and another clamouring for revenge. + +But it was the magnetism that emanated from him that could not be +denied; the light that now and then, swift as summer lightning, +flashed out from the depths of the blue eyes usually veiled by +heavy, lazy lids, the sudden tightening of firm lips, the setting +of the square jaw, which in a moment--but only for the space of a +second--transformed the entire face, and revealed the born leader +of men. + +Just now there was none of that in the debonnair, easy-going man +of the world who advanced to meet his friend. Armand went quickly +up to him, glad to grasp his hand, slightly troubled with remorse, +no doubt, at the recollection of his adventure of to-day. It +almost seemed to him that from beneath his half-closed lids +Blakeney had shot a quick inquiring glance upon him. The quick +flash seemed to light up the young man's soul from within, and to +reveal it, naked, to his friend. + +It was all over in a moment, and Armand thought that mayhap his +conscience had played him a trick: there was nothing apparent in +him--of this he was sure--that could possibly divulge his secret +just yet. + +"I am rather late, I fear," he said. "I wandered about the +streets in the late afternoon and lost my way in the dark. I hope +I have not kept you all waiting." + +They all pulled chairs closely round the fire, except Blakeney, +who preferred to stand. He waited awhile until they were all +comfortably settled, and all ready to listen, then: + +"It is about the Dauphin," he said abruptly without further +preamble. + +They understood. All of them had guessed it, almost before the +summons came that had brought them to Paris two days ago. Sir +Andrew Ffoulkes had left his young wife because of that, and +Armand had demanded it as a right to join hands in this noble +work. Blakeney had not left France for over three months now. +Backwards and forwards between Paris, or Nantes, or Orleans to the +coast, where his friends would meet him to receive those +unfortunates whom one man's whole-hearted devotion had rescued +from death; backwards and forwards into the very hearts of those +cities wherein an army of sleuth-hounds were on his track, and the +guillotine was stretching out her arms to catch the foolhardy +adventurer. + +Now it was about the Dauphin. They all waited, breathless and +eager, the fire of a noble enthusiasm burning in their hearts. +They waited in silence, their eyes fixed on the leader, lest one +single word from him should fail to reach their ears. + +The full magnetism of the man was apparent now. As he held these +four men at this moment, he could have held a crowd. The man of +the world--the fastidious dandy--had shed his mask; there stood +the leader, calm, serene in the very face of the most deadly +danger that had ever encompassed any man, looking that danger +fully in the face, not striving to belittle it or to exaggerate +it, but weighing it in the balance with what there was to +accomplish: the rescue of a martyred, innocent child from the +hands of fiends who were destroying his very soul even more +completely than his body. + +"Everything, I think, is prepared," resumed Sir Percy after a +slight pause. "The Simons have been summarily dismissed; I +learned that to-day. They remove from the Temple on Sunday next, +the nineteenth. Obviously that is the one day most likely to help +us in our operations. As far as I am concerned, I cannot make any +hard-and-fast plans. Chance at the last moment will have to +dictate. But from every one of you I must have co-operation, and +it can only be by your following my directions implicitly that we +can even remotely hope to succeed." + +He crossed and recrossed the room once or twice before he spoke +again, pausing now and again in his walk in front of a large map +of Paris and its environs that hung upon the wall, his tall figure +erect, his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed before him as if +he saw right through the walls of this squalid room, and across +the darkness that overhung the city, through the grim bastions of +the mighty building far away, where the descendant of an hundred +kings lived at the mercy of human fiends who worked for his +abasement. + +The man's face now was that of a seer and a visionary; the firm +lines were set and rigid as those of an image carved in stone--the +statue of heart-whole devotion, with the self-imposed task +beckoning sternly to follow, there where lurked danger and death. + +"The way, I think, in which we could best succeed would be this," +he resumed after a while, sitting now on the edge of the table and +directly facing his four friends. The light from the lamp which +stood upon the table behind him fell full upon those four glowing +faces fixed eagerly upon him, but he himself was in shadow, a +massive silhouette broadly cut out against the light-coloured map +on the wall beyond. + +"I remain here, of course, until Sunday," he said, "and will +closely watch my opportunity, when I can with the greatest amount +of safety enter the Temple building and take possession of the +child. I shall, of course choose the moment when the Simons are +actually on the move, with their successors probably coming in at +about the same time. God alone knows," he added earnestly, "how I +shall contrive to get possession of the child; at the moment I am +just as much in the dark about that as you are." + +He paused a moment, and suddenly his grave face seemed flooded +with sunshine, a kind of lazy merriment danced in his eyes, +effacing all trace of solemnity within them. + +"La!" he said lightly, "on one point I am not at all in the dark, +and that is that His Majesty King Louis XVII will come out of that +ugly house in my company next Sunday, the nineteenth day of +January in this year of grace seventeen hundred and ninety-four; +and this, too, do I know--that those murderous blackguards shall +not lay hands on me whilst that precious burden is in my keeping. +So I pray you, my good Armand, do not look so glum," he added with +his pleasant, merry laugh; "you'll need all your wits about you to +help us in our undertaking." + +"What do you wish me to do, Percy?" said the young man simply. + +"In one moment I will tell you. I want you all to understand the +situation first. The child will be out of the Temple on Sunday, +but at what hour I know not. The later it will be the better +would it suit my purpose, for I cannot get him out of Paris before +evening with any chance of safety. Here we must risk nothing; the +child is far better off as he is now than he would be if he were +dragged back after an abortive attempt at rescue. But at this +hour of the night, between nine and ten o'clock, I can arrange to +get him out of Paris by the Villette gate, and that is where I +want you, Ffoulkes, and you, Tony, to be, with some kind of +covered cart, yourselves in any disguise your ingenuity will +suggest. Here are a few certificates of safety; I have been +making a collection of them for some time, as they are always +useful." + +He dived into the wide pocket of his coat and drew forth a number +of cards, greasy, much-fingered documents of the usual pattern +which the Committee of General Security delivered to the free +citizens of the new republic, and without which no one could +enter or leave any town or country commune without being detained +as "suspect." He glanced at them and handed them over to +Ffoulkes. + +"Choose your own identity for the occasion, my good friend," he +said lightly; "and you too, Tony. You may be stonemasons or +coal-carriers, chimney-sweeps or farm-labourers, I care not which +so long as you look sufficiently grimy and wretched to be +unrecognisable, and so long as you can procure a cart without +arousing suspicions, and can wait for me punctually at the +appointed spot." + +Ffoulkes turned over the cards, and with a laugh handed them over +to Lord Tony. The two fastidious gentlemen discussed for awhile +the respective merits of a chimney-sweep's uniform as against that +of a coal-carrier. + +"You can carry more grime if you are a sweep," suggested Blakeney; +"and if the soot gets into your eyes it does not make them smart +like coal does." + +"But soot adheres more closely," argued Tony solemnly, "and I know +that we shan't get a bath for at least a week afterwards." + +"Certainly you won't, you sybarite!" asserted Sir Percy with a +laugh. + +"After a week soot might become permanent," mused Sir Andrew, +wondering what, under the circumstance, my lady would say to him. + +"If you are both so fastidious," retorted Blakeney, shrugging his +broad shoulders, "I'll turn one of you into a reddleman, and the +other into a dyer. Then one of you will be bright scarlet to the +end of his days, as the reddle never comes off the skin at all, +and the other will have to soak in turpentine before the dye will +consent to move.... In either case ... oh, my dear Tony! ... the +smell...." + +He laughed like a schoolboy in anticipation of a prank, and held +his scented handkerchief to his nose. My Lord Hastings chuckled +audibly, and Tony punched him for this unseemly display of mirth. + +Armand watched the little scene in utter amazement. He had been +in England over a year, and yet he could not understand these +Englishmen. Surely they were the queerest, most inconsequent +people in the world, Here were these men, who were engaged at +this very moment in an enterprise which for cool-headed courage +and foolhardy daring had probably no parallel in history. They +were literally taking their lives in their hands, in all +probability facing certain death; and yet they now sat chaffing +and fighting like a crowd of third-form schoolboys, talking utter, +silly nonsense, and making foolish jokes that would have shamed a +Frenchman in his teens. Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompous de +Batz would think of this discussion if he could overhear it. His +contempt, no doubt, for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers +would be increased tenfold. + +Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually +dismissed. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony Dewhurst had +settled their differences of opinion by solemnly agreeing to +represent two over-grimy and overheated coal-heavers. They chose +two certificates of safety that were made out in the names of Jean +Lepetit and Achille Grospierre, labourers. + +"Though you don't look at all like an Achille, Tony," was +Blakeney's parting shot to his friend. + +Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the +serious business of the moment, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes said abruptly: + +"Tell us exactly, Blakeney, where you will want the cart to stand +on Sunday." + +Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and +Tony following him. They stood close to his elbow whilst his +slender, nervy hand wandered along the shiny surface of the +varnished paper. At last he placed his finger on one spot. + +"Here you see," he said, "is the Villette gate. Just outside it a +narrow street on the right leads down in the direction of the +canal. It is just at the bottom of that narrow street at its +junction with the tow-path there that I want you two and the cart +to be. It had better be a coal-car by the way; they will be +unloading coal close by there to-morrow," he added with one of his +sudden irrepressible outbursts of merriment. "You and Tony can +exercise your muscles coal-heaving, and incidentally make +yourselves known in the neighbourhood as good if somewhat grimy +patriots." + +"We had better take up our parts at once then," said Tony. "I'll +take a fond farewell of my clean shirt to-night." + +"Yes, you will not see one again for some time, my good Tony. +After your hard day's work to-morrow you will have to sleep either +inside your cart, if you have already secured one, or under the +arches of the canal bridge, if you have not." + +"I hope you have an equally pleasant prospect for Hastings," was +my Lord Tony's grim comment. + +It was easy to see that he was as happy as a schoolboy about to +start for a holiday. Lord Tony was a true sportsman. Perhaps +there was in him less sentiment for the heroic work which he did +under the guidance of his chief than an inherent passion for +dangerous adventures. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, on the other hand, +thought perhaps a little less of the adventure, but a great deal +of the martyred child in the Temple. He was just as buoyant, just +as keen as his friend, but the leaven of sentiment raised his +sporting instincts to perhaps a higher plane of self-devotion. + +"Well, now, to recapitulate," he said, in turn following with his +finger the indicated route on the map. "Tony and I and the +coal-cart will await you on this spot, at the corner of the +towpath on Sunday evening at nine o'clock." + +"And your signal, Blakeney?" asked Tony. + +"The usual one," replied Sir Percy, "the seamew's cry thrice +repeated at brief intervals. But now," he continued, turning to +Armand and Hastings, who had taken no part in the discussion +hitherto, "I want your help a little further afield." + +"I thought so," nodded Hastings. + +"The coal-cart, with its usual miserable nag, will carry us a +distance of fifteen or sixteen kilometres, but no more. My purpose +is to cut along the north of the city, and to reach St. Germain, +the nearest point where we can secure good mounts. There is a +farmer just outside the commune; his name is Achard. He has +excellent horses, which I have borrowed before now; we shall want +five, of course, and he has one powerful beast that will do for +me, as I shall have, in addition to my own weight, which is +considerable, to take the child with me on the pillion. Now you, +Hastings and Armand, will have to start early to-morrow morning, +leave Paris by the Neuilly gate, and from there make your way to +St. Germain by any conveyance you can contrive to obtain. At St. +Germain you must at once find Achard's farm; disguised as +labourers you will not arouse suspicion by so doing. You will +find the farmer quite amenable to money, and you must secure the +best horses you can get for our own use, and, if possible, the +powerful mount I spoke of just now. You are both excellent +horse-men, therefore I selected you amongst the others for this +special errand, for you two, with the five horses, will have to +come and meet our coal-cart some seventeen kilometres out of St. +Germain, to where the first sign-post indicates the road to +Courbevoie. Some two hundred metres down this road on the right +there is a small spinney, which will afford splendid shelter for +yourselves and your horses. We hope to be there at about one +o'clock after midnight of Monday morning. Now, is all that quite +clear, and are you both satisfied?" + +"It is quite clear," exclaimed Hastings placidly; "but I, for one, +am not at all satisfied." + +"And why not?" + +"Because it is all too easy. We get none of the danger." + +"Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, you +incorrigible grumbler," laughed Sir Percy good-humouredly. "Let +me tell you that if you start to-morrow from Paris in that spirit +you will run your head and Armand's into a noose long before you +reach the gate of Neuilly. I cannot allow either of you to cover +your faces with too much grime; an honest farm labourer should not +look over-dirty, and your chances of being discovered and detained +are, at the outset, far greater than those which Ffoulkes and Tony +will run--" + +Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was +unfolding his plan for him and for Lord Hastings--a plan which +practically was a command--he had sat with his arms folded across +his chest, his head sunk upon his breast. When Blakeney had asked +if they were satisfied, he had taken no part in Hastings' protest +nor responded to his leader's good-humoured banter. + +Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy's eyes +were fixed upon him, and they seemed to scorch into his soul. He +made a great effort to appear eager like the others, and yet from +the first a chill had struck at his heart. He could not leave +Paris before he had seen Jeanne. + +He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked +his chief fully in the face. + +"When ought we to leave Paris?" he asked calmly. + +"You MUST leave at daybreak," replied Blakeney with a slight, +almost imperceptible emphasis on the word of command. "When the +gates are first opened, and the work-people go to and fro at their +work, that is the safest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as +soon as may be, or the farmer may not have a sufficiency of horses +available at a moment's notice. I want you to be spokesman with +Achard, so that Hastings' British accent should not betray you +both. Also you might not get a conveyance for St. Germain +immediately. We must think of every eventuality, Armand. There +is so much at stake." + +Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked +astonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and +Blakeney's reply seemed almost like a rebuke--so circumstantial +too, and so explanatory. He was so used to being obeyed at a +word, so accustomed that the merest wish, the slightest hint from +him was understood by his band of devoted followers, that the long +explanation of his orders which he gave to Armand struck them all +with a strange sense of unpleasant surprise. + +Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have +fallen over the party. + +"We leave at daybreak, of course," he said, "as soon as the gates +are open. We can, I know, get one of the carriers to give us a +lift as far as St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?" + +"He is a well-known farmer," replied Blakeney. "You have but to +ask." + +"Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find +lodgings in the village that night, and make a fresh start back +towards Paris in the evening of Sunday. Is that right?" + +"Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. +Pack some fodder on the empty saddles and start at about ten +o'clock. Ride straight along the main road, as if you were making +back for Paris, until you come to four cross-roads with a +sign-post pointing to Courbevoie. Turn down there and go along the +road until you meet a close spinney of fir-trees on your right. +Make for the interior of that. It gives splendid shelter, and you +can dismount there and give the horses a feed. We'll join you one +hour after midnight. The night will be dark, I hope, and the moon +anyhow will be on the wane." + +"I think I understand. Anyhow, it's not difficult, and we'll be +as careful as maybe." + +"You will have to keep your heads clear, both of you," concluded +Blakeney. + +He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had +not made a movement during this brief colloquy between Hastings +and the chief. He still sat with arms folded, his head falling on +his breast. + +Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire +buried in thought. Through the open window there came from the +quay beyond the hum of life in the open-air camp; the tramp of the +sentinels around it, the words of command from the drill-sergeant, +and through it all the moaning of the wind and the beating of the +sleet against the window-panes. + +A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! +Blakeney gave a quick, impatient sigh, and going to the window he +pushed it further open, and just then there came from afar the +muffled roll of drums, and from below the watchman's cry that +seemed such dire mockery: + +"Sleep, citizens! Everything is safe and peaceful." + +"Sound advice," said Blakeney lightly. "Shall we also go to +sleep? What say you all--eh?" + +He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every +action, already thrown off the serious air which he had worn a +moment ago when giving instructions to Hastings. His usual +debonnair manner was on him once again, his laziness, his careless +insouciance. He was even at this moment deeply engaged in +flicking off a grain of dust from the immaculate Mechlin ruff at +his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over the tell-tale eyes as +if weighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready for the laugh +which never was absent from it very long. + +It was only Ffoulkes's devoted eyes that were sharp enough to +pierce the mask of light-hearted gaiety which enveloped the soul +of his leader at the present moment. He saw--for the first time in +all the years that he had known Blakeney--a frown across the +habitually smooth brow, and though the lips were parted for a +laugh, the lines round mouth and chin were hard and set. + +With that intuition born of whole-hearted friendship Sir Andrew +guessed what troubled Percy. He had caught the look which the +latter had thrown on Armand, and knew that some explanation would +have to pass between the two men before they parted to-night. +Therefore he gave the signal for the breaking up of the meeting. + +"There is nothing more to say, is there, Blakeney?" he asked. + +"No, my good fellow, nothing," replied Sir Percy. "I do not know +how you all feel, but I am demmed fatigued." + +"What about the rags for to-morrow?" queried Hastings. + +"You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the +key. Wigs and all are there. But don't use false hair if you can +help it--it is apt to shift in a scrimmage." + +He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and +Tony thought that he was tired. They rose to say good night. +Then the three men went away together, Armand remaining behind. + + + +CHAPTER XII +WHAT LOVE IS + +"Well, now, Armand, what is it?" asked Blakeney, the moment the +footsteps of his friends had died away down the stone stairs, and +their voices had ceased to echo in the distance. + +"You guessed, then, that there was ... something?" said the +younger man, after a slight hesitation. + +"Of course." + +Armand rose, pushing the chair away from him with an impatient +nervy gesture. Burying his hands in the pockets of his breeches, +he began striding up and down the room, a dark, troubled +expression in his face, a deep frown between his eyes. + +Blakeney had once more taken up his favourite position, sitting on +the corner of the table, his broad shoulders interposed between +the lamp and the rest of the room. He was apparently taking no +notice of Armand, but only intent on the delicate operation of +polishing his nails. + +Suddenly the young man paused in his restless walk and stood in +front of his friend--an earnest, solemn, determined figure. + +"Blakeney," he said, "I cannot leave Paris to-morrow." + +Sir Percy made no reply. He was contemplating the polish which he +had just succeeded in producing on his thumbnail. + +"I must stay here for a while longer," continued Armand firmly. +"I may not be able to return to England for some weeks. You have +the three others here to help you in your enterprise outside +Paris. I am entirely at your service within the compass of its +walls." + +Still no comment from Blakeney, not a look from beneath the fallen +lids. Armand continued, with a slight tone of impatience apparent +in his voice: + +"You must want some one to help you here on Sunday. I am entirely +at your service ... here or anywhere in Paris ... but I cannot +leave this city ... at any rate, not just yet...." + +Blakeney was apparently satisfied at last with the result of his +polishing operations. He rose, gave a slight yawn, and turned +toward the door. + +"Good night, my dear fellow," he said pleasantly; "it is time we +were all abed. I am so demmed fatigued." + +"Percy!" exclaimed the young man hotly. + +"Eh? What is it?" queried the other lazily. + +"You are not going to leave me like this--without a word?" + +"I have said a great many words, my good fellow. I have said +'good night,' and remarked that I was demmed fatigued." + +He was standing beside the door which led to his bedroom, and now +he pushed it open with his hand. + +"Percy, you cannot go and leave me like this!" reiterated Armand +with rapidly growing irritation. + +"Like what, my dear fellow?" queried Sir Percy with good-humoured +impatience. + +"Without a word--without a sign. What have I done that you should +treat me like a child, unworthy even of attention?" + +Blakeney had turned back and was now facing him, towering above +the slight figure of the younger man. His face had lost none of +its gracious air, and beneath their heavy lids his eyes looked +down not unkindly on his friend. + +"Would you have preferred it, Armand," he said quietly, "if I had +said the word that your ears have heard even though my lips have +not uttered it?" + +"I don't understand," murmured Armand defiantly. + +"What sign would you have had me make?" continued Sir Percy, his +pleasant voice falling calm and mellow on the younger man's +supersensitive consciousness: "That of branding you, Marguerite's +brother, as a liar and a cheat?" + +"Blakeney!" retorted the other, as with flaming cheeks and +wrathful eyes he took a menacing step toward his friend; "had any +man but you dared to speak such words to me--" + +"I pray to God, Armand, that no man but I has the right to speak +them." + +"You have no right." + +"Every right, my friend. Do I not hold your oath? ... Are you +not prepared to break it?" + +"I'll not break my oath to you. I'll serve and help you in every +way you can command ... my life I'll give to the cause ... give me +the most dangerous--the most difficult task to perform.... I'll +do it--I'll do it gladly." + +"I have given you an over-difficult and dangerous task." + +"Bah! To leave Paris in order to engage horses, while you and the +others do all the work. That is neither difficult nor dangerous." + +"It will be difficult for you, Armand, because your head Is not +sufficiently cool to foresee serious eventualities and to prepare +against them. It is dangerous, because you are a man in love, and +a man in love is apt to run his head--and that of his friends-- +blindly into a noose." + +"Who told you that I was in love?" + +"You yourself, my good fellow. Had you not told me so at the +outset," he continued, still speaking very quietly and deliberately +and never raising his voice, "I would even now be standing over you, +dog-whip in hand, to thrash you as a defaulting coward and a perjurer +.... Bah!" he added with a return to his habitual bonhomie, "I would +no doubt even have lost my temper with you. Which would have been +purposeless and excessively bad form. Eh?" + +A violent retort had sprung to Armand's lips. But fortunately at +that very moment his eyes, glowing with anger, caught those of +Blakeney fixed with lazy good-nature upon his. Something of that +irresistible dignity which pervaded the whole personality of the +man checked Armand's hotheaded words on his lips. + +"I cannot leave Paris to-morrow," he reiterated more calmly. + +"Because you have arranged to see her again?" + +"Because she saved my life to-day, and is herself in danger." + +"She is in no danger," said Blakeney simply, "since she saved the +life of my friend." + +"Percy!" + +The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just's very soul. Despite the +tumult of passion which was raging in his heart, he was conscious +again of the magnetic power which bound so many to this man's +service. The words he had said--simple though they were--had sent +a thrill through Armand's veins. He felt himself disarmed. His +resistance fell before the subtle strength of an unbendable will; +nothing remained in his heart but an overwhelming sense of shame +and of impotence. + +He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying +his face in his hands. Blakeney went up to him and placed a +kindly hand upon his shoulder. + +"The difficult task, Armand," he said gently. + +"Percy, cannot you release me? She saved my life. I have not +thanked her yet." + +"There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over +yonder the son of kings is being done to death by savage brutes." + +"I would not hinder you if I stayed." + +"God knows you have hindered us enough already." + +"How?" + +"You say she saved your life ... then you were in danger ... Heron +and his spies have been on your track your track leads to mine, +and I have sworn to save the Dauphin from the hands of thieves.... +A man in love, Armand, is a deadly danger among us.... Therefore +at daybreak you must leave Paris with Hastings on your difficult +and dangerous task." + +"And if I refuse?" retorted Armand. + +"My good fellow," said Blakeney earnestly, "in that admirable +lexicon which the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel has compiled for +itself there is no such word as refuse." + +"But if I do refuse?" persisted the other. + +"You would be offering a tainted name and tarnished honour to the +woman you pretend to love." + +"And you insist upon my obedience?" + +"By the oath which I hold from you." + +"But this is cruel--inhuman!" + +"Honour, my good Armand, is often cruel and seldom human. He is a +godlike taskmaster, and we who call ourselves men are all of us +his slaves." + +"The tyranny comes from you alone. You could release me an you +would." + +"And to gratify the selfish desire of immature passion, you would +wish to see me jeopardise the life of those who place infinite +trust in me." + +"God knows how you have gained their allegiance, Blakeney. To me +now you are selfish and callous." + +"There is the difficult task you craved for, Armand," was all the +answer that Blakeney made to the taunt--" to obey a leader whom +you no longer trust." + +But this Armand could not brook. He had spoken hotly, +impetuously, smarting under the discipline which thwarted his +desire, but his heart was loyal to the chief whom he had +reverenced for so long. + +"Forgive me, Percy," he said humbly; "I am distracted. I don't +think I quite realised what I was saying. I trust you, of course +... implicitly ... and you need not even fear ... I shall not +break my oath, though your orders now seem to me needlessly +callous and selfish.... I will obey ... you need not be afraid." + +"I was not afraid of that, my good fellow." + +"Of course, you do not understand ... you cannot. To you, your +honour, the task which you have set yourself, has been your only +fetish.... Love in its true sense does not exist for you.... I +see it now ... you do not know what it is to love." + +Blakeney made no reply for the moment. He stood in the centre of +the room, with the yellow light of the lamp falling full now upon +his tall powerful frame, immaculately dressed in perfectly-tailored +clothes, upon his long, slender hands half hidden by filmy lace, +and upon his face, across which at this moment a heavy strand of +curly hair threw a curious shadow. At Armand's words his lips had +imperceptibly tightened, his eyes had narrowed as if they tried to +see something that was beyond the range of their focus. + +Across the smooth brow the strange shadow made by the hair seemed +to find a reflex from within. Perhaps the reckless adventurer, +the careless gambler with life and liberty, saw through the walls +of this squalid room, across the wide, ice-bound river, and beyond +even the gloomy pile of buildings opposite, a cool, shady garden +at Richmond, a velvety lawn sweeping down to the river's edge, a +bower of clematis and roses, with a carved stone seat half covered +with moss. There sat an exquisitely beautiful woman with great +sad eyes fixed on the far-distant horizon. The setting sun was +throwing a halo of gold all round her hair, her white hands were +clasped idly on her lap. + +She gazed out beyond the river, beyond the sunset, toward an +unseen bourne of peace and happiness, and her lovely face had in +it a look of utter hopelessness and of sublime self-abnegation. +The air was still. It was late autumn, and all around her the +russet leaves of beech and chestnut fell with a melancholy +hush-sh-sh about her feet. + +She was alone, and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her +eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. + +Suddenly a sigh escaped the man's tightly-pressed lips. With a +strange gesture, wholly unusual to him, he passed his hand right +across his eyes. + +"Mayhap you are right, Armand," he said quietly; "mayhap I do not +know what it is to love." + +Armand turned to go. There was nothing more to be said. He knew +Percy well enough by now to realise the finality of his +pronouncements. His heart felt sore, but he was too proud to show +his hurt again to a man who did not understand. All thoughts of +disobedience he had put resolutely aside; he had never meant to +break his oath. All that he had hoped to do was to persuade Percy +to release him from it for awhile. + +That by leaving Paris he risked to lose Jeanne he was quite +convinced, but it is nevertheless a true fact that in spite of +this he did not withdraw his love and trust from his chief. He +was under the influence of that same magnetism which enchained all +his comrades to the will of this man; and though his enthusiasm +for the great cause had somewhat waned, his allegiance to its +leader was no longer tottering. + +But he would not trust himself to speak again on the subject. + +"I will find the others downstairs," was all he said, "and will +arrange with Hastings for to-morrow. Good night, Percy." + +"Good night, my dear fellow. By the way, you have not told me yet +who she is." + +"Her name is Jeanne Lange," said St. Just half reluctantly. He +had not meant to divulge his secret quite so fully as yet. + +"The young actress at the Theatre National?" + +"Yes. Do you know her?" + +"Only by name." + +"She is beautiful, Percy, and she is an angel.... Think of my +sister Marguerite ... she, too, was an actress.... Good night, +Percy." + +"Good night." + +The two men grasped one another by the hand. Armand's eyes +proffered a last desperate appeal. But Blakeney's eyes were +impassive and unrelenting, and Armand with a quick sigh finally +took his leave. + +For a long while after he had gone Blakeney stood silent and +motionless in the middle of the room. Armand's last words +lingered in his ear: + +"Think of Marguerite!" + +The walls had fallen away from around him--the window, the river +below, the Temple prison had all faded away, merged in the chaos +of his thoughts. + +Now he was no longer in Paris; he heard nothing of the horrors +that even at this hour of the night were raging around him; he did +not hear the call of murdered victims, of innocent women and +children crying for help; he did not see the descendant of St. +Louis, with a red cap on his baby head, stamping on the +fleur-de-lys, and heaping insults on the memory of his mother. +All that had faded into nothingness. + +He was in the garden at Richmond, and Marguerite was sitting on +the stone seat, with branches of the rambler roses twining +themselves in her hair. + +He was sitting on the ground at her feet, his head pillowed in her +lap, lazily dreaming. whilst at his feet the river wound its +graceful curves beneath overhanging willows and tall stately elms. + +A swan came sailing majestically down the stream, and Marguerite, +with idle, delicate hands, threw some crumbs of bread into the +water. Then she laughed, for she was quite happy, and anon she +stooped, and he felt the fragrance of her lips as she bent over +him and savoured the perfect sweetness of her caress. She was +happy because her husband was by her side. He had done with +adventures, with risking his life for others' sake. He was living +only for her. + +The man, the dreamer, the idealist that lurked behind the +adventurous soul, lived an exquisite dream as he gazed upon that +vision. He closed his eyes so that it might last all the longer, +so that through the open window opposite he should not see the +great gloomy walls of the labyrinthine building packed to +overflowing with innocent men, women, and children waiting +patiently and with a smile on their lips for a cruel and unmerited +death; so that he should not see even through the vista of houses +and of streets that grim Temple prison far away, and the light in +one of the tower windows, which illumined the final martyrdom of a +boy-king. + +Thus he stood for fully five minutes, with eyes deliberately +closed and lips tightly set. Then the neighbouring tower-clock of +St. Germain l'Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight. +Blakeney woke from his dream. The walls of his lodging were once +more around him, and through the window the ruddy light of some +torch in the street below fought with that of the lamp. + +He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the +night. On the quay, a little to the left, the outdoor camp was +just breaking tip for the night. The people of France in arms +against tyranny were allowed to put away their work for the day +and to go to their miserable homes to gather rest in sleep for the +morrow. A band of soldiers, rough and brutal in their movements, +were hustling the women and children. The little ones, weary, +sleepy, and cold, seemed too dazed to move. One woman had two +little children clinging to her skirts; a soldier suddenly seized +one of them by the shoulders and pushed it along roughly in front +of him to get it out of the way. The woman struck at the soldier +in a stupid, senseless, useless way, and then gathered her +trembling chicks under her wing, trying to look defiant. + +In a moment she was surrounded. Two soldiers seized her, and two +more dragged the children away from her. She screamed and the +children cried, the soldiers swore and struck out right and left +with their bayonets. There was a general melee, calls of agony +rent the air, rough oaths drowned the shouts of the helpless. +Some women, panic-stricken, started to run. + +And Blakeney from his window looked down upon the scene. He no +longer saw the garden at Richmond, the lazily-flowing river, the +bowers of roses; even the sweet face of Marguerite, sad and +lonely, appeared dim and far away. + +He looked across the ice-bound river, past the quay where rough +soldiers were brutalising a number of wretched defenceless women, +to that grim Chatelet prison, where tiny lights shining here and +there behind barred windows told the sad tale of weary vigils, of +watches through the night, when dawn would bring martyrdom and +death. + +And it was not Marguerite's blue eyes that beckoned to him now, it +was not her lips that called, but the wan face of a child with +matted curls hanging above a greasy forehead, and small hands +covered in grime that had once been fondled by a Queen. + +The adventurer in him had chased away the dream. + +"While there is life in me I'll cheat those brutes of prey," he +murmured. + + + +CHAPTER XIII +THEN EVERYTHING WAS DARK + +The night that Armand St. Just spent tossing about on a hard, +narrow bed was the most miserable, agonising one he had ever +passed in his life. A kind of fever ran through him, causing his +teeth to chatter and the veins in his temples to throb until he +thought that they must burst. + +Physically he certainly was ill; the mental strain caused by two +great conflicting passions had attacked his bodily strength, and +whilst his brain and heart fought their battles together, his +aching limbs found no repose. + +His love for Jeanne! His loyalty to the man to whom he owed his +life, and to whom he had sworn allegiance and implicit obedience! + +These superacute feelings seemed to be tearing at his very +heartstrings, until he felt that he could no longer lie on the +miserable palliasse which in these squalid lodgings did duty for a +bed. + +He rose long before daybreak, with tired back and burning eyes, +but unconscious of any pain save that which tore at his heart. + +The weather, fortunately, was not quite so cold--a sudden and very +rapid thaw had set in; and when after a hurried toilet Armand, +carrying a bundle under his arm, emerged into the street, the mild +south wind struck pleasantly on his face. + +It was then pitch dark. The street lamps had been extinguished +long ago, and the feeble January sun had not yet tinged with pale +colour the heavy clouds that hung over the sky. + +The streets of the great city were absolutely deserted at this +hour. It lay, peaceful and still, wrapped in its mantle of gloom. +A thin rain was falling, and Armand's feet, as he began to descend +the heights of Montmartre, sank ankle deep in the mud of the road. +There was but scanty attempt at pavements in this outlying quarter +of the town, and Armand had much ado to keep his footing on the +uneven and intermittent stones that did duty for roads in these +parts. But this discomfort did not trouble him just now. One +thought--and one alone--was clear in his mind: he must see Jeanne +before he left Paris. + +He did not pause to think how he could accomplish that at this +hour of the day. All he knew was that he must obey his chief, and +that he must see Jeanne. He would see her, explain to her that he +must leave Paris immediately, and beg her to make her preparations +quickly, so that she might meet him as soon as maybe, and +accompany him to England straight away. + +He did not feel that he was being disloyal by trying to see +Jeanne. He had thrown prudence to the winds, not realising that +his imprudence would and did jeopardise, not only the success of +his chief's plans, but also his life and that of his friends. He +had before parting from Hastings last night arranged to meet him +in the neighbourhood of the Neuilly Gate at seven o'clock; it was +only six now. There was plenty of time for him to rouse the +concierge at the house of the Square du Roule, to see Jeanne for a +few moments, to slip into Madame Belhomme's kitchen, and there +into the labourer's clothes which he was carrying in the bundle +under his arm, and to be at the gate at the appointed hour. + +The Square du Roule is shut off from the Rue St. Honore, on which +it abuts, by tall iron gates, which a few years ago, when the +secluded little square was a fashionable quarter of the city, used +to be kept closed at night, with a watchman in uniform to +intercept midnight prowlers. Now these gates had been rudely torn +away from their sockets, the iron had been sold for the benefit of +the ever-empty Treasury, and no one cared if the homeless, the +starving, or the evil-doer found shelter under the porticoes of +the houses, from whence wealthy or aristocratic owners had long +since thought it wise to flee. + +No one challenged Armand when he turned into the square, and +though the darkness was intense, he made his way fairly straight +for the house where lodged Mademoiselle Lange. + +So far he had been wonderfully lucky. The foolhardiness with +which he had exposed his life and that of his friends by wandering +about the streets of Paris at this hour without any attempt at +disguise, though carrying one under his arm, had not met with the +untoward fate which it undoubtedly deserved. The darkness of the +night and the thin sheet of rain as it fell had effectually +wrapped his progress through the lonely streets in their +beneficent mantle of gloom; the soft mud below had drowned the +echo of his footsteps. If spies were on his track, as Jeanne had +feared and Blakeney prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in +evading them. + +He pulled the concierge's bell, and the latch of the outer door, +manipulated from within, duly sprang open in response. He +entered, and from the lodge the concierge's voice emerging, +muffled from the depths of pillows and blankets, challenged him +with an oath directed at the unseemliness of the hour. + +"Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he +walked quickly past the lodge making straight for the stairs. + +It seemed to him that from the concierge's room loud vituperations +followed him, but he took no notice of these; only a short flight +of stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne. + +He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be +still in bed, that he might have some difficulty in rousing Madame +Belhomme, that the latter might not even care to admit him; nor +did he reflect on the glaring imprudence of his actions. He +wanted to see Jeanne, and she was the other side of that wall. + +"He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you?" came in a +gruff voice to him from below. + +He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside +Jeanne's door. He pulled the bell-handle, and heard the pleasing +echo of the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and +bring her to the door. + +"Citizen! Hola! Curse you for an aristo! What are you doing +there?" + +The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his +feet thrust in slippers, and carrying a guttering tallow candle, +had appeared upon the landing. + +He held the candle up so that its feeble flickering rays fell on +Armand's pale face, and on the damp cloak which fell away from his +shoulders. + +"What are you doing there?" reiterated the concierge with another +oath from his prolific vocabulary. + +"As you see, citizen," replied Armand politely, "I am ringing +Mademoiselle Lange's front door bell." + +"At this hour of the morning?" queried the man with a sneer. + +"I desire to see her." + +"Then you have come to the wrong house, citizen," said the +concierge with a rude laugh. + +"The wrong house? What do you mean?" stammered Armand, a little +bewildered. + +"She is not here--quoi!" retorted the concierge, who now turned +deliberately on his heel. "Go and look for her, citizen; it'll +take you some time to find her." + +He shuffled off in the direction of the stairs. Armand was vainly +trying to shake himself free from a sudden, an awful sense of +horror. + +He gave another vigorous pull at the hell, then with one bound he +overtook the concierge, who was preparing to descend the stairs, +and gripped him peremptorily by the arm. + +"Where is Mademoiselle Lange?" he asked. + +His voice sounded quite strange in his own ear; his throat felt +parched, and he had to moisten his lips with his tongue before he +was able to speak. + +"Arrested," replied the man. + +"Arrested? When? Where? How?" + +"When--late yesterday evening. Where?--here in her room. +How?--by the agents of the Committee of General Security. She and +the old woman! Basta! that's all I know. Now I am going back to +bed, and you clear out of the house. You are making a +disturbance, and I shall be reprimanded. I ask you, is this a +decent time for rousing honest patriots out of their morning +sleep?" + +He shook his arm free from Armand's grasp and once more began to +descend. + +Armand stood on the landing like a man who has been stunned by a +blow on the head. His limbs were paralysed. He could not for the +moment have moved or spoken if his life had depended on a sign or +on a word. His brain was reeling, and he had to steady himself +with his hand against the wall or he would have fallen headlong on +the floor. He had lived in a whirl of excitement for the past +twenty-four hours; his nerves during that time had been kept at +straining point. Passion, joy, happiness, deadly danger, and +moral fights had worn his mental endurance threadbare; want of +proper food and a sleepless night had almost thrown his physical +balance out of gear. This blow came at a moment when he was least +able to bear it. + +Jeanne had been arrested! Jeanne was in the hands of those +brutes, whom he, Armand, had regarded yesterday with +insurmountable loathing! Jeanne was in prison--she was +arrested--she would be tried, condemned, and all because of him! + +The thought was so awful that it brought him to the verge of +mania. He watched as in a dream the form of the concierge +shuffling his way down the oak staircase; his portly figure +assumed Gargantuan proportions, the candle which he carried looked +like the dancing flames of hell, through which grinning faces, +hideous and contortioned, mocked at him and leered. + +Then suddenly everything was dark. The light had disappeared +round the bend of the stairs; grinning faces and ghoulish visions +vanished; he only saw Jeanne, his dainty, exquisite Jeanne, in the +hands of those brutes. He saw her as he had seen a year and a +half ago the victims of those bloodthirsty wretches being dragged +before a tribunal that was but a mockery of justice; he heard the +quick interrogatory, and the responses from her perfect lips, that +exquisite voice of hers veiled by tones of anguish. He heard the +condemnation, the rattle of the tumbril on the ill-paved streets-- +saw her there with hands clasped together, her eyes-- + +Great God! he was really going mad! + +Like a wild creature driven forth he started to run down the +stairs, past the concierge, who was just entering his lodge, and +who now turned in surly anger to watch this man running away like +a lunatic or a fool, out by the front door and into the street. +In a moment he was out of the little square; then like a hunted +hare he still ran down the Rue St. Honore, along its narrow, +interminable length. His hat had fallen from his head, his hair +was wild all round his face, the rain weighted the cloak upon his +shoulders; but still he ran. + +His feet made no noise on the muddy pavement. He ran on and on, +his elbows pressed to his sides, panting, quivering, intent but +upon one thing--the goal which he had set himself to reach. + +Jeanne was arrested. He did not know where to look for her, but +he did know whither he wanted to go now as swiftly as his legs +would carry him. + +It was still dark, but Armand St. Just was a born Parisian, and he +knew every inch of this quarter, where he and Marguerite had years +ago lived. Down the Rue St. Honore, he had reached the bottom of +the interminably long street at last. He had kept just a +sufficiency of reason--or was it merely blind instinct?--to avoid +the places where the night patrols of the National Guard might be +on the watch. He avoided the Place du Carrousel, also the quay, +and struck sharply to his right until he reached the facade of St. +Germain l'Auxerrois. + +Another effort; round the corner, and there was the house at last. +He was like the hunted creature now that has run to earth. Up the +two flights of stone stairs, and then the pull at the bell; a +moment of tense anxiety, whilst panting, gasping, almost choked +with the sustained effort and the strain of the past half-hour, he +leaned against the wall, striving not to fall. + +Then the well-known firm step across the rooms beyond, the open +door, the hand upon his shoulder. + +After that he remembered nothing more. + + + +CHAPTER XIV +THE CHIEF + +He had not actually fainted, but the exertion of that long run had +rendered him partially unconscious He knew now that be was safe, +that he was sitting in Blakeney's room, and that something hot and +vivifying was being poured down his throat. + +"Percy, they have arrested her!" he said, panting, as soon as +speech returned to his paralysed tongue. + +"All right. Don't talk now. Wait till you are better." + +With infinite care and gentleness Blakeney arranged some cushions +under Armand's head, turned the sofa towards the fire, and anon +brought his friend a cup of hot coffee, which the latter drank +with avidity. + +He was really too exhausted to speak. He had contrived to tell +Blakeney, and now Blakeney knew, so everything would be all right. +The inevitable reaction was asserting itself; the muscles had +relaxed, the nerves were numbed, and Armand lay back on the sofa +with eyes half closed, unable to move, yet feeling his strength +gradually returning to him, his vitality asserting itself, all the +feverish excitement of the past twenty-four hours yielding at last +to a calmer mood. + +Through his half-closed eyes he could see his brother-in-law +moving about the room. Blakeney was fully dressed. In a sleepy +kind of way Armand wondered if he had been to bed at aH; certainly +his clothes set on him with their usual well-tailored perfection, +and there was no suggestion in his brisk step and alert movements +that he had passed a sleepless night. + +Now he was standing by the open window. Armand, from where he +lay, could see his broad shoulders sharply outlined against the +grey background of the hazy winter dawn. A wan light was just +creeping up from the east over the city; the noises of the streets +below came distinctly to Armand's ear. + +He roused himself with one vigorous effort from his lethargy, +feeling quite ashamed of himself and of this breakdown of his +nervous system. He looked with frank admiration on Sir Percy, who +stood immovable and silent by the window--a perfect tower of +strength, serene and impassive, yet kindly in distress. + +"Percy," said the young man, "I ran all the way from the top of +the Rue St. Honore. I was only breathless. I am quite all right. +May I tell you all about it?" + +Without a word Blakeney closed the window and came across to the +sofa; he sat down beside Armand, and to all outward appearances he +was nothing now but a kind and sympathetic listener to a friend's +tale of woe. Not a line in his face or a look in his eyes +betrayed the thoughts of the leader who had been thwarted at the +outset of a dangerous enterprise, or of the man, accustomed to +command, who had been so flagrantly disobeyed. + +Armand, unconscious of all save of Jeanne and of her immediate +need, put an eager hand on Percy's arm. + +"Heron and his hell-hounds went back to her lodgings last night," +he said, speaking as if he were still a little out of breath. +"They hoped to get me, no doubt; not finding me there, they took +her. Oh, my God!" + +It was the first time that he had put the whole terrible +circumstance into words, and it seemed to gain in reality by the +recounting. The agony of mind which he endured was almost +unbearable; he hid his face in his hands lest Percy should see how +terribly he suffered. + +"I knew that," said Blakeney quietly. Armand looked up in +surprise. + +"How? When did you know it?" he stammered. + +"Last night when you left me. I went down to the Square du Roule. +I arrived there just too late." + +"Percy!" exclaimed Armand, whose pale face had suddenly flushed +scarlet, "you did that?--last night you--" + +"Of course," interposed the other calmly; "had I not promised you +to keep watch over her? When I heard the news it was already too +late to make further inquiries, but when you arrived just now I +was on the point of starting out, in order to find out in what +prison Mademoiselle Lange is being detained. I shall have to go +soon, Armand, before the guard is changed at the Temple and the +Tuileries. This is the safest time, and God knows we are all of +us sufficiently compromised already." + +The flush of shame deepened in St. Just's cheek. There had not +been a hint of reproach in the voice of his chief, and the eyes +which regarded him now from beneath the half-closed lids showed +nothing but lazy bonhomie. + +In a moment now Armand realised all the harm which his +recklessness had done, was still doing to the work of the League. +Every one of his actions since his arrival in Paris two days ago +had jeopardised a plan or endangered a life: his friendship with +de Batz, his connection with Mademoiselle Lange, his visit to her +yesterday afternoon, the repetition of it this morning, +culminating in that wild run through the streets of Paris, when at +any moment a spy lurking round a corner might either have barred +his way, or, worse still, have followed him to Blakeney's door. +Armand, without a thought of any one save of his beloved, might +easily this morning have brought an agent of the Committee of +General Security face to face with his chief. + +"Percy," he murmured, "can you ever forgive me?" + +"Pshaw, man!" retorted Blakeney lightly; "there is naught to +forgive, only a great deal that should no longer be forgotten; +your duty to the others, for instance, your obedience, and your +honour." + +"I was mad, Percy. Oh! if you only could understand what she +means to me!" + +Blakeney laughed, his own light-hearted careless laugh, which so +often before now had helped to hide what he really felt from the +eyes of the indifferent, and even from those of his friends. + +"No! no!" he said lightly, "we agreed last night, did we not? that +in matters of sentiment I am a cold-blooded fish. But will you at +any rate concede that I am a man of my word? Did I not pledge it +last night that Mademoiselle Lange would be safe? I foresaw her +arrest the moment I heard your story. I hoped that I might reach +her before that brute Heron's return; unfortunately he forestalled +me by less than half an hour. Mademoiselle Lange has been +arrested, Armand; but why should you not trust me on that account? +Have we not succeeded, I and the others, in worse cases than this +one? They mean no harm to Jeanne Lange," he added emphatically; +"I give you my word on that. They only want her as a decoy. It +is you they want. You through her, and me through you. I pledge +you my honour that she will be safe. You must try and trust me, +Armand. It is much to ask, I know, for you will have to trust me +with what is most precious in the world to you; and you will have +to obey me blindly, or I shall not he able to keep my word." + +"What do you wish me to do?" + +"Firstly, you must be outside Paris within the hour. Every minute +that you spend inside the city now is full of danger--oh, no! not +for you," added Blakeney, checking with a good-humoured gesture +Armand's words of protestation, "danger for the others--and for +our scheme tomorrow." + +"How can I go to St. Germain, Percy, knowing that she--" + +"Is under my charge?" interposed the other calmly. "That should +not be so very difficult. Come," he added, placing a kindly hand +on the other's shoulder, "you shall not find me such an inhuman +monster after all. But I must think of the others, you see, and +of the child whom I have sworn to save. But I won't send you as +far as St. Germain. Go down to the room below and find a good +bundle of rough clothes that will serve you as a disguise, for I +imagine that you have lost those which you had on the landing or +the stairs of the house in the Square du Roule. In a tin box with +the clothes downstairs you will find the packet of miscellaneous +certificates of safety. Take an appropriate one, and then start +out immediately for Villette. You understand?" + +"Yes, yes!" said Armand eagerly. "You want me to join Ffoulkes +and Tony." + +"Yes! You'll find them probably unloading coal by the canal. Try +and get private speech with them as early as may be, and tell Tony +to set out at once for St. Germain, and to join Hastings there, +instead of you, whilst you take his place with Ffoulkes." + +"Yes, I understand; but how will Tony reach St. Germain?" + +"La, my good fellow," said Blakeney gaily, "you may safely trust +Tony to go where I send him. Do you but do as I tell you, and +leave him to look after himself. And now," he added, speaking +more earnestly, "the sooner you get out of Paris the better it +will be for us all. As you see, I am only sending you to La +Villette, because it is not so far, but that I can keep in +personal touch with you. Remain close to the gates for an hour +after nightfall. I will Contrive before they close to bring you +news of Mademoiselle Lange." + +Armand said no more. The sense of shame in him deepened with +every word spoken by his chief. He felt how untrustworthy he had +been, how undeserving of the selfless devotion which Percy was +showing him even now. The words of gratitude died on his lips; he +knew that they would be unwelcome. These Englishmen were so +devoid of sentiment, he thought, and his brother-in-law, with all +his unselfish and heroic deeds, was, he felt, absolutely callous +in matters of the heart. + +But Armand was a noble-minded man, and with the true sporting +instinct in him, despite the fact that he was a creature of +nerves, highly strung and imaginative. He could give ungrudging +admiration to his chief, even whilst giving himself up entirely to +the sentiment for Jeanne. + +He tried to imbue himself with the same spirit that actuated my +Lord Tony and the other members of the League. How gladly would +he have chaffed and made senseless schoolboy jokes like those +which--in face of their hazardous enterprise and the dangers which +they all ran--had horrified him so much last night. + +But somehow he knew that jokes from him would not ring true. How +could he smile when his heart was brimming over with his love for +Jeanne, and with solicitude on her account? He felt that Percy +was regarding him with a kind of indulgent amusement; there was a +look of suppressed merriment in the depths of those lazy blue +eyes. + +So he braced up his nerves, trying his best to look cool and +unconcerned, but he could not altogether hide from his friend the +burning anxiety which was threatening to break his heart. + +"I have given you my word, Armand," said Blakeney in answer to the +unspoken prayer; "cannot you try and trust me--as the others do? +Then with sudden transition he pointed to the map behind him. + +"Remember the gate of Villette, and the corner by the towpath. +Join Ffoulkes as soon as may be and send Tony on his way, and wait +for news of Mademoiselle Lange some time to-night." + +"God bless you, Percy!" said Armand involuntarily. "Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye, my dear fellow. Slip on your disguise as quickly as +you can, and be out of the house in a quarter of an hour." + +He accompanied Armand through the ante-room, and finally closed +the door on him. Then he went back to his room and walked up to +the window, which he threw open to the humid morning air. Now +that he was alone the look of trouble on his face deepened to a +dark, anxious frown, and as he looked out across the river a sigh +of bitter impatience and disappointment escaped his lips. + + + +CHAPTER XV +THE GATE OF LA VILLETTE + +And now the shades of evening had long since yielded to those of +night. The gate of La Villette, at the northeast corner of the +city, was about to close. Armand, dressed in the rough clothes of +a labouring man, was leaning against a low wall at the angle of +the narrow street which abuts on the canal at its further end; +from this point of vantage he could command a view of the gate and +of the life and bustle around it. + +He was dog-tired. After the emotions of the past twenty-four +hours, a day's hard manual toil to which he was unaccustomed had +caused him to ache in every limb. As soon as he had arrived at the +canal wharf in the early morning he had obtained the kind of +casual work that ruled about here, and soon was told off to unload +a cargo of coal which had arrived by barge overnight. He had +set-to with a will, half hoping to kill his anxiety by dint of +heavy bodily exertion. During the course of the morning he had +suddenly become aware of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and of Lord Anthony +Dewhurst working not far away from him, and as fine a pair of +coalheavers as any shipper could desire. + +It was not very difficult in the midst of the noise and activity +that reigned all about the wharf for the three men to exchange a +few words together, and Armand soon communicated the chief's new +instructions to my Lord Tony, who effectually slipped away from +his work some time during the day. Armand did not even see him +go, it had all been so neatly done. + +Just before five o'clock in the afternoon the labourers were paid +off. It was then too dark to continue work. Armand would have +liked to talk to Sir Andrew, if only for a moment. He felt lonely +and desperately anxious. He had hoped to tire out his nerves as +well as his body, but in this he had not succeeded. As soon as he +had given up his tools, his brain began to work again more busily +than ever. It followed Percy in his peregrinations through the +city, trying to discover where those brutes were keeping Jeanne. + +That task had suddenly loomed up before Armand's mind with all its +terrible difficulties. How could Percy--a marked man if ever +there was one--go from prison to prison to inquire about Jeanne? +The very idea seemed preposterous. Armand ought never to have +consented to such an insensate plan. The more he thought of it, +the more impossible did it seem that Blakeney could find anything +out. + +Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was nowhere to be seen. St. Just wandered +about in the dark, lonely streets of this outlying quarter vainly +trying to find the friend in whom he could confide, who, no doubt, +would reassure him as to Blakeney's probable movements in Paris. +Then as the hour approached for the closing of the city gates +Armand took up his stand at an angle of the street from whence he +could see both the gate on one side of him and the thin line of +the canal intersecting the street at its further end. + +Unless Percy came within the next five minutes the gates would be +closed and the difficulties of crossing the barrier would be +increased a hundredfold. The market gardeners with their covered +carts filed out of the gate one by one; the labourers on foot were +returning to their homes; there was a group of stonemasons, a few +road-makers, also a number of beggars, ragged and filthy, who +herded somewhere in the neighbourhood of the canal. + +In every form, under every disguise, Armand hoped to discover +Percy. He could not stand still for very long, but strode up and +down the road that skirts the fortifications at this point. + +There were a good many idlers about at this hour; some men who had +finished their work, and meant to spend an hour or so in one of +the drinking shops that abounded in the neighbourhood of the +wharf; others who liked to gather a small knot of listeners around +them, whilst they discoursed on the politics of the day, or rather +raged against the Convention, which was all made up of traitors to +the people's welfare. + +Armand, trying manfully to play his part, joined one of the groups +that stood gaping round a street orator. He shouted with the best +of them, waved his cap in the air, and applauded or hissed in +unison with the majority. But his eyes never wandered for long +away from the gate whence Percy must come now at any moment--now +or not at all. + +At what precise moment the awful doubt took birth in his mind the +young man could not afterwards have said. Perhaps it was when he +heard the roll of drums proclaiming the closing of the gates, and +witnessed the changing of the guard. + +Percy had not come. He could not come now, and he (Armand) would +have the night to face without news of Jeanne. Something, of +course, had detained Percy; perhaps he had been unable to get +definite information about Jeanne; perhaps the information which +he had obtained was too terrible to communicate. + +If only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had been there, and Armand had had +some one to talk to, perhaps then he would have found sufficient +strength of mind to wait with outward patience, even though his +nerves were on the rack. + +Darkness closed in around him, and with the darkness came the full +return of the phantoms that had assailed him in the house of the +Square du Roule when first he had heard of Jeanne's arrest. The +open place facing the gate had transformed itself into the Place +de la Revolution, the tall rough post that held a flickering oil +lamp had become the gaunt arm of the guillotine, the feeble light +of the lamp was the knife that gleamed with the reflection of a +crimson light. + +And Armand saw himself, as in a vision, one of a vast and noisy +throng--they were all pressing round him so that he could not +move; they were brandishing caps and tricolour flags, also +pitchforks and scythes. He had seen such a crowd four years ago +rushing towards the Bastille. Now they were all assembled here +around him and around the guillotine. + +Suddenly a distant rattle caught his subconscious ear: the rattle +of wheels on rough cobble-stones. Immediately the crowd began to +cheer and to shout; some sang the "Ca ira!" and others screamed: + +"Les aristos! a la lanterne! a mort! a mort! les aristos!" + +He saw it all quite plainly, for the darkness had vanished, and +the vision was more vivid than even reality could have been. The +rattle of wheels grew louder, and presently the cart debouched on +the open place. + +Men and women sat huddled up in the cart; but in the midst of them +a woman stood, and her eyes were fixed upon Armand. She wore her +pale-grey satin gown, and a white kerchief was folded across her +bosom. Her brown hair fell in loose soft curls all round her +head. She looked exactly like the exquisite cameo which +Marguerite used to wear. Her hands were tied with cords behind her +back, but between her fingers she held a small bunch of violets. + +Armand saw it all. It was, of course, a vision, and he knew that +it was one, but he believed that the vision was prophetic. No +thought of the chief whom he had sworn to trust and to obey came +to chase away these imaginings of his fevered fancy. He saw +Jeanne, and only Jeanne, standing on the tumbril and being led to +the guillotine. Sir Andrew was not there, and Percy had not come. +Armand believed that a direct message had come to him from heaven +to save his beloved. + +Therefore he forgot his promise--his oath; he forgot those very +things which the leader had entreated him to remember--his duty to +the others, his loyalty, his obedience. Jeanne had first claim on +him. It were the act of a coward to remain in safety whilst she +was in such deadly danger. + +Now he blamed himself severely for having quitted Paris. Even +Percy must have thought him a coward for obeying quite so readily. +Maybe the command had been but a test of his courage, of the +strength of his love for Jeanne. + +A hundred conjectures flashed through his brain; a hundred plans +presented themselves to his mind. It was not for Percy, who did +not know her, to save Jeanne or to guard her. That task was +Armand's, who worshipped her, and who would gladly die beside her +if he failed to rescue her from threatened death. + +Resolution was not slow in coming. A tower clock inside the city +struck the hour of six, and still no sign of Percy. + +Armand, his certificate of safety in his hand, walked boldly up to +the gate. + +The guard challenged him, but he presented the certificate. There +was an agonising moment when the card was taken from him, and he +was detained in the guard-room while it was being examined by the +sergeant in command. + +But the certificate was in good order, and Armand, covered in +coal-dust, with the perspiration streaming down his face, did +certainly not look like an aristocrat in disguise. It was never +very difficult to enter the great city; if one wished to put one's +head in the lion's mouth, one was welcome to do so; the difficulty +came when the lion thought fit to close his jaws. + +Armand, after five minutes of tense anxiety, was allowed to cross +the barrier, but his certificate of safety was detained. He would +have to get another from the Committee of General Security before +he would be allowed to leave Paris again. + +The lion had thought fit to close his jaws. + + + +CHAPTER XVI +THE WEARY SEARCH + +Blakeney was not at his lodgings when Armand arrived there that +evening, nor did he return, whilst the young man haunted the +precincts of St. Germain l'Auxerrois and wandered along the quays +hours and hours at a stretch, until he nearly dropped under the +portico of a house, and realised that if he loitered longer he +might lose consciousness completely, and be unable on the morrow +to be of service to Jeanne. + +He dragged his weary footsteps back to his own lodgings on the +heights of Montmartre. He had not found Percy, he had no news of +Jeanne; it seemed as if hell itself could hold no worse tortures +than this intolerable suspense. + +He threw himself down on the narrow palliasse and, tired nature +asserting herself, at last fell into a heavy, dreamless torpor, +like the sleep of a drunkard, deep but without the beneficent aid +of rest. + +It was broad daylight when he awoke. The pale light of a damp, +wintry morning filtered through the grimy panes of the window. +Armand jumped out of bed, aching of limb but resolute of mind. +There was no doubt that Percy had failed in discovering Jeanne's +whereabouts; but where a mere friend had failed a lover was more +likely to succeed. + +The rough clothes which he had worn yesterday were the only ones +he had. They would, of course, serve his purpose better than his +own, which he had left at Blakeney's lodgings yesterday. In half +an hour he was dressed, looking a fairly good imitation of a +labourer out of work. + +He went to a humble eating house of which he knew, and there, +having ordered some hot coffee with a hunk of bread, he set +himself to think. + +It was quite a usual thing these days for relatives and friends of +prisoners to go wandering about from prison to prison to find out +where the loved ones happened to be detained. The prisons were +over full just now; convents, monasteries, and public institutions +had all been requisitioned by the Government for the housing of +the hundreds of so-called traitors who had been arrested on the +barest suspicion, or at the mere denunciation of an evil-wisher. + +There were the Abbaye and the Luxembourg, the erstwhile convents +of the Visitation and the Sacre-Coeur, the cloister of the +Oratorians, the Salpetriere, and the St. Lazare hospitals, and +there was, of course, the Temple, and, lastly, the Conciergerie, +to which those prisoners were brought whose trial would take place +within the next few days, and whose condemnation was practically +assured. + +Persons under arrest at some of the other prisons did sometimes +come out of them alive, but the Conciergerie was only the +ante-chamber of the guillotine. + +Therefore Armand's idea was to visit the Conciergerie first. The +sooner he could reassure himself that Jeanne was not in immediate +danger the better would he be able to endure the agony of that +heart-breaking search, that knocking at every door in the hope of +finding his beloved. + +If Jeanne was not in the Conciergerie, then there might be some +hope that she was only being temporarily detained, and through +Armand's excited brain there had already flashed the thought that +mayhap the Committee of General Security would release her if he +gave himself up. + +These thoughts, and the making of plans, fortified him mentally +and physically; he even made a great effort to eat and drink, +knowing that his bodily strength must endure if it was going to he +of service to Jeanne. + +He reached the Quai de l'Horloge soon after nine. The grim, +irregular walls of the Chatelet and the house of Justice loomed +from out the mantle of mist that lay on the river banks. Armand +skirted the square clock-tower, and passed through the monumental +gateways of the house of Justice. + +He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls +and corridors of the Tribunal, to which the public had access +whenever the court was sitting. The sittings began at ten, and +already the usual crowd of idlers were assembling--men and women +who apparently had no other occupation save to come day after day +to this theatre of horrors and watch the different acts of the +heartrending dramas that were enacted here with a kind of awful +monotony. + +Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and +anon moved slowly up the gigantic flight of stone steps, talking +lightly on indifferent subjects. There was quite a goodly +sprinkling of workingmen amongst this crowd, and Armand in his +toil-stained clothes attracted no attention. + +Suddenly a word reached his ear--just a name flippantly spoken by +spiteful lips--and it changed the whole trend of his thoughts. +Since he had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of +Jeanne, and--in connection with her--of Percy and his vain quest +of her. Now that name spoken by some one unknown brought his mind +back to more definite thoughts of his chief. + +"Capet!" the name--intended as an insult, but actually merely +irrelevant--whereby the uncrowned little King of France was +designated by the revolutionary party. + +Armand suddenly recollected that to-day was Sunday, the 19th of +January. He had lost count of days and of dates lately, but the +name, "Capet," had brought everything back: the child in the +Temple; the conference in Blakeney's lodgings; the plans for the +rescue of the boy. That was to take place to-day--Sunday, the +19th. The Simons would be moving from the Temple, at what hour +Blakeney did not know, but it would be today, and he would be +watching his opportunity. + +Now Armand understood everything; a great wave of bitterness swept +over his soul. Percy had forgotten Jeanne! He was busy thinking +of the child in the Temple, and whilst Armand had been eating out +his heart with anxiety, the Scarlet Pimpernel, true only to his +mission, and impatient of all sentiment that interfered with his +schemes, had left Jeanne to pay with her life for the safety of +the uncrowned King. + +But the bitterness did not last long; on the contrary, a kind of +wild exultation took its place. If Percy had forgotten, then +Armand could stand by Jeanne alone. It was better so! He would +save the loved one; it was his duty and his right to work for her +sake. Never for a moment did he doubt that he could save her, +that his life would be readily accepted in exchange for hers. + +The crowd around him was moving up the monumental steps, and +Armand went with the crowd. It lacked but a few minutes to ten +now; soon the court would begin to sit. In the olden days, when he +was studying for the law, Armand had often wandered about at will +along the corridors of the house of Justice. He knew exactly +where the different prisons were situated about the buildings, and +how to reach the courtyards where the prisoners took their daily +exercise. + +To watch those aristos who were awaiting trial and death taking +their recreation in these courtyards had become one of the sights +of Paris. Country cousins on a visit to the city were brought +hither for entertainment. Tall iron gates stood between the +public and the prisoners, and a row of sentinels guarded these +gates; but if one was enterprising and eager to see, one could +glue one's nose against the ironwork and watch the ci-devant +aristocrats in threadbare clothes trying to cheat their horror of +death by acting a farce of light-heartedness which their wan faces +and tear-dimmed eyes effectually belied. + +All this Armand knew, and on this he counted. For a little while +he joined the crowd in the Salle des Pas Perdus, and wandered idly +up and down the majestic colonnaded hall. He even at one time +formed part of the throng that watched one of those quick tragedies +that were enacted within the great chamber of the court. A number +of prisoners brought in, in a batch; hurried interrogations, +interrupted answers, a quick indictment, monstrous in its flaring +injustice, spoken by Foucquier-Tinville, the public prosecutor, +and listened to in all seriousness by men who dared to call +themselves judges of their fellows. + +The accused had walked down the Champs Elysees without wearing a +tricolour cockade; the other had invested some savings in an +English industrial enterprise; yet another had sold public funds, +causing them to depreciate rather suddenly in the market! + +Sometimes from one of these unfortunates led thus wantonly to +butchery there would come an excited protest, or from a woman +screams of agonised entreaty. But these were quickly silenced by +rough blows from the butt-ends of muskets, and condemnations-- +wholesale sentences of death--were quickly passed amidst the +cheers of the spectators and the howls of derision from infamous +jury and judge. + +Oh! the mockery of it all--the awful, the hideous ignominy, the +blot of shame that would forever sully the historic name of +France. Armand, sickened with horror, could not bear more than a +few minutes of this monstrous spectacle. The same fate might even +now be awaiting Jeanne. Among the next batch of victims to this +sacrilegious butchery he might suddenly spy his beloved with her +pale face and cheeks stained with her tears. + +He fled from the great chamber, keeping just a sufficiency of +presence of mind to join a knot of idlers who were drifting +leisurely towards the corridors. He followed in their wake and +soon found himself in the long Galerie des Prisonniers, along the +flagstones of which two days ago de Batz had followed his guide +towards the lodgings of Heron. + +On his left now were the arcades shut off from the courtyard +beyond by heavy iron gates. Through the ironwork Armand caught +sight of a number of women walking or sitting in the courtyard. +He heard a man next to him explaining to his friend that these +were the female prisoners who would be brought to trial that day, +and he felt that his heart must burst at the thought that mayhap +Jeanne would be among them. + +He elbowed his way cautiously to the front rank. Soon he found +himself beside a sentinel who, with a good-humoured jest, made way +for him that he might watch the aristos. Armand leaned against +the grating, and his every sense was concentrated in that of +sight. + +At first he could scarcely distinguish one woman from another +amongst the crowd that thronged the courtyard, and the close +ironwork hindered his view considerably. The women looked almost +like phantoms in the grey misty air, gliding slowly along with +noiseless tread on the flag-stones. + +Presently, however, his eyes, which mayhap were somewhat dim with +tears, became more accustomed to the hazy grey light and the +moving figures that looked so like shadows. He could distinguish +isolated groups now, women and girls sitting together under the +colonnaded arcades, some reading, others busy, with trembling +fingers, patching and darning a poor, torn gown. Then there were +others who were actually chatting and laughing together, and--oh, +the pity of it! the pity and the shame!--a few children, shrieking +with delight, were playing hide and seek in and out amongst the +columns. + +And, between them all, in and out like the children at play, +unseen, yet familiar to all, the spectre of Death, scythe and +hour-glass in hand, wandered, majestic and sure. + +Armand's very soul was in his eyes. So far he had not yet caught +sight of his beloved, and slowly--very slowly--a ray of hope was +filtering through the darkness of his despair. + +The sentinel, who had stood aside for him, chaffed him for his +intentness. + +"Have you a sweetheart among these aristos, citizen?" he asked. +"You seem to be devouring them with your eyes." + +Armand, with his rough clothes soiled with coal-dust, his face +grimy and streaked with sweat, certainly looked to have but little +in common with the ci-devant aristos who formed the hulk of the +groups in the courtyard. He looked up; the soldier was regarding +him with obvious amusement, and at sight of Armand's wild, anxious +eyes he gave vent to a coarse jest. + +"Have I made a shrewd guess, citizen?" he said. "Is she among +that lot?" + +"I do not know where she is," said Armand almost involuntarily. + +"Then why don't you find out?" queried the soldier. + +The man was not speaking altogether unkindly. Armand, devoured +with the maddening desire to know, threw the last fragment of +prudence to the wind. He assumed a more careless air, trying to +look as like a country bumpkin in love as he could. + +"I would like to find out," he said, "but I don't know where to +inquire. My sweetheart has certainly left her home," he added +lightly; "some say that she has been false to me, but I think +that, mayhap, she has been arrested." + +"Well, then, you gaby," said the soldier good-humouredly, "go +straight to La Tournelle; you know where it is? + +Armand knew well enough, but thought it more prudent to keep up +the air of the ignorant lout. + +"Straight down that first corridor on your right," explained the +other, pointing in the direction which he had indicated, "you will +find the guichet of La Tournelle exactly opposite to you. Ask the +concierge for the register of female prisoners--every freeborn +citizen of the Republic has the right to inspect prison registers. +It is a new decree framed for safeguarding the liberty of the +people. But if you do not press half a livre in the hand of the +concierge," he added, speaking confidentially, "you will find that +the register will not be quite ready for your inspection." + +"Half a livre!" exclaimed Armand, striving to play his part to the +end. "How can a poor devil of a labourer have half a livre to +give away?" + +"Well! a few sous will do in that case; a few sous are always +welcome these hard times." + +Armand took the hint, and as the crowd had drifted away +momentarily to a further portion of the corridor, he contrived to +press a few copper coins into the hand of the obliging soldier. + +Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have +covered the distance that separated him from the guichet there +with steps flying like the wind, but, commending himself for his +own prudence, he walked as slowly as he could along the +interminable corridor, past the several minor courts of justice, +and skirting the courtyard where the male prisoners took their +exercise. + +At last, having struck sharply to his left and ascended a short +flight of stairs, he found himself in front of the guichet--a +narrow wooden box, wherein the clerk in charge of the prison +registers sat nominally at the disposal of the citizens of this +free republic. + +But to Armand's almost overwhelming chagrin he found the place +entirely deserted. The guichet was closed down; there was not a +soul in sight. The disappointment was doubly keen, coming as it +did in the wake of hope that had refused to be gainsaid. Armand +himself did not realise how sanguine he had been until he +discovered that he must wait and wait again--wait for hours, all +day mayhap, before he could get definite news of Jeanne. + +He wandered aimlessly in the vicinity of that silent, deserted, +cruel spot, where a closed trapdoor seemed to shut off all his +hopes of a speedy sight of Jeanne. He inquired of the first +sentinels whom he came across at what hour the clerk of the +registers would be back at his post; the soldiers shrugged their +shoulders and could give no information. Then began Armand's +aimless wanderings round La Tournelle, his fruitless inquiries, +his wild, excited search for the hide-bound official who was +keeping from him the knowledge of Jeanne. + +He went back to his sentinel well-wisher by the women's courtyard, +but found neither consolation nor encouragement there. + +"It is not the hour--quoi?" the soldier remarked with laconic +philosophy. + +It apparently was not the hour when the prison registers were +placed at the disposal of the public. After much fruitless +inquiry, Armand at last was informed by a bon bourgeois, who was +wandering about the house of Justice and who seemed to know its +multifarious rules, that the prison registers all over Paris could +only be consulted by the public between the hours of six and seven +in the evening. + +There was nothing for it but to wait. Armand, whose temples were +throbbing, who was footsore, hungry, and wretched, could gain +nothing by continuing his aimless wanderings through the +labyrinthine building. For close upon another hour he stood with +his face glued against the ironwork which separated him from the +female prisoners' courtyard. Once it seemed to him as if from its +further end he caught the sound of that exquisitely melodious +voice which had rung forever in his ear since that memorable +evening when Jeanne's dainty footsteps had first crossed the path +of his destiny. He strained his eyes to look in the direction +whence the voice had come, but the centre of the courtyard was +planted with a small garden of shrubs, and Armand could not see +across it. At last, driven forth like a wandering and lost soul, +he turned back and out into the streets. The air was mild and +damp. The sharp thaw had persisted through the day, and a thin, +misty rain was falling and converting the ill-paved roads into +seas of mud. + +But of this Armand was wholly unconscious. He walked along the +quay holding his cap in his hand, so that the mild south wind +should cool his burning forehead. + +How he contrived to kill those long, weary hours he could not +afterwards have said. Once he felt very hungry, and turned almost +mechanically into an eating-house, and tried to eat and drink. +But most of the day he wandered through the streets, restlessly, +unceasingly, feeling neither chill nor fatigue. The hour before +six o'clock found him on the Quai de l'Horloge in the shadow of +the great towers of the Hall of Justice, listening for the clang +of the clock that would sound the hour of his deliverance from +this agonising torture of suspense. + +He found his way to La Tournelle without any hesitation. There +before him was the wooden box, with its guichet open at last, and +two stands upon its ledge, on which were placed two huge +leather-bound books. + +Though Armand was nearly an hour before the appointed time, he saw +when he arrived a number of people standing round the guichet. +Two soldiers were there keeping guard and forcing the patient, +long-suffering inquirers to stand in a queue, each waiting his or +her turn at the books. + +It was a curious crowd that stood there, in single file, as if +waiting at the door of the cheaper part of a theatre; men in +substantial cloth clothes, and others in ragged blouse and +breeches; there were a few women, too, with black shawls on their +shoulders and kerchiefs round their wan, tear-stained faces. + +They were all silent and absorbed, submissive under the rough +handling of the soldiery, humble and deferential when anon the +clerk of the registers entered his box, and prepared to place +those fateful books at the disposal of those who had lost a loved +one--father, brother, mother, or wife--and had come to search +through those cruel pages. + +From inside his box the clerk disputed every inquirer's right to +consult the books; he made as many difficulties as he could, +demanding the production of certificates of safety, or permits +from the section. He was as insolent as he dared, and Armand from +where he stood could see that a continuous if somewhat thin stream +of coppers flowed from the hands of the inquirers into those of +the official. + +It was quite dark in the passage where the long queue continued to +swell with amazing rapidity. Only on the ledge in front of the +guichet there was a guttering tallow candle at the disposal of the +inquirers. + +Now it was Armand's turn at last. By this time his heart was +beating so strongly and so rapidly that he could not have trusted +himself to speak. He fumbled in his pocket, and without unnecessary +preliminaries he produced a small piece of silver, and pushed it +towards the clerk, then he seized on the register marked "Femmes" +with voracious avidity. + +The clerk had with stolid indifference pocketed the half-livre; he +looked on Armand over a pair of large bone-rimmed spectacles, with +the air of an old hawk that sees a helpless bird and yet is too +satiated to eat. He was apparently vastly amused at Armand's +trembling hands, and the clumsy, aimless way with which he fingered +the book and held up the tallow candle. + +"What date?" he asked curtly in a piping voice. + +"What date?" reiterated Armand vaguely. + +"What day and hour was she arrested?" said the man, thrusting his +beak-like nose closer to Armand's face. Evidently the piece of +silver had done its work well; he meant to be helpful to this +country lout. + +"On Friday evening," murmured the young man. + +The clerk's hands did not in character gainsay the rest of his +appearance; they were long and thin, with nails that resembled the +talons of a hawk. Armand watched them fascinated as from above +they turned over rapidly the pages of the book; then one long, +grimy finger pointed to a row of names down a column. + +"If she is here," said the man curtly, "her name should be amongst +these." + +Armand's vision was blurred. He could scarcely see. The row of +names was dancing a wild dance in front of his eyes; perspiration +stood out on his forehead, and his breath came in quick, +stertorous gasps. + +He never knew afterwards whether he actually saw Jeanne's name +there in the book, or whether his fevered brain was playing his +aching senses a cruel and mocking trick. Certain it is that +suddenly amongst a row of indifferent names hers suddenly stood +clearly on the page, and to him it seemed as if the letters were +writ out in blood. + + 582. Belhomme, Louise, aged sixty. Discharged. + +And just below, the other entry: + + 583. Lange, Jeanne, aged twenty, actress. Square du Roule + No.5. Suspected of harbouring traitors and ci-devants. + Transferred 29th Nivose to the Temple, cell 29. + +He saw nothing more, for suddenly it seemed to him as if some one +held a vivid scarlet veil in front of his eyes, whilst a hundred +claw-like hands were tearing at his heart and at his throat. + +"Clear out now! it is my turn--what? Are you going to stand there +all night?" + +A rough voice seemed to be speaking these words; rough hands +apparently were pushing him out of the way, and some one snatched +the candle out of his hand; but nothing was real. He stumbled +over a corner of a loose flagstone, and would have fallen, but +something seemed to catch bold of him and to lead him away for a +little distance, until a breath of cold air blew upon his face. + +This brought him back to his senses. + +Jeanne was a prisoner in the Temple; then his place was in the +prison of the Temple, too. It could not be very difficult to run +one's head into the noose that caught so many necks these days. A +few cries of "Vive le roi!" or "A bas la republique!" and more +than one prison door would gape invitingly to receive another +guest. + +The hot blood had rushed into Armand's head. He did not see +clearly before him, nor did he hear distinctly. There was a +buzzing in his ears as of myriads of mocking birds' wings, and +there was a veil in front of his eyes--a veil through which he saw +faces and forms flitting ghost-like in the gloom, men and women +jostling or being jostled, soldiers, sentinels; then long, +interminable corridors, more crowd and more soldiers, winding +stairs, courtyards and gates; finally the open street, the quay, +and the river beyond. + +An incessant hammering went on in his temples, and that veil never +lifted from before his eyes. Now it was lurid and red, as if +stained with blood; anon it was white like a shroud but it was +always there. + +Through it he saw the Pont-au-Change, which he crossed, then far +down on the Quai de l'Ecole to the left the corner house behind +St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where Blakeney lodged--Blakeney, who for +the sake of a stranger had forgotten all about his comrade and +Jeanne. + +Through it he saw the network of streets which separated him from +the neighbourhood of the Temple, the gardens of ruined +habitations, the closely-shuttered and barred windows of ducal +houses, then the mean streets, the crowded drinking bars, the +tumble-down shops with their dilapidated awnings. + +He saw with eyes that did not see, heard the tumult of daily life +round him with ears that did not hear. Jeanne was in the Temple +prison, and when its grim gates closed finally for the night, +he--Armand, her chevalier, her lover, her defender--would be +within its walls as near to cell No. 29 as bribery, entreaty, +promises would help him to attain. + +Ah! there at last loomed the great building, the pointed bastions +cut through the surrounding gloom as with a sable knife. + +Armand reached the gate; the sentinels challenged him; he replied: + +"Vive le roi!" shouting wildly like one who is drunk. + +He was hatless, and his clothes were saturated with moisture. He +tried to pass, but crossed bayonets barred the way. Still he +shouted: + +"Vive le roi!" and "A bas la republique!" + +"Allons! the fellow is drunk!" said one of the soldiers. + +Armand fought like a madman; he wanted to reach that gate. He +shouted, he laughed, and he cried, until one of the soldiers in a +fit of rage struck him heavily on the head. + +Armand fell backwards, stunned by the blow; his foot slipped on +the wet pavement. Was he indeed drunk, or was he dreaming? He +put his hand up to his forehead; it was wet, but whether with the +rain or with blood he did not know; but for the space of one +second he tried to collect his scattered wits. + +"Citizen St. Just!" said a quiet voice at his elbow. + +Then, as he looked round dazed, feeling a firm, pleasant grip on +his arm, the same quiet voice continued calmly: + +"Perhaps you do not remember me, citizen St. Just. I had not the +honour of the same close friendship with you as I had with your +charming sister. My name is Chauvelin. Can I be of any service to +you?" + + + +CHAPTER XVII +CHAUVELIN + +Chauvelin! The presence of this man here at this moment made the +events of the past few days seem more absolutely like a dream. +Chauvelin!--the most deadly enemy he, Armand, and his sister +Marguerite had in the world. Chauvelin!--the evil genius that +presided over the Secret Service of the Republic. Chauvelin--the +aristocrat turned revolutionary, the diplomat turned spy, the +baffled enemy of the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +He stood there vaguely outlined in the gloom by the feeble rays of +an oil lamp fixed into the wall just above. The moisture on his +sable clothes glistened in the flickering light like a thin veil +of crystal; it clung to the rim of his hat, to the folds of his +cloak; the ruffles at his throat and wrist hung limp and soiled. + +He had released Armand's arm, and held his hands now underneath +his cloak; his pale, deep-set eyes rested gravely on the younger +man's face. + +"I had an idea, somehow," continued Chauvelin calmly, "that you +and I would meet during your sojourn in Paris. I heard from my +friend Heron that you had been in the city; he, unfortunately, +lost your track almost as soon as he had found it, and I, too, had +begun to fear that our mutual and ever enigmatical friend, the +Scarlet Pimpernel, had spirited you away, which would have been a +great disappointment to me." + +Now he once more took hold of Armand by the elbow, but quite +gently, more like a comrade who is glad to have met another, and +is preparing to enjoy a pleasant conversation for a while. He led +the way back to the gate, the sentinel saluting at sight of the +tricolour scarf which was visible underneath his cloak. Under the +stone rampart Chauvelin paused. + +It was quiet and private here. The group of soldiers stood at the +further end of the archway, but they were out of hearing, and +their forms were only vaguely discernible in the surrounding +darkness. + +Armand had followed his enemy mechanically like one bewitched and +irresponsible for his actions. When Chauvelin paused he too stood +still, not because of the grip on his arm, but because of that +curious numbing of his will. + +Vague, confused thoughts were floating through his brain, the most +dominant one among them being that Fate had effectually ordained +everything for the best. Here was Chauvelin, a man who hated him, +who, of course, would wish to see him dead. Well, surely it must +be an easier matter now to barter his own life for that of Jeanne; +she had only been arrested on suspicion of harbouring him, who was +a known traitor to the Republic; then, with his capture and speedy +death, her supposed guilt would, he hoped, be forgiven. These +people could have no ill-will against her, and actors and +actresses were always leniently dealt with when possible. Then +surely, surely, he could serve Jeanne best by his own arrest and +condemnation, than by working to rescue her from prison. + +In the meanwhile Chauvelin shook the damp from off his cloak, +talking all the time in his own peculiar, gently ironical manner. + +"Lady Blakeney?" he was saying--" I hope that she is well!" + +"I thank you, sir," murmured Armand mechanically. + +"And my dear friend, Sir Percy Blakeney? I had hoped to meet him +in Paris. Ah! but no doubt he has been busy very busy; but I live +in hopes--I live in hopes. See how kindly Chance has treated me," +he continued in the same bland and mocking tones. "I was taking a +stroll in these parts, scarce hoping to meet a friend, when, +passing the postern-gate of this charming hostelry, whom should I +see but my amiable friend St. Just striving to gain admission. +But, la! here am I talking of myself, and I am not re-assured as +to your state of health. You felt faint just now, did you not? +The air about this building is very dank and close. I hope you +feel better now. Command me, pray, if I can be of service to you +in any way." + +Whilst Chauvelin talked he had drawn Armand after him into the +lodge of the concierge. The young man now made a great effort to +pull himself vigorously together and to steady his nerves. + +He had his wish. He was inside the Temple prison now, not far +from Jeanne, and though his enemy was older and less vigorous than +himself, and the door of the concierge's lodge stood wide open, he +knew that he was in-deed as effectually a prisoner already as if +the door of one of the numerous cells in this gigantic building +had been bolted and barred upon him. + +This knowledge helped him to recover his complete presence of +mind. No thought of fighting or trying to escape his fate entered +his head for a moment. It had been useless probably, and +undoubtedly it was better so. If he only could see Jeanne, and +assure himself that she would be safe in consequence of his own +arrest, then, indeed, life could hold no greater happiness for +him. + +Above all now he wanted to be cool and calculating, to curb the +excitement which the Latin blood in him called forth at every +mention of the loved one's name. He tried to think of Percy, of +his calmness, his easy banter with an enemy; he resolved to act as +Percy would act under these circumstances. + +Firstly, he steadied his voice, and drew his well-knit, slim +figure upright. He called to mind all his friends in England, +with their rigid manners, their impassiveness in the face of +trying situations. There was Lord Tony, for instance, always +ready with some boyish joke, with boyish impertinence always +hovering on his tongue. Armand tried to emulate Lord Tony's +manner, and to borrow something of Percy's calm impudence. + +"Citizen Chauvelin," he said, as soon as he felt quite sure of the +steadiness of his voice and the calmness of his manner, "I wonder +if you are quite certain that that light grip which you have on my +arm is sufficient to keep me here walking quietly by your side +instead of knocking you down, as I certainly feel inclined to do, +for I am a younger, more vigorous man than you." + +"H'm!" said Chauvelin, who made pretence to ponder over this +difficult problem; "like you, citizen St. Just, I wonder--" + +"It could easily be done, you know." + +"Fairly easily," rejoined the other; "but there is the guard; it +is numerous and strong in this building, and--" + +"The gloom would help me; it is dark in the corridors, and a +desperate man takes risks, remember--" + +"Quite so! And you, citizen St. Just, are a desperate man just +now." + +"My sister Marguerite is not here, citizen Chauvelin. You cannot +barter my life for that of your enemy." + +"No! no! no!" rejoined Chauvelin blandly; "not for that of my +enemy, I know, but--" + +Armand caught at his words like a drowning man at a reed. + +"For hers!" he exclaimed. + +"For hers?" queried the other with obvious puzzlement. + +"Mademoiselle Lange," continued Armand with all the egoistic +ardour of the lover who believes that the attention of the entire +world is concentrated upon his beloved. + +"Mademoiselle Lange! You will set her free now that I am in your +power." + +Chauvelin smiled, his usual suave, enigmatical smile. + +"Ah, yes!" he said. "Mademoiselle Lange. I had forgotten." + +"Forgotten, man?--forgotten that those murderous dogs have +arrested her?--the best, the purest, this vile, degraded country +has ever produced. She sheltered me one day just for an hour. I +am a traitor to the Republic--I own it. I'll make full confession; +but she knew nothing of this. I deceived her; she is quite innocent, +you understand? I'll make full confession, but you must set her free." + +He had gradually worked himself up again to a state of feverish +excitement. Through the darkness which hung about in this small +room he tried to peer in Chauvelin's impassive face. + +"Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other placidly; "you seem +to imagine that I have something to do with the arrest of the lady +in whom you take so deep an interest. You forget that now I am but +a discredited servant of the Republic whom I failed to serve in +her need. My life is only granted me out of pity for my efforts, +which were genuine if not successful. I have no power to set any +one free." + +"Nor to arrest me now, in that case!" retorted Armand. + +Chauvelin paused a moment before he replied with a deprecating +smile: + +"Only to denounce you, perhaps. I am still an agent of the +Committee of General Security." + +"Then all is for the best!" exclaimed St. Just eagerly. "You shall +denounce me to the Committee. They will be glad of my arrest, I +assure you. I have been a marked man for some time. I had +intended to evade arrest and to work for the rescue of +Mademoiselle Lange; but I will give tip all thought of that--I +will deliver myself into your hands absolutely; nay, more, I will +give you my most solemn word of honour that not only will I make +no attempt at escape, but that I will not allow any one to help me +to do so. I will be a passive and willing prisoner if you, on the +other hand, will effect Mademoiselle Lange's release." + +"H'm!" mused Chauvelin again, "it sounds feasible." + +"It does! it does!" rejoined Armand, whose excitement was at +fever-pitch. "My arrest, my condemnation, my death, will be of +vast deal more importance to you than that of a young and innocent +girl against whom unlikely charges would have to be tricked up, +and whose acquittal mayhap public feeling might demand. As for +me, I shall be an easy prey; my known counter-revolutionary +principles, my sister's marriage with a foreigner--" + +"Your connection with the Scarlet Pimpernel," suggested Chauvelin +blandly. + +"Quite so. I should not defend myself--" + +"And your enigmatical friend would not attempt your rescue. C'est +entendu," said Chauvelin with his wonted blandness. "Then, my +dear, enthusiastic young friend, shall we adjourn to the office of +my colleague, citizen Heron, who is chief agent of the Committee +of General Security, and will receive your--did you say +confession?--and note the conditions under which you place +yourself absolutely in the hands of the Public Prosecutor and +subsequently of the executioner. Is that it?" + +Armand was too full of schemes, too full of thoughts of Jeanne to +note the tone of quiet irony with which Chauvelin had been +speaking all along. With the unreasoning egoism of youth he was +quite convinced that his own arrest, his own affairs were as +important to this entire nation in revolution as they were to +himself. At moments like these it is difficult to envisage a +desperate situation clearly, and to a young man in love the fate +of the beloved never seems desperate whilst he himself is alive +and ready for every sacrifice for her sake. "My life for hers" is +the sublime if often foolish battle-cry that has so often resulted +in whole-sale destruction. Armand at this moment, when he fondly +believed that he was making a bargain with the most astute, most +unscrupulous spy this revolutionary Government had in its +pay--Armand just then had absolutely forgotten his chief, his +friends, the league of mercy and help to which he belonged. + +Enthusiasm and the spirit of self-sacrifice were carrying him +away. He watched his enemy with glowing eyes as one who looks on +the arbiter of his fate. + +Chauvelin, without another word, beckoned to him to follow. He +led the way out of the lodge, then, turning sharply to his left, +he reached the wide quadrangle with the covered passage running +right round it, the same which de Batz had traversed two evenings +ago when he went to visit Heron. + +Armand, with a light heart and springy step, followed him as if he +were going to a feast where he would meet Jeanne, where he would +kneel at her feet, kiss her hands, and lead her triumphantly to +freedom and to happiness. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +THE REMOVAL + +Chauvelin no longer made any pretence to hold Armand by the arm. +By temperament as well as by profession a spy, there was one +subject at least which he had mastered thoroughly: that was the +study of human nature. Though occasionally an exceptionally +complex mental organisation baffled him--as in the case of Sir +Percy Blakeney--he prided himself, and justly, too, on reading +natures like that of Armand St. Just as he would an open book. + +The excitable disposition of the Latin races he knew out and out; +he knew exactly how far a sentimental situation would lead a young +Frenchman like Armand, who was by disposition chivalrous, and by +temperament essentially passionate. Above all things, he knew +when and how far he could trust a man to do either a sublime +action or an essentially foolish one. + +Therefore he walked along contentedly now, not even looking back +to see whether St. Just was following him. He knew that he did. + +His thoughts only dwelt on the young enthusiast--in his mind he +called him the young fool--in order to weigh in the balance the +mighty possibilities that would accrue from the present sequence +of events. The fixed idea ever working in the man's scheming +brain had already transformed a vague belief into a certainty. +That the Scarlet Pimpernel was in Paris at the present moment +Chauvelin had now become convinced. How far he could turn the +capture of Armand St. Just to the triumph of his own ends remained +to be seen. + +But this he did know: the Scarlet Pimpernel--the man whom he had +learned to know, to dread, and even in a grudging manner to +admire--was not like to leave one of his followers in the lurch. +Marguerite's brother in the Temple would be the surest decoy for +the elusive meddler who still, and in spite of all care and +precaution, continued to baffle the army of spies set upon his +track. + +Chauvelin could hear Armand's light, elastic footsteps resounding +behind him on the flagstones. A world of intoxicating +possibilities surged up before him. Ambition, which two +successive dire failures had atrophied in his breast, once more +rose up buoyant and hopeful. Once he had sworn to lay the Scarlet +Pimpernel by the heels, and that oath was not yet wholly +forgotten; it had lain dormant after the catastrophe of Boulogne, +but with the sight of Armand St. Just it had re-awakened and +confronted him again with the strength of a likely fulfilment. + +The courtyard looked gloomy and deserted. The thin drizzle which +still fell from a persistently leaden sky effectually held every +outline of masonry, of column, or of gate hidden as beneath a +shroud. The corridor which skirted it all round was ill-lighted +save by an occasional oil-lamp fixed in the wall. + +But Chauvelin knew his way well. Heron's lodgings gave on the +second courtyard, the Square du Nazaret, and the way thither led +past the main square tower, in the top floor of which the +uncrowned King of France eked out his miserable existence as the +plaything of a rough cobbler and his wife. + +Just beneath its frowning bastions Chauvelin turned back towards +Armand. He pointed with a careless hand up-wards to the central +tower. + +"We have got little Capet in there," he said dryly. "Your +chivalrous Scarlet Pimpernel has not ventured in these precincts +yet, you see." + +Armand was silent. He had no difficulty in looking unconcerned; +his thoughts were so full of Jeanne that he cared but little at +this moment for any Bourbon king or for the destinies of France. + +Now the two men reached the postern gate. A couple of sentinels +were standing by, but the gate itself was open, and from within +there came the sound of bustle and of noise, of a good deal of +swearing, and also of loud laughter. + +The guard-room gave on the left of the gate, and the laughter came +from there. It was brilliantly lighted, and Armand, peering in, +in the wake of Chauvelin, could see groups of soldiers sitting and +standing about. There was a table in the centre of the room, and +on it a number of jugs and pewter mugs, packets of cards, and +overturned boxes of dice. + +But the bustle did not come from the guard-room; it came from the +landing and the stone stairs beyond. + +Chauvelin, apparently curious, had passed through the gate, and +Armand followed him. The light from the open door of the +guard-room cut sharply across the landing, making the gloom beyond +appear more dense and almost solid. From out the darkness, +fitfully intersected by a lanthorn apparently carried to and fro, +moving figures loomed out ghost-like and weirdly gigantic. Soon +Armand distinguished a number of large objects that encumbered the +landing, and as he and Chauvelin left the sharp light of the +guard-room 'behind them, he could see that the large objects were +pieces of furniture of every shape and size; a wooden +bedstead--dismantled--leaned against the wall, a black horsehair +sofa blocked the way to the tower stairs, and there were +numberless chairs and several tables piled one on the top of the +other. + +In the midst of this litter a stout, flabby-cheeked man stood, +apparently giving directions as to its removal to persons at +present unseen. + +"Hola, Papa Simon!" exclaimed Chauvelin jovially; "moving out +to-day? What?" + +"Yes, thank the Lord!--if there be a Lord!" retorted the other +curtly. "Is that you, citizen Chauvelin?" + +"In person, citizen. I did not know you were leaving quite so +soon. Is citizen Heron anywhere about?" + +"Just left," replied Simon. "He had a last look at Capet just +before my wife locked the brat up in the inner room. Now he's +gone back to his lodgings." + +A man carrying a chest, empty of its drawers, on his back now came +stumbling down the tower staircase. Madame Simon followed close +on his heels, steadying the chest with one hand. + +"We had better begin to load up the cart," she called to her +husband in a high-pitched querulous voice; "the corridor is +getting too much encumbered." + +She looked suspiciously at Chauvelin and at Armand, and when she +encountered the former's bland, unconcerned gaze she suddenly +shivered and drew her black shawl closer round her shoulders. + +"Bah!" she said, "I shall be glad to get out of this God-forsaken +hole. I hate the very sight of these walls." + +"Indeed, the citizeness does not look over robust in health," said +Chauvelin with studied politeness. "The stay in the tower did +not, mayhap, bring forth all the fruits of prosperity which she +had anticipated." + +The woman eyed him with dark suspicion lurking in her hollow eyes. + +"I don't know what you mean, citizen," she said with a shrug of +her wide shoulders. + +"Oh! I meant nothing," rejoined Chauvelin, smiling. "I am so +interested in your removal; busy man as I am, it has amused me to +watch you. Whom have you got to help you with the furniture?" + +"Dupont, the man-of-all-work, from the concierge," said Simon +curtly. "Citizen Heron would not allow any one to come in from +the outside." + +"Rightly too. Have the new commissaries come yet? + +"Only citizen Cochefer. He is waiting upstairs for the others." + +"And Capet?" + +"He is all safe. Citizen Heron came to see him, and then he told +me to lock the little vermin up in the inner room. Citizen +Cochefer had just arrived by that time, and he has remained in +charge." + +During all this while the man with the chest on his back was +waiting for orders. Bent nearly double, he was grumbling audibly +at his uncomfortable position. + +"Does the citizen want to break my back?" he muttered. + +"We had best get along--quoi?" + +He asked if he should begin to carry the furniture out into the +street. + +"Two sous have I got to pay every ten minutes to the lad who holds +my nag," he said, muttering under his breath; "we shall be all +night at this rate." + +"Begin to load then," commanded Simon gruffly. "Here!--begin with +this sofa." + +"You'll have to give me a hand with that," said the man. "Wait a +bit; I'll just see that everything is all right in the cart. I'll +be back directly." + +"Take something with you then as you are going down," said Madame +Simon in her querulous voice. + +The man picked up a basket of linen that stood in the angle by the +door. He hoisted it on his back and shuffled away with it across +the landing and out through the gate. + +"How did Capet like parting from his papa and maman?" asked +Chauvelin with a laugh. + +"H'm!" growled Simon laconically. "He will find out soon enough +how well off he was under our care." + +"Have the other commissaries come yet?" + +"No. But they will be here directly. Citizen Cochefer is +upstairs mounting guard over Capet." + +"Well, good-bye, Papa Simon," concluded Chauvelin jovially. +"Citizeness, your servant! + +He bowed with unconcealed irony to the cobbler's wife, and nodded +to Simon, who expressed by a volley of motley oaths his exact +feelings with regard to all the agents of the Committee of General +Security. + +"Six months of this penal servitude have we had," he said roughly, +"and no thanks or pension. I would as soon serve a ci-devant +aristo as your accursed Committee." + +The man Dupont had returned. Stolidly, after the fashion of his +kind, he commenced the removal of citizen Simon's goods. He +seemed a clumsy enough creature, and Simon and his wife had to do +most of the work themselves. + +Chauvelin watched the moving forms for a while, then he shrugged +his shoulders with a laugh of indifference, and turned on his +heel. + + + +CHAPTER XIX +IT IS ABOUT THE DAUPHIN + +Heron was not at his lodgings when, at last, after vigorous pulls +at the bell, a great deal of waiting and much cursing, Chauvelin, +closely followed by Armand, was introduced in the chief agent's +office. + +The soldier who acted as servant said that citizen Heron had gone +out to sup, but would surely be home again by eight o'clock. +Armand by this time was so dazed with fatigue that he sank on a +chair like a log, and remained there staring into the fire, +unconscious of the flight of time. + +Anon Heron came home. He nodded to Chauvelin, and threw but a +cursory glance on Armand. + +"Five minutes, citizen," he said, with a rough attempt at an +apology. "I am sorry to keep you waiting, but the new +commissaries have arrived who are to take charge of Capet. The +Simons have just gone, and I want to assure myself that everything +is all right in the Tower. Cochefer has been in charge, but I +like to cast an eye over the brat every day myself." + +He went out again, slamming the door behind him. His heavy +footsteps were heard treading the flagstones of the corridor, and +gradually dying away in the distance. Armand had paid no heed +either to his entrance or to his exit. He was only conscious of +an intense weariness, and would at this moment gladly have laid +his head on the scaffold if on it he could find rest. + +A white-faced clock on the wall ticked off the seconds one by one. +From the street below came the muffled sounds of wheeled traffic +on the soft mud of the road; it was raining more heavily now, and +from time to time a gust of wind rattled the small windows in +their dilapidated frames, or hurled a shower of heavy drops +against the panes. + +The heat from the stove had made Armand drowsy; his head fell +forward on his chest. Chauvelin, with his hands held behind his +back, paced ceaselessly up and down the narrow room. + +Suddenly Armand started--wide awake now. Hurried footsteps on the +flagstones outside, a hoarse shout, a banging of heavy doors, and +the next moment Heron stood once more on the threshold of the +room. Armand, with wide-opened eyes, gazed on him in wonder. The +whole appearance of the man had changed. He looked ten years +older, with lank, dishevelled hair hanging matted over a moist +forehead, the cheeks ashen-white, the full lips bloodless and +hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows of yellow teeth +that shook against each other. The whole figure looked bowed, as +if shrunk within itself. + +Chauvelin had paused in his restless walk, He gazed on his +colleague, a frown of puzzlement on his pale, set face. + +"Capet!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had taken in every detail of +Heron's altered appearance, and seen the look of wild terror that +literally distorted his face. + +Heron could not speak; his teeth were chattering in his mouth, and +his tongue seemed paralysed. Chauvelin went up to him. He was +several inches shorter than his colleague, but at this moment he +seemed to be towering over him like an avenging spirit. He placed +a firm hand on the other's bowed shoulders. + +"Capet has gone--is that it?" he queried peremptorily. + +The look of terror increased in Heron's eyes, giving its mute reply. + +"How? When?" + +But for the moment the man was speechless. An almost maniacal +fear seemed to hold him in its grip. With an impatient oath +Chauvelin turned away from him. + +"Brandy!" he said curtly, speaking to Armand. + +A bottle and glass were found in the cupboard. It was St. Just +who poured out the brandy and held it to Heron's lips. Chauvelin +was once more pacing up and down the room in angry impatience. + +"Pull yourself together, man," he said roughly after a while, "and +try and tell me what has occurred." + +Heron had sunk into a chair. He passed a trembling hand once or +twice over his forehead. + +"Capet has disappeared," he murmured; "he must have been spirited +away while the Simons were moving their furniture. That accursed +Cochefer was completely taken in." + +Heron spoke in a toneless voice, hardly above a whisper, and like +one whose throat is dry and mouth parched. But the brandy had +revived him somewhat, and his eyes lost their former glassy look. + +"How?" asked Chauvelin curtly. + +"I was just leaving the Tower when he arrived. I spoke to him at +the door. I had seen Capet safely installed in the room, and gave +orders to the woman Simon to let citizen Cochefer have a look at +him, too, and then to lock up the brat in the inner room and +install Cochefer in the antechamber on guard. I stood talking to +Cochefer for a few moments in the antechamber. The woman Simon +and the man-of-all-work, Dupont--whom I know well--were busy with +the furniture. There could not have been any one else concealed +about the place--that I'll swear. Cochefer, after he took leave +of me, went straight into the room; he found the woman Simon in +the act of turning the key in the door of the inner chamber. I +have locked Capet in there,' she said, giving the key to Cochefer; +'he will be quite safe until to-night; when the other commissaries +come.' + +"Didn't Cochefer go into the room and ascertain whether the woman +was lying?" + +"Yes, he did! He made the woman re-open the door and peeped in +over her shoulder. She said the child was asleep. He vows that +he saw the child lying fully dressed on a rug in the further +corner of the room. The room, of course, was quite empty of +furniture and only lighted by one candle, but there was the rug +and the child asleep on it. Cochefer swears he saw him, and +now--when I went up--" + +"Well?" + +"The commissaries were all there--Cochefer and Lasniere, Lorinet +and Legrand. We went into the inner room, and I had a candle in +my hand. We saw the child lying on the rug, just as Cochefer had +seen him, and for a while we took no notice of it. Then some +one--I think it was Lorinet--went to have a closer look at the +brat. He took up the candle and went up to the rug. Then he gave +a cry, and we all gathered round him. The sleeping child was only +a bundle of hair and of clothes, a dummy--what?" + +There was silence now in the narrow room, while the white-faced +clock continued to tick off each succeeding second of time. Heron +had once more buried his head in his hands; a trembling--like an +attack of ague--shook his wide, bony shoulders. Armand had +listened to the narrative with glowing eyes and a beating heart. +The details which the two Terrorists here could not probably +understand he had already added to the picture which his mind had +conjured up. + +He was back in thought now in the small lodging in the rear of St. +Germain l'Auxerrois; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, and my Lord +Tony and Hastings, and a man was striding up and down the room, +looking out into the great space beyond the river with the eyes of +a seer, and a firm voice said abruptly: + +"It is about the Dauphin!" + +"Have you any suspicions?" asked Chauvelin now, pausing in his +walk beside Heron, and once more placing a firm, peremptory hand +on his colleague's shoulder. + +"Suspicions!" exclaimed the chief agent with a loud oath. +"Suspicions! Certainties, you mean. The man sat here but two +days ago, in that very chair, and bragged of what he would do. I +told him then that if he interfered with Capet I would wring his +neck with my own hands." + +And his long, talon-like fingers, with their sharp, grimy nails, +closed and unclosed like those of feline creatures when they hold +the coveted prey. + +"Of whom do you speak?" queried Chauvelin curtly. + +"Of whom? Of whom but that accursed de Batz? His pockets are +bulging with Austrian money, with which, no doubt, he has bribed +the Simons and Cochefer and the sentinels--" + +"And Lorinet and Lasniere and you," interposed Chauvelin dryly. + +"It is false!" roared Heron, who already at the suggestion was +foaming at the mouth, and had jumped up from his chair, standing +at bay as if prepared to fight for his life. + +"False, is it?" retorted Chauvelin calmly; "then be not so quick, +friend Heron, in slashing out with senseless denunciations right +and left. You'll gain nothing by denouncing any one just now. +This is too intricate a matter to be dealt with a sledge-hammer. +Is any one up in the Tower at this moment?" he asked in quiet, +business-like tones. + +"Yes. Cochefer and the others are still there. They are making +wild schemes to cover their treachery. Cochefer is aware of his +own danger, and Lasniere and the others know that they arrived at +the Tower several hours too late. They are all at fault, and they +know it. As for that de Batz," he continued with a voice rendered +raucous with bitter passion, "I swore to him two days ago that he +should not escape me if he meddled with Capet. I'm on his track +already. I'll have him before the hour of midnight, and I'll +torture him--yes! I'll torture him--the Tribunal shall give me +leave. We have a dark cell down below here where my men know how +to apply tortures worse than the rack--where they know just how to +prolong life long enough to make it unendurable. I'll torture +him! I'll torture him!" + +But Chauvelin abruptly silenced the wretch with a curt command; +then, without another word, he walked straight out of the room. + +In thought Armand followed him. The wild desire was suddenly born +in him to run away at this moment, while Heron, wrapped in his own +meditations, was paying no heed to him. Chauvelin's footsteps had +long ago died away in the distance; it was a long way to the upper +floor of the Tower, and some time would be spent, too, in +interrogating the commissaries. This was Armand's opportunity. +After all, if he were free himself he might more effectually help +to rescue Jeanne. He knew, too, now where to join his leader. +The corner of the street by the canal, where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes +would be waiting with the coal-cart; then there was the spinney on +the road to St. Germain. Armand hoped that, with good luck, he +might yet overtake his comrades, tell them of Jeanne's plight, and +entreat them to work for her rescue. + +He had forgotten that now he had no certificate of safety, that +undoubtedly he would be stopped at the gates at this hour of the +night; that his conduct proving suspect he would in all probability +he detained, and, mayhap, be brought back to this self-same place +within an hour. He had forgotten all that, for the primeval +instinct for freedom had suddenly been aroused. He rose softly +from his chair and crossed the room. Heron paid no attention to +him. Now he had traversed the antechamber and unlatched the outer door. + +Immediately a couple of bayonets were crossed in front of him, two +more further on ahead scintillated feebly in the flickering light. +Chauvelin had taken his precautions. There was no doubt that +Armand St. Just was effectually a prisoner now. + +With a sigh of disappointment he went back to his place beside the +fire. Heron had not even moved whilst he had made this futile +attempt at escape. Five minutes later Chauvelin re-entered the +room. + + + +CHAPTER XX +THE CERTIFICATE OF SAFETY + +"You can leave de Batz and his gang alone, citizen Heron," said +Chauvelin, as soon as he had closed the door behind him; "he had +nothing to do with the escape of the Dauphin." + +Heron growled out a few words of incredulity. But Chauvelin +shrugged his shoulders and looked with unutterable contempt on his +colleague. Armand, who was watching him closely, saw that in his +hand he held a small piece of paper, which he had crushed into a +shapeless mass. + +"Do not waste your time, citizen," he said, "in raging against an +empty wind-bag. Arrest de Batz if you like, or leave him alone an +you please--we have nothing to fear from that braggart." + +With nervous, slightly shaking fingers he set to work to smooth +out the scrap of paper which he held. His hot hands had soiled it +and pounded it until it was a mere rag and the writing on it +illegible. But, such as it was, he threw it down with a +blasphemous oath on the desk in front of Heron's eyes. + +"It is that accursed Englishman who has been at work again," he +said more calmly; "I guessed it the moment I heard your story. +Set your whole army of sleuth-hounds on his track, citizen; you'll +need them all." + +Heron picked up the scrap of torn paper and tried to decipher the +writing on it by the light from the lamp. He seemed almost dazed +now with the awful catastrophe that had befallen him, and the fear +that his own wretched life would have to pay the penalty for the +disappearance of the child. + +As for Armand--even in the midst of his own troubles, and of his +own anxiety for Jeanne, he felt a proud exultation in his heart. +The Scarlet Pimpernel had succeeded; Percy had not failed in his +self-imposed undertaking. Chauvelin, whose piercing eyes were +fixed on him at that moment, smiled with contemptuous irony. + +"As you will find your hands overfull for the next few hours, +citizen Heron," he said, speaking to his colleague and nodding in +the direction of Armand, "I'll not trouble you with the voluntary +confession this young citizen desired to make to you. All I need +tell you is that he is an adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel--I +believe one of his most faithful, most trusted officers." + +Heron roused himself from the maze of gloomy thoughts that were +again paralysing his tongue. He turned bleary, wild eyes on +Armand. + +"We have got one of them, then?" he murmured incoherently, +babbling like a drunken man. + +"M'yes!" replied Chauvelin lightly; "but it is too late now for a +formal denunciation and arrest. He cannot leave Paris anyhow, and +all that your men need to do is to keep a close look-out on him. +But I should send him home to-night if I were you." + +Heron muttered something more, which, however, Armand did not +understand. Chauvelin's words were still ringing in his ear. Was +he, then, to be set free to-night? Free in a measure, of course, +since spies were to be set to watch him--but free, nevertheless? +He could not understand Chauvelin's attitude, and his own +self-love was not a little wounded at the thought that he was of +such little account that these men could afford to give him even +this provisional freedom. And, of course, there was still Jeanne. + +"I must, therefore, bid you good-night, citizen," Chauvelin was +saying in his bland, gently ironical manner. "You will be glad to +return to your lodgings. As you see, the chief agent of the +Committee of General Security is too much occupied just now to +accept the sacrifice of your life which you were prepared so +generously to offer him." + +"I do not understand you, citizen," retorted Armand coldly, "nor +do I desire indulgence at your hands. You have arrested an +innocent woman on the trumped-up charge that she was harbouring +me. I came here to-night to give myself up to justice so that she +might be set free." + +"But the hour is somewhat late, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin +urbanely. "The lady in whom you take so fervent an interest is no +doubt asleep in her cell at this hour. It would not be fitting to +disturb her now. She might not find shelter before morning, and +the weather is quite exceptionally unpropitious." + +"Then, sir," said Armand, a little bewildered, "am I to understand +that if I hold myself at your disposition Mademoiselle Lange will +be set free as early to-morrow morning as may be?" + +"No doubt, sir--no doubt," replied Chauvelin with more than his +accustomed blandness; "if you will hold yourself entirely at our +disposition, Mademoiselle Lange will be set free to-morrow. I +think that we can safely promise that, citizen Heron, can we not?" +he added, turning to his colleague. + +But Heron, overcome with the stress of emotions, could only murmur +vague, unintelligible words. + +"Your word on that, citizen Chauvelin?" asked Armand. + +"My word on it an you will accept it." + +"No, I will not do that. Give me an unconditional certificate of +safety and I will believe you." + +"Of what use were that to you?" asked Chauvelin. + +"I believe my capture to be of more importance to you than that of +Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand quietly. + +"I will use the certificate of safety for myself or one of my +friends if you break your word to me anent Mademoiselle Lange." + +"H'm! the reasoning is not illogical, citizen," said Chauvelin, +whilst a curious smile played round the corners of his thin lips. +"You are quite right. You are a more valuable asset to us than +the charming lady who, I hope, will for many a day and year to +come delight pleasure-loving Paris with her talent and her grace." + +"Amen to that, citizen," said Armand fervently. + +"Well, it will all depend on you, sir! Here," he added, coolly +running over some papers on Heron's desk until he found what he +wanted, "is an absolutely unconditional certificate of safety. +The Committee of General Security issue very few of these. It is +worth the cost of a human life. At no barrier or gate of any city +can such a certificate be disregarded, nor even can it be +detained. Allow me to hand it to you, citizen, as a pledge of my +own good faith." + +Smiling, urbane, with a curious look that almost expressed +amusement lurking in his shrewd, pale eyes, Chauvelin handed the +momentous document to Armand. + +The young man studied it very carefully before he slipped it into +the inner pocket of his coat. + +"How soon shall I have news of Mademoiselle Lange?" he asked +finally. + +"In the course of to-morrow. I myself will call on you and redeem +that precious document in person. You, on the other hand, will +hold yourself at my disposition. That's understood, is it not?" + +"I shall not fail you. My lodgings are--" + +"Oh! do not trouble," interposed Chauvelin, with a polite bow; "we +can find that out for ourselves." + +Heron had taken no part in this colloquy. Now that Armand +prepared to go he made no attempt to detain him, or to question +his colleague's actions. He sat by the table like a log; his mind +was obviously a blank to all else save to his own terrors +engendered by the events of this night. + +With bleary, half-veiled eyes he followed Armand's progress +through the room, and seemed unaware of the loud slamming of the +outside door. Chauvelin had escorted the young man past the first +line of sentry, then he took cordial leave of him. + +"Your certificate will, you will find, open every gate to you. +Good-night, citizen. A demain." + +"Good-night." + +Armand's slim figure disappeared in the gloom. Chauvelin watched +him for a few moments until even his footsteps had died away in +the distance; then he turned back towards Heron's lodgings. + +"A nous deux," he muttered between tightly clenched teeth; "a nous +deux once more, my enigmatical Scarlet Pimpernel." + + + +CHAPTER XXI +BACK TO PARIS + +It was an exceptionally dark night, and the rain was falling in +torrents. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, wrapped in a piece of sacking, had +taken shelter right underneath the coal-cart; even then he was +getting wet through to the skin. + +He had worked hard for two days coal-heaving, and the night before +he had found a cheap, squalid lodging where at any rate he was +protected from the inclemencies of the weather; but to-night he +was expecting Blakeney at the appointed hour and place. He had +secured a cart of the ordinary ramshackle pattern used for +carrying coal. Unfortunately there were no covered ones to be +obtained in the neighbourhood, and equally unfortunately the thaw +had set in with a blustering wind and diving rain, which made +waiting in the open air for hours at a stretch and in complete +darkness excessively unpleasant. + +But for all these discomforts Sir Andrew Ffoulkes cared not one +jot. In England, in his magnificent Suffolk home, he was a +confirmed sybarite, in whose service every description of comfort +and luxury had to be enrolled. Here tonight in the rough and +tattered clothes of a coal-heaver, drenched to the skin, and +crouching under the body of a cart that hardly sheltered him from +the rain, he was as happy as a schoolboy out for a holiday. + +Happy, but vaguely anxious. + +He had no means of ascertaining the time. So many of the +church-bells and clock towers had been silenced recently that not +one of those welcome sounds penetrated to the dreary desolation of +this canal wharf, with its abandoned carts standing ghostlike in a +row. Darkness had set in very early in the afternoon, and the +heavers had given up work soon after four o'clock. + +For about an hour after that a certain animation had still reigned +round the wharf, men crossing and going, one or two of the barges +moving in or out alongside the quay. But for some time now +darkness and silence had been the masters in this desolate spot, +and that time had seemed to Sir Andrew an eternity. He had +hobbled and tethered his horse, and stretched himself out at full +length under the cart. Now and again he had crawled out from +under this uncomfortable shelter and walked up and down in +ankle-deep mud, trying to restore circulation in his stiffened +limbs; now and again a kind of torpor had come over him, and he +had fallen into a brief and restless sleep. He would at this +moment have given half his fortune for knowledge of the exact +time. + +But through all this weary waiting he was never for a moment in +doubt. Unlike Armand St. Just, he had the simplest, most perfect +faith in his chief. He had been Blakeney's constant companion in +all these adventures for close upon four years now; the thought of +failure, however vague, never once entered his mind. + +He was only anxious for his chief's welfare. He knew that he +would succeed, but he would have liked to have spared him much of +the physical fatigue and the nerve-racking strain of these hours +that lay between the daring deed and the hope of safety. +Therefore he was conscious of an acute tingling of his nerves, +which went on even during the brief patches of fitful sleep, and +through the numbness that invaded his whole body while the hours +dragged wearily and slowly along. + +Then, quite suddenly, he felt wakeful and alert; quite a +while--even before he heard the welcome signal--he knew, with a +curious, subtle sense of magnetism, that the hour had come, and +that his chief was somewhere near by, not very far. + +Then he heard the cry--a seamew's call--repeated thrice at +intervals, and five minutes later something loomed out of the +darkness quite close to the hind wheels of the cart. + +"Hist! Ffoulkes!" came in a soft whisper, scarce louder than the +wind. + +"Present!" came in quick response. + +"Here, help me to lift the child into the cart. He is asleep, and +has been a dead weight on my arm for close on an hour now. Have +you a dry bit of sacking or something to lay him on?" + +"Not very dry, I am afraid." + +With tender care the two men lifted the sleeping little King of +France into the rickety cart. Blakeney laid his cloak over him, +and listened for awhile to the slow regular breathing of the +child. + +"St. Just is not here--you know that?" said Sir Andrew after a +while. + +"Yes, I knew it," replied Blakeney curtly. + +It was characteristic of these two men that not a word about the +adventure itself, about the terrible risks and dangers of the past +few hours, was exchanged between them. The child was here and was +safe, and Blakeney knew the whereabouts of St. Just--that was +enough for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, the most devoted follower, the +most perfect friend the Scarlet Pimpernel would ever know. + +Ffoulkes now went to the horse, detached the nose-bag, and undid +the nooses of the hobble and of the tether. + +"Will you get in now, Blakeney?" he said; "we are ready." + +And in unbroken silence they both got into the cart; Blakeney +sitting on its floor beside the child, and Ffoulkes gathering the +reins in his hands. + +The wheels of the cart and the slow jog-trot of the horse made +scarcely any noise in the mud of the roads, what noise they did +make was effectually drowned by the soughing of the wind in the +bare branches of the stunted acacia trees that edged the towpath +along the line of the canal. + +Sir Andrew had studied the topography of this desolate +neighbourhood well during the past twenty-four hours; he knew of a +detour that would enable him to avoid the La Villette gate and the +neighbourhood of the fortifications, and yet bring him out soon on +the road leading to St. Germain. + +Once he turned to ask Blakeney the time. + +"It must be close on ten now," replied Sir Percy. "Push your nag +along, old man. Tony and Hastings will be waiting for us." + +It was very difficult to see clearly even a metre or two ahead, +but the road was a straight one, and the old nag seemed to know it +almost as well and better than her driver. She shambled along at +her own pace, covering the ground very slowly for Ffoulkes's +burning impatience. Once or twice he had to get down and lead her +over a rough piece of ground. They passed several groups of +dismal, squalid houses, in some of which a dim light still burned, +and as they skirted St. Ouen the church clock slowly tolled the +hour of midnight. + +But for the greater part of the way derelict, uncultivated spaces +of terrains vagues, and a few isolated houses lay between the road +and the fortifications of the city. The darkness of the night, +the late hour, the soughing of the wind, were all in favour of the +adventurers; and a coal-cart slowly trudging along in this +neighbourhood, with two labourers sitting in it, was the least +likely of any vehicle to attract attention. + +Past Clichy, they had to cross the river by the rickety wooden +bridge that was unsafe even in broad daylight. They were not far +from their destination now. Half a dozen kilometres further on +they would be leaving Courbevoie on their left, and then the +sign-post would come in sight. After that the spinney just off +the road, and the welcome presence of Tony, Hastings, and the +horses. Ffoulkes got down in order to make sure of the way. He +walked at the horse's head now, fearful lest he missed the +cross-roads and the sign-post. + +The horse was getting over-tired; it had covered fifteen +kilometres, and it was close on three o'clock of Monday morning. + +Another hour went by in absolute silence. Ffoulkes and Blakeney +took turns at the horse's head. Then at last they reached the +cross-roads; even through the darkness the sign-post showed white +against the surrounding gloom. + +"This looks like it," murmured Sir Andrew. He turned the horse's +head sharply towards the left, down a narrower road, and leaving +the sign-post behind him. He walked slowly along for another +quarter of an hour, then Blakeney called a halt. + +"The spinney must be sharp on our right now," he said. + +He got down from the cart, and while Ffoulkes remained beside the +horse, he plunged into the gloom. A moment later the cry of the +seamew rang out three times into the air. It was answered almost +immediately. + +The spinney lay on the right of the road. Soon the soft sounds +that to a trained ear invariably betray the presence of a number +of horses reached Ffoulkes' straining senses. He took his old nag +out of the shafts, and the shabby harness from off her, then he +turned her out on the piece of waste land that faced the spinney. +Some one would find her in the morning, her and the cart with the +shabby harness laid in it, and, having wondered if all these +things had perchance dropped down from heaven, would quietly +appropriate them, and mayhap thank much-maligned heaven for its +gift. + +Blakeney in the meanwhile had lifted the sleeping child out of the +cart. Then he called to Sir Andrew and led the way across the +road and into the spinney. + +Five minutes later Hastings received the uncrowned King of France +in his arms. + +Unlike Ffoulkes, my Lord Tony wanted to hear all about the +adventure of this afternoon. A thorough sportsman, he loved a +good story of hairbreadth escapes, of dangers cleverly avoided, +risks taken and conquered. + +"Just in ten words, Blakeney," he urged entreatingly; "how did you +actually get the boy away?" + +Sir Percy laughed--despite himself--at the young man's eagerness. + +"Next time we meet, Tony," he begged; "I am so demmed fatigued, +and there's this beastly rain--" + +"No, no--now! while Hastings sees to the horses. I could not +exist long without knowing, and we are well sheltered from the +rain under this tree." + +"Well, then, since you will have it," he began with a laugh, which +despite the weariness and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours +had forced itself to his lips, "I have been sweeper and +man-of-all-work at the Temple for the past few weeks, you must +know--" + +"No!" ejaculated my Lord Tony lustily. "By gum!" + +"Indeed, you old sybarite, whilst you were enjoying yourself +heaving coal on the canal wharf, I was scrubbing floors, lighting +fires, and doing a number of odd jobs for a lot of demmed +murdering villains, and "--he added under his breath--" +incidentally, too, for our league. Whenever I had an hour or two +off duty I spent them in my lodgings, and asked you all to come +and meet me there." + +"By Gad, Blakeney! Then the day before yesterday?--when we all +met--" + +"I had just had a bath--sorely needed, I can tell you. I had been +cleaning boots half the day, but I had heard that the Simons were +removing from the Temple on the Sunday, and had obtained an order +from them to help them shift their furniture." + +"Cleaning boots!" murmured my Lord Tony with a chuckle. "Well! +and then?" + +"Well, then everything worked out splendidly. You see by that +time I was a well-known figure in the Temple. Heron knew me well. +I used to be his lanthorn-bearer when at nights he visited that +poor mite in his prison. It was 'Dupont, here! Dupont there!' +all day long. 'Light the fire in the office, Dupont! Dupont, +brush my coat! Dupont, fetch me a light!' When the Simons wanted +to move their household goods they called loudly for Dupont. I +got a covered laundry cart, and I brought a dummy with me to +substitute for the child. Simon himself knew nothing of this, but +Madame was in my pay. The dummy was just splendid, with real hair +on its head; Madame helped me to substitute it for the child; we +laid it on the sofa and covered it over with a rug, even while +those brutes Heron and Cochefer were on the landing outside, and +we stuffed His Majesty the King of France into a linen basket. +The room was badly lighted, and any one would have been deceived. +No one was suspicious of that type of trickery, so it went off +splendidly. I moved the furniture of the Simons out of the Tower. +His Majesty King Louis XVII was still concealed in the linen +basket. I drove the Simons to their new lodgings--the man still +suspects nothing--and there I helped them to unload the +furniture--with the exception of the linen basket, of course. +After that I drove my laundry cart to a house I knew of and +collected a number of linen baskets, which I had arranged should +be in readiness for me. Thus loaded up I left Paris by the +Vincennes gate, and drove as far as Bagnolet, where there is no +road except past the octroi, where the officials might have proved +unpleasant. So I lifted His Majesty out of the basket and we +walked on hand in hand in the darkness and the rain until the poor +little feet gave out. Then the little fellow--who has been +wonderfully plucky throughout, indeed, more a Capet than a +Bourbon--snuggled up in my arms and went fast asleep, +and--and--well, I think that's all, for here we are, you see." + +"But if Madame Simon had not been amenable to bribery?" suggested +Lord Tony after a moment's silence. + +"Then I should have had to think of something else." + +"If during the removal of the furniture Heron had remained +resolutely in the room?" + +"Then, again, I should have had to think of something else; but +remember that in life there is always one supreme moment when +Chance--who is credited to have but one hair on her head--stands +by you for a brief space of time; sometimes that space is +infinitesimal--one minute, a few seconds--just the time to seize +Chance by that one hair. So I pray you all give me no credit in +this or any other matter in which we all work together, but the +quickness of seizing Chance by the hair during the brief moment +when she stands by my side. If Madame Simon had been un-amenable, +if Heron had remained in the room all the time, if Cochefer had +had two looks at the dummy instead of one--well, then, something +else would have helped me, something would have occurred; +something--I know not what--but surely something which Chance +meant to be on our side, if only we were quick enough to seize +it--and so you see how simple it all is." + +So simple, in fact, that it was sublime. The daring, the pluck, +the ingenuity and, above all, the super-human heroism and +endurance which rendered the hearers of this simple narrative, +simply told, dumb with admiration. + +Their thoughts now were beyond verbal expression. + +"How soon was the hue and cry for the child about the streets?" +asked Tony, after a moment's silence. + +"It was not out when I left the gates of Paris," said Blakeney +meditatively; "so quietly has the news of the escape been kept, +that I am wondering what devilry that brute Heron can be after. +And now no more chattering," he continued lightly; "all to horse, +and you, Hastings, have a care. The destinies of France, mayhap, +will be lying asleep in your arms." + +"But you, Blakeney?" exclaimed the three men almost +simultaneously. + +"I am not going with you. I entrust the child to you. For God's +sake guard him well! Ride with him to Mantes. You should arrive +there at about ten o'clock. One of you then go straight to No.9 +Rue la Tour. Ring the bell; an old man will answer it. Say the +one word to him, 'Enfant'; he will reply, 'De roi!' Give him the +child, and may Heaven bless you all for the help you have given me +this night!" + +"But you, Blakeney?" reiterated Tony with a note of deep anxiety +in his fresh young voice. + +"I am straight for Paris," he said quietly. + +"Impossible!" + +"Therefore feasible." + +"But why? Percy, in the name of Heaven, do you realise what you +are doing?" + +"Perfectly." + +"They'll not leave a stone unturned to find you--they know by now, +believe me, that your hand did this trick." + +"I know that." + +"And yet you mean to go back?" + +"And yet I am going back." + +"Blakeney!" + +"It's no use, Tony. Armand is in Paris. I saw him in the +corridor of the Temple prison in the company of Chauvelin." + +"Great God!" exclaimed Lord Hastings. + +The others were silent. What was the use of arguing? One of +themselves was in danger. Armand St. Just, the brother of +Marguerite Blakeney! Was it likely that Percy would leave him in +the lurch. + +"One of us will stay with you, of course?" asked Sir Andrew after +awhile. + +"Yes! I want Hastings and Tony to take the child to Mantes, then +to make all possible haste for Calais, and there to keep in close +touch with the Day-Dream; the skipper will contrive to open +communication. Tell him to remain in Calais waters. I hope I may +have need of him soon. + +"And now to horse, both of you," he added gaily. "Hastings, when +you are ready, I will hand up the child to you. He will be quite +safe on the pillion with a strap round him and you." + +Nothing more was said after that. The orders were given, there +was nothing to do but to obey; and the uncrowned King of France +was not yet out of danger. Hastings and Tony led two of the +horses out of the spinney; at the roadside they mounted, and then +the little lad for whose sake so much heroism, such selfless +devotion had been expended, was hoisted up, still half asleep, on +the pillion in front of my Lord Hastings. + +"Keep your arm round him," admonished Blakeney; "your horse looks +quiet enough. But put on speed as far as Mantes, and may Heaven +guard you both!" + +The two men pressed their heels to their horses' flanks, the +beasts snorted and pawed the ground anxious to start. There were a +few whispered farewells, two loyal hands were stretched out at the +last, eager to grasp the leader's hand. + +Then horses and riders disappeared in the utter darkness which +comes before the dawn. + +Blakeney and Ffoulkes stood side by side in silence for as long as +the pawing of hoofs in the mud could reach their ears, then +Ffoulkes asked abruptly: + +"What do you want me to do, Blakeney?" + +"Well, for the present, my dear fellow, I want you to take one of +the three horses we have left in the spinney, and put him into the +shafts of our old friend the coal-cart; then I am afraid that you +must go back the way we came." + +"Yes?" + +"Continue to heave coal on the canal wharf by La Villette; it is +the best way to avoid attention. After your day's work keep your +cart and horse in readiness against my arrival, at the same spot +where you were last night. If after having waited for me like +this for three consecutive nights you neither see nor hear +anything from me, go back to England and tell Marguerite that in +giving my life for her brother I gave it for her!" + +"Blakeney--!" + +"I spoke differently to what I usually do, is that it?" he +interposed, placing his firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "I am +degenerating, Ffoulkes--that's what it is. Pay no heed to it. I +suppose that carrying that sleeping child in my arms last night +softened some nerves in my body. I was so infinitely sorry for +the poor mite, and vaguely wondered if I had not saved it from one +misery only to plunge it in another. There was such a fateful +look on that wan little face, as if destiny had already writ its +veto there against happiness. It came on me then how futile were +our actions, if God chooses to interpose His will between us and +our desires." + +Almost as he left off speaking the rain ceased to patter down +against the puddles in the road. Overhead the clouds flew by at +terrific speed, driven along by the blustering wind. It was less +dark now, and Sir Andrew, peering through the gloom, could see his +leader's face. It was singularly pale and hard, and the deep-set +lazy eyes had in them just that fateful look which he himself had +spoken of just now. + +"You are anxious about Armand, Percy?" asked Ffoulkes softly. + +"Yes. He should have trusted me, as I had trusted him. He missed +me at the Villette gate on Friday, and without a thought left +me--left us all in the lurch; he threw himself into the lion's +jaws, thinking that he could help the girl he loved. I knew that +I could save her. She is in comparative safety even now. The old +woman, Madame Belhomme, had been freely released the day after her +arrest, but Jeanne Lange is still in the house in the Rue de +Charonne. You know it, Ffoulkes. I got her there early this +morning. It was easy for me, of course: 'Hola, Dupont! my boots, +Dupont!' 'One moment, citizen, my daughter--' 'Curse thy +daughter, bring me my boots!' and Jeanne Lange walked out of the +Temple prison her hand in that of that lout Dupont." + +"But Armand does not know that she is in the Rue de Charonne?" + +"No. I have not seen him since that early morning on Saturday +when he came to tell me that she had been arrested. Having sworn +that he would obey me, he went to meet you and Tony at La +Villette, but returned to Paris a few hours later, and drew the +undivided attention of all the committees on Jeanne Lange by his +senseless, foolish inquiries. But for his action throughout the +whole of yesterday I could have smuggled Jeanne out of Paris, got +her to join you at Villette, or Hastings in St. Germain. But the +barriers were being closely watched for her, and I had the Dauphin +to think of. She is in comparative safety; the people in the Rue +de Charonne are friendly for the moment; but for how long? Who +knows? I must look after her of course. And Armand! Poor old +Armand! The lion's jaws have snapped over him, and they hold him +tight. Chauvelin and his gang are using him as a decoy to trap me, +of course. All that had not happened if Armand had trusted me." + +He sighed a quick sigh of impatience, almost of regret. Ffoulkes +was the one man who could guess the bitter disappointment that +this had meant. Percy had longed to be back in England soon, back +to Marguerite, to a few days of unalloyed happiness and a few days +of peace. + +Now Armand's actions had retarded all that; they were a deliberate +bar to the future as it had been mapped out by a man who foresaw +everything, who was prepared for every eventuality. + +In this case, too, he had been prepared, but not for the want of +trust which had brought on disobedience akin to disloyalty. That +absolutely unforeseen eventuality had changed Blakeney's usual +irresponsible gaiety into a consciousness of the inevitable, of +the inexorable decrees of Fate. + +With an anxious sigh, Sir Andrew turned away from his chief and +went hack to the spinney to select for his own purpose one of the +three horses which Hastings and Tony had unavoidably left behind. + +"And you, Blakeney--how will you go back to that awful Paris?" he +said, when he had made his choice and was once more back beside +Percy. + +"I don't know yet," replied Blakeney, "but it would not be safe to +ride. I'll reach one of the gates on this side of the city and +contrive to slip in somehow. I have a certificate of safety in my +pocket in case I need it. + +"We'll leave the horses here," he said presently, whilst he was +helping Sir Andrew to put the horse in the shafts of the +coal-cart; "they cannot come to much harm. Some poor devil might +steal them, in order to escape from those vile brutes in the city. +If so, God speed him, say I. I'll compensate my friend the farmer +of St. Germain for their loss at an early opportunity. And now, +good-bye, my dear fellow! Some time to-night, if possible, you +shall hear direct news of me--if not, then to-morrow or the day +after that. Good-bye, and Heaven guard you!" + +"God guard you, Blakeney!" said Sir Andrew fervently. + +He jumped into the cart and gathered up the reins. His heart was +heavy as lead, and a strange mist had gathered in his eyes, +blurring the last dim vision which he had of his chief standing +all alone in the gloom, his broad, magnificent figure looking +almost weirdly erect and defiant, his head thrown back, and his +kind, lazy eyes watching the final departure of his most faithful +comrade and friend. + + + +CHAPTER XXII +OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION + +Blakeney had more than one pied-a-terre in Paris, and never stayed +longer than two or three days in any of these. It was not +difficult for a single man, be he labourer or bourgeois, to obtain +a night's lodging, even in these most troublous times, and in any +quarter of Paris, provided the rent--out of all proportion to the +comfort and accommodation given--was paid ungrudgingly and in +advance. + +Emigration and, above all, the enormous death-roll of the past +eighteen months, had emptied the apartment houses of the great +city, and those who had rooms to let were only too glad of a +lodger, always providing they were not in danger of being worried +by the committees of their section. + +The laws framed by these same committees now demanded that all +keepers of lodging or apartment houses should within twenty-four +hours give notice at the bureau of their individual sections of +the advent of new lodgers, together with a description of the +personal appearance of such lodgers, and an indication of their +presumed civil status and occupation. But there was a margin of +twenty-four hours, which could on pressure be extended to +forty-eight, and, therefore, any one could obtain shelter for +forty-eight hours, and have no questions asked, provided he or she +was willing to pay the exorbitant sum usually asked under the +circumstances. + +Thus Blakeney had no difficulty in securing what lodgings he +wanted when he once more found himself inside Paris at somewhere +about noon of that same Monday. + +The thought of Hastings and Tony speeding on towards Mantes with +the royal child safely held in Hastings' arms had kept his spirits +buoyant and caused him for a while to forget the terrible peril in +which Armand St. Just's thoughtless egoism had placed them both. + +Blakeney was a man of abnormal physique and iron nerve, else he +could never have endured the fatigues of the past twenty-four +hours, from the moment when on the Sunday afternoon he began to +play his part of furniture-remover at the Temple, to that when at +last on Monday at noon he succeeded in persuading the sergeant at +the Maillot gate that he was an honest stonemason residing at +Neuilly, who was come to Paris in search of work. + +After that matters became more simple. Terribly foot-sore, though +he would never have admitted it, hungry and weary, he turned into +an unpretentious eating-house and ordered some dinner. The place +when he entered was occupied mostly by labourers and workmen, +dressed very much as he was himself, and quite as grimy as he had +become after having driven about for hours in a laundry-cart and +in a coal-cart, and having walked twelve kilometres, some of which +he had covered whilst carrying a sleeping child in his arms. + +Thus, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., the friend and companion of the +Prince of Wales, the most fastidious fop the salons of London and +Bath had ever seen, was in no way distinguishable outwardly from +the tattered, half-starved, dirty, and out-at-elbows products of +this fraternising and equalising Republic. + +He was so hungry that the ill-cooked, badly-served meal tempted +him to eat; and he ate on in silence, seemingly more interested in +boiled beef than in the conversation that went on around him. But +he would not have been the keen and daring adventurer that he was +if he did not all the while keep his ears open for any fragment of +news that the desultory talk of his fellow-diners was likely to +yield to him. + +Politics were, of course, discussed; the tyranny of the sections, +the slavery that this free Republic had brought on its citizens. +The names of the chief personages of the day were all mentioned in +turns Focquier-Tinville, Santerre, Danton, Robespierre. Heron and +his sleuth-hounds were spoken of with execrations quickly +suppressed, but of little Capet not one word. + +Blakeney could not help but infer that Chauvelin, Heron and the +commissaries in charge were keeping the escape of the child a +secret for as long as they could. + +He could hear nothing of Armand's fate, of course. The arrest--if +arrest there had been--was not like to be bruited abroad just now. +Blakeney having last seen Armand in Chauvelin's company, whilst he +himself was moving the Simons' furniture, could not for a moment +doubt that the young man was imprisoned,--unless, indeed, he was +being allowed a certain measure of freedom, whilst his every step +was being spied on, so that he might act as a decoy for his chief. + +At thought of that all weariness seemed to vanish from Blakeney's +powerful frame. He set his lips firmly together, and once again +the light of irresponsible gaiety danced in his eyes. + +He had been in as tight a corner as this before now; at Boulogne +his beautiful Marguerite had been used as a decoy, and twenty-four +hours later he had held her in his arms on board his yacht the +Day-Dream. As he would have put it in his own forcible +language: + +"Those d--d murderers have not got me yet." + +The battle mayhap would this time be against greater odds than +before, but Blakeney had no fear that they would prove +overwhelming. + +There was in life but one odd that was overwhelming, and that was +treachery. + +But of that there could be no question. + +In the afternoon Blakeney started off in search of lodgings for +the night. He found what would suit him in the Rue de l'Arcade, +which was equally far from the House of Justice as it was from his +former lodgings. Here he would be safe for at least twenty-four +hours, after which he might have to shift again. But for the +moment the landlord of the miserable apartment was over-willing to +make no fuss and ask no questions, for the sake of the money which +this aristo in disguise dispensed with a lavish hand. + +Having taken possession of his new quarters and snatched a few +hours of sound, well-deserved rest, until the time when the shades +of evening and the darkness of the streets would make progress +through the city somewhat more safe, Blakeney sallied forth at +about six o'clock having a threefold object in view. + +Primarily, of course, the threefold object was concentrated on +Armand. There was the possibility of finding out at the young +man's lodgings in Montmartre what had become of him; then there +were the usual inquiries that could be made from the registers of +the various prisons; and, thirdly, there was the chance that +Armand had succeeded in sending some kind of message to Blakeney's +former lodgings in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. + +On the whole, Sir Percy decided to leave the prison registers +alone for the present. If Armand had been actually arrested, he +would almost certainly be confined in the Chatelet prison, where +he would be closer to hand for all the interrogatories to which, +no doubt, he would be subjected. + +Blakeney set his teeth and murmured a good, sound, British oath +when he thought of those interrogatories. Armand St. Just, highly +strung, a dreamer and a bundle of nerves--how he would suffer +under the mental rack of questions and cross-questions, +cleverly-laid traps to catch information from him unawares! + +His next objective, then, was Armand's former lodging, and from +six o'clock until close upon eight Sir Percy haunted the slopes of +Montmartre, and more especially the neighbourhood of the Rue de la +Croix Blanche, where Armand had lodged these former days. At the +house itself he could not inquire as yet; obviously it would not +have been safe; tomorrow, perhaps, when he knew more, but not +tonight. His keen eyes had already spied at least two figures +clothed in the rags of out-of-work labourers like himself, who had +hung with suspicious persistence in this same neighbourhood, and +who during the two hours that he had been in observation had never +strayed out of sight of the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. + +That these were two spies on the watch was, of course, obvious; +but whether they were on the watch for St. Just or for some other +unfortunate wretch it was at this stage impossible to conjecture. + +Then, as from the Tour des Dames close by the clock solemnly +struck the hour of eight, and Blakeney prepared to wend his way +back to another part of the city, he suddenly saw Armand walking +slowly up the street. + +The young man did not look either to right or left; he held his +head forward on his chest, and his hands were hidden underneath +his cloak. When he passed immediately under one of the street +lamps Blakeney caught sight of his face; it was pale and drawn. +Then he turned his head, and for the space of two seconds his eyes +across the narrow street encountered those of his chief. He had +the presence of mind not to make a sign or to utter a sound; he +was obviously being followed, but in that brief moment Sir Percy +had seen in the young man's eyes a look that reminded him of a +hunted creature. + +"What have those brutes been up to with him, I wonder?" he +muttered between clenched teeth. + +Armand soon disappeared under the doorway of the same house where +he had been lodging all along. Even as he did so Blakeney saw the +two spies gather together like a pair of slimy lizards, and +whisper excitedly one to another. A third man, who obviously had +been dogging Armand's footsteps, came up and joined them after a +while. + +Blakeney could have sworn loudly and lustily, had it been possible +to do so without attracting attention. The whole of Armand's +history in the past twenty-four hours was perfectly clear to him. +The young man had been made free that he might prove a decoy for +more important game. + +His every step was being watched, and he still thought Jeanne +Lange in immediate danger of death. The look of despair in his +face proclaimed these two facts, and Blakeney's heart ached for +the mental torture which his friend was enduring. He longed to +let Armand know that the woman he loved was in comparative safety. + +Jeanne Lange first, and then Armand himself; and the odds would be +very heavy against the Scarlet Pimpernel! But that Marguerite +should not have to mourn an only brother, of that Sir Percy made +oath. + +He now turned his steps towards his own former lodgings by St. +Germain l'Auxerrois. It was just possible that Armand had +succeeded in leaving a message there for him. It was, of course, +equally possible that when he did so Heron's men had watched his +movements, and that spies would be stationed there, too, on the +watch. + +But that risk must, of course, be run. Blakeney's former lodging +was the one place that Armand would know of to which he could send +a message to his chief, if he wanted to do so. Of course, the +unfortunate young man could not have known until just now that +Percy would come back to Paris, but he might guess it, or wish it, +or only vaguely hope for it; he might want to send a message, he +might long to communicate with his brother-in-law, and, perhaps, +feel sure that the latter would not leave him in the lurch. + +With that thought in his mind, Sir Percy was not likely to give up +the attempt to ascertain for himself whether Armand had tried to +communicate with him or not. As for spies--well, he had dodged +some of them often enough in his time--the risks that he ran +to-night were no worse than the ones to which he had so +successfully run counter in the Temple yesterday. + +Still keeping up the slouchy gait peculiar to the out-at-elbows +working man of the day, hugging the houses as he walked along the +streets, Blakeney made slow progress across the city. But at last +he reached the facade of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and turning +sharply to his right he soon came in sight of the house which he +had only quitted twenty-four hours ago. + +We all know that house--all of us who are familiar with the Paris +of those terrible days. It stands quite detached--a vast +quadrangle, facing the Quai de l'Ecole and the river, backing on +the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and shouldering the Carrefour des +Trois Manes. The porte-cochere, so-called, is but a narrow +doorway, and is actually situated in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. + +Blakeney made his way cautiously right round the house; he peered +up and down the quay, and his keen eyes tried to pierce the dense +gloom that hung at the corners of the Pont Neuf immediately +Opposite. Soon he assured himself that for the present, at any +rate, the house was not being watched. + +Armand presumably had not yet left a message for him here; but he +might do so at any time now that he knew that his chief was in +Paris and on the look-out for him. + +Blakeney made up his mind to keep this house in sight. This art of +watching he had acquired to a masterly extent, and could have +taught Heron's watch-dogs a remarkable lesson in it. At night, of +course, it was a comparatively easy task. There were a good many +unlighted doorways along the quay, whilst a street lamp was fixed +on a bracket in the wall of the very house which he kept in +observation. + +Finding temporary shelter under various doorways, or against the +dank walls of the houses, Blakeney set himself resolutely to a few +hours' weary waiting. A thin, drizzly rain fell with unpleasant +persistence, like a damp mist, and the thin blouse which he wore +soon became wet through and clung hard and chilly to his +shoulders. + +It was close on midnight when at last he thought it best to give +up his watch and to go back to his lodgings for a few hours' +sleep; but at seven o'clock the next morning he was back again at +his post. + +The porte-cochere of his former lodging-house was not yet open; he +took up his stand close beside it. His woollen cap pulled well +over his forehead, the grime cleverly plastered on his hair and +face, his lower jaw thrust forward, his eyes looking lifeless and +bleary, all gave him an expression of sly villainy, whilst the +short clay pipe struck at a sharp angle in his mouth, his hands +thrust into the pockets of his ragged breeches, and his bare feet +in the mud of the road, gave the final touch to his representation +of an out-of-work, ill-conditioned, and supremely discontented +loafer. + +He had not very long to wait. Soon the porte-cochere of the house +was opened, and the concierge came out with his broom, making a +show of cleaning the pavement in front of the door. Five minutes +later a lad, whose clothes consisted entirely of rags, and whose +feet and head were bare, came rapidly up the street from the quay, +and walked along looking at the houses as he went, as if trying to +decipher their number. The cold grey dawn was just breaking, +dreary and damp, as all the past days had been. Blakeney watched +the lad as he approached, the small, naked feet falling +noiselessly on the cobblestones of the road. When the boy was +quite close to him and to the house, Blakeney shifted his position +and took the pipe out of his mouth. + +"Up early, my son!" he said gruffly. + +"Yes," said the pale-faced little creature; "I have a message to +deliver at No. 9 Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. It must be +somewhere near here." + +"It is. You can give me the message." + +"Oh, no, citizen!" said the lad, into whose pale, circled eyes a +look of terror had quickly appeared. "It is for one of the +lodgers in No. 9. I must give it to him." + +With an instinct which he somehow felt could not err at this +moment, Blakeney knew that the message was one from Armand to +himself; a written message, too, since--instinctively when he +spoke--the boy clutched at his thin shirt, as if trying to guard +something precious that had been entrusted to him. + +"I will deliver the message myself, sonny," said Blakeney gruffly. +"I know the citizen for whom it is intended. He would not like +the concierge to see it." + +"Oh! I would not give it to the concierge," said the boy. "I +would take it upstairs myself." + +"My son," retorted Blakeney, "let me tell you this. You are going +to give that message up to me and I will put five whole livres +into your hand." + +Blakeney, with all his sympathy aroused for this poor pale-faced +lad, put on the airs of a ruffianly bully. He did not wish that +message to be taken indoors by the lad, for the concierge might +get hold of it, despite the boy's protests and tears, and after +that Blakeney would perforce have to disclose himself before it +would be given up to him. During the past week the concierge had +been very amenable to bribery. Whatever suspicions he had had +about his lodger he had kept to himself for the sake of the money +which he received; but it was impossible to gauge any man's trend +of thought these days from one hour to the next. Something--for +aught Blakeney knew--might have occurred in the past twenty-four +hours to change an amiable and accommodating lodging-house keeper +into a surly or dangerous spy. + +Fortunately, the concierge had once more gone within; there was no +one abroad, and if there were, no one probably would take any +notice of a burly ruffian brow-beating a child. + +"Allons!" he said gruffly, "give me the letter, or that five +livres goes back into my pocket." + +"Five livres!" exclaimed the child with pathetic eagerness. "Oh, +citizen!" + +The thin little hand fumbled under the rags, but it reappeared +again empty, whilst a faint blush spread over the hollow cheeks. + +"The other citizen also gave me five livres," he said humbly. "He +lodges in the house where my mother is concierge. It is in the +Rue de la Croix Blanche. He has been very kind to my mother. I +would rather do as he bade me." + +"Bless the lad," murmured Blakeney under his breath; "his loyalty +redeems many a crime of this God-forsaken city. Now I suppose I +shall have to bully him, after all." + +He took his hand out of his breeches pocket; between two very +dirty fingers he held a piece of gold. The other hand he placed +quite roughly on the lad's chest. + +"Give me the letter," he said harshly, "or--" + +He pulled at the ragged blouse, and a scrap of soiled paper soon +fell into his hand. The lad began to cry. + +"Here," said Blakeney, thrusting the piece of gold into the thin +small palm, "take this home to your mother, and tell your lodger +that a big, rough man took the letter away from you by force. Now +run, before I kick you out of the way." + +The lad, terrified out of his poor wits, did not wait for further +commands; he took to his heels and ran, his small hand clutching +the piece of gold. Soon he had disappeared round the corner of +the street. + +Blakeney did not at once read the paper; he thrust it quickly into +his breeches pocket and slouched away slowly down the street, and +thence across the Place du Carrousel, in the direction of his new +lodgings in the Rue de l'Arcade. + +It was only when he found himself alone in the narrow, squalid +room which he was occupying that he took the scrap of paper from +his pocket and read it slowly through. It said: + + + +Percy, you cannot forgive me, nor can I ever forgive myself, but +if you only knew what I have suffered for the past two days you +would, I think, try and forgive. I am free and yet a prisoner; my +every footstep is dogged. What they ultimately mean to do with me +I do not know. And when I think of Jeanne I long for the power to +end mine own miserable existence. Percy! she is still in the +hands of those fiends.... I saw the prison register; her name +written there has been like a burning brand on my heart ever +since. She was still in prison the day that you left Paris; +to-morrow, to-night mayhap, they will try her, condemn her, +torture her, and I dare not go to see you, for I would only be +bringing spies to your door. But will you come to me, Percy? It +should be safe in the hours of the night, and the concierge is +devoted to me. To-night at ten o'clock she will leave the +porte-cochere unlatched. If you find it so, and if on the ledge of +the window immediately on your left as you enter you find a candle +alight, and beside it a scrap of paper with your initials S. P. +traced on it, then it will be quite safe for you to come up to my +room. It is on the second landing--a door on your right--that too +I will leave on the latch. But in the name of the woman you love +best in all the world come at once to me then, and hear in mind, +Percy, that the woman I love is threatened with immediate death, +and that I am powerless to save her. Indeed, believe me, I would +gladly die even now hut for the thought of Jeanne, whom I should +be leaving in the hands of those fiends. For God's sake, Percy, +remember that Jeanne is all the world to me. + + + +"Poor old Armand," murmured Blakeney with a kindly smile directed +at the absent friend, "he won't trust me even now. He won't trust +his Jeanne in my hands. Well," he added after a while, "after all, +I would not entrust Marguerite to anybody else either." + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +THE OVERWHELMING ODDS + +At half-past ten that same evening, Blakeney, still clad in a +workman's tattered clothes, his feet Bare so that he could tread +the streets unheard, turned into the Rue de la Croix Blanche. + +The porte-cochere of the house where Armand lodged had been left +on the latch; not a soul was in sight. Peering cautiously round, +he slipped into the house. On the ledge of the window, +immediately on his left when he entered, a candle was left +burning, and beside it there was a scrap of paper with the +initials S. P. roughly traced in pencil. No one challenged him as +he noiselessly glided past it, and up the narrow stairs that led +to the upper floor. Here, too, on the second landing the door on +the right had been left on the latch. He pushed it open and +entered. + +As is usual even in the meanest lodgings in Paris houses, a small +antechamber gave between the front door and the main room. When +Percy entered the antechamber was unlighted, but the door into the +inner room beyond was ajar. Blakeney approached it with noiseless +tread, and gently pushed it open. + +That very instant he knew that the game was up; he heard the +footsteps closing up behind him, saw Armand, deathly pale, leaning +against the wall in the room in front of him, and Chauvelin and +Heron standing guard over him. + +The next moment the room and the antechamber were literally alive +with soldiers--twenty of them to arrest one man. + +It was characteristic of that man that when hands were laid on him +from every side he threw back his head and laughed--laughed +mirthfully, light-heartedly, and the first words that escaped his +lips were: + +"Well, I am d--d!" + +"The odds are against you, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin to him in +English, whilst Heron at the further end of the room was growling +like a contented beast. + +"By the Lord, sir," said Percy with perfect sang-froid, "I do +believe that for the moment they are." + +"Have done, my men--have done!" he added, turning good-humouredly +to the soldiers round him. "I never fight against overwhelming +odds. Twenty to one, eh? I could lay four of you out easily +enough, perhaps even six, but what then?" + +But a kind of savage lust seemed to have rendered these men +temporarily mad, and they were being egged on by Heron. The +mysterious Englishman, about whom so many eerie tales were told! +Well, he had supernatural powers, and twenty to one might be +nothing to him if the devil was on his side. Therefore a blow on +his forearm with the butt-end of a bayonet was useful for +disabling his right hand, and soon the left arm with a dislocated +shoulder hung limp by his side. Then he was bound with cords. + +The vein of luck had given out. The gambler had staked more than +usual and had lost; but he knew how to lose, just as he had always +known how to win. + +"Those d--d brutes are trussing me like a fowl," he murmured with +irrepressible gaiety at the last. + +Then the wrench on his bruised arms as they were pulled roughly +back by the cords caused the veil of unconsciousness to gather +over his eyes. + +"And Jeanne was safe, Armand," he shouted with a last desperate +effort; "those devils have lied to you and tricked you into this +... Since yesterday she is out of prison ... in the house ... you +know ...." + +After that he lost consciousness. + + + +And this occurred on Tuesday, January 21st, in the year 1794, or, +in accordance with the new calendar, on the 2nd Pluviose, year II +of the Republic. + +It is chronicled in the Moniteur of the 3rd Pluviose that, "on +the previous evening, at half-past ten of the clock, the +Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, who for three years has +conspired against the safety of the Republic, was arrested through +the patriotic exertions of citizen Chauvelin, and conveyed to the +Conciergerie, where he now lies--sick, but closely guarded. Long +live the Republic!" + + + +PART II +CHAPTER XXIV +THE NEWS + +The grey January day was falling, drowsy, and dull into the arms +of night. + +Marguerite, sitting in the dusk beside the fire in her small +boudoir, shivered a little as she drew her scarf closer round her +shoulders. + +Edwards, the butler, entered with the lamp. The room looked +peculiarly cheery now, with the delicate white panelling of the +wall glowing tinder the soft kiss of the flickering firelight and +the steadier glow of the rose-shaded lamp. + +"Has the courier not arrived yet, Edwards?" asked Marguerite, +fixing the impassive face of the well-drilled servant with her +large purple-rimmed eyes. + +"Not yet, m'lady," he replied placidly. + +"It is his day, is it not?" + +"Yes, m'lady. And the forenoon is his time. But there have been +heavy rains, and the roads must be rare muddy. He must have been +delayed, m'lady." + +"Yes, I suppose so," she said listlessly. "That will do, Edwards. +No, don't close the shutters. I'll ring presently." + +The man went out of the room as automatically as he had come. He +closed the door behind him, and Marguerite was once more alone. + +She picked up the book which she had fingered idly before the +light gave out. She tried once more to fix her attention on this +tale of love and adventure written by Mr. Fielding; but she had +lost the thread of the story, and there was a mist between her +eyes and the printed pages. + +With an impatient gesture she threw down the book and passed her +hand across her eyes, then seemed astonished to find that her hand +was wet. + +She rose and went to the window. The air outside had been +singularly mild all day; the thaw was persisting, and a south wind +came across the Channel--from France. + +Marguerite threw open the casement and sat down on the wide sill, +leaning her head against the window-frame, and gazing out into the +fast gathering gloom. From far away, at the foot of the gently +sloping lawns, the river murmured softly in the night; in the +borders to the right and left a few snowdrops still showed like +tiny white specks through the surrounding darkness. Winter had +begun the process of slowly shedding its mantle, coquetting with +Spring, who still lingered in the land of Infinity. Gradually the +shadows drew closer and closer; the reeds and rushes on the river +bank were the first to sink into their embrace, then the big +cedars on the lawn, majestic and defiant, but yielding still +unconquered to the power of night. + +The tiny stars of snowdrop blossoms vanished one by one, and at +last the cool, grey ribbon of the river surface was wrapped under +the mantle of evening. + +Only the south wind lingered on, soughing gently in the drowsy +reeds, whispering among the branches of the cedars, and gently +stirring the tender corollas of the sleeping snowdrops. + +Marguerite seemed to open out her lungs to its breath. It had come +all the way from France, and on its wings had brought something of +Percy--a murmur as if he had spoken--a memory that was as +intangible as a dream. + +She shivered again, though of a truth it was not cold. The +courier's delay had completely unsettled her nerves. Twice a week +he came especially from Dover, and always he brought some message, +some token which Percy had contrived to send from Paris. They +were like tiny scraps of dry bread thrown to a starving woman, but +they did just help to keep her heart alive--that poor, aching, +disappointed heart that so longed for enduring happiness which it +could never get. + +The man whom she loved with all her soul, her mind and her body, +did not belong to her; he belonged to suffering humanity over +there in terror-stricken France, where the cries of the innocent, +the persecuted, the wretched called louder to him than she in her +love could do. + +He had been away three months now, during which time her starving +heart had fed on its memories, and the happiness of a brief visit +from him six weeks ago, when--quite unexpectedly--he had appeared +before her ... home between two desperate adventures that had +given life and freedom to a number of innocent people, and nearly +cost him his--and she had lain in his arms in a swoon of perfect +happiness. + +But be had gone away again as suddenly as he had come, and for six +weeks now she had lived partly in anticipation of the courier with +messages from him, and partly on the fitful joy engendered by +these messages. To-day she had not even that, and the disappointment +seemed just now more than she could bear. + +She felt unaccountably restless, and could she but have analysed +her feelings--had she dared so to do--she would have realised that +the weight which oppressed her heart so that she could hardly +breathe, was one of vague yet dark foreboding. + +She closed the window and returned to her seat by the fire, taking +up her hook with the strong resolution not to allow her nerves to +get the better of her. But it was difficult to pin one's +attention down to the adventures of Master Tom Jones when one's +mind was fully engrossed with those of Sir Percy Blakeney. + +The sound of carriage wheels on the gravelled forecourt in the +front of the house suddenly awakened her drowsy senses. She threw +down the book, and with trembling hands clutched the arms of her +chair, straining her ears to listen. A carriage at this hour--and +on this damp winter's evening! She racked her mind wondering who +it could be. + +Lady Ffoulkes was in London, she knew. Sir Andrew, of course, was +in Paris. His Royal Highness, ever a faithful visitor, would +surely not venture out to Richmond in this inclement weather--and +the courier always came on horseback. + +There was a murmur of voices; that of Edwards, mechanical and +placid, could be heard quite distinctly saying: + +"I'm sure that her ladyship will be at home for you, m'lady. But +I'll go and ascertain." + +Marguerite ran to the door and with joyful eagerness tore it open. + +"Suzanne!" she called "my little Suzanne! I thought you were in +London. Come up quickly! In the boudoir--yes. Oh! what good +fortune hath brought you?" + +Suzanne flew into her arms, holding the friend whom she loved so +well close and closer to her heart, trying to hide her face, which +was wet with tears, in the folds of Marguerite's kerchief. + +"Come inside, my darling," said Marguerite. "Why, how cold your +little hands are!" + +She was on the point of turning back to her boudoir, drawing Lady +Ffoulkes by the hand, when suddenly she caught sight of Sir Andrew, +who stood at a little distance from her, at the top of the stairs. + +"Sir Andrew!" she exclaimed with unstinted gladness. + +Then she paused. The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving +them dry and parted. She suddenly felt as if some fearful talons +had gripped her heart and were tearing at it with sharp, long +nails; the blood flew from her cheeks and from her limbs, leaving +her with a sense of icy numbness. + +She backed into the room, still holding Suzanne's hand, and +drawing her in with her. Sir Andrew followed them, then closed +the door behind him. At last the word escaped Marguerite's +parched lips: + +"Percy! Something has happened to him! He is dead?" + +"No, no!" exclaimed Sir Andrew quickly. + +Suzanne put her loving arms round her friend and drew her down +into the chair by the fire. She knelt at her feet on the +hearthrug, and pressed her own burning lips on Marguerite's +icy-cold hands. Sir Andrew stood silently by, a world of loving +friendship, of heart-broken sorrow, in his eyes. + +There was silence in the pretty white-panelled room for a while. +Marguerite sat with her eyes closed, bringing the whole armoury of +her will power to bear her up outwardly now. + +"Tell me!" she said at last, and her voice was toneless and dull, +like one that came from the depths of a grave--"tell me--exactly-- +everything. Don't be afraid. I can bear it. Don't be afraid." + +Sir Andrew remained standing, with bowed head and one hand resting +on the table. In a firm, clear voice he told her the events of +the past few days as they were known to him. All that he tried to +hide was Armand's disobedience, which, in his heart, he felt was +the primary cause of the catastrophe. He told of the rescue of +the Dauphin from the Temple, the midnight drive in the coal-cart, +the meeting with Hastings and Tony in the spinney. He only gave +vague explanations of Armand's stay in Paris which caused Percy to +go back to the city, even at the moment when his most daring plan +had been so successfully carried through. + +"Armand, I understand, has fallen in love with a beautiful woman +in Paris, Lady Blakeney," he said, seeing that a strange, puzzled +look had appeared in Marguerite's pale face. "She was arrested +the day before the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple. Armand +could not join us. He felt that he could not leave her. I am sure +that you will understand." + +Then as she made no comment, he resumed his narrative: + +"I had been ordered to go back to La Villette, and there to resume +my duties as a labourer in the day-time, and to wait for Percy +during the night. The fact that I had received no message from +him for two days had made me somewhat worried, but I have such +faith in him, such belief in his good luck and his ingenuity, that +I would not allow myself to be really anxious. Then on the third +day I heard the news." + +"What news?" asked Marguerite mechanically. + +"That the Englishman who was known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had +been captured in a house in the Rue de Ia Croix Blanche, and had +been imprisoned in the Conciergerie." + +"The Rue de la Croix Blanche? Where is that?" + +"In the Montmartre quarter. Armand lodged there. Percy, I +imagine, was working to get him away; and those brutes captured +him." + +"Having heard the news, Sir Andrew, what did you do?" + +"I went into Paris and ascertained its truth." + +"And there is no doubt of it?" + +"Alas, none! I went to the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. +Armand had disappeared. I succeeded in inducing the concierge to +talk. She seems to have been devoted to her lodger. Amidst tears +she told me some of the details of the capture. Can you bear to +hear them, Lady Blakeney?" + +"Yes--tell me everything--don't be afraid," she reiterated with +the same dull monotony. + +"It appears that early on the Tuesday morning the son of the +concierge--a lad about fifteen--was sent off by her lodger with a +message to No. 9 Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. That was the house +where Percy was staying all last week, where he kept disguises and +so on for us all, and where some of our meetings were held. Percy +evidently expected that Armand would try and communicate with him +at that address, for when the lad arrived in front of the house he +was accosted--so he says--by a big, rough workman, who browbeat +him into giving up the lodger's letter, and finally pressed a +piece of gold into his hand. The workman was Blakeney, of course. +I imagine that Armand, at the time that he wrote the letter, must +have been under the belief that Mademoiselle Lange was still in +prison; he could not know then that Blakeney had already got her +into comparative safety. In the letter he must have spoken of the +terrible plight in which he stood, and also of his fears for the +woman whom he loved. Percy was not the man to leave a comrade in +the lurch! He would not be the man whom we all love and admire, +whose word we all obey, for whose sake we would gladly all of us +give our life--he would not be that man if he did not brave even +certain dangers in order to be of help to those who call on him. +Armand called and Percy went to him. He must have known that +Armand was being spied upon, for Armand, alas! was already a +marked man, and the watch-dogs of those infernal committees were +already on his heels. Whether these sleuth-hounds had followed +the son of the concierge and seen him give the letter to the +workman in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois, or whether the +concierge in the Rue de Ia Croix Blanche was nothing but a spy of +Heron's, or, again whether the Committee of General Security kept +a company of soldiers in constant alert in that house, we shall, +of course, never know. All that I do know is that Percy entered +that fatal house at half-past ten, and that a quarter of an hour +later the concierge saw some of the soldiers descending the +stairs, carrying a heavy burden. She peeped out of her lodge, and +by the light in the corridor she saw that the heavy burden was the +body of a man bound closely with ropes: his eyes were closed, his +clothes were stained with blood. He was seemingly unconscious. +The next day the official organ of the Government proclaimed the +capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and there was a public holiday +in honour of the event." + +Marguerite had listened to this terrible narrative dry-eyed and +silent. Now she still sat there, hardly conscious of what went on +around her--of Suzanne's tears, that fell unceasingly upon her +fingers--of Sir Andrew, who had sunk into a chair, and buried his +head in his hands. She was hardly conscious that she lived; the +universe seemed to have stood still before this awful, monstrous +cataclysm. + +But, nevertheless, she was the first to return to the active +realities of the present. + +"Sir Andrew," she said after a while, "tell me, where are my Lords +Tony and Hastings?" + +"At Calais, madam," he replied. "I saw them there on my way +hither. They had delivered the Dauphin safely into the hands of +his adherents at Mantes, and were awaiting Blakeney's further +orders, as he had commanded them to do." + +"Will they wait for us there, think you?" + +"For us, Lady Blakeney?" he exclaimed in puzzlement. + +"Yes, for us, Sir Andrew," she replied, whilst the ghost of a +smile flitted across her drawn face; "you had thought of +accompanying me to Paris, had you not?" + +"But Lady Blakeney--" + +"Ah! I know what you would say, Sir Andrew. You will speak of +dangers, of risks, of death, mayhap; you will tell me that I as a +woman can do nothing to help my husband--that I could be but a +hindrance to him, just as I was in Boulogne. But everything is so +different now. Whilst those brutes planned his capture he was +clever enough to outwit them, but now they have actually got him, +think you they'll let him escape? They'll watch him night and +day, my friend, just as they watched the unfortunate Queen; but +they'll not keep him months, weeks, or even days in prison--even +Chauvelin now will no longer attempt to play with the Scarlet +Pimpernel. They have him, and they will hold him until such time +as they take him to the guillotine." + +Her voice broke in a sob; her self-control was threatening to +leave her. She was but a woman, young and passionately in love +with the man who was about to die an ignominious death, far away +from his country, his kindred, his friends. + +"I cannot let him die alone, Sir Andrew; he will be longing for +me, and--and, after all, there is you, and my Lord Tony, and Lord +Hastings and the others; surely--surely we are not going to let +him die, not like that, and not alone." + +"You are right, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew earnestly; "we are +not going to let him die, if human agency can do aught to save +him. Already Tony, Hastings and I have agreed to return to Paris. +There are one or two hidden places in and around the city known +only to Percy and to the members of the League where he must find +one or more of us if he succeeds in getting away. All the way +between Paris and Calais we have places of refuge, places where +any of us can hide at a given moment; where we can find disguises +when we want them, or horses in an emergency. No! no! we are not +going to despair, Lady Blakeney; there are nineteen of us prepared +to lay down our lives for the Scarlet Pimpernel. Already I, as +his lieutenant, have been selected as the leader of as determined +a gang as has ever entered on a work of rescue before. We leave +for Paris to-morrow, and if human pluck and devotion can destroy +mountains then we'll destroy them. Our watchword is: 'God save +the Scarlet Pimpernel.'" + +He knelt beside her chair and kissed the cold fingers which, with +a sad little smile, she held out to him. + +"And God bless you all!" she murmured. + +Suzanne had risen to her feet when her husband knelt; now he stood +up beside her. The dainty young woman hardly more than a child-- +was doing her best to restrain her tears. + +"See how selfish I am," said Marguerite. "I talk calmly of taking +your husband from you, when I myself know the bitterness of such +partings." + +"My husband will go where his duty calls him," said Suzanne with +charming and simple dignity. "I love him with all my heart, +because he is brave and good. He could not leave his comrade, who +is also his chief, in the lurch. God will protect him, I know. I +would not ask him to play the part of a coward." + +Her brown eyes glowed with pride. She was the true wife of a +soldier, and with all her dainty ways and childlike manners she +was a splendid woman and a staunch friend. Sir Percy Blakeney bad +saved her entire family from death, the Comte and Comtesse de +Tournai, the Vicomte, her brother, and she herself all owed their +lives to the Scarlet Pimpernel. + +This she was not like to forget. + +"There is but little danger for us, I fear me," said Sir Andrew +lightly; "the revolutionary Government only wants to strike at a +head, it cares nothing for the limbs. Perhaps it feels that +without our leader we are enemies not worthy of persecution. If +there are any dangers, so much the better," he added; "but I don't +anticipate any, unless we succeed in freeing our chief; and having +freed him, we fear nothing more." + +"The same applies to me, Sir Andrew," rejoined Marguerite earnestly. +"Now that they have captured Percy, those human fiends will care +naught for me. If you succeed in freeing Percy I, like you, will +have nothing more to fear, and if you fail--" + +She paused and put her small, white hand on Sir Andrew's arm. + +"Take me with you, Sir Andrew," she entreated; "do not condemn me +to the awful torture of weary waiting, day after day, wondering, +guessing, never daring to hope, lest hope deferred be more hard to +bear than dreary hopelessness." + +Then as Sir Andrew, very undecided, yet half inclined to yield, +stood silent and irresolute, she pressed her point, gently but +firmly insistent. + +"I would not he in the way, Sir Andrew; I would know how to efface +myself so as not to interfere with your plans. But, oh!" she +added, while a quivering note of passion trembled in her voice, +"can't you see that I must breathe the air that he breathes else I +shall stifle or mayhap go mad?" + +Sir Andrew turned to his wife, a mute query in his eyes. + +"You would do an inhuman and a cruel act," said Suzanne with +seriousness that sat quaintly on her baby face, "if you did not +afford your protection to Marguerite, for I do believe that if you +did not take her with you to-morrow she would go to Paris alone." + +Marguerite thanked her friend with her eyes. Suzanne was a child +in nature, but she had a woman's heart. She loved her husband, +and, therefore, knew and understood what Marguerite must be +suffering now. + +Sir Andrew no longer could resist the unfortunate woman's earnest +pleading. Frankly, he thought that if she remained in England +while Percy was in such deadly peril she ran the grave risk of +losing her reason before the terrible strain of suspense. He knew +her to be a woman of courage, and one capable of great physical +endurance; and really he was quite honest when he said that he did +not believe there would be much danger for the headless League of +the Scarlet Pimpernel unless they succeeded in freeing their +chief. And if they did succeed, then indeed there would be +nothing to fear, for the brave and loving wife who, like every +true woman does, and has done in like circumstances since the +beginning of time, was only demanding with passionate insistence +the right to share the fate, good or ill, of the man whom she +loved. + + + +CHAPTER XXV +PARIS ONCE MORE + +Sir Andrew had just come in. He was trying to get a little warmth +into his half-frozen limbs, for the cold had set in again, and +this time with renewed vigour, and Marguerite was pouring out a +cup of hot coffee which she had been brewing for him. She had not +asked for news. She knew that he had none to give her, else he had +not worn that wearied, despondent look in his kind face. + +"I'll just try one more place this evening," he said as soon as he +had swallowed some of the hot coffee--"a restaurant in the Rue de +la Harpe; the members of the Cordeliers' Club often go there for +supper, and they are usually well informed. I might glean +something definite there." + +"It seems very strange that they are so slow in bringing him to +trial," said Marguerite in that dull, toneless voice which had +become habitual to her. "When you first brought me the awful news +that ... I made sure that they would bring him to trial at once, +and was in terror lest we arrived here too late to--to see him." + +She checked herself quickly, bravely trying to still the quiver of +her voice. + +"And of Armand?" she asked. + +He shook his head sadly. + +"With regard to him I am at a still greater loss," he said: "I +cannot find his name on any of the prison registers, and I know +that he is not in the Conciergerie. They have cleared out all the +prisoners from there; there is only Percy--" + +"Poor Armand I" she sighed; "it must be almost worse for him than +for any of us; it was his first act of thoughtless disobedience +that brought all this misery upon our heads." + +She spoke sadly but quietly. Sir Andrew noted that there was no +bitterness in her tone. But her very quietude was heart-breaking; +there was such an infinity of despair in the calm of her eyes. + +"Well! though we cannot understand it all, Lady Blakeney," he said +with forced cheerfulness, "we must remember one thing--that whilst +there is life there is hope." + +"Hope!" she exclaimed with a world of pathos in her sigh, her +large eyes dry and circled, fixed with indescribable sorrow on her +friend's face. + +Ffoulkes turned his head away, pretending to busy himself with the +coffee-making utensils. He could not bear to see that look of +hopelessness in her face, for in his heart he could not find the +wherewithal to cheer her. Despair was beginning to seize on him +too, and this he would not let her see. + +They had been in Paris three days now, and it was six days since +Blakeney had been arrested. Sir Andrew and Marguerite had found +temporary lodgings inside Paris, Tony and Hastings were just +outside the gates, and all along the route between Paris and +Calais, at St. Germain, at Mantes, in the villages between +Beauvais and Amiens, wherever money could obtain friendly help, +members of the devoted League of the Scarlet Pimpernel lay in +hiding, waiting to aid their chief. + +Ffoulkes had ascertained that Percy was kept a close prisoner in +the Conciergerie, in the very rooms occupied by Marie Antoinette +during the last months of her life. He left poor Marguerite to +guess how closely that elusive Scarlet Pimpernel was being +guarded, the precautions surrounding him being even more minute +than those which bad made the unfortunate Queen's closing days a +martyrdom for her. + +But of Armand he could glean no satisfactory news, only the +negative probability that he was not detained in any of the larger +prisons of Paris, as no register which he, Ffoulkes, so +laboriously consulted bore record of the name of St. Just. + +Haunting the restaurants and drinking booths where the most +advanced Jacobins and Terrorists were wont to meet, be had learned +one or two details of Blakeney's incarceration which he could not +possibly impart to Marguerite. The capture of the mysterious +Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had created a great deal +of popular satisfaction; but it was obvious that not only was the +public mind not allowed to associate that capture with the escape +of little Capet from the Temple, but it soon became clear to +Ffoulkes that the news of that escape was still being kept a +profound secret. + +On one occasion he had succeeded in spying on the Chief Agent of +the Committee of General Security, whom he knew by sight, while +the latter was sitting at dinner in the company of a stout, florid +man with pock-marked face and podgy hands covered with rings. + +Sir Andrew marvelled who this man might be. Heron spoke to him in +ambiguous phrases that would have been unintelligible to any one +who did not know the circumstances of the Dauphin's escape and the +part that the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had played in it. +But to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who--cleverly disguised as a farrier, +grimy after his day's work--was straining his ears to listen +whilst apparently consuming huge slabs of boiled beef, it soon +became dear that the chief agent and his fat friend were talking +of the Dauphin and of Blakeney. + +"He won't hold out much longer, citizen," the chief agent was +saying in a confident voice; "our men are absolutely unremitting +in their task. Two of them watch him night and day; they look +after him well, and practically never lose sight of him, but the +moment he tries to get any sleep one of them rushes into the cell +with a loud banging of bayonet and sabre, and noisy tread on the +flagstones, and shouts at the top of his voice: 'Now then, +aristo, where's the brat? Tell us now, and you shall he down and +go to sleep.' I have done it myself all through one day just for +the pleasure of it. It's a little tiring for you to have to shout +a good deal now, and sometimes give the cursed Englishman a good +shake-up. He has had five days of it, and not one wink of sleep +during that time--not one single minute of rest--and he only gets +enough food to keep him alive. I tell you he can't last. Citizen +Chauvelin had a splendid idea there. It will all come right in a +day or two." + +"H'm!" grunted the other sulkily; "those Englishmen are tough." + +"Yes!" retorted Heron with a grim laugh and a leer of savagery +that made his gaunt face look positively hideous--"you would have +given out after three days, friend de Batz, would you not? And I +warned you, didn't I? I told you if you tampered with the brat I +would make you cry in mercy to me for death." + +"And I warned you," said the other imperturbably, "not to worry so +much about me, but to keep your eyes open for those cursed +Englishmen." + +"I am keeping my eyes open for you, nevertheless, my friend. If I +thought you knew where the vermin's spawn was at this moment I +would--" + +"You would put me on the same rack that you or your precious +friend, Chauvelin, have devised for the Englishman. But I don't +know where the lad is. If I did I would not be in Paris." + +"I know that," assented Heron with a sneer; "you would soon be +after the reward--over in Austria, what?--but I have your +movements tracked day and night, my friend. I dare say you are as +anxious as we are as to the whereabouts of the child. Had he been +taken over the frontier you would have been the first to hear of +it, eh? No," he added confidently, and as if anxious to reassure +himself, "my firm belief is that the original idea of these +confounded Englishmen was to try and get the child over to +England, and that they alone know where he is. I tell you it +won't be many days before that very withered Scarlet Pimpernel +will order his followers to give little Capet up to us. Oh! they +are hanging about Paris some of them, I know that; citizen +Chauvelin is convinced that the wife isn't very far away. Give +her a sight of her husband now, say I, and she'll make the others +give the child up soon enough." + +The man laughed like some hyena gloating over its prey. Sir +Andrew nearly betrayed himself then. He had to dig his nails into +his own flesh to prevent himself from springing then and there at +the throat of that wretch whose monstrous ingenuity had invented +torture for the fallen enemy far worse than any that the cruelties +of medieval Inquisitions had devised. + +So they would not let him sleep! A simple idea born in the brain +of a fiend. Heron had spoken of Chauvelin as the originator of +the devilry; a man weakened deliberately day by day by insufficient +food, and the horrible process of denying him rest. It seemed +inconceivable that human, sentient beings should have thought of +such a thing. Perspiration stood up in beads on Sir Andrew's brow +when he thought of his friend, brought down by want of sleep to-- +what? His physique was splendidly powerful, but could it stand +against such racking torment for long? And the clear, the alert +mind, the scheming brain, the reckless daring--how soon would these +become enfeebled by the slow, steady torture of an utter want of rest? + +Ffoulkes had to smother a cry of horror, which surely must have +drawn the attention of that fiend on himself had he not been so +engrossed in the enjoyment of his own devilry. As it is, he ran +out of the stuffy eating-house, for he felt as if its fetid air +must choke him. + +For an hour after that he wandered about the streets, not daring +to face Marguerite, lest his eyes betrayed some of the horror +which was shaking his very soul. + +That was twenty-four hours ago. To-day he had learnt little else. +It was generally known that the Englishman was in the Conciergerie +prison, that he was being closely watched, and that his trial +would come on within the next few days; but no one seemed to know +exactly when. The public was getting restive, demanding that +trial and execution to which every one seemed to look forward as +to a holiday. In the meanwhile the escape of the Dauphin had been +kept from the knowledge of the public; Heron and his gang, fearing +for their lives, had still hopes of extracting from the Englishman +the secret of the lad's hiding-place, and the means they employed +for arriving at this end was worthy of Lucifer and his host of +devils in hell. + +From other fragments of conversation which Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had +gleaned that same evening, it seemed to him that in order to hide +their defalcations Heron and the four commissaries in charge of +little Capet had substituted a deaf and dumb child for the escaped +little prisoner. This miserable small wreck of humanity was +reputed to be sick and kept in a darkened room, in bed, and was in +that condition exhibited to any member of the Convention who had +the right to see him. A partition had been very hastily erected +in the inner room once occupied by the Simons, and the child was +kept behind that partition, and no one was allowed to come too +near to him. Thus the fraud was succeeding fairly well. Heron +and his accomplices only cared to save their skins, and the +wretched little substitute being really ill, they firmly hoped +that he would soon die, when no doubt they would bruit abroad the +news of the death of Capet, which would relieve them of further +responsibility. + +That such ideas, such thoughts, such schemes should have +engendered in human minds it is almost impossible to conceive, and +yet we know from no less important a witness than Madame Simon +herself that the child who died in the Temple a few weeks later +was a poor little imbecile, a deaf and dumb child brought hither +from one of the asylums and left to die in peace. There was +nobody but kindly Death to take him out of his misery, for the +giant intellect that had planned and carried out the rescue of the +uncrowned King of France, and which alone might have had the power +to save him too, was being broken on the rack of enforced +sleeplessness. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +THE BITTEREST FOE + +That same evening Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, having announced his +intention of gleaning further news of Armand, if possible, went +out shortly after seven o'clock, promising to be home again about +nine. + +Marguerite, on the other hand, had to make her friend a solemn +promise that she would try and eat some supper which the landlady +of these miserable apartments had agreed to prepare for her. So +far they had been left in peaceful occupation of these squalid +lodgings in a tumble-down house on the Quai de la Ferraille, +facing the house of Justice, the grim walls of which Marguerite +would watch with wide-open dry eyes for as long as the grey wintry +light lingered over them. + +Even now, though the darkness had set in, and snow, falling in +close, small flakes, threw a thick white veil over the landscape, +she sat at the open window long after Sir Andrew had gone out, +watching the few small flicks of light that blinked across from +the other side of the river, and which came from the windows of +the Chatelet towers. The windows of the Conciergerie she could not +see, for these gave on one of the inner courtyards; but there was +a melancholy consolation even in the gazing on those walls that +held in their cruel, grim embrace all that she loved in the world. + +It seemed so impossible to think of Percy--the laughter-loving, +irresponsible, light-hearted adventurer--as the prey of those +fiends who would revel in their triumph, who would crush him, +humiliate him, insult him--ye gods alive! even torture him, +perhaps--that they might break the indomitable spirit that would +mock them even on the threshold of death. + +Surely, surely God would never allow such monstrous infamy as the +deliverance of the noble soaring eagle into the hands of those +preying jackals! Marguerite--though her heart ached beyond what +human nature could endure, though her anguish on her husband's +account was doubled by that which she felt for her brother--could +not bring herself to give up all hope. Sir Andrew said it +rightly; while there was life there was hope. While there was +life in those vigorous limbs, spirit in that daring mind, how +could puny, rampant beasts gain the better of the immortal soul? +As for Armand--why, if Percy were free she would have no cause to +fear for Armand. + +She sighed a sigh of deep, of passionate regret and longing. If +she could only see her husband; if she could only look for one +second into those laughing, lazy eyes, wherein she alone knew how +to fathom the infinity of passion that lay within their depths; if +she could but once feel his--ardent kiss on her lips, she could +more easily endure this agonising suspense, and wait confidently +and courageously for the issue. + +She turned away from the window, for the night was getting bitterly +cold. From the tower of St. Germain l'Auxerrois the clock slowly +struck eight. Even as the last sound of the historic bell died away +in the distance she heard a timid knocking at the door. + +"Enter!" she called unthinkingly. + +She thought it was her landlady, come up with more wood, mayhap, +for the fire, so she did not turn to the door when she heard it +being slowly opened, then closed again, and presently a soft tread +on the threadbare carpet. + +"May I crave your kind attention, Lady Blakeney?" said a harsh +voice, subdued to tones of ordinary courtesy. + +She quickly repressed a cry of terror. How well she knew that +voice! When last she heard it it was at Boulogne, dictating that +infamous letter--the weapon wherewith Percy had so effectually +foiled his enemy. She turned and faced the man who was her +bitterest foe--hers in the person of the man she loved. + +"Chauvelin!" she gasped. + +"Himself at your service, dear lady," he said simply. + +He stood in the full light of the lamp, his trim, small figure +boldly cut out against the dark wall beyond. He wore the usual +sable-coloured clothes which he affected, with the primly-folded +jabot and cuffs edged with narrow lace. + +Without waiting for permission from her he quietly and +deliberately placed his hat and cloak on a chair. Then he turned +once more toward her, and made a movement as if to advance into +the room; but instinctively she put up a hand as if to ward off +the calamity of his approach. + +He shrugged his shoulders, and the shadow of a smile, that had +neither mirth nor kindliness in it, hovered round the corners of +his thin lips. + +"Have I your permission to sit?" he asked. + +"As you will," she replied slowly, keeping her wide-open eyes +fixed upon him as does a frightened bird upon the serpent whom it +loathes and fears. + +"And may I crave a few moments of your undivided attention, Lady +Blakeney?" he continued, taking a chair, and so placing it beside +the table that the light of the lamp when he sat remained behind +him and his face was left in shadow. + +"Is it necessary?" asked Marguerite. + +"It is," he replied curtly, "if you desire to see and speak with +your husband--to be of use to him before it is too late." + +"Then, I pray you, speak, citizen, and I will listen." + +She sank into a chair, not heeding whether the light of the lamp +fell on her face or not, whether the lines in her haggard cheeks, +or her tear-dimmed eyes showed plainly the sorrow and despair that +had traced them. She had nothing to hide from this man, the cause +of all the tortures which she endured. She knew that neither +courage nor sorrow would move him, and that hatred for Percy-- +personal deadly hatred for the man who had twice foiled him-- +had long crushed the last spark of humanity in his heart. + +"Perhaps, Lady Blakeney," he began after a slight pause and in his +smooth, even voice, "it would interest you to hear how I succeeded +in procuring for myself this pleasure of an interview with you?" + +"Your spies did their usual work, I suppose," she said coldly. + +"Exactly. We have been on your track for three days, and +yesterday evening an unguarded movement on the part of Sir Andrew +Ffoulkes gave us the final clue to your whereabouts." + +"Of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes?" she asked, greatly puzzled. + +He was in an eating-house, cleverly disguised, I own, trying to +glean information, no doubt as to the probable fate of Sir Percy +Blakeney. As chance would have it, my friend Heron, of the +Committee of General Security, chanced to be discussing with +reprehensible openness--er--certain--what shall I say?--certain +measures which, at my advice, the Committee of Public Safety have +been forced to adopt with a view to--" + +"A truce on your smooth-tongued speeches, citizen Chauvelin," she +interposed firmly. "Sir Andrew Ffoulkes has told me naught of +this--so I pray you speak plainly and to the point, if you can." + +He bowed with marked irony. + +"As you please," he said. "Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, hearing certain +matters of which I will tell you anon, made a movement which +betrayed him to one of our spies. At a word from citizen Heron +this man followed on the heels of the young farrier who had shown +such interest in the conversation of the Chief Agent. Sir Andrew, +I imagine, burning with indignation at what he had heard, was +perhaps not quite so cautious as he usually is. Anyway, the man +on his track followed him to this door. It was quite simple, as +you see. As for me, I had guessed a week ago that we would see +the beautiful Lady Blakeney in Paris before long. When I knew +where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes lodged, I had no difficulty in guessing +that Lady Blakeney would not be far off." + +"And what was there in citizen Heron's conversation last night," +she asked quietly, "that so aroused Sir Andrew's indignation?" + +"He has not told you?" + +"Oh! it is very simple. Let me tell you, Lady Blakeney, exactly +how matters stand. Sir Percy Blakeney--before lucky chance at +last delivered him into our hands--thought fit, as no doubt you +know, to meddle with our most important prisoner of State." + +"A child. I know it, sir--the son of a murdered father whom you +and your friends were slowly doing to death." + +"That is as it may be, Lady Blakeney," rejoined Chauvelin calmly; +"but it was none of Sir Percy Blakeney's business. This, however, +he chose to disregard. He succeeded in carrying little Capet from +the Temple, and two days later we had him under lock, and key." + +"Through some infamous and treacherous trick, sir," she retorted. + +Chauvelin made no immediate reply; his pale, inscrutable eyes were +fixed upon her face, and the smile of irony round his mouth appeared +more strongly marked than before. + +"That, again, is as it may be," he said suavely; "but anyhow for +the moment we have the upper hand. Sir Percy is in the +Conciergerie, guarded day and night, more closely than Marie +Antoinette even was guarded." + +"And he laughs at your bolts and bars, sir," she rejoined proudly. +"Remember Calais, remember Boulogne. His laugh at your discomfiture, +then, must resound in your ear even to-day." + +"Yes; but for the moment laughter is on our side. Still we are +willing to forego even that pleasure, if Sir Percy will but move a +finger towards his own freedom." + +"Again some infamous letter?" she asked with bitter contempt; +"some attempt against his honour?" + +"No, no, Lady Blakeney," he interposed with perfect blandness. +"Matters are so much simpler now, you see. We hold Sir Percy at +our mercy. We could send him to the guillotine to-morrow, but we +might be willing--remember, I only say we might--to exercise our +prerogative of mercy if Sir Percy Blakeney will on his side accede +to a request from us." + +"And that request?" + +"Is a very natural one. He took Capet away from us, and it is but +credible that he knows at the present moment exactly where the +child is. Let him instruct his followers--and I mistake not, Lady +Blakeney, there are several of them not very far from Paris just +now--let him, I say, instruct these followers of his to return the +person of young Capet to us, and not only will we undertake to +give these same gentlemen a safe conduct back to England, but we +even might be inclined to deal somewhat less harshly with the +gallant Scarlet Pimpernel himself." + +She laughed a harsh, mirthless, contemptuous laugh. + +"I don't think that I quite understand," she said after a moment +or two, whilst he waited calmly until her out-break of hysterical +mirth had subsided. "You want my husband--the Scarlet Pimpernel, +citizen--to deliver the little King of France to you after he has +risked his life to save the child out of your clutches? Is that +what you are trying to say?" + +"It is," rejoined Chauvelin complacently, "just what we have been +saying to Sir Percy Blakeney for the past six days, madame." + +"Well! then you have had your answer, have you not?" + +"Yes," he replied slowly; "but the answer has become weaker day by +day." + +"Weaker? I don't understand." + +"Let me explain, Lady Blakeney," said Chauvelin, now with measured +emphasis. He put both elbows on the table and leaned well +forward, peering into her face, lest one of its varied expressions +escaped him. "Just now you taunted me with my failure in Calais, +and again at Boulogne, with a proud toss of the head, which I own +is excessive becoming; you threw the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel +in my face like a challenge which I no longer dare to accept. +'The Scarlet Pimpernel,' you would say to me, 'stands for loyalty, +for honour, and for indomitable courage. Think you he would +sacrifice his honour to obtain your mercy? Remember Boulogne and +your discomfiture!' All of which, dear lady, is perfectly +charming and womanly and enthusiastic, and I, bowing my humble +head, must own that I was fooled in Calais and baffled in +Boulogne. But in Boulogne I made a grave mistake, and one from +which I learned a lesson, which I am putting into practice now." + +He paused a while as if waiting for her reply. His pale, keen +eyes had already noted that with every phrase he uttered the lines +in her beautiful face became more hard and set. A look of horror +was gradually spreading over it, as if the icy-cold hand of death +had passed over her eyes and cheeks, leaving them rigid like stone. + +"In Boulogne," resumed Chauvelin quietly, satisfied that his words +were hitting steadily at her heart--"in Boulogne Sir Percy and I +did not fight an equal fight. Fresh from a pleasant sojourn in +his own magnificent home, full of the spirit of adventure which +puts the essence of life into a man's veins, Sir Percy Blakeney's +splendid physique was pitted against my feeble powers. Of course +I lost the battle. I made the mistake of trying to subdue a man +who was in the zenith of his strength, whereas now--" + +"Yes, citizen Chauvelin," she said, "whereas now--" + +"Sir Percy Blakeney has been in the prison of the Conciergerie for +exactly one week, Lady Blakeney," he replied, speaking very +slowly, and letting every one of his words sink individually into +her mind. "Even before he had time to take the bearings of his +cell or to plan on his own behalf one of those remarkable escapes +for which he is so justly famous, our men began to work on a +scheme which I am proud to say originated with myself. A week has +gone by since then, Lady Blakeney, and during that time a special +company of prison guard, acting under the orders of the Committee +of General Security and of Public Safety, have questioned the +prisoner unremittingly--unremittingly, remember--day and night. +Two by two these men take it in turns to enter the prisoner's cell +every quarter of an hour--lately it has had to be more often--and +ask him the one question, 'Where is little Capet?' Up to now we +have received no satisfactory reply, although we have explained to +Sir Percy that many of his followers are honouring the +neighbourhood of Paris with their visit, and that all we ask for +from him are instructions to those gallant gentlemen to bring +young Capet back to us. It is all very simple, unfortunately the +prisoner is somewhat obstinate. At first, even, the idea seemed +to amuse him; he used to laugh and say that he always had the +faculty of sleeping with his eyes open. But our soldiers are +untiring in their efforts, and the want of sleep as well as of a +sufficiency of food and of fresh air is certainly beginning to +tell on Sir Percy Blakeney's magnificent physique. I don't think +that it will be very long before he gives way to our gentle +persuasions; and in any case now, I assure you, dear lady, that we +need not fear any attempt on his part to escape. I doubt if he +could walk very steadily across this room--" + +Marguerite had sat quite silent and apparently impassive all the +while that Chauvelin had been speaking; even now she scarcely +stirred. Her face expressed absolutely nothing but deep +puzzlement. There was a frown between her brows, and her eyes, +which were always of such liquid blue, now looked almost black. +She was trying to visualise that which Chauvelin had put before +her: a man harassed day and night, unceasingly, unremittingly, +with one question allowed neither respite nor sleep--his brain, +soul, and body fagged out at every hour, every moment of the day +and night, until mind and body and soul must inevitably give way +under anguish ten thousand times more unendurable than any +physical torment invented by monsters in barbaric times. + +That man thus harassed, thus fagged out, thus martyrised at all +hours of the day and night, was her husband, whom she loved with +every fibre of her being, with every throb of her heart. + +Torture? Oh, no! these were advanced and civilised times that +could afford to look with horror on the excesses of medieval days. +This was a revolution that made for progress, and challenged the +opinion of the world. The cells of the Temple of La Force or the +Conciergerie held no secret inquisition with iron maidens and +racks and thumbscrews; but a few men had put their tortuous brains +together, and had said one to another: "We want to find out from +that man where we can lay our hands on little Capet, so we won't +let him sleep until he has told us. It is not torture--oh, no! +Who would dare to say that we torture our prisoners? It is only a +little horseplay, worrying to the prisoner, no doubt; but, after +all, he can end the unpleasantness at any moment. He need but to +answer our question, and he can go to sleep as comfortably as a +little child. The want of sleep is very trying, the want of +proper food and of fresh air is very weakening; the prisoner must +give way sooner or later--" + +So these fiends had decided it between them, and they had put +their idea into execution for one whole week. Marguerite looked at +Chauvelin as she would on some monstrous, inscrutable Sphinx, +marveling if God--even in His anger--could really have created +such a fiendish brain, or, having created it, could allow it to +wreak such devilry unpunished. + +Even now she felt that he was enjoying the mental anguish which he +had put upon her, and she saw his thin, evil lips curled into a +smile. + +"So you came to-night to tell me all this?" she asked as soon as +she could trust herself to speak. Her impulse was to shriek out +her indignation, her horror of him, into his face. She longed to +call down God's eternal curse upon this fiend; but instinctively +she held herself in check. Her indignation, her words of loathing +would only have added to his delight. + +"You have had your wish," she added coldly; "now, I pray you, go." + +"Your pardon, Lady Blakeney," he said with all his habitual +blandness; "my object in coming to see you tonight was twofold. +Methought that I was acting as your friend in giving you authentic +news of Sir Percy, and in suggesting the possibility of your +adding your persuasion to ours." + +"My persuasion? You mean that I--" + +"You would wish to see your husband, would you not, Lady Blakeney?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I pray you command me. I will grant you the permission +whenever you wish to go." + +"You are in the hope, citizen," she said, "that I will do my best +to break my husband's spirit by my tears or my prayers--is that +it?" + +"Not necessarily," he replied pleasantly. "I assure you that we +can manage to do that ourselves, in time." + +"You devil!" The cry of pain and of horror was involuntarily +wrung from the depths of her soul. "Are you not afraid that God's +hand will strike you where you stand?" + +"No," he said lightly; "I am not afraid, Lady Blakeney. You see, I +do not happen to believe in God. Come!" he added more seriously, +"have I not proved to you that my offer is disinterested? Yet I +repeat it even now. If you desire to see Sir Percy in prison, +command me, and the doors shall be open to you." + +She waited a moment, looking him straight and quite dispassionately +in the face; then she said coldly: + +"Very well! I will go." + +"When?" he asked. + +"This evening." + +"Just as you wish. I would have to go and see my friend Heron +first, and arrange with him for your visit." + +"Then go. I will follow in half an hour." + +"C'est entendu. Will you be at the main entrance of the +Conciergerie at half-past nine? You know it, perhaps--no? It is +in the Rue de la Barillerie, immediately on the right at the foot +of the great staircase of the house of Justice." + +"Of the house of Justice!" she exclaimed involuntarily, a world of +bitter contempt in her cry. Then she added in her former +matter-of-fact tones: + +"Very good, citizen. At half-past nine I will be at the entrance +you name." + +"And I will be at the door prepared to escort you." + +He took up his hat and coat and bowed ceremoniously to her. Then +he turned to go. At the door a cry from her--involuntarily +enough, God knows!--made him pause. + +"My interview with the prisoner," she said, vainly try mg, poor +soul! to repress that quiver of anxiety in her voice, "it will be +private?" + +"Oh, yes! Of course," he replied with a reassuring smile. "Au +revoir, Lady Blakeney! Half-past nine, remember--" + +She could no longer trust herself to look on him as he finally +took his departure. She was afraid--yes, absolutely afraid that +her fortitude would give way--meanly, despicably, uselessly give +way; that she would suddenly fling herself at the feet of that +sneering, inhuman wretch, that she would pray, implore--Heaven +above! what might she not do in the face of this awful reality, if +the last lingering shred of vanishing reason, of pride, and of +courage did not hold her in check? + +Therefore she forced herself not to look on that departing, +sable-clad figure, on that evil face, and those hands that held +Percy's fate in their cruel grip; but her ears caught the welcome +sound of his departure--the opening and shutting of the door, his +light footstep echoing down the stone stairs. + +When at last she felt that she was really alone she uttered a loud +cry like a wounded doe, and falling on her knees she buried her +face in her hands in a passionate fit of weeping. Violent sobs +shook her entire frame; it seemed as if an overwhelming anguish +was tearing at her heart--the physical pain of it was almost +unendurable. And yet even through this paroxysm of tears her mind +clung to one root idea: when she saw Percy she must be brave and +calm, be able to help him if he wanted her, to do his bidding if +there was anything that she could do, or any message that she +could take to the others. Of hope she had none. The last lingering +ray of it had been extinguished by that fiend when he said, "We +need not fear that he will escape. I doubt if he could walk very +steadily across this room now." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +IN THE CONCIERGERIE + +Marguerite, accompanied by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, walked rapidly +along the quay. It lacked ten minutes to the half hour; the night +was dark and bitterly cold. Snow was still falling in sparse, +thin flakes, and lay like a crisp and glittering mantle over the +parapets of the bridges and the grim towers of the Chatelet +prison. + +They walked on silently now. All that they had wanted to say to +one another had been said inside the squalid room of their +lodgings when Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had come home and learned that +Chauvelin had been. + +"They are killing him by inches, Sir Andrew," had been the +heartrending cry which burst from Marguerite's oppressed heart as +soon as her hands rested in the kindly ones of her best friend. +"Is there aught that we can do?" + +There was, of course, very little that could be done. One or two +fine steel files which Sir Andrew gave her to conceal beneath the +folds of her kerchief; also a tiny dagger with sharp, poisoned +blade, which for a moment she held in her hand hesitating, her +eyes filling with tears, her heart throbbing with unspeakable +sorrow. + +Then slowly--very slowly--she raised the small, death-dealing +instrument to her lips, and reverently kissed the narrow blade. + +"If it must be!" she murmured, "God in His mercy will forgive!" + +She sheathed the dagger, and this, too, she hid in the folds of +her gown. + +"Can you think of anything else, Sir Andrew, that he might want?" +she asked. "I have money in plenty, in case those soldiers--" + +Sir Andrew sighed, and turned away from her so as to hide the +hopelessness which he felt. Since three days now be had been +exhausting every conceivable means of getting at the prison guard +with bribery and corruption. But Chauvelin and his friends had +taken excellent precautions. The prison of the Conciergerie, +situated as it was in the very heart of the labyrinthine and +complicated structure of the Chatelet and the house of Justice, +and isolated from every other group of cells in the building, was +inaccessible save from one narrow doorway which gave on the +guard-room first, and thence on the inner cell beyond. Just as +all attempts to rescue the late unfortunate Queen from that prison +had failed, so now every attempt to reach the imprisoned Scarlet +Pimpernel was equally doomed to bitter disappointment. + +The guard-room was filled with soldiers day and night; the windows +of the inner cell, heavily barred, were too small to admit of the +passage of a human body, and they were raised twenty feet from the +corridor below. Sir Andrew had stood in the corridor two days +ago, he bad looked on the window behind which he knew that his +friend must be eating out his noble heart in a longing for +liberty, and he had realised then that every effort at help from +the outside was foredoomed to failure. + +"Courage, Lady Blakeney," he said to Marguerite, when anon they +had crossed the Pont au Change, and were wending their way slowly +along the Rue de la Barillerie; "remember our proud dictum: the +Scarlet Pimpernel never fails! and also this, that whatever messages +Blakeney gives you for us, whatever he wishes us to do, we are to a +man ready to do it, and to give our lives for our chief. Courage! +Something tells me that a man like Percy is not going to die at the +hands of such vermin as Chauvelin and his friends." + +They had reached the great iron gates of the house of Justice. +Marguerite, trying to smile, extended her trembling band to this +faithful, loyal comrade. + +"I'll not be far," he said. "When you come out do not look to the +right or left, but make straight for home; I'll not lose sight of +you for a moment, and as soon as possible will overtake you. God +bless you both." + +He pressed his lips on her cold little hand, and watched her tall, +elegant figure as she passed through the great gates until the +veil of falling snow hid her from his gaze. Then with a deep sigh +of bitter anguish and sorrow he turned away and was soon lost in +the gloom. + +Marguerite found the gate at the bottom of the monumental stairs +open when she arrived. Chauvelin was standing immediately inside +the building waiting for her. + +"We are prepared for your visit, Lady Blakeney," he said, "and the +prisoner knows that you are coming." + +He led the way down one of the numerous and interminable corridors +of the building, and she followed briskly, pressing her hand +against her bosom there where the folds of her kerchief hid the +steel files and the precious dagger. + +Even in the gloom of these ill-lighted passages she realised that +she was surrounded by guards. There were soldiers everywhere; two +had stood behind the door when first she entered, and had +immediately closed it with a loud clang behind her; and all the +way down the corridors, through the half-light engendered by +feebly flickering lamps, she caught glimpses of the white facings +on the uniforms of the town guard, or occasionally the glint of +steel of a bayonet. Presently Chauvelin paused beside a door, +which he had just reached. His hand was on the latch, for it did +not appear to be locked, and he turned toward Marguerite. + +"I am very sorry, Lady Blakeney," he said in simple, deferential +tones, "that the prison authorities, who at my request are +granting you this interview at such an unusual hour, have made a +slight condition to your visit." + +"A condition?" she asked. "What is it?" + +"You must forgive me," he said, as if purposely evading her +question, "for I give you my word that I had nothing to do with a +regulation that you might justly feel was derogatory to your +dignity. If you will kindly step in here a wardress in charge +will explain to you what is required." + +He pushed open the door, and stood aside ceremoniously in order to +allow her to pass in. She looked on him with deep puzzlement and +a look of dark suspicion in her eyes. But her mind was too much +engrossed with the thought of her meeting with Percy to worry over +any trifle that might--as her enemy had inferred--offend her +womanly dignity. + +She walked into the room, past Chauvelin, who whispered as she +went by: + +"I will wait for you here. And, I pray you, if you have aught to +complain of summon me at once." + +Then he closed the door behind her. The room in which Marguerite +now found herself was a small unventilated quadrangle, dimly +lighted by a hanging lamp. A woman in a soiled cotton gown and +lank grey hair brushed away from a parchment-like forehead rose +from the chair in which she had been sitting when Marguerite +entered, and put away some knitting on which she had apparently +been engaged. + +"I was to tell you, citizeness," she said the moment the door had +been closed and she was alone with Marguerite, "that the prison +authorities have given orders that I should search you before you +visit the prisoner." + +She repeated this phrase mechanically like a child who has been +taught to say a lesson by heart. She was a stoutish middle-aged +woman, with that pasty, flabby skin peculiar to those who live in +want of fresh air; but her small, dark eyes were not unkindly, +although they shifted restlessly from one object to another as if +she were trying to avoid looking the other woman straight in the +face. + +"That you should search me!" reiterated Marguerite slowly, trying +to understand. + +"Yes," replied the woman. "I was to tell you to take off your +clothes, so that I might look them through and through. I have +often had to do this before when visitors have been allowed inside +the prison, so it is no use your trying to deceive me in any way. +I am very sharp at finding out if any one has papers, or files or +ropes concealed in an underpetticoat. Come," she added more +roughly, seeing that Marguerite had remained motionless in the +middle of the room; "the quicker you are about it the sooner you +will be taken to see the prisoner." + +These words had their desired effect. The proud Lady Blakeney, +inwardly revolting at the outrage, knew that resistance would be +worse than useless. Chauvelin was the other side of the door. A +call from the woman would bring him to her assistance, and +Marguerite was only longing to hasten the moment when she could be +with her husband. + +She took off her kerchief and her gown and calmly submitted to the +woman's rough hands as they wandered with sureness and accuracy to +the various pockets and folds that might conceal prohibited +articles. The woman did her work with peculiar stolidity; she did +not utter a word when she found the tiny steel files and placed +them on a table beside her. In equal silence she laid the little +dagger beside them, and the purse which contained twenty gold +pieces. These she counted in front of Marguerite and then +replaced them in the purse. Her face expressed neither surprise, +nor greed nor pity. She was obviously beyond the reach of bribery-- +just a machine paid by the prison authorities to do this unpleasant +work, and no doubt terrorised into doing it conscientiously. + +When she had satisfied herself that Marguerite had nothing further +concealed about her person, she allowed her to put her dress on +once more. She even offered to help her on with it. When +Marguerite was fully dressed she opened the door for her. +Chauvelin was standing in the passage waiting patiently. At sight +of Marguerite, whose pale, set face betrayed nothing of the +indignation which she felt, he turned quick, inquiring eyes on the +woman. + +"Two files, a dagger and a purse with twenty louis," said the +latter curtly. + +Chauvelin made no comment. He received the information quite +placidly, as if it had no special interest for him. Then he said +quietly: + +"This way, citizeness!" + +Marguerite followed him, and two minutes later he stood beside a +heavy nail-studded door that had a small square grating let into +one of the panels, and said simply: + +"This is it." + +Two soldiers of the National Guard were on sentry at the door, two +more were pacing up and down outside it, arid had halted when +citizen Chauvelin gave his name and showed his tricolour scarf of +office. From behind the small grating in the door a pair of eyes +peered at the newcomers. + +"Qui va la?" came the quick challenge from the guard-room within. + +"Citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety," was the +prompt reply. + +There was the sound of grounding of arms, of the drawing of bolts +and the turning of a key in a complicated lock. The prison was +kept locked from within, and very heavy bars had to be moved ere +the ponderous door slowly swung open on its hinges. + +Two steps led up into the guard-room. Marguerite mounted them +with the same feeling of awe and almost of reverence as she would +have mounted the steps of a sacrificial altar. + +The guard-room itself was more brilliantly lighted than the +corridor outside. The sudden glare of two or three lamps placed +about the room caused her momentarily to close her eyes that were +aching with many shed and unshed tears. The air was rank and +heavy with the fumes of tobacco, of wine and stale food. A large +barred window gave on the corridor immediately above the door. + +When Marguerite felt strong enough to look around her, she saw +that the room was filled with soldiers. Some were sitting, others +standing, others lay on rugs against the wall, apparently asleep. +There was one who appeared to be in command, for with a word he +checked the noise that was going on in the room when she entered, +and then he said curtly: + +"This way, citizeness!" + +He turned to an opening in the wall on the left, the stone-lintel +of a door, from which the door itself had been removed; an iron +bar ran across the opening, and this the sergeant now lifted, +nodding to Marguerite to go within. + +Instinctively she looked round for Chauvelin. + +But he was nowhere to be seen. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII +THE CAGED LION + +Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who +allowed Marguerite through the barrier into the prisoner's cell? +Had the wan face of this beautiful woman stirred within his heart +the last chord of gentleness that was not wholly atrophied by the +constant cruelties, the excesses, the mercilessness which his +service under this fraternising republic constantly demanded of +him? + +Perhaps some recollection of former years, when first he served +his King and country, recollection of wife or sister or mother +pleaded within him in favour of this sorely-stricken woman with +the look of unspeakable sorrow in her large blue eyes. + +Certain it is that as soon as Marguerite passed the barrier he put +himself on guard against it with his back to the interior of the +cell and to her. + +Marguerite had paused on the threshold. + +After the glaring light of the guard-room the cell seemed dark, +and at first she could hardly see. The whole length of the long, +narrow cubicle lay to her left, with a slight recess at its +further end, so that from the threshold of the doorway she could +not see into the distant corner. Swift as a lightning flash the +remembrance came back to her of proud Marie Antoinette narrowing +her life to that dark corner where the insolent eyes of the rabble +soldiery could not spy her every movement. + +Marguerite stepped further into the room. Gradually by the dim +light of an oil lamp placed upon a table in the recess she began +to distinguish various objects: one or two chairs, another table, +and a small but very comfortable-looking camp bedstead. + +Just for a few seconds she only saw these inanimate things, then +she became conscious of Percy's presence. + +He sat on a chair, with his left arm half-stretched out upon the +table, his bead hidden in the bend of the elbow. + +Marguerite did not utter a cry; she did not even tremble. Just for +one brief instant she closed her eyes, so as to gather up all her +courage before she dared to look again. Then with a steady and +noiseless step she came quite close to him. She knelt on the +flagstones at his feet and raised reverently to her lips the hand +that hung nerveless and limp by his side. + +He gave a start; a shiver seemed to go right through him; he half +raised his head and murmured in a hoarse whisper: + +"I tell you that I do not know, and if I did--" + +She put her arms round him and pillowed her head upon his breast. +He turned his head slowly toward her, and now his eyes--hollowed +and rimmed with purple--looked straight into hers. + +"My beloved," he said, "I knew that you would come." His arms +closed round her. There was nothing of lifelessness or of +weariness in the passion of that embrace; and when she looked up +again it seemed to her as if that first vision which she had had +of him with weary head bent, and wan, haggard face was not +reality, only a dream born of her own anxiety for him, for now the +hot, ardent blood coursed just as swiftly as ever through his +veins, as if life--strong, tenacious, pulsating life--throbbed +with unabated vigour in those massive limbs, and behind that +square, clear brow as though the body, but half subdued, had +transferred its vanishing strength to the kind and noble heart +that was beating with the fervour of self-sacrifice. + +"Percy," she said gently, "they will only give us a few moments +together. They thought that my tears would break your spirit +where their devilry had failed." + +He held her glance with his own, with that close, intent look +which binds soul to soul, and in his deep blue eyes there danced +the restless flames of his own undying mirth: + +"La! little woman," he said with enforced lightness, even whilst +his voice quivered with the intensity of passion engendered by her +presence, her nearness, the perfume of her hair, "how little they +know you, eh? Your brave, beautiful, exquisite soul, shining now +through your glorious eyes, would defy the machinations of Satan +himself and his horde. Close your dear eyes, my love. I shall go +mad with joy if I drink their beauty in any longer." + +He held her face between his two hands, and indeed it seemed as if +he could not satiate his soul with looking into her eyes. In the +midst of so much sorrow, such misery and such deadly fear, never +had Marguerite felt quite so happy, never had she felt him so +completely her own. The inevitable bodily weakness, which of +necessity had invaded even his splendid physique after a whole +week's privations, had made a severe breach in the invincible +barrier of self-control with which the soul of the inner man was +kept perpetually hidden behind a mask of indifference and of +irresponsibility. + +And yet the agony of seeing the lines of sorrow so plainly writ on +the beautiful face of the woman he worshipped must have been the +keenest that the bold adventurer had ever experienced in the whole +course of his reckless life. It was he--and he alone--who was +making her suffer; her for whose sake he would gladly have shed +every drop of his blood, endured every torment, every misery and +every humiliation; her whom he worshipped only one degree less +than he worshipped his honour and the cause which he had made his +own. + +Yet, in spite of that agony, in spite of the heartrending pathos +of her pale wan face, and through the anguish of seeing her tears, +the ruling passion--strong in death--the spirit of adventure, the +mad, wild, devil-may-care irresponsibility was never wholly absent. + +"Dear heart," he said with a quaint sigh, whilst he buried his +face in the soft masses of her hair, "until you came I was so d--d +fatigued." + +He was laughing, and the old look of boyish love of mischief +illumined his haggard face. + +"Is it not lucky, dear heart," he said a moment or two later, +"that those brutes do not leave me unshaved? I could not have +faced you with a week's growth of beard round my chin. By dint of +promises and bribery I have persuaded one of that rabble to come +and shave me every morning. They will not allow me to handle a +razor my-self. They are afraid I should cut my throat--or one of +theirs. But mostly I am too d--d sleepy to think of such a thing." + +"Percy!" she exclaimed with tender and passionate reproach. + +"I know--I know, dear," he murmured, "what a brute I am! Ah, God +did a cruel thing the day that He threw me in your path. To think +that once--not so very long ago--we were drifting apart, you and +I. You would have suffered less, dear heart, if we had continued +to drift." + +Then as he saw that his bantering tone pained her, he covered her +hands with kisses, entreating her forgiveness. + +"Dear heart," he said merrily, "I deserve that you should leave me +to rot in this abominable cage. They haven't got me yet, little +woman, you know; I am not yet dead--only d--d sleepy at times. +But I'll cheat them even now, never fear." + +"How, Percy--how?" she moaned, for her heart was aching with +intolerable pain; she knew better than he did the precautions +which were being taken against his escape, and she saw more +clearly than he realised it himself the terrible barrier set up +against that escape by ever encroaching physical weakness. + +"Well, dear," he said simply, "to tell you the truth I have not +yet thought of that all-important 'how.' I had to wait, you see, +until you came. I was so sure that you would come! I have +succeeded in putting on paper all my instructions for Ffoulkes and +the others. I will give them to you anon. I knew that you would +come, and that I could give them to you; until then I had but to +think of one thing, and that was of keeping body and soul together. +My chance of seeing you was to let them have their will with me. +Those brutes were sure, sooner or later, to bring you to me, that +you might see the caged fox worn down to imbecility, eh? That you +might add your tears to their persuasion, and succeed where they +have failed." + +He laughed lightly with an unstrained note of gaiety, only +Marguerite's sensitive ears caught the faint tone of bitterness +which rang through the laugh. + +"Once I know that the little King of France is safe," he said, "I +can think of how best to rob those d--d murderers of my skin." + +Then suddenly his manner changed. He still held her with one arm +closely to, him, but the other now lay across the table, and the +slender, emaciated hand was tightly clutched. He did not look at +her, but straight ahead; the eyes, unnaturally large now, with +their deep purple rims, looked far ahead beyond the stone walls of +this grim, cruel prison. + +The passionate lover, hungering for his beloved, had vanished; +there sat the man with a purpose, the man whose firm hand had +snatched men and women and children from death, the reckless +enthusiast who tossed his life against an ideal. + +For a while he sat thus, while in his drawn and haggard face she +could trace every line formed by his thoughts--the frown of +anxiety, the resolute setting of the lips, the obstinate look of +will around the firm jaw. Then he turned again to her. + +"My beautiful one," he said softly, "the moments are very +precious. God knows I could spend eternity thus with your dear +form nestling against my heart. But those d--d murderers will +only give us half an hour, and I want your help, my beloved, now +that I am a helpless cur caught in their trap. Will you listen +attentively, dear heart, to what I am going to say? + +"Yes, Percy, I will listen," she replied. + +"And have you the courage to do just what I tell you, dear?" + +"I would not have courage to do aught else," she said simply. + +"It means going from hence to-day, dear heart, and perhaps not +meeting again. Hush-sh-sh, my beloved," he said, tenderly placing +his thin hand over her mouth, from which a sharp cry of pain had +well-nigh escaped; "your exquisite soul will be with me always. +Try--try not to give way to despair. Why! your love alone, which I +see shining from your dear eyes, is enough to make a man cling to +life with all his might. Tell me! will you do as I ask you?" + +And she replied firmly and courageously: + +"I will do just what you ask, Percy." + +"God bless you for your courage, dear. You will have need of it." + + + +CHAPTER XXIX +FOR THE SAKE OF THAT HELPLESS INNOCENT + +The next instant he was kneeling on the floor and his hands were +wandering over the small, irregular flagstones immediately +underneath the table. Marguerite had risen to her feet; she +watched her husband with intent and puzzled eyes; she saw him +suddenly pass his slender fingers along a crevice between two +flagstones, then raise one of these slightly and from beneath it +extract a small bundle of papers, each carefully folded and +sealed. Then he replaced the stone and once more rose to his +knees. + +He gave a quick glance toward the doorway. That corner of his +cell, the recess wherein stood the table, was invisible to any one +who had not actually crossed the threshold. Reassured that his +movements could not have been and were not watched, he drew +Marguerite closer to him. + +"Dear heart," he whispered, "I want to place these papers in your +care. Look upon them as my last will and testament. I succeeded +in fooling those brutes one day by pretending to be willing to +accede to their will. They gave me pen and ink and paper and wax, +and I was to write out an order to my followers to bring the +Dauphin hither. They left me in peace for one quarter of an hour, +which gave me time to write three letters--one for Armand and the +other two for Ffoulkes, and to hide them under the flooring of my +cell. You see, dear, I knew that you would come and that I could +give them to you then." + +He paused, and that, ghost of a smile once more hovered round his +lips. He was thinking of that day when he had fooled Heron and +Chauvelin into the belief that their devilry had succeeded, and +that they had brought the reckless adventurer to his knees. He +smiled at the recollection of their wrath when they knew that they +had been tricked, and after a quarter of an hour s anxious waiting +found a few sheets of paper scribbled over with incoherent words +or satirical verse, and the prisoner having apparently snatched +ten minutes' sleep, which seemingly had restored to him quite a +modicum of his strength. + +But of this he told Marguerite nothing, nor of the insults and the +humiliation which he had had to bear in consequence of that trick. +He did not tell her that directly afterwards the order went forth +that the prisoner was to be kept on bread and water in the future, +nor that Chauvelin had stood by laughing and jeering while ... + +No! he did not tell her all that; the recollection of it all had +still the power to make him laugh; was it not all a part and +parcel of that great gamble for human lives wherein he had held +the winning cards himself for so long? + +"It is your turn now," he had said even then to his bitter enemy. + +"Yes!" Chauvelin had replied, "our turn at last. And you will not +bend my fine English gentleman, we'll break you yet, never fear." + +It was the thought of it all, of that hand to hand, will to will, +spirit to spirit struggle that lighted up his haggard face even +now, gave him a fresh zest for life, a desire to combat and to +conquer in spite of all, in spite of the odds that had martyred +his body but left the mind, the will, the power still unconquered. + +He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her +fingers tightly in his, and compelling her gaze with the ardent +excitement of his own. + +"This first letter is for Ffoulkes," he said. "It relates to the +final measures for the safety of the Dauphin. They are my +instructions to those members of the League who are in or near +Paris at the present moment. Ffoulkes, I know, must be with +you--he was not likely, God bless his loyalty, to let you come to +Paris alone. Then give this letter to him, dear heart, at once, +to-night, and tell him that it is my express command that he and +the others shall act in minute accordance with my instructions." + +"But the Dauphin surely is safe now," she urged. "Ffoulkes and the +others are here in order to help you." + +"To help me, dear heart?" he interposed earnestly. "God alone can +do that now, and such of my poor wits as these devils do not +succeed in crushing out of me within the next ten days." + +Ten days! + +"I have waited a week, until this hour when I could place this +packet in your hands; another ten days should see the Dauphin out +of France--after that, we shall see." + +"Percy," she exclaimed in an agony of horror, "you cannot endure +this another day--and live!" + +"Nay!" he said in a tone that was almost insolent in its proud +defiance, "there is but little that a man cannot do an he sets his +mind to it. For the rest, 'tis in God's hands!" he added more +gently. "Dear heart! you swore that you would be brave. The +Dauphin is still in France, and until he is out of it he will not +really be safe; his friends wanted to keep him inside the country. +God only knows what they still hope; had I been free I should not +have allowed him to remain so long; now those good people at +Mantes will yield to my letter and to Ffoulkes' earnest appeal-- +they will allow one of our League to convey the child safely out +of France, and I'll wait here until I know that he is safe. If I +tried to get away now, and succeeded--why, Heaven help us! the hue +and cry might turn against the child, and he might be captured +before I could get to him. Dear heart! dear, dear heart! try to +understand. The safety of that child is bound with mine honour, +but I swear to you, my sweet love, that the day on which I feel +that that safety is assured I will save mine own skin--what there +is left of it--if I can!" + +"Percy!" she cried with a sudden outburst of passionate revolt, +"you speak as if the safety of that child were of more moment than +your own. Ten days!--but, God in Heaven! have you thought how I +shall live these ten days, whilst slowly, inch by inch, you give +your dear, your precious life for a forlorn cause? + +"I am very tough, m'dear," he said lightly; "'tis not a question +of life. I shall only be spending a few more very uncomfortable +days in this d--d hole; but what of that?" + +Her eyes spoke the reply; her eyes veiled with tears, that +wandered with heart-breaking anxiety from the hollow circles round +his own to the lines of weariness about the firm lips and jaw. He +laughed at her solicitude. + +"I can last out longer than these brutes have any idea of," he +said gaily. + +"You cheat yourself, Percy," she rejoined with quiet earnestness. +"Every day that you spend immured between these walls, with that +ceaseless nerve-racking torment of sleeplessness which these +devils have devised for the breaking of your will--every day thus +spent diminishes your power of ultimately saving yourself. You +see, I speak calmly--dispassionately--I do not even urge my claims +upon your life. But what you must weigh in the balance is the +claim of all those for whom in the past you have already staked +your life, whose lives you have purchased by risking your own. +What, in comparison with your noble life, is that of the puny +descendant of a line of decadent kings? Why should it be +sacrificed--ruthlessly, hopelessly sacrificed that a boy might +live who is as nothing to the world, to his country--even to his +own people?" + +She had tried to speak calmly, never raising her voice beyond a +whisper. Her hands still clutched that paper, which seemed to +sear her fingers, the paper which she felt held writ upon its +smooth surface the death-sentence of the man she loved. + +But his look did not answer her firm appeal; it was fixed far away +beyond the prison walls, on a lonely country road outside Paris, +with the rain falling in a thin drizzle, and leaden clouds +overhead chasing one another, driven by the gale. + +"Poor mite," he murmured softly; "he walked so bravely by my side, +until the little feet grew weary; then he nestled in my arms and +slept until we met Ffoulkes waiting with the cart. He was no King +of France just then, only a helpless innocent whom Heaven aided me +to save." + +Marguerite bowed her head in silence. There was nothing more that +she could say, no plea that she could urge. Indeed, she had +understood, as he had begged her to understand. She understood +that long ago he had mapped out the course of his life, and now +that that course happened to lead up a Calvary of humiliation and +of suffering he was not likely to turn back, even though, on the +summit, death already was waiting and beckoning with no uncertain +hand; not until he could murmur, in the wake of the great and +divine sacrifice itself, the sublime words: + +"It is accomplished." + +"But the Dauphin is safe enough now," was all that she said, after +that one moment's silence when her heart, too, had offered up to +God the supreme abnegation of self, and calmly faced a sorrow +which threatened to break it at last. + +"Yes!" he rejoined quietly, "safe enough for the moment. But he +would be safer still if he were out of France. I had hoped to take +him one day with me to England. But in this plan damnable Fate +has interfered. His adherents wanted to get him to Vienna, and +their wish had best be fulfilled now. In my instructions to +Ffoulkes I have mapped out a simple way for accomplishing the +journey. Tony will be the one best suited to lead the expedition, +and I want him to make straight for Holland; the Northern +frontiers are not so closely watched as are the Austrian ones. +There is a faithful adherent of the Bourbon cause who lives at +Delft, and who will give the shelter of his name and home to the +fugitive King of France until he can be conveyed to Vienna. He +is named Nauudorff. Once I feel that the child is safe in his +hands I will look after myself, never fear." + +He paused, for his strength, which was only factitious, born of +the excitement that Marguerite's presence had called forth, was +threatening to give way. His voice, though he had spoken in a +whisper all along, was very hoarse, and his temples were throbbing +with the sustained effort to speak. + +"If those friends had only thought of denying me food instead of +sleep," he murmured involuntarily, "I could have held out until--" + +Then with characteristic swiftness his mood changed in a moment. +His arms closed round Marguerite once more with a passion of +self-reproach. + +"Heaven forgive me for a selfish brute," he said, whilst the ghost +of a smile once more lit up the whole of his face. "Dear soul, I +must have forgotten your sweet presence, thus brooding over my own +troubles, whilst your loving heart has a graver burden--God help +me!--than it can possibly bear. Listen, my beloved, for I don't +know how many minutes longer they intend to give us, and I have +not yet spoken to you about Armand--" + +"Armand!" she cried. + +A twinge of remorse had gripped her. For fully ten minutes now +she had relegated all thoughts of her brother to a distant cell of +her memory. + +"We have no news of Armand," she said. "Sir Andrew has searched +all the prison registers. Oh! were not my heart atrophied by all +that it has endured this past sennight it would feel a final throb +of agonising pain at every thought of Armand." + +A curious look, which even her loving eyes failed to interpret, +passed like a shadow over her husband's face. But the shadow +lifted in a moment, and it was with a reassuring smile that he +said to her: + +"Dear heart! Armand is comparatively safe for the moment. Tell +Ffoulkes not to search the prison registers for him, rather to +seek out Mademoiselle Lange. She will know where to find Armand." + +"Jeanne Lange!" she exclaimed with a world of bitterness in the +tone of her voice, "the girl whom Armand loved, it seems, with a +passion greater than his loyalty. Oh! Sir Andrew tried to +disguise my brother's folly, but I guessed what he did not choose +to tell me. It was his disobedience, his want of trust, that +brought this unspeakable misery on us all." + +"Do not blame him overmuch, dear heart. Armand was in love, and +love excuses every sin committed in its name. Jeanne Lange was +arrested and Armand lost his reason temporarily. The very day on +which I rescued the Dauphin from the Temple I had the good fortune +to drag the little lady out of prison. I had given my promise to +Armand that she should he safe, and I kept my word. But this +Armand did not know--or else--" + +He checked himself abruptly, and once more that strange, +enigmatical look crept into his eyes. + +"I took Jeanne Lange to a place of comparative safety," he said +after a slight pause, "but since then she has been set entirely +free." + +"Free?" + +"Yes. Chauvelin himself brought me the news," he replied with a +quick, mirthless laugh, wholly unlike his usual light-hearted +gaiety. "He had to ask me where to find Jeanne, for I alone knew +where she was. As for Armand, they'll not worry about him whilst I +am here. Another reason why I must bide a while longer. But in +the meanwhile, dear, I pray you find Mademoiselle Lange; she lives +at No. 5 Square du Roule. Through her I know that you can get to +see Armand. This second letter," he added, pressing a smaller +packet into her hand, "is for him. Give it to him, dear heart; it +will, I hope, tend to cheer him. I fear me the poor lad frets; +yet he only sinned because he loved, and to me he will always be +your brother--the man who held your affection for all the years +before I came into your life. Give him this letter, dear; they +are my instructions to him, as the others are for Ffoulkes; but +tell him to read them when he is all alone. You will do that, dear +heart, will you not?" + +"Yes, Percy," she said simply. "I promise." + +Great joy, and the expression of intense relief, lit up his face, +whilst his eyes spoke the gratitude which he felt. + +"Then there is one thing more," he said. "There are others in +this cruel city, dear heart, who have trusted me, and whom I must +not fail--Marie de Marmontel and her brother, faithful servants of +the late queen; they were on the eve of arrest when I succeeded in +getting them to a place of comparative safety; and there are +others there, too all of these poor victims have trusted me +implicitly. They are waiting for me there, trusting in my promise +to convey them safely to England. Sweetheart, you must redeem my +promise to them. You will?--you will? Promise me that you will--" + +"I promise, Percy," she said once more. + +"Then go, dear, to-morrow, in the late afternoon, to No. 98, Rue +de Charonne. It is a narrow house at the extreme end of that long +street which abuts on the fortifications. The lower part of the +house is occupied by a dealer in rags and old clothes. He and his +wife and family are wretchedly poor, but they are kind, good +souls, and for a consideration and a minimum of risk to themselves +they will always render service to the English milors, whom they +believe to be a band of inveterate smugglers. Ffoulkes and all +the others know these people and know the house; Armand by the +same token knows it too. Marie de Marmontel and her brother are +there, and several others; the old Comte de Lezardiere, the Abbe +de Firmont; their names spell suffering, loyalty, and hopelessness. +I was lucky enough to convey them safely to that hidden shelter. +They trust me implicitly, dear heart. They are waiting for me +there, trusting in my promise to them. Dear heart, you will go, +will you not?" + +"Yes, Percy," she replied. "I will go; I have promised." + +"Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old +clothes dealer will supply the necessary disguises; he has a +covered cart which he uses for his business, and which you can +borrow from him. Ffoulkes will drive the little party to Achard's +farm in St. Germain, where other members of the League should be +in waiting for the final journey to England. Ffoulkes will know +how to arrange for everything; he was always my most able +lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appoint Hastings +to lead the party. But you, dear heart, must do as you wish. +Achard's farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: +if ... I know--I know, dear," he added with infinite tenderness. +"See I do not even suggest that you should leave me. Ffoulkes +will be with you, and I know that neither he nor you would go even +if I commanded. Either Achard's farm, or even the house in the +Rue de Charonne, would he quite safe for you, dear, under +Ffoulkes's protection, until the time when I myself can carry you +back--you, my precious burden--to England in mine own arms, or +until ... Hush-sh-sh, dear heart," he entreated, smothering with +a passionate kiss the low moan of pain which had escaped her lips; +"it is all in God's hands now; I am in a tight corner--tighter +than ever I have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those +brutes have not yet paid the full price for my life. Tell me, +dear heart, that you have understood--that you will do all that I +asked. Tell me again, my dear, dear love; it is the very essence +of life to hear your sweet lips murmur this promise now." + +And for the third time she reiterated firmly: + +"I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I +promise on your precious life to do what you ask." + +He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment +there came from the guard-room beyond the sound of a harsh voice, +saying peremptorily: + +"That half-hour is nearly over, sergeant; 'tis time you +interfered." + +"Three minutes more, citizen," was the curt reply. + +"Three minutes, you devils," murmured Blakeney between set teeth, +whilst a sudden light which even Marguerite's keen gaze failed to +interpret leapt into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter +into her hand. + +Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were +close one to the other, so near to him did he draw her, so tightly +did he hold her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers +were pressed firmly on hers. + +"Put this in your kerchief, my beloved," he whispered. "Let it +rest on your exquisite bosom where I so love to pillow my head. +Keep it there until the last hour when it seems to you that +nothing more can come between me and shame .... Hush-sh-sh, +dear," he added with passionate tenderness, checking the hot +protest that at the word "shame" had sprung to her lips, "I cannot +explain more fully now. I do not know what may happen. I am only +a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutes might not +devise for bringing the untamed adventurer to his knees. For the +next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, on +his way to safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to +me. I can from between these four walls follow him and his escort +step by step. Well, dear, I am but a man, already brought to +shameful weakness by mere physical discomfort--the want of +sleep--such a trifle after all; but in case my reason tottered-- +God knows what I might do--then give this packet to Ffoulkes--it +contains my final instructions--and he will know how to act. +Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open the packet unless-- +unless mine own dishonour seems to you imminent--unless I have +yielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one +of the others orders to exchange the Dauphin's life for mine; then, +when mine own handwriting hath proclaimed me a coward, then and then +only, give this packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that +when you and he have mastered its contents you will act exactly as +I have commanded. Promise me that, dear, in your own sweet name, +which may God bless, and in that of Ffoulkes, our loyal friend." + +Through the sobs that well-nigh choked her she murmured the +promise he desired. + +His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable +reaction after the long and sustained effort, but the vigour of +the spirit was untouched, the fervour, the enthusiasm. + +"Dear heart," he murmured, "do not look on me with those dear, +scared eyes of yours. If there is aught that puzzles you in what +I said, try and trust me a while longer. Remember, I must save the +Dauphin at all costs; mine honour is bound with his safety. What +happens to me after that matters but little, yet I wish to live +for your dear sake." + +He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The +haggard look had completely vanished from his face, the eyes were +lighted up from within, the very soul of reckless daring and +immortal gaiety illumined his whole personality. + +"Do not look so sad, little woman," he said with a strange and +sudden recrudescence of power; "those d--d murderers have not got +me yet--even now." + +Then he went down like a log. + +The effort had been too prolonged--weakened nature reasserted her +rights and he lost consciousness. Marguerite, helpless and almost +distraught with grief, had yet the strength of mind not to call +for assistance. She pillowed the loved one's head upon her +breast, she kissed the dear, tired eyes, the poor throbbing +temples. The unutterable pathos of seeing this man, who was always +the personification of extreme vitality, energy, and boundless +endurance and pluck, lying thus helpless, like a tired child, in +her arms, was perhaps the saddest moment of this day of sorrow. +But in her trust she never wavered for one instant. Much that he +had said had puzzled her; but the word "shame" coming from his own +lips as a comment on himself never caused her the slightest pang +of fear. She had quickly hidden the tiny packet in her kerchief. +She would act point by point exactly as he had ordered her to do, +and she knew that Ffoulkes would never waver either. + +Her heart ached well-nigh to breaking point. That which she could +not understand had increased her anguish tenfold. If she could +only have given way to tears she could have borne this final agony +more easily. But the solace of tears was not for her; when those +loved eyes once more opened to consciousness they should see hers +glowing with courage and determination. + +There had been silence for a few minutes in the little cell. The +soldiery outside, inured to their hideous duty, thought no doubt +that the time had come for them to interfere. The iron bar was +raised and thrown back with a loud crash, the butt-ends of muskets +were grounded against the floor, and two soldiers made noisy +irruption into the cell. + +"Hola, citizen! Wake up," shouted one of the men; "you have not +told us yet what you have done with Capet!" + +Marguerite uttered a cry of horror. Instinctively her arms were +interposed between the unconscious man and these inhuman +creatures, with a beautiful gesture of protecting motherhood. + +"He has fainted," she said, her voice quivering with indignation. +"My God! are you devils that you have not one spark of manhood in +you?" + +The men shrugged their shoulders, and both laughed brutally. They +had seen worse sights than these, since they served a Republic +that ruled by bloodshed and by terror. They were own brothers in +callousness and cruelty to those men who on this self-same spot a +few months ago had watched the daily agony of a martyred Queen, or +to those who had rushed into the Abbaye prison on that awful day +in September, and at a word from their infamous leaders had put +eighty defenceless prisoners--men, women, and children--to the +sword. + +"Tell him to say what he has done with Capet," said one of the +soldiers now, and this rough command was accompanied with a coarse +jest that sent the blood flaring up into Marguerite's pale cheeks. + +The brutal laugh, the coarse words which accompanied it, the +insult flung at Marguerite, had penetrated to Blakeney's slowly +returning consciousness. With sudden strength, that appeared +almost supernatural, he jumped to his feet, and before any of the +others could interfere he had with clenched fist struck the +soldier a full blow on the mouth. + +The man staggered back with a curse, the other shouted for help; +in a moment the narrow place swarmed with soldiers; Marguerite was +roughly torn away from the prisoner's side, and thrust into the +far corner of the cell, from where she only saw a confused mass of +blue coats and white belts, and--towering for one brief moment +above what seemed to her fevered fancy like a veritable sea of +heads--the pale face of her husband, with wide dilated eyes +searching the gloom for hers. + +"Remember!" he shouted, and his voice for that brief moment rang +out clear and sharp above the din. + +Then he disappeared behind the wall of glistening bayonets, of +blue coats and uplifted arms; mercifully for her she remembered +nothing more very clearly. She felt herself being dragged out of +the cell, the iron bar being thrust down behind her with a loud +clang. Then in a vague, dreamy state of semi-unconsciousness she +saw the heavy bolts being drawn back from the outer door, heard +the grating of the key in the monumental lock, and the next moment +a breath of fresh air brought the sensation of renewed life into +her. + + + +CHAPTER XXX +AFTERWARDS + +"I am sorry, Lady Blakeney," said a harsh, dry voice close to +her; "the incident at the end of your visit was none of our +making, remember." + +She turned away, sickened with horror at thought of contact with +this wretch. She had heard the heavy oaken door swing to behind +her on its ponderous hinges, and the key once again turn in the +lock. She felt as if she had suddenly been thrust into a coffin, +and that clods of earth were being thrown upon her breast, +oppressing her heart so that she could not breathe. + +Had she looked for the last time on the man whom she loved beyond +everything else on earth, whom she worshipped more ardently day by +day? Was she even now carrying within the folds of her kerchief a +message from a dying man to his comrades? + +Mechanically she followed Chauvelin down the corridor and along +the passages which she had traversed a brief half-hour ago. From +some distant church tower a clock tolled the hour of ten. It had +then really only been little more than thirty brief minutes since +first she had entered this grim building, which seemed less stony +than the monsters who held authority within it ; to her it seemed +that centuries had gone over her head during that time. She felt +like an old woman, unable to straighten her back or to steady her +limbs; she could only dimly see some few paces ahead the trim +figure of Chauvelin walking with measured steps, his hands held +behind his back, his head thrown up with what looked like +triumphant defiance. + +At the door of the cubicle where she had been forced to submit to +the indignity of being searched by a wardress, the latter was now +standing, waiting with characteristic stolidity. In her hand she +held the steel files, the dagger and the purse which, as +Marguerite passed, she held out to her. + +"Your property, citizeness," she said placidly. + +She emptied the purse into her own hand, and solemnly counted out +the twenty pieces of gold. She was about to replace them all into +the purse, when Marguerite pressed one of them back into her +wrinkled hand. + +"Nineteen will be enough, citizeness," she said; "keep one for +yourself, not only for me, but for all the poor women who come +here with their heart full of hope, and go hence with it full of +despair." + +The woman turned calm, lack-lustre eyes on her, and silently +pocketed the gold piece with a grudgingly muttered word of thanks. + +Chauvelin during this brief interlude, had walked thoughtlessly on +ahead. Marguerite, peering down the length of the narrow +corridor, spied his sable-clad figure some hundred metres further +on as it crossed the dim circle of light thrown by one of the +lamps. + +She was about to follow, when it seemed to her as if some one was +moving in the darkness close beside her. The wardress was even +now in the act of closing the door of her cubicle, and there were +a couple of soldiers who were disappearing from view round one end +of the passage, whilst Chauvelin's retreating form was lost in the +gloom at the other. + +There was no light close to where she herself was standing, and +the blackness around her was as impenetrable as a veil; the sound +of a human creature moving and breathing close to her in this +intense darkness acted weirdly on her overwrought nerves. + +"Qui va la?" she called. + +There was a more distinct movement among the shadows this time, as +of a swift tread on the flagstones of the corridor. All else was +silent round, and now she could plainly hear those footsteps +running rapidly down the passage away from her. She strained her +eyes to see more clearly, and anon in one of the dim circles of +light on ahead she spied a man's figure--slender and darkly +clad--walking quickly yet furtively like one pursued. As he +crossed the light the man turned to look back. It was her brother +Armand. + +Her first instinct was to call to him; the second checked that +call upon her lips. + +Percy had said that Armand was in no danger; then why should he be +sneaking along the dark corridors of this awful house of Justice +if he was free and safe? + +Certainly, even at a distance, her brother's movements suggested +to Marguerite that he was in danger of being seen. He cowered in +the darkness, tried to avoid the circles of light thrown by the +lamps in the passage. At all costs Marguerite felt that she must +warn him that the way he was going now would lead him straight +into Chauvelin's arms, and she longed to let him know that she was +close by. + +Feeling sure that he would recognise her voice, she made pretence +to turn back to the cubicle through the door of which the wardress +had already disappeared, and called out as loudly as she dared: + +"Good-night, citizeness!" + +But Armand--who surely must have heard--did not pause at the +sound. Rather was he walking on now more rapidly than before. In +less than a minute he would be reaching the spot where Chauvelin +stood waiting for Marguerite. That end of the corridor, however, +received no light from any of the lamps; strive how she might, +Marguerite could see nothing now either of Chauvelin or of Armand. + +Blindly, instinctively, she ran forward, thinking only to reach +Armand, and to warn him to turn back before it was too late; +before he found himself face to face with the most bitter enemy he +and his nearest and dearest had ever had. But as she at last came +to a halt at the end of the corridor, panting with the exertion of +running and the fear for Armand, she almost fell up against +Chauvelin, who was standing there alone and imperturbable, +seemingly having waited patiently for her. She could only dimly +distinguish his face, the sharp features and thin cruel mouth, but +she felt--more than she actually saw--his cold steely eyes fixed +with a strange expression of mockery upon her. + +But of Armand there was no sign, and she--poor soul!--had +difficulty in not betraying the anxiety which she felt for her +brother. Had the flagstones swallowed him up? A door on the +right was the only one that gave on the corridor at this point; it +led to the concierge's lodge, and thence out into the courtyard. +Had Chauvelin been dreaming, sleeping with his eyes open, whilst +he stood waiting for her, and had Armand succeeded in slipping +past him under cover of the darkness and through that door to +safety that lay beyond these prison walls? + +Marguerite, miserably agitated, not knowing what to think, looked +somewhat wild-eyed on Chauvelin; he smiled, that inscrutable, +mirthless smile of his, and said blandly: + +"Is there aught else that I can do for you, citizeness? This is +your nearest way out. No doubt Sir Andrew will be waiting to +escort you home." + +Then as she--not daring either to reply or to question--walked +straight up to the door, he hurried forward, prepared to open it +for her. But before he did so he turned to her once again: + +"I trust that your visit has pleased you, Lady Blakeney," he said +suavely. "At what hour do you desire to repeat it to-morrow?" + +"To-morrow?" she reiterated in a vague, absent manner, for she was +still dazed with the strange incident of Armand's appearance and +his flight. + +"Yes. You would like to see Sir Percy again to-morrow, would you +not? I myself would gladly pay him a visit from time to time, but +he does not care for my company. My colleague, citizen Heron, on +the other hand, calls on him four times in every twenty-four +hours; he does so a few moments before the changing of the guard, +and stays chatting with Sir Percy until after the guard is +changed, when he inspects the men and satisfies himself that no +traitor has crept in among them. All the men are personally known +to him, you see. These hours are at five in the morning and again +at eleven, and then again at five and eleven in the evening. My +friend Heron, as you see, is zealous and assiduous, and, strangely +enough, Sir Percy does not seem to view his visit with any +displeasure. Now at any other hour of the day, Lady Blakeney, I +pray you command me and I will arrange that citizen Heron grant +you a second interview with the prisoner." + +Marguerite had only listened to Chauvelin's lengthy speech with +half an ear; her thoughts still dwelt on the past half-hour with +its bitter joy and its agonising pain; and fighting through her +thoughts of Percy there was the recollection of Armand which so +disquieted her. But though she had only vaguely listened to what +Chauvelin was saying, she caught the drift of it. + +Madly she longed to accept his suggestion. The very thought of +seeing Percy on the morrow was solace to her aching heart; it +could feed on hope to-night instead of on its own bitter pain. +But even during this brief moment of hesitancy, and while her +whole being cried out for this joy that her enemy was holding out +to her, even then in the gloom ahead of her she seemed to see a +vision of a pale face raised above a crowd of swaying heads, and +of the eyes of the dreamer searching for her own, whilst the last +sublime cry of perfect self-devotion once more echoed in her ear: + +"Remember!" + +The promise which she had given him, that would she fulfil. The +burden which he had laid on her shoulders she would try to bear as +heroically as he was bearing his own. Aye, even at the cost of +the supreme sorrow of never resting again in the haven of his arms. + +But in spite of sorrow, in spite of anguish so terrible that she +could not imagine Death itself to have a more cruel sting, she +wished above all to safeguard that final, attenuated thread of +hope which was wound round the packet that lay hidden on her breast. + +She wanted, above all, not to arouse Chauvelin's suspicions by +markedly refusing to visit the prisoner again--suspicions that +might lead to her being searched once more and the precious packet +filched from her. Therefore she said to him earnestly now: + +"I thank you, citizen, for your solicitude on my behalf, but you +will understand, I think, that my visit to the prisoner has been +almost more than I could bear. I cannot tell you at this moment +whether to-morrow I should be in a fit state to repeat it." + +"As you please," he replied urbanely. "But I pray you to remember +one thing, and that is--" + +He paused a moment while his restless eyes wandered rapidly over +her face, trying, as it were, to get at the soul of this woman, at +her innermost thoughts, which he felt were hidden from him. + +"Yes, citizen," she said quietly; "what is it that I am to remember?" + +"That it rests with you, Lady Blakeney, to put an end to the +present situation." + +"How?" + +"Surely you can persuade Sir Percy's friends not to leave their +chief in durance vile. They themselves could put an end to his +troubles to-morrow." + +"By giving up the Dauphin to you, you mean?" she retorted coldly. + +"Precisely." + +"And you hoped--you still hope that by placing before me the +picture of your own fiendish cruelty against my husband you will +induce me to act the part of a traitor towards him and a coward +before his followers?" + +"Oh!" he said deprecatingly, "the cruelty now is no longer mine. +Sir Percy's release is in your hands, Lady Blakeney--in that of +his followers. I should only be too willing to end the present +intolerable situation. You and your friends are applying the last +turn of the thumbscrew, not I--" + +She smothered the cry of horror that had risen to her lips. The +man's cold-blooded sophistry was threatening to make a breach in +her armour of self-control. + +She would no longer trust herself to speak, but made a quick +movement towards the door. + +He shrugged his shoulders as if the matter were now entirely out +of his control. Then he opened the door for her to pass out, and +as her skirts brushed against him he bowed with studied deference, +murmuring a cordial "Good-night!" + +"And remember, Lady Blakeney," he added politely, "that should you +at any time desire to communicate with me at my rooms, 19, Rue +Dupuy, I hold myself entirely at your service. + +Then as her tall, graceful figure disappeared in the outside gloom +he passed his thin hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the last +lingering signs of triumphant irony: + +"The second visit will work wonders, I think, my fine lady," he +murmured under his breath. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI +AN INTERLUDE + +It was close on midnight now, and still they sat opposite one +another, he the friend and she the wife, talking over that brief +half-hour that had meant an eternity to her, + +Marguerite had tried to tell Sir Andrew everything; bitter as it +was to put into actual words the pathos and misery which she had +witnessed, yet she would hide nothing from the devoted comrade +whom she knew Percy would trust absolutely. To him she repeated +every word that Percy had uttered, described every inflection of +his voice, those enigmatical phrases which she had not understood, +and together they cheated one another into the belief that hope +lingered somewhere hidden in those words. + +"I am not going to despair, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew +firmly; "and, moreover, we are not going to disobey. I would +stake my life that even now Blakeney has some scheme in his mind +which is embodied in the various letters which he has given you, +and which--Heaven help us in that case!--we might thwart by +disobedience. Tomorrow in the late afternoon I will escort you to +the Rue de Charonne. It is a house that we all know well, and +which Armand, of course, knows too. I had already inquired there +two days ago to ascertain whether by chance St. Just was not in +hiding there, but Lucas, the landlord and old-clothes dealer, knew +nothing about him." + +Marguerite told him about her swift vision of Armand in the dark +corridor of the house of Justice. + +"Can you understand it, Sir Andrew?" she asked, fixing her deep, +luminous eyes inquiringly upon him. + +"No, I cannot," he said, after an almost imperceptible moment of +hesitancy; "but we shall see him to-morrow. I have no doubt that +Mademoiselle Lange will know where to find him; and now that we +know where she is, all our anxiety about him, at any rate, should +soon be at an end." + +He rose and made some allusion to the lateness of the hour. +Somehow it seemed to her that her devoted friend was trying to +hide his innermost thoughts from her. She watched him with an +anxious, intent gaze. + +"Can you understand it all, Sir Andrew?" she reiterated with a +pathetic note of appeal. + +"No, no!" he said firmly. "On my soul, Lady Blakeney, I know no +more of Armand than you do yourself. But I am sure that Percy is +right. The boy frets because remorse must have assailed him by +now. Had he but obeyed implicitly that day, as we all did--" + +But he could not frame the whole terrible proposition in words. +Bitterly as he himself felt on the subject of Armand, he would +not add yet another burden to this devoted woman's heavy load +of misery. + +"It was Fate, Lady Blakeney," he said after a while. "Fate! a +damnable fate which did it all. Great God! to think of Blakeney +in the hands of those brutes seems so horrible that at times I +feel as if the whole thing were a nightmare, and that the next +moment we shall both wake hearing his merry voice echoing through +this room." + +He tried to cheer her with words of hope that he knew were but +chimeras. A heavy weight of despondency lay on his heart. The +letter from his chief was hidden against his breast; he would +study it anon in the privacy of his own apartment so as to commit +every word to memory that related to the measures for the ultimate +safety of the child-King. After that it would have to be +destroyed, lest it fell into inimical hands. + +Soon he bade Marguerite good-night. She was tired out, body and +soul, and he--her faithful friend--vaguely wondered how long she +would be able to withstand the strain of so much sorrow, such +unspeakable misery. + +When at last she was alone Marguerite made brave efforts to +compose her nerves so as to obtain a certain modicum of sleep this +night. But, strive how she might, sleep would not come. How +could it, when before her wearied brain there rose constantly that +awful vision of Percy in the long, narrow cell, with weary head +bent over his arm, and those friends shouting persistently in his +ear: + +"Wake up, citizen! Tell us, where is Capet?" + +The fear obsessed her that his mind might give way; for the mental +agony of such intense weariness must be well-nigh impossible to +bear. In the dark, as she sat hour after hour at the open window, +looking out in the direction where through the veil of snow the +grey walls of the Chatelet prison towered silent and grim, she +seemed to see his pale, drawn face with almost appalling reality; +she could see every line of it, and could study it with the +intensity born of a terrible fear. + +How long would the ghostly glimmer of merriment still linger in +the eyes? When would the hoarse, mirthless laugh rise to the +lips, that awful laugh that proclaims madness? Oh! she could have +screamed now with the awfulness of this haunting terror. Ghouls +seemed to be mocking her out of the darkness, every flake of snow +that fell silently on the window-sill became a grinning face that +taunted and derided; every cry in the silence of the night, every +footstep on the quay below turned to hideous jeers hurled at her +by tormenting fiends. + +She closed the window quickly, for she feared that she would go +mad. For an hour after that she walked up and down the room +making violent efforts to control her nerves, to find a glimmer of +that courage which she promised Percy that she would have. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII +SISTERS + +The morning found her fagged out, but more calm. Later on she +managed to drink some coffee, and having washed and dressed, she +prepared to go out. + +Sir Andrew appeared in time to ascertain her wishes. + +"I promised Percy to go to the Rue de Charonne in the late +afternoon," she said. "I have some hours to spare, and mean to +employ them in trying to find speech with Mademoiselle Lange." + +"Blakeney has told you where she lives?" + +"Yes. In the Square du Roule. I know it well. I can be there in +half an hour." + +He, of course, begged to be allowed to accompany her, and anon +they were walking together quickly up toward the Faubourg St. +Honore. The snow had ceased falling, but it was still very cold, +but neither Marguerite nor Sir Andrew were conscious of the +temperature or of any outward signs around them. They walked on +silently until they reached the torn-down gates of the Square du +Roule; there Sir Andrew parted from Marguerite after having +appointed to meet her an hour later at a small eating-house he +knew of where they could have some food together, before starting +on their long expedition to the Rue de Charonne. + +Five minutes later Marguerite Blakeney was shown in by worthy +Madame Belhomme, into the quaint and pretty drawing-room with its +soft-toned hangings and old-world air of faded grace. +Mademoiselle Lange was sitting there, in a capacious armchair, +which encircled her delicate figure with its frame-work of dull +old gold. + +She was ostensibly reading when Marguerite was announced, for an +open book lay on a table beside her; but it seemed to the visitor +that mayhap the young girl's thoughts had played truant from her +work, for her pose was listless and apathetic, and there was a +look of grave trouble upon the childlike face. + +She rose when Marguerite entered, obviously puzzled at the +unexpected visit, and somewhat awed at the appearance of this +beautiful woman with the sad look in her eyes. + +"I must crave your pardon, mademoiselle," said Lady Blakeney as +soon as the door had once more closed on Madame Belhomme, and she +found herself alone with the young girl. "This visit at such an +early hour must seem to you an intrusion. But I am Marguerite St. +Just, and--" + +Her smile and outstretched hand completed the sentence. + +"St. Just!" exclaimed Jeanne. + +"Yes. Armand's sister!" + +A swift blush rushed to the girl's pale cheeks; her brown eyes +expressed unadulterated joy. Marguerite, who was studying her +closely, was conscious that her poor aching heart went out to this +exquisite child, the far-off innocent cause of so much misery. + +Jeanne, a little shy, a little confused and nervous in her movements, +was pulling a chair close to the fire, begging Marguerite to sit. +Her words came out all the while in short jerky sentences, and from +time to time she stole swift shy glances at Armand's sister. + +"You will forgive me, mademoiselle," said Marguerite, whose simple +and calm manner quickly tended to soothe Jeanne Lange's confusion; +"but I was so anxious about my brother--I do not know where to +find him." + +"And so you came to me, madame?" + +"Was I wrong?" + +"Oh, no! But what made you think that--that I would know?" + +"I guessed," said Marguerite with a smile. "You had heard about me +then?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Through whom? Did Armand tell you about me?" + +"No, alas! I have not seen him this past fortnight, since you, +mademoiselle, came into his life; but many of Armand's friends are +in Paris just now; one of them knew, and he told me." + +The soft blush had now overspread the whole of the girl's face, +even down to her graceful neck. She waited to see Marguerite +comfortably installed in an armchair, then she resumed shyly: + +"And it was Armand who told me all about you. He loves you so +dearly." + +"Armand and I were very young children when we lost our parents," +said Marguerite softly, "and we were all in all to each other then. +And until I married he was the man I loved best in all the world." + +"He told me you were married--to an Englishman." + +"Yes?" + +"He loves England too. At first he always talked of my going +there with him as his wife, and of the happiness we should find +there together." + +"Why do you say 'at first'?" + +"He talks less about England now." + +"Perhaps he feels that now you know all about it, and that you +understand each other with regard to the future." + +"Perhaps." + +Jeanne sat opposite to Marguerite on a low stool by the fire. Her +elbows were resting on her knees, and her face just now was +half-hidden by the wealth of her brown curls. She looked exquisitely +pretty sitting like this, with just the suggestion of sadness in the +listless pose. Marguerite had come here to-day prepared to hate this +young girl, who in a few brief days had stolen not only Armand's heart, +but his allegiance to his chief, and his trust in him. Since last +night, when she had seen her brother sneak silently past her like a +thief in the night, she had nurtured thoughts of ill-will and anger +against Jeanne. + +But hatred and anger had melted at the sight of this child. +Marguerite, with the perfect understanding born of love itself, +had soon realised the charm which a woman like Mademoiselle Lange +must of necessity exercise over a chivalrous, enthusiastic nature +like Armand's. The sense of protection--the strongest perhaps +that exists in a good man's heart--would draw him irresistibly to +this beautiful child, with the great, appealing eyes, and the look +of pathos that pervaded the entire face. Marguerite, looking in +silence on the--dainty picture before her, found it in her heart +to forgive Armand for disobeying his chief when those eyes +beckoned to him in a contrary direction. + +How could he, how could any chivalrous man endure the thought of +this delicate, fresh flower lying crushed and drooping in the +hands of monsters who respected neither courage nor purity? And +Armand had been more than human, or mayhap less, if he had indeed +consented to leave the fate of the girl whom he had sworn to love +and protect in other hands than his own. + +It seemed almost as if Jeanne was conscious of the fixity of +Marguerite's gaze, for though she did not turn to look at her, the +flush gradually deepened in her cheeks. + +"Mademoiselle Lange," said Marguerite gently, "do you not feel +that you can trust me?" + +She held out her two hands to the girl, and Jeanne slowly turned +to her. The next moment she was kneeling at Marguerite's feet, +and kissing the beautiful kind hands that had been stretched out +to her with such sisterly love. + +"Indeed, indeed, I do trust you," she said, and looked with +tear-dimmed eyes in the pale face above her. "I have longed for +some one in whom I could confide. I have been so lonely lately, +and Armand--" + +With an impatient little gesture she brushed away the tears which +had gathered in her eyes. + +"What has Armand been doing?" asked Marguerite with an encouraging +smile. + +"Oh, nothing to grieve me!" replied the young girl eagerly, "for +he is kind and good, and chivalrous and noble. Oh, I love him +with all my heart! I loved him from the moment that I set eyes on +him, and then he came to see me--perhaps you know! And he talked +so beautiful about England, and so nobly about his leader the +Scarlet Pimpernel--have you heard of him?" + +"Yes," said Marguerite, smiling. "I have heard of him." + +"It was that day that citizen Heron came with his soldiers! Oh! +you do not know citizen Heron. He is the most cruel man in +France. In Paris he is hated by every one, and no one is safe +from his spies. He came to arrest Armand, but I was able to fool +him and to save Armand. And after that," she added with charming +naivete, "I felt as if, having saved Armand's life, he belonged to +me--and his love for me had made me his." + +"Then I was arrested," she continued after a slight pause, and at +the recollection of what she had endured then her fresh voice +still trembled with horror. + +"They dragged me to prison, and I spent two days in a dark cell, +where--" + +She hid her face in her hands, whilst a few sobs shook her whole +frame; then she resumed more calmly: + +"I had seen nothing of Armand. I wondered where he was, and I +knew that he would be eating out his heart with anxiety for me. +But God was watching over me. At first I was transferred to the +Temple prison, and there a kind creature--a sort of man-of-all +work in the prison took compassion on me. I do not know how he +contrived it, but one morning very early he brought me some filthy +old rags which he told me to put on quickly, and when I had done +that he bade me follow him. Oh! he was a very dirty, wretched man +himself, but he must have had a kind heart. He took me by the +hand and made me carry his broom and brushes. Nobody took much +notice of us, the dawn was only just breaking, and the passages +were very dark and deserted; only once some soldiers began to +chaff him about me: 'C'est ma fille--quoi?' he said roughly. I +very nearly laughed then, only I had the good sense to restrain +myself, for I knew that my freedom, and perhaps my life, depended +on my not betraying myself. My grimy, tattered guide took me with +him right through the interminable corridors of that awful building, +whilst I prayed fervently to God for him and for myself. We got out +by one of the service stairs and exit, and then he dragged me through +some narrow streets until we came to a corner where a covered cart +stood waiting. My kind friend told me to get into the cart, and then +he bade the driver on the box take me straight to a house in the Rue +St. Germain l'Auxerrois. Oh! I was infinitely grateful to the poor +creature who had helped me to get out of that awful prison, and I +would gladly have given him some money, for I am sure he was very +poor; but I had none by me. He told me that I should be quite safe +in the house in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and begged me to +wait there patiently for a few days until I heard from one who had +my welfare at heart, and who would further arrange for my safety." + +Marguerite had listened silently to this narrative so naively told +by this child, who obviously had no idea to whom she owed her +freedom and her life. While the girl talked, her mind could +follow with unspeakable pride and happiness every phase of that +scene in the early dawn, when that mysterious, ragged +man-of-all-work, unbeknown even to the woman whom he was saving, +risked his own noble life for the sake of her whom his friend and +comrade loved. + +"And did you never see again the kind man to whom you owe your +life?" she asked. + +"No!" replied Jeanne. "I never saw him since; but when I arrived +at the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois I was told by the good people +who took charge of me that the ragged man-of-all-work had been +none other than the mysterious Englishman whom Armand reveres, he +whom they call the Scarlet Pimpernel." + +"But you did not stay very long in the Rue St. Germain +l'Auxerrois, did you?" + +"No. Only three days. The third day I received a communique from +the Committee of General Security, together with an unconditional +certificate of safety. It meant that I was free--quite free. Oh! +I could scarcely believe it. I laughed and I cried until the +people in the house thought that I had gone mad. The past few +days had been such a horrible nightmare." + +"And then you saw Armand again?" + +"Yes. They told him that I was free. And he came here to see me. +He often comes; he will be here anon." + +"But are you not afraid on his account and your own? He is--he +must be still--'suspect'; a well-known adherent of the Scarlet +Pimpernel, he would be safer out of Paris." + +"No! oh, no! Armand is in no danger. He, too, has an unconditional +certificate of safety." + +"An unconditional certificate of safety?" asked Marguerite, whilst +a deep frown of grave puzzlement appeared between her brows. +"What does that mean? + +"It means that he is free to come and go as he likes; that neither +he nor I have anything to fear from Heron and his awful spies. +Oh! but for that sad and careworn look on Armand's face we could +be so happy; but he is so unlike himself. He is Armand and yet +another; his look at times quite frightens me." + +"Yet you know why he is so sad," said Marguerite in a strange, +toneless voice which she seemed quite unable to control, for that +tonelessness came from a terrible sense of suffocation, of a +feeling as if her heart-strings were being gripped by huge, hard +hands. + +"Yes, I know," said Jeanne half hesitatingly, as if knowing, she +was still unconvinced. + +"His chief, his comrade, the friend of whom you speak, the Scarlet +Pimpernel, who risked his life in order to save yours, +mademoiselle, is a prisoner in the hands of those that hate him." + +Marguerite had spoken with sudden vehemence. There was almost an +appeal in her voice now, as if she were trying not to convince +Jeanne only, but also herself, of something that was quite simple, +quite straightforward, and yet which appeared to be receding from +her, an intangible something, a spirit that was gradually yielding +to a force as yet unborn, to a phantom that had not yet emerged +from out chaos. + +But Jeanne seemed unconscious of all this. Her mind was absorbed +in Armand, the man whom she loved in her simple, whole-hearted +way, and who had seemed so different of late. + +"Oh, yes!" she said with a deep, sad sigh, whilst the ever-ready +tears once more gathered in her eyes, "Armand is very unhappy +because of him. The Scarlet Pimpernel was his friend; Armand +loved and revered him. Did you know," added the girl, turning +large, horror-filled eyes on Marguerite, "that they want some +information from him about the Dauphin, and to force him to give +it they--they--" + +"Yes, I know," said Marguerite. + +"Can you wonder, then, that Armand is unhappy. Oh! last night, +after he went from me, I cried for hours, just because he had +looked so sad. He no longer talks of happy England, of the +cottage we were to have, and of the Kentish orchards in May. He +has not ceased to love me, for at times his love seems so great +that I tremble with a delicious sense of fear. But oh! his love +for me no longer makes him happy." + +Her head had gradually sunk lower and lower on her breast, her +voice died down in a murmur broken by heartrending sighs. Every +generous impulse in Marguerite's noble nature prompted her to take +that sorrowing child in her arms, to comfort her if she could, to +reassure her if she had the power. But a strange icy feeling had +gradually invaded her heart, even whilst she listened to the simple +unsophisticated talk of Jeanne Lange. Her hands felt numb and +clammy, and instinctively she withdrew away from the near vicinity +of the girl. She felt as if the room, the furniture in it, even the +window before her were dancing a wild and curious dance, and that +from everywhere around strange whistling sounds reached her ears, +which caused her head to whirl and her brain to reel. + +Jeanne had buried her head in her hands. She was crying--softly, +almost humbly at first, as if half ashamed of her grief; then, +suddenly it seemed, as if she could not contain herself any +longer, a heavy sob escaped her throat and shook her whole +delicate frame with its violence. Sorrow no longer would be +gainsaid, it insisted on physical expression--that awful tearing +of the heart-strings which leaves the body numb and panting with +pain. + +In a moment Marguerite had forgotten; the dark and shapeless +phantom that had knocked at the gate of her soul was relegated +back into chaos. It ceased to be, it was made to shrivel and to +burn in the great seething cauldron of womanly sympathy. What +part this child had played in the vast cataclysm of misery which +had dragged a noble-hearted enthusiast into the dark torture-chamber, +whence the only outlet led to the guillotine, she--Marguerite Blakeney +--did not know; what part Armand, her brother, had played in it, that +she would not dare to guess; all that she knew was that here was a +loving heart that was filled with pain--a young, inexperienced soul +that was having its first tussle with the grim realities of life-- +and every motherly instinct in Marguerite was aroused. + +She rose and gently drew the young girl up from her knees, and then +closer to her; she pillowed the grief-stricken head against her +shoulder, and murmured gentle, comforting words into the tiny ear. + +"I have news for Armand," she whispered, "that will comfort him, a +message--a letter from his friend. You will see, dear, that when +Armand reads it he will become a changed man; you see, Armand +acted a little foolishly a few days ago. His chief had given him +orders which he disregarded--he was so anxious about you--he +should have obeyed; and now, mayhap, he feels that his disobedience +may have been the--the innocent cause of much misery to others; that +is, no doubt, the reason why he is so sad. The letter from his friend +will cheer him, you will see." + +"Do you really think so, madame?" murmured Jeanne, in whose +tear-stained eyes the indomitable hopefulness of youth was already +striving to shine. + +"I am sure of it," assented Marguerite. + +And for the moment she was absolutely sincere. The phantom had +entirely vanished. She would even, had he dared to re-appear, +have mocked and derided him for his futile attempt at turning the +sorrow in her heart to a veritable hell of bitterness. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII +LITTLE MOTHER + +The two women, both so young still, but each of them with a mark +of sorrow already indelibly graven in her heart, were clinging to +one another, bound together by the strong bond of sympathy. And +but for the sadness of it all it were difficult to conjure up a +more beautiful picture than that which they presented as they +stood side by side; Marguerite, tall and stately as an exquisite +lily, with the crown of her ardent hair and the glory of her deep +blue eyes, and Jeanne Lange, dainty and delicate, with the brown +curls and the child-like droop of the soft, moist lips. + +Thus Armand saw them when, a moment or two later, entered +unannounced. He had pushed open the door and looked on the two +women silently for a second or two; on the girl whom he loved so +dearly, for whose sake he had committed the great, the unpardonable +sin which would send him forever henceforth, Cain-like, a wanderer +on the face of the earth; and the other, his sister, her whom a +Judas act would condemn to lonely sorrow and widowhood. + +He could have cried out in an agony of remorse, and it was the +groan of acute soul anguish which escaped his lips that drew +Marguerite's attention to his presence. + +Even though many things that Jeanne Lange had said had prepared +her for a change in her brother, she was immeasurably shocked by +his appearance. He had always been slim and rather below the +average in height, but now his usually upright and trim figure +seemed to have shrunken within itself; his clothes hung baggy on +his shoulders, his hands appeared waxen and emaciated, but the +greatest change was in his face, in the wide circles round the +eyes, that spoke of wakeful nights, in the hollow cheeks, and the +mouth that had wholly forgotten how to smile. + +Percy after a week's misery immured in a dark and miserable +prison, deprived of food and rest, did not look such a physical +wreck as did Armand St. Just, who was free. + +Marguerite's heart reproached her for what she felt had been +neglect, callousness on her part. Mutely, within herself, she +craved his forgiveness for the appearance of that phantom which +should never have come forth from out that chaotic hell which had +engendered it. + +"Armand!" she cried. + +And the loving arms that had guided his baby footsteps long ago, +the tender hands that had wiped his boyish tears, were stretched +out with unalterable love toward him. + +"I have a message for you, dear," she said gently--"a letter from +him. Mademoiselle Jeanne allowed me to wait here for you until +you came." + +Silently, like a little shy mouse, Jeanne had slipped out of the +room. Her pure love for Armand had ennobled every one of her +thoughts, and her innate kindliness and refinement had already +suggested that brother and sister would wish to be alone. At the +door she had turned and met Armand's look. That look had +satisfied her; she felt that in it she had read the expression of +his love, and to it she had responded with a glance that spoke of +hope for a future meeting. + +As soon as the door had closed on Jeanne Lange, Armand, with an +impulse that refused to be checked, threw himself into his +sister's arms. The present, with all its sorrows, its remorse and +its shame, had sunk away; only the past remained--the unforgettable +past, when Marguerite was "little mother"--the soother, the comforter, +the healer, the ever-willing receptacle wherein he had been wont to +pour the burden of his childish griefs, of his boyish escapades. + +Conscious that she could not know everything--not yet, at any +rate--he gave himself over to the rapture of this pure embrace, +the last time, mayhap, that those fond arms would close round him +in unmixed tenderness, the last time that those fond lips would +murmur words of affection and of comfort. + +To-morrow those same lips would, perhaps, curse the traitor, and +the small hand be raised in wrath, pointing an avenging finger on +the Judas. + +"Little mother," he whispered, babbling like a child, "it is good +to see you again." + +"And I have brought you a message from Percy," she said, "a letter +which he begged me to give you as soon as maybe." + +"You have seen him?" he asked. + +She nodded silently, unable to speak. Not now, not when her +nerves were strung to breaking pitch, would she trust herself to +speak of that awful yesterday. She groped in the folds of her +gown and took the packet which Percy had given her for Armand. It +felt quite bulky in her hand. + +"There is quite a good deal there for you to read, dear," she +said. "Percy begged me to give you this, and then to let you read +it when you were alone." + +She pressed the packet into his hand. Armand's face was ashen +pale. He clung to her with strange, nervous tenacity; the paper +which he held in one hand seemed to Sear his fingers as with a +branding-iron. + +"I will slip away now," she said, for strangely enough since +Percy's message had been in Armand's hands she was once again +conscious of that awful feeling of iciness round her heart, a +sense of numbness that paralysed her very thoughts. + +"You will make my excuses to Mademoiselle Lange," she said, trying +to smile. "When you have read, you will wish to see her alone." + +Gently she disengaged herself from Armand's grasp and made for the +door. He appeared dazed, staring down at that paper which was +scorching his fingers. Only when her hand was on the latch did he +seem to realise that she was going. + +"Little mother," came involuntarily to his lips. + +She came straight back to him and took both his wrists in her +small hands. She was taller than he, and his head was slightly +bent forward. Thus she towered over him, loving but strong, her +great, earnest eyes searching his soul. + +"When shall I see you again, little mother?" he asked. + +"Read your letter, dear," she replied, "and when you have read it, +if you care to impart its contents to me, come to-night to my +lodgings, Quai de la Ferraille, above the saddler's shop. But if +there is aught in it that you do not wish me to know, then do not +come; I shall understand. Good-bye, dear." + +She took his head between her two cold hands, and as it was still +bowed she placed a tender kiss, as of a long farewell, upon his +hair. + +Then she went out of the room. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV +THE LETTER + +Armand sat in the armchair in front of the fire. His head rested +against one hand; in the other he held the letter written by the +friend whom he had betrayed. + +Twice he had read it now, and already was every word of that +minute, clear writing graven upon the innermost fibres of his +body, upon the most secret cells of his brain. + + + +Armand, I know. I knew even before Chauvelin came to me, and +stood there hoping to gloat over the soul-agony a man who finds +that he has been betrayed by his dearest friend. But that d--d +reprobate did not get that satisfaction, for I was prepared. Not +only do I know, Armand, but I UNDERSTAND. I, who do not know what +love is, have realised how small a thing is honour, loyalty, or +friendship when weighed in the balance of a loved one's need. + +To save Jeanne you sold me to Heron and his crowd. We are men, +Armand, and the word forgiveness has only been spoken once these +past two thousand years, and then it was spoken by Divine lips. +But Marguerite loves you, and mayhap soon you will be all that is +left her to love on this earth. Because of this she must never +know .... As for you, Armand--well, God help you! But meseems +that the hell which you are enduring now is ten thousand times +worse than mine. I have heard your furtive footsteps in the +corridor outside the grated window of this cell, and would not +then have exchanged my hell for yours. Therefore, Armand, and +because Marguerite loves you, I would wish to turn to you in the +hour that I need help. I am in a tight corner, but the hour may +come when a comrade's hand might mean life to me. I have thought +of you, Armand partly because having taken more than my life, your +own belongs to me, and partly because the plan which I have in my +mind will carry with it grave risks for the man who stands by me. + +I swore once that never would I risk a comrade's life to save mine +own; but matters are so different now ... we are both in hell, +Armand, and I in striving to get out of mine will be showing you a +way out of yours. + +Will you retake possession of your lodgings in the Rue de la Croix +Blanche? I should always know then where to find you on an +emergency. But if at any time you receive another letter from me, +be its contents what they may, act in accordance with the letter, +and send a copy of it at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. Keep +in close touch with them both. Tell her I so far forgave your +disobedience (there was nothing more) that I may yet trust my life +and mine honour in your hands. + +I shall have no means of ascertaining definitely whether you will +do all that I ask; but somehow, Armand, I know that you will. + + + +For the third time Armand read the letter through. + +"But, Armand," he repeated, murmuring the words softly tinder his +breath, "I know that you will." + +Prompted by some indefinable instinct, moved by a force that +compelled, he allowed himself to glide from the chair on to the +floor, on to his knees. + +All the pent-up bitterness, the humiliation, the shame of the past +few days, surged up from his heart to his lips in one great cry of +pain. + +"My God!" he whispered, "give me the chance of giving my life for +him." + +Alone and unwatched, he gave himself over for a few moments to the +almost voluptuous delight of giving free rein to his grief. The +hot Latin blood in him, tempestuous in all its passions, was +firing his heart and brain now with the glow of devotion and of +self-sacrifice. + +The calm, self-centred Anglo-Saxon temperament--the almost +fatalistic acceptance of failure without reproach yet without +despair, which Percy's letter to him had evidenced in so marked a +manner--was, mayhap, somewhat beyond the comprehension of this +young enthusiast, with pure Gallic blood in his veins, who was +ever wont to allow his most elemental passions to sway his actions. +But though he did not altogether understand, Armand St. Just could +fully appreciate. All that was noble and loyal in him rose +triumphant from beneath the devastating ashes of his own shame. + +Soon his mood calmed down, his look grew less wan and haggard. +Hearing Jeanne's discreet and mouselike steps in the next room, he +rose quickly and hid the letter in the pocket of his coat. + +She came in and inquired anxiously about Marguerite; a hurriedly +expressed excuse from him, however, satisfied her easily enough. +She wanted to be alone with Armand, happy to see that he held his +head more erect to-day, and that the look as of a hunted creature +had entirely gone from his eyes. + +She ascribed this happy change to Marguerite, finding it in her +heart to be grateful to the sister for having accomplished what +the fiancee had failed to do. + +For awhile they remained together, sitting side by side, speaking +at times, but mostly silent, seeming to savour the return of +truant happiness. Armand felt like a sick man who has obtained a +sudden surcease from pain. He looked round him with a kind of +melancholy delight on this room which he had entered for the first +time less than a fortnight ago, and which already was so full of +memories. + +Those first hours spent at the feet of Jeanne Lange, how exquisite +they had been, how fleeting in the perfection of their happiness! +Now they seemed to belong to a far distant past, evanescent like +the perfume of violets, swift in their flight like the winged steps +of youth. Blakeney's letter had effectually taken the bitter sting +from out his remorse, but it had increased his already over-heavy +load of inconsolable sorrow. + +Later in the day he turned his footsteps in the direction of the +river, to the house in the Quai de la Ferraille above the saddler's +shop. Marguerite had returned alone from the expedition to the Rue +de Charonne. Whilst Sir Andrew took charge of the little party of +fugitives and escorted them out of Paris, she came hack to her +lodgings in order to collect her belongings, preparatory to taking +up her quarters in the house of Lucas, the old-clothes dealer. She +returned also because she hoped to see Armand. + +"If you care to impart the contents of the letter to me, come to +my lodgings to-night," she had said. + +All day a phantom had haunted her, the phantom of an agonising +suspicion. + +But now the phantom had vanished never to return. Armand was +sitting close beside her, and he told her that the chief had +selected him amongst all the others to stand by him inside the +walls of Paris until the last. + +"I shall mayhap," thus closed that precious document, "have no +means of ascertaining definitely whether you will act in +accordance with this letter. But somehow, Armand, I know that you +will." + +"T know that you will, Armand," reiterated Marguerite fervently. + +She had only been too eager to be convinced; the dread arid dark +suspicion which had been like a hideous poisoned sting had only +vaguely touched her soul; it had not gone in very deeply. How +could it, when in its death-dealing passage it encountered the +rampart of tender, almost motherly love? + +Armand, trying to read his sister's thoughts in the depths of her +blue eyes, found the look in them limpid and clear. Percy's +message to Armand had reassured her just as he had intended that +it should do. Fate had dealt over harshly with her as it was, and +Blakeney's remorse for the sorrow which he had already caused her, +was scarcely less keen than Armand's. He did not wish her to bear +the intolerable burden of hatred against her brother; and by +binding St. Just close to him at the supreme hour of danger he +hoped to prove to the woman whom he loved so passionately that +Armand was worthy of trust. + + + +PART III +CHAPTER XXXV +THE LAST PHASE + +"Well? How is it now?" + +"The last phase, I think." + +"He will yield?" + +"He must." + +"Bah! you have said it yourself often enough; those English are +tough." + +"It takes time to hack them to pieces, perhaps. In this case even +you, citizen Chauvelin, said that it would take time. Well, it +has taken just seventeen days, and now the end is in sight." + +It was close on midnight in the guard-room which gave on the +innermost cell of the Conciergerie. Heron had just visited the +prisoner as was his wont at this hour of the night. He had +watched the changing of the guard, inspected the night-watch, +questioned the sergeant in charge, and finally he had been on the +point of retiring to his own new quarters in the house of Justice, +in the near vicinity of the Conciergerie, when citizen Chauvelin +entered the guard-room unexpectedly and detained his colleague +with the peremptory question: + +"How is it now?" + +"If you are so near the end, citizen Heron," he now said, sinking +his voice to a whisper, "why not make a final effort and end it +to-night?" + +"I wish I could; the anxiety is wearing me out more n him," added +with a jerky movement of the head in direction of the inner cell. + +"Shall I try?" rejoined Chauvelin grimly. + +"Yes, an you wish." + +Citizen Heron's long limbs were sprawling on a guard-room chair. +In this low narrow room he looked like some giant whose body had +been carelessly and loosely put together by a 'prentice hand in +the art of manufacture. His broad shoulders were bent, probably +under the weight of anxiety to which he had referred, and his +head, with the lank, shaggy hair overshadowing the brow, was sunk +deep down on his chest. + +Chauvelin looked on his friend and associate with no small measure +of contempt. He would no doubt have preferred to conclude the +present difficult transaction entirely in his own way and alone; +but equally there was no doubt that the Committee of Public Safety +did not trust him quite so fully as it used to do before the +fiasco at Calais and the blunders of Boulogne. Heron, on the +other hand, enjoyed to its outermost the confidence of his +colleagues; his ferocious cruelty and his callousness were well +known, whilst physically, owing to his great height and bulky if +loosely knit frame, he had a decided advantage over his trim and +slender friend. + +As far as the bringing of prisoners to trial was concerned, the +chief agent of the Committee of General Security had been given a +perfectly free hand by the decree of the 27th Nivose. At first, +therefore, he had experienced no difficulty when he desired to +keep the Englishman in close confinement for a time without +hurrying on that summary trial and condemnation which the populace +had loudly demanded, and to which they felt that they were +entitled as to a public holiday. The death of the Scarlet +Pimpernel on the guillotine had been a spectacle promised by every +demagogue who desired to purchase a few votes by holding out +visions of pleasant doings to come; and during the first few days +the mob of Paris was content to enjoy the delights of expectation. + +But now seventeen days had gone by and still the Englishman was +not being brought to trial. The pleasure-loving public was waxing +impatient, and earlier this evening, when citizen Heron had shown +himself in the stalls of the national theatre, he was greeted by a +crowded audience with decided expressions of disapproval and open +mutterings of: + +"What of the Scarlet Pimpernel?" + +It almost looked as if he would have to bring that accursed +Englishman to the guillotine without having wrested from him the +secret which he would have given a fortune to possess. Chauvelin, +who had also been present at the theatre, had heard the +expressions of discontent; hence his visit to his colleague at +this late hour of the night. + +"Shall I try?" he had queried with some impatience, and a deep +sigh of satisfaction escaped his thin lips when the chief agent, +wearied and discouraged, had reluctantly agreed. + +"Let the men make as much noise as they like," he added with an +enigmatical smile. "The Englishman and I will want an +accompaniment to our pleasant conversation." + +Heron growled a surly assent, and without another word Chauvelin +turned towards the inner cell. As he stepped in he allowed the +iron bar to fall into its socket behind him. Then he went farther +into the room until the distant recess was fully revealed to him. +His tread had been furtive and almost noiseless. Now he paused, +for he had caught sight the prisoner. For a moment he stood quite +still, with hands clasped behind his back in his wonted +attitude--still save for a strange, involuntary twitching of his +mouth, and the nervous clasping and interlocking of his fingers +behind his back. He was savouring to its utmost fulsomeness the +supremest joy which animal man can ever know--the joy of looking +on a fallen enemy. + +Blakeney sat at the table with one arm resting on it, the +emaciated hand tightly clutched, the body leaning forward, the +eyes looking into nothingness. + +For the moment he was unconscious of Chauvelin's presence, and the +latter could gaze on him to the full content of his heart. + +Indeed, to all outward appearances there sat a man whom privations +of every sort and kind, the want of fresh air, of proper food, +above all, of rest, had worn down physically to a shadow. There +was not a particle of colour in cheeks or lips, the skin was grey +in hue, the eyes looked like deep caverns, wherein the glow of +fever was all that was left of life. + +Chauvelin looked on in silence, vaguely stirred by something that +he could not define, something that right through his triumphant +satisfaction, his hatred and final certainty of revenge, had +roused in him a sense almost of admiration. + +He gazed on the noiseless figure of the man who had endured so +much for an ideal, and as he gazed it seemed to him as if the +spirit no longer dwelt in the body, but hovered round in the dank, +stuffy air of the narrow cell above the head of the lonely +prisoner, crowning it with glory that was no longer of this earth. + +Of this the looker-on was conscious despite himself, of that and +of the fact that stare as he might, and with perception rendered +doubly keen by hate, he could not, in spite of all, find the least +trace of mental weakness in that far-seeing gaze which seemed to +pierce the prison walls, nor could he see that bodily weakness had +tended to subdue the ruling passions. + +Sir Percy Blakeney--a prisoner since seventeen days in close, +solitary confinement, half-starved, deprived of rest, and of that +mental and physical activity which had been the very essence of +life to him hitherto--might be outwardly but a shadow of his +former brilliant self, but nevertheless he was still that same +elegant English gentleman, that prince of dandies whom Chauvelin +had first met eighteen months ago at the most courtly Court in +Europe. His clothes, despite constant wear and the want of +attention from a scrupulous valet, still betrayed the perfection +of London tailoring; he had put them on with meticulous care, they +were free from the slightest particle of dust, and the filmy folds +of priceless Mechlin still half-veiled the delicate whiteness of +his shapely hands. + +And in the pale, haggard face, in the whole pose of body and of +arm, there was still the expression of that indomitable strength +of will, that reckless daring, that almost insolent challenge to +Fate; it was there untamed, uncrushed. Chauvelin himself could not +deny to himself its presence or its force. He felt that behind +that smooth brow, which looked waxlike now, the mind was still +alert, scheming, plotting, striving for freedom, for conquest and +for power, and rendered even doubly keen and virile by the ardour +of supreme self-sacrifice. + +Chauvelin now made a slight movement and suddenly Blakeney became +conscious of his presence, and swift as a flash a smile lit up his +wan face. + +"Why! if it is not my engaging friend Monsieur Chambertin," he +said gaily. + +He rose and stepped forward in the most approved fashion +prescribed by the elaborate etiquette of the time. But Chauvelin +smiled grimly and a look of almost animal lust gleamed in his pale +eyes, for he had noted that as he rose Sir Percy had to seek the +support of the table, even whilst a dull film appeared to gather +over his eyes. + +The gesture had been quick and cleverly disguised, but it had been +there nevertheless--that and the livid hue that overspread the +face as if consciousness was threatening to go. All of which was +sufficient still further to assure the looker-on that that mighty +physical strength was giving way at last, that strength which he +had hated in his enemy almost as much as he had hated the thinly +veiled insolence of his manner. + +"And what procures me, sir, the honour of your visit?" continued +Blakeney, who had--at any rate, outwardly soon recovered himself, +and whose voice, though distinctly hoarse and spent, rang quite +cheerfully across the dank narrow cell. + +"My desire for your welfare, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin with +equal pleasantry. + +"La, sir; but have you not gratified that desire already, to an +extent which leaves no room for further solicitude? But I pray +you, will you not sit down?" he continued, turning back toward the +table. "I was about to partake of the lavish supper which your +friends have provided for me. Will you not share it, sir? You are +most royally welcome, and it will mayhap remind you of that supper +we shared together in Calais, eh? when you, Monsieur Chambertin, +were temporarily in holy orders." + +He laughed, offering his enemy a chair, and pointed with inviting +gesture to the hunk of brown bread and the mug of water which +stood on the table. + +"Such as it is, sir," he said with a pleasant smile, "it is yours +to command." + +Chauvelin sat down. He held his lower lip tightly between his +teeth, so tightly that a few drops of blood appeared upon its +narrow surface. He was making vigorous efforts to keep his temper +under control, for he would not give his enemy the satisfaction of +seeing him resent his insolence. He could afford to keep calm now +that victory was at last in sight, now that he knew that he had +but to raise a finger, and those smiling, impudent lips would be +closed forever at last. + +"Sir Percy," he resumed quietly, "no doubt it affords you a +certain amount of pleasure to aim your sarcastic shafts at me. I +will not begrudge you that pleasure; in your present position, +sir, your shafts have little or no sting." + +"And I shall have but few chances left to aim them at your +charming self," interposed Blakeney, who had drawn another chair +close to the table and was now sitting opposite his enemy, with +the light of the lamp falling full on his own face, as if he +wished his enemy to know that he had nothing to hide, no thought, +no hope, no fear. + +"Exactly," said Chauvelin dryly. "That being the case, Sir Percy, +what say you to no longer wasting the few chances which are left +to you for safety? The time is getting on. You are not, I +imagine, quite as hopeful as you were even a week ago, ... you +have never been over-comfortable in this cell, why not end this +unpleasant state of affairs now--once and for all? You'll not have +cause to regret it. My word on it." + +Sir Percy leaned back in his chair. He yawned loudly and +ostentatiously. + +"I pray you, sir, forgive me," he said. "Never have I been so +d--d fatigued. I have not slept for more than a fortnight." + +"Exactly, Sir Percy. A night's rest would do you a world of +good." + +"A night, sir?" exclaimed Blakeney with what seemed like an echo +of his former inimitable laugh. "La! I should want a week." + +"I am afraid we could not arrange for that, but one night would +greatly refresh you." + +"You are right, sir, you are right; but those d--d fellows in the +next room make so much noise." + +"I would give strict orders that perfect quietude reigned in the +guard-room this night," said Chauvelin, murmuring softly, and +there was a gentle purr in his voice, "and that you were left +undisturbed for several hours. I would give orders that a +comforting supper be served to you at once, and that everything be +done to minister to your wants." + +"That sounds d--d alluring, sir. Why did you not suggest this +before?" + +"You were so--what shall I say--so obstinate, Sir Percy?" + +"Call it pig-headed, my dear Monsieur Chambertin," retorted +Blakeney gaily, "truly you would oblige me." + +"In any case you, sir, were acting in direct opposition to your +own interests." + +"Therefore you came," concluded Blakeney airily, "like the good +Samaritan to take compassion on me and my troubles, and to lead me +straight away to comfort, a good supper and a downy bed." + +"Admirably put, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin blandly; "that is +exactly my mission." + +"How will you set to work, Monsieur Chambertin?" + +"Quite easily, if you, Sir Percy, will yield to the persuasion of +my friend citizen Heron." + +"Ah!" + +"Why, yes! He is anxious to know where little Capet is. A +reasonable whim, you will own, considering that the disappearance +of the child is causing him grave anxiety." + +"And you, Monsieur Chambertin?" queried Sir Percy with that +suspicion of insolence in his manner which had the power to +irritate his enemy even now. "And yourself, sir; what are your +wishes in the matter?" + +"Mine, Sir Percy?" retorted Chauvelin. "Mine? Why, to tell you +the truth, the fate of little Capet interests me but little. Let +him rot in Austria or in our prisons, I care not which. He'll +never trouble France overmuch, I imagine. The teachings of old +Simon will not tend to make a leader or a king out of the puny +brat whom you chose to drag out of our keeping. My wishes, sir, +are the annihilation of your accursed League, and the lasting +disgrace, if not the death, of its chief." + +He had spoken more hotly than he had intended, but all the pent-up +rage of the past eighteen months, the recollections of Calais and +of Boulogne, had all surged up again in his mind, because despite +the closeness of these prison walls, despite the grim shadow of +starvation and of death that beckoned so close at hand, he still +encountered a pair of mocking eyes, fixed with relentless +insolence upon him. + +Whilst he spoke Blakeney had once more leaned forward, resting his +elbows upon the table. Now he drew nearer to him the wooden +platter on which reposed that very uninviting piece of dry bread. +With solemn intentness he proceeded to break the bread into +pieces; then he offered the platter to Chauvelin. + +"I am sorry," he said pleasantly, "that I cannot you more dainty +fare, sir, but this is all that your friends have supplied me with +to-day." + +He crumbled some of the dry bread in his slender fingers, then +started munching the crumbs with apparent relish. He poured out +some water into the mug and drank it. Then be said with a light +laugh: + +"Even the vinegar which that ruffian Brogard served us at Calais +was preferable to this, do you not imagine so, my good Monsieur +Chambertin?" + +Chauvelin made no reply. Like a feline creature on the prowl, he +was watching the prey that had so nearly succumbed to his talons. +Blakeney's face now was positively ghastly. The effort to speak, +to laugh, to appear unconcerned, was apparently beyond his +strength. His cheeks and lips were livid in hue, the skin clung +like a thin layer of wax to the bones of cheek and jaw, and the +heavy lids that fell over the eyes had purple patches on them like +lead. + +To a system in such an advanced state of exhaustion the stale +water and dusty bread must have been terribly nauseating, and +Chauvelin himself callous and thirsting for vengeance though he +was, could hardly bear to look calmly on the martyrdom of this man +whom he and his colleagues were torturing in order to gain their +own ends. + +An ashen hue, which seemed like the shadow of the hand of death, +passed over the prisoner's face. Chauvelin felt compelled to avert +his gaze. A feeling that was almost akin to remorse had stirred a +hidden cord in his heart. The feeling did not last--the heart had +been too long atrophied by the constantly recurring spectacles of +cruelties, massacres, and wholesale hecatombs perpetrated in the +past eighteen months in the name of liberty and fraternity to be +capable of a sustained effort in the direction of gentleness or of +pity. Any noble instinct in these revolutionaries had long ago +been drowned in a whirlpool of exploits that would forever sully +the records of humanity; and this keeping of a fellow-creature on +the rack in order to wring from him a Judas-like betrayal was but +a complement to a record of infamy that had ceased by its very +magnitude to weigh upon their souls. + +Chauvelin was in no way different from his colleagues; the crimes +in which he had had no hand he had condoned by continuing to serve +the Government that had committed them, and his ferocity in the +present case was increased a thousandfold by his personal hatred +for the man who had so often fooled and baffled him. + +When he looked round a second or two later that ephemeral fit of +remorse did its final vanishing; he had once more encountered the +pleasant smile, the laughing if ashen-pale face of his unconquered +foe. + +"Only a passing giddiness, my dear sir," said Sir Percy lightly. +"As you were saying--" + +At the airily-spoken words, at the smile that accompanied them, +Chauvelin had jumped to his feet. There was something almost +supernatural, weird, and impish about the present situation, about +this dying man who, like an impudent schoolboy, seemed to be +mocking Death with his tongue in his cheek, about his laugh that +appeared to find its echo in a widely yawning grave. + +"In the name of God, Sir Percy," he said roughly, as he brought +his clenched fist crashing down upon the table, "this situation is +intolerable. Bring it to an end to-night!" + +"Why, sir?" retorted Blakeney, "methought you and your kind did +not believe in God." + +"No. But you English do." + +"We do. But we do not care to hear His name on your lips." + +"Then in the name of the wife whom you love--" + +But even before the words had died upon his lips, Sir Percy, too, +had risen to his feet. + +"Have done, man--have done," he broke in hoarsely, and despite +weakness, despite exhaustion and weariness, there was such a +dangerous look in his hollow eyes as he leaned across the table +that Chauvelin drew back a step or two, and--vaguely fearful-- +looked furtively towards the opening into the guard-room. "Have +done," he reiterated for the third time; "do not name her, or by +the living God whom you dared to invoke I'll find strength yet to +smite you in the face." + +But Chauvelin, after that first moment of almost superstitious +fear, had quickly recovered his sang-froid. + +"Little Capet, Sir Percy," he said, meeting the other's +threatening glance with an imperturbable smile, "tell me where to +find him, and you may yet live to savour the caresses of the most +beautiful woman in England." + +He had meant it as a taunt, the final turn of the thumb-screw +applied to a dying man, and he had in that watchful, keen mind of +his well weighed the full consequences of the taunt. + +The next moment he had paid to the full the anticipated price. +Sir Percy had picked up the pewter mug from the table--it was +half-filled with brackish water--and with a hand that trembled but +slightly he hurled it straight at his opponent's face. + +The heavy mug did not hit citizen Chauvelin; it went crashing +against the stone wall opposite. But the water was trickling from +the top of his head all down his eyes and cheeks. He shrugged his +shoulders with a look of benign indulgence directed at his enemy, +who had fallen back into his chair exhausted with the effort. + +Then he took out his handkerchief and calmly wiped the water from +his face. + +"Not quite so straight a shot as you used to be, Sir Percy," he +said mockingly. + +"No, sir--apparently--not." + +The words came out in gasps. He was like a man only partly +conscious. The lips were parted, the eyes closed, the head +leaning against the high back of the chair. For the space of one +second Chauvelin feared that his zeal had outrun his prudence, +that he had dealt a death-blow to a man in the last stage of +exhaustion, where he had only wished to fan the flickering flame +of life. Hastily--for the seconds seemed precious--he ran to the +opening that led into the guard-room. + +"Brandy--quick!" he cried. + +Heron looked up, roused from the semi-somnolence in which he had +lain for the past half-hour. He disentangled his long limbs from +out the guard-room chair. + +"Eh?" he queried. "What is it?" + +"Brandy," reiterated Chauvelin impatiently; "the prisoner has +fainted." + +"Bah!" retorted the other with a callous shrug of the shoulders, +"you are not going to revive him with brandy, I imagine." + +"No. But you will, citizen Heron," rejoined the other dryly, "for +if you do not he'll be dead in an hour!" + +"Devils in hell!" exclaimed Heron, "you have not killed him? +You--you d--d fool!" + +He was wide awake enough now; wide awake and shaking with fury. +Almost foaming at the mouth and uttering volleys of the choicest +oaths, he elbowed his way roughly through the groups of soldiers +who were crowding round the centre table of the guard-room, +smoking and throwing dice or playing cards. They made way for him +as hurriedly as they could, for it was not safe to thwart the +citizen agent when he was in a rage. + +Heron walked across to the opening and lifted the iron bar. With +scant ceremony he pushed his colleague aside arid strode into the +cell, whilst Chauvelin, seemingly not resenting the other's ruffianly +manners and violent language, followed close upon his heel. + +In the centre of the room both men paused, and Heron turned with a +surly growl to his friend. + +"You vowed he would be dead in an hour," he said reproachfully. + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +"It does not look like it now certainly," he said dryly. + +Blakeney was sitting--as was his wont--close to the table, with +one arm leaning on it, the other, tightly clenched, resting upon +his knee. A ghost of a smile hovered round his lips. + +"Not in an hour, citizen Heron," he said, and his voice flow was +scarce above a whisper, "nor yet in two." + +"You are a fool, man," said Heron roughly. "You have had seventeen +days of this. Are you not sick of it?" + +"Heartily, my dear friend," replied Blakeney a little more firmly. + +"Seventeen days," reiterated the other, nodding his shaggy head; +"you came here on the 2nd of Pluviose, today is the 19th." + +"The 19th Pluviose?" interposed Sir Percy, and a strange gleam +suddenly flashed in his eyes. "Demn it, sir, and in Christian +parlance what may that day be?" + +"The 7th of February at your service, Sir Percy," replied +Chauvelin quietly. + +"I thank you, sir. In this d--d hole I had lost count of time." + +Chauvelin, unlike his rough and blundering colleague, had been +watching the prisoner very closely for the last moment or two, +conscious of a subtle, undefinable change that had come over the +man during those few seconds while he, Chauvelin, had thought him +dying. The pose was certainly the old familiar one, the head +erect, the hand clenched, the eyes looking through and beyond the +stone walls; but there was an air of listlessness in the stoop of +the shoulders, and--except for that one brief gleam just now--a +look of more complete weariness round the hollow eyes! To the keen +watcher it appeared as if that sense of living power, of +unconquered will and defiant mind was no longer there, and as if +he himself need no longer fear that almost supersensual thrill +which had a while ago kindled in him a vague sense of +admiration--almost of remorse. + +Even as he gazed, Blakeney slowly turned his eyes full upon him. +Chauvelin's heart gave a triumphant bound. + +With a mocking smile he met the wearied look, the pitiable appeal. +His turn had come at last--his turn to mock and to exult. He knew +that what he was watching now was no longer the last phase of a +long and noble martyrdom; it was the end--the inevitable end--that +for which he had schemed and striven, for which he had schooled +his heart to ferocity and callousness that were devilish in their +intensity. It was the end indeed, the slow descent of a soul from +the giddy heights of attempted self-sacrifice, where it had +striven to soar for a time, until the body and the will both +succumbed together and dragged it down with them into the abyss of +submission and of irreparable shame. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI +SUBMISSION + +Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two +human jackals stood motionless over their captured prey. + +A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin's eyes, and even Heron, dull +and brutal though he was, had become vaguely conscious of the +great change that had come over the prisoner. + +Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had +once more rested both his elbows on the table; his head fell heavy +and almost lifeless downward in his arms. + +"Curse you, man!" cried Heron almost involuntarily. "Why in the +name of hell did you wait so long?" + +Then, as the prisoner made no reply, but only raised his head +slightly, and looked on the other two men with dulled, wearied +eyes, Chauvelin interposed calmly: + +"More than a fortnight has been wasted in useless obstinacy, Sir +Percy. Fortunately it is not too late." + +"Capet?" said Heron hoarsely, "tell us, where is Capet?" + +He leaned across the table, his eyes were bloodshot with the +keenness of his excitement, his voice shook with the passionate +desire for the crowning triumph. + +"If you'll only not worry me," murmured the prisoner; and the +whisper came so laboriously and so low that both men were forced +to bend their ears close to the scarcely moving lips; "if you will +let me sleep and rest, and leave me in peace--" + +"The peace of the grave, man," retorted Chauvelin roughly; "if you +will only speak. Where is Capet?" + +"I cannot tell you; the way is long, the road--intricate." + +"Bah!" + +"I'll lead you to him, if you will give me rest." + +"We don't want you to lead us anywhere," growled Heron with a +smothered curse; "tell us where Capet is; we'll find him right +enough." + +"I cannot explain; the way is intricate; the place off the beaten +track, unknown except to me and my friends." + +Once more that shadow, which was so like the passing of the hand +of Death, overspread the prisoner's face; his head rolled back +against the chair. + +"He'll die before he can speak," muttered Chauvelin under his +breath. "You usually are well provided with brandy, citizen +Heron." + +The latter no longer demurred. He saw the danger as clearly as +did his colleague. It had been hell's own luck if the prisoner +were to die now when he seemed ready to give in. He produced a +flask from the pocket of his coat, and this he held to Blakeney's +lips. + +"Beastly stuff," murmured the latter feebly. "I think I'd sooner +faint--than drink." + +"Capet? where is Capet?" reiterated Heron impatiently. "One--two-- +three hundred leagues from here. I must let one of my friends know; +he'll communicate with the others; they must be prepared," replied +the prisoner slowly. + +Heron uttered a blasphemous oath. + +Where is Capet? Tell us where Capet is, or--" + +He was like a raging tiger that bad thought to hold its prey and +suddenly realised that it was being snatched from him. He raised +his fist, and without doubt the next moment he would Lave silenced +forever the lips that held the precious secret, but Chauvelin +fortunately was quick enough to seize his wrist. + +"Have a care, citizen," he said peremptorily; "have a care! You +called me a fool just now when you thought I had killed the +prisoner. It is his secret we want first; his death can follow +afterwards." + +"Yes, but not in this d--d hole," murmured Blakeney. + +"On the guillotine if you'll speak," cried Heron, whose exasperation +was getting the better of his self-interest, "but if you'll not speak +then it shall be starvation in this hole--yes, starvation," he growled, +showing a row of large and uneven teeth like those of some mongrel cur, +"for I'll have that door walled in to-night, and not another living +soul shall cross this threshold again until your flesh has rotted on +your bones and the rats have had their fill of you." + +The prisoner raised his head slowly, a shiver shook him as if +caused by ague, and his eyes, that appeared almost sightless, now +looked with a strange glance of horror on his enemy. + +"I'll die in the open," he whispered, "not in this d--d hole." + +"Then tell us where Capet is." + +"I cannot; I wish to God I could. But I'll take you to him, I +swear I will. I'll make my friends give him up to you. Do you +think that I would not tell you now, if I could." + +Heron, whose every instinct of tyranny revolted against this +thwarting of his will, would have continued to heckle the prisoner +even now, had not Chauvelin suddenly interposed with an +authoritative gesture. + +"You'll gain nothing this way, citizen," he said quietly; "the +man's mind is wandering; he is probably quite unable to give you +clear directions at this moment." + +"What am I to do, then?" muttered the other roughly. + +"He cannot live another twenty-four hours now, and would only grow +more and more helpless as time went on." + +"Unless you relax your strict regime with him." + +"And if I do we'll only prolong this situation indefinitely; and +in the meanwhile how do we know that the brat is not being +spirited away out of the country?" + +The prisoner, with his head once more buried in his arms, had +fallen into a kind of torpor, the only kind of sleep that the +exhausted system would allow. With a brutal gesture Heron shook +him by the shoulder. + +"He," he shouted, "none of that, you know. We have not settled +the matter of young Capet yet." + +Then, as the prisoner made no movement, and the chief agent +indulged in one of his favourite volleys of oaths, Chauvelin +placed a peremptory hand on his colleague's shoulder. + +"I tell you, citizen, that this is no use," he said firmly. +"Unless you are prepared to give up all thoughts of finding Capet, +you must try and curb your temper, and try diplomacy where force +is sure to fail." + +"Diplomacy?" retorted the other with a sneer. "Bah! it served you +well at Boulogne last autumn, did it not, citizen Chauvelin?" + +"It has served me better now," rejoined the other imperturbably. +"You will own, citizen, that it is my diplomacy which has placed +within your reach the ultimate hope of finding Capet." + +"H'm!" muttered the other, "you advised us to starve the prisoner. +Are we any nearer to knowing his secret?" + +"Yes. By a fortnight of weariness, of exhaustion and of starvation, +you are nearer to it by the weakness of the man whom in his full +strength you could never hope to conquer." + +"But if the cursed Englishman won't speak, and in the meanwhile +dies on my hands--" + +"He won't do that if you will accede to his wish. Give him some +good food now, and let him sleep till dawn." + +"And at dawn he'll defy me again. I believe now that he has some +scheme in his mind, and means to play us a trick." + +"That, I imagine, is more than likely," retorted Chauvelin dryly; +"though," he added with a contemptuous nod of the head directed at +the huddled-up figure of his once brilliant enemy, "neither mind +nor body seem to me to be in a sufficiently active state just now +for hatching plot or intrigue; but even if--vaguely floating +through his clouded mind--there has sprung some little scheme for +evasion, I give you my word, citizen Heron, that you can thwart +him completely, and gain all that you desire, if you will only +follow my advice." + +There had always been a great amount of persuasive power in +citizen Chauvelin, ex-envoy of the revolutionary Government of +France at the Court of St. James, and that same persuasive +eloquence did not fail now in its effect on the chief agent of the +Committee of General Security. The latter was made of coarser +stuff than his more brilliant colleague. Chauvelin was like a +wily and sleek panther that is furtive in its movements, that will +lure its prey, watch it, follow it with stealthy footsteps, and +only pounce on it when it is least wary, whilst Heron was more +like a raging bull that tosses its head in a blind, irresponsible +fashion, rushes at an obstacle without gauging its resisting +powers, and allows its victim to slip from beneath its weight +through the very clumsiness and brutality of its assault. + +Still Chauvelin had two heavy black marks against him--those of +his failures at Calais and Boulogne. Heron, rendered cautious +both by the deadly danger in which he stood and the sense of his +own incompetence to deal with the present situation, tried to +resist the other's authority as well as his persuasion. + +"Your advice was not of great use to citizen Collot last autumn at +Boulogne," he said, and spat on the ground by way of expressing +both his independence and his contempt. + +"Still, citizen Heron," retorted Chauvelin with unruffled patience, +"it is the best advice that you are likely to get in the present +emergency. You have eyes to see, have you not? Look on your +prisoner at this moment. Unless something is done, and at once, +too, he will be past negotiating with in the next twenty-four hours; +then what will follow?" + +He put his thin hand once more on his colleague's grubby +coat-sleeve, he drew him closer to himself away from the vicinity +of that huddled figure, that captive lion, wrapped in a torpid +somnolence that looked already so like the last long sleep. + +"What will follow, citizen Heron?" he reiterated, sinking his +voice to a whisper; "sooner or later some meddlesome busybody who +sits in the Assembly of the Convention will get wind that little +Capet is no longer in the Temple prison, that a pauper child was +substituted for him, and that you, citizen Heron, together with +the commissaries in charge, have thus been fooling the nation and +its representatives for over a fortnight. What will follow then, +think you?" + +And he made an expressive gesture with his outstretched fingers +across his throat. + +Heron found no other answer but blasphemy. + +"I'll make that cursed Englishman speak yet," he said with a +fierce oath. + +"You cannot," retorted Chauvelin decisively. "In his present +state he is incapable of it, even if he would, which also is +doubtful." + +"Ah! then you do think that he still means to cheat us?" + +"Yes, I do. But I also know that he is no longer in a physical +state to do it. No doubt he thinks that he is. A man of that +type is sure to overvalue his own strength; but look at him, +citizen Heron. Surely you must see that we have nothing to fear +from him now." + +Heron now was like a voracious creature that has two victims lying +ready for his gluttonous jaws. He was loath to let either of them +go. He hated the very thought of seeing the Englishman being led +out of this narrow cell, where he had kept a watchful eye over him +night and day for a fortnight, satisfied that with every day, +every hour, the chances of escape became more improbable and more +rare; at the same time there was the possibility of the recapture +of little Capet, a possibility which made Heron's brain reel with +the delightful vista of it, and which might never come about if +the prisoner remained silent to the end. + +"I wish I were quite sure," he said sullenly, "that you were body +and soul in accord with me." + +"I am in accord with you, citizen Heron," rejoined the other +earnestly--"body and soul in accord with you. Do you not believe +that I hate this man--aye! hate him with a hatred ten thousand +times more strong than yours? I want his death--Heaven or hell +alone know how I long for that--but what I long for most is his +lasting disgrace. For that I have worked, citizen Heron--for that +I advised and helped you. When first you captured this man you +wanted summarily to try him, to send him to the guillotine amidst +the joy of the populace of Paris, and crowned with a splendid halo +of martyrdom. That man, citizen Heron, would have baffled you, +mocked you, and fooled you even on the steps of the scaffold. In +the zenith of his strength and of insurmountable good luck you and +all your myrmidons and all the assembled guard of Paris would have +had no power over him. The day that you led him out of this cell +in order to take him to trial or to the guillotine would have been +that of your hopeless discomfiture. Having once walked out of +this cell hale, hearty and alert, be the escort round him ever so +strong, he never would have re-entered it again. Of that I am as +convinced as that I am alive. I know the man; you don't. Mine +are not the only fingers through which he has slipped. Ask +citizen Collot d'Herbois, ask Sergeant Bibot at the barrier of +Menilmontant, ask General Santerre and his guards. They all have +a tale to tell. Did I believe in God or the devil, I should also +believe that this man has supernatural powers and a host of demons +at his beck and call." + +"Yet you talk now of letting him walk out of this cell to-morrow?" + +"He is a different man now, citizen Heron. On my advice you +placed him on a regime that has counteracted the supernatural +power by simple physical exhaustion, and driven to the four winds +the host of demons who no doubt fled in the face of starvation." + +"If only I thought that the recapture of Capet was as vital to you +as it is to me," said Heron, still unconvinced. + +"The capture of Capet is just as vital to me as it is to you," +rejoined Chauvelin earnestly, "if it is brought about through the +instrumentality of the Englishman." + +He paused, looking intently on his colleague, whose shifty eyes +encountered his own. Thus eye to eye the two men at last +understood one another. + +"Ah!" said Heron with a snort, "I think I understand." + +"I am sure that you do," responded Chauvelin dryly. "The disgrace +of this cursed Scarlet Pimpernel and his League is as vital to me, +and more, as the capture of Capet is to you. That is why I showed +you the way how to bring that meddlesome adventurer to his knees; +that is why I will help you now both to find Capet and with his +aid and to wreak what reprisals you like on him in the end." + +Heron before he spoke again cast one more look on the prisoner. +The latter had not stirred; his face was hidden, but the hands, +emaciated, nerveless and waxen, like those of the dead, told a +more eloquent tale, mayhap, then than the eyes could do. The +chief agent of the Committee of General Security walked +deliberately round the table until he stood once more close beside +the man from whom he longed with passionate ardour to wrest an +all-important secret. With brutal, grimy hand he raised the head +that lay, sunken and inert, against the table; with callous eyes +he gazed attentively on the face that was then revealed to him, he +looked on the waxen flesh, the hollow eyes, the bloodless lips; +then he shrugged his wide shoulders, and with a laugh that surely +must have caused joy in hell, he allowed the wearied head to fall +back against the outstretched arms, and turned once again to his +colleague. + +"I think you are right, citizen Chauvelin," he said; "there is not +much supernatural power here. Let me hear your advice." + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII +CHAUVELIN'S ADVICE + +Citizen Chauvelin had drawn his colleague with him to the end of +the cell that was farthest away from the recess, and the table at +which the prisoner was sitting. + +Here the noise and hubbub that went on constantly in the guard +room would effectually drown a whispered conversation. Chauvelin +called to the sergeant to hand him a couple of chairs over the +barrier. These he placed against the wall opposite the opening, +and beckoning Heron to sit down, he did likewise, placing himself +close to his colleague. + +From where the two men now sat they could see both into the +guard-room opposite them and into the recess at die furthermost +end of the cell. + +"First of all," began Chauvelin after a while, and sinking his +voice to a whisper, "let me understand you thoroughly, citizen +Heron. Do you want the death of the Englishman, either to-day or +to-morrow, either in this prison or on the guillotine? For that +now is easy of accomplishment; or do you want, above all, to get +hold of little Capet?" + +"It is Capet I want," growled Heron savagely under his breath. +"Capet! Capet! My own neck is dependent on my finding Capet. +Curse you, have I not told you that clearly enough?" + +"You have told it me very clearly, citizen Heron; but I wished to +make assurance doubly sure, and also make you Understand that I, +too, want the Englishman to betray little Capet into your hands. +I want that more even than I do his death." + +"Then in the name of hell, citizen, give me your advice." + +"My advice to you, citizen Heron, is this: Give your prisoner now +just a sufficiency of food to revive him--he will have had a few +moments' sleep--and when he has eaten, and, mayhap, drunk a glass +of wine, he will, no doubt, feel a recrudescence of strength, then +give him pen and ink and paper. He must, as he says, write to one +of his followers, who, in his turn, I suppose, will communicate +with the others, bidding them to be prepared to deliver up little +Capet to us; the letter must make it clear to that crowd of +English gentlemen that their beloved chief is giving up the +uncrowned King of France to us in exchange for his own safety. But +I think you will agree with me, citizen Heron, that it would not +be over-prudent on our part to allow that same gallant crowd to be +forewarned too soon of the pro-posed doings of their chief. +Therefore, I think, we'll explain to the prisoner that his +follower, whom he will first apprise of his intentions, shall +start with us to-morrow on our expedition, and accompany us until +its last stage, when, if it is found necessary, he may be sent on +ahead, strongly escorted of course, and with personal messages +from the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel to the members of his League." + +"What will be the good of that?" broke in Heron viciously. "Do +you want one of his accursed followers to be ready to give him a +helping hand on the way if he tries to slip through our fingers? + +"Patience, patience, my good Heron!" rejoined Chauvelin with a +placid smile. "Hear me out to the end. Time is precious. You +shall offer what criticism you will when I have finished, but not +before." + +"Go on, then. I listen." + +"I am not only proposing that one member of the Scarlet Pimpernel +League shall accompany us to-morrow," continued Chauvelin, "but I +would also force the prisoner's wife--Marguerite Blakeney--to +follow in our train." + +"A woman? Bah! What for?" + +"I will tell you the reason of this presently. In her case I +should not let the prisoner know beforehand that she too will form +a part of our expedition. Let this come as a pleasing surprise for +him. She could join us on our way out of Paris." + +"How will you get hold of her?" + +"Easily enough. I know where to find her. I traced her myself a +few days ago to a house in the Rue de Charonne, and she is not +likely to have gone away from Paris while her husband was at the +Conciergerie. But this is a digression, let me proceed more +consecutively. The letter, as I have said, being written to-night +by the prisoner to one of his followers, I will myself see that it +is delivered into the right hands. You, citizen Heron, will in the +meanwhile make all arrangements for the journey. We ought to start +at dawn, and we ought to be prepared, especially during the first +fifty leagues of the way, against organised attack in case the +Englishman leads us into an ambush." + +"Yes. He might even do that, curse him!" muttered Heron. + +"He might, but it is unlikely. Still it is best to be prepared. +Take a strong escort, citizen, say twenty or thirty men, picked +and trained soldiers who would make short work of civilians, +however well-armed they might be. There are twenty +members--including the chief--in that Scarlet Pimpernel League, +and I do not quite see how from this cell the prisoner could +organise an ambuscade against us at a given time. Anyhow, that is +a matter for you to decide. I have still to place before you a +scheme which is a measure of safety for ourselves and our men +against ambush as well as against trickery, and which I feel sure +you will pronounce quite adequate." + +"Let me hear it, then!" + +"The prisoner will have to travel by coach, of course. You can +travel with him, if you like, and put him in irons, and thus avert +all chances of his escaping on the road. But"--and here Chauvelin +made a long pause, which had the effect of holding his colleague's +attention still more closely--"remember that we shall have his +wife and one of his friends with us. Before we finally leave +Paris tomorrow we will explain to the prisoner that at the first +attempt to escape on his part, at the slightest suspicion that he +has tricked us for his own ends or is leading us into an ambush-- +at the slightest suspicion, I say--you, citizen Heron, will order +his friend first, and then Marguerite Blakeney herself, to be +summarily shot before his eyes." + +Heron gave a long, low whistle. Instinctively he threw a furtive, +backward glance at the prisoner, then he raised his shifty eyes to +his colleague. + +There was unbounded admiration expressed in them. One blackguard +had met another--a greater one than himself--and was proud to +acknowledge him as his master. + +"By Lucifer, citizen Chauvelin," he said at last, "I should never +have thought of such a thing myself." + +Chauvelin put up his hand with a gesture of self-deprecation. + +"I certainly think that measure ought to be adequate," he said +with a gentle air of assumed modesty, "unless you would prefer to +arrest the woman and lodge her here, keeping her here as an +hostage." + +"No, no!" said Heron with a gruff laugh; "that idea does not +appeal to me nearly so much as the other. I should not feel so +secure on the way.... I should always be thinking that that +cursed woman had been allowed to escape.... No! no! I would +rather keep her under my own eye--just as you suggest, citizen +Chauvelin ... and under the prisoner's, too," he added with a +coarse jest. "If he did not actually see her, he might be more +ready to try and save himself at her expense. But, of course, he +could not see her shot before his eyes. It is a perfect plan, +citizen, arid does you infinite credit; and if the Englishman +tricked us," he concluded with a fierce and savage oath, "and we +did not find Capet at the end of the journey, I would gladly +strangle his wife and his friend with my own hands." + +"A satisfaction which I would not begrudge you, citizen," said +Chauvelin dryly. "Perhaps you are right ... the woman had best be +kept under your own eye ... the prisoner will never risk her +safety on that, I would stake my life. We'll deliver our final +'either--or' the moment that she has joined our party, and before +we start further on our way. Now, citizen Heron, you have heard +my advice; are you prepared to follow it?" + +"To the last letter," replied the other. + +And their two hands met in a grasp of mutual understanding--two +hands already indelibly stained with much innocent blood, more +deeply stained now with seventeen past days of inhumanity and +miserable treachery to come. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII +CAPITULATION + +What occurred within the inner cell of the Conciergerie prison +within the next half-hour of that 16th day of Pluviose in the year +II of the Republic is, perhaps, too well known to history to need +or bear overfull repetition. + +Chroniclers intimate with the inner history of those infamous days +have told us how the chief agent of the Committee of General +Security gave orders one hour after midnight that hot soup, white +bread and wine be served to the prisoner, who for close on +fourteen days previously had been kept on short rations of black +bread and water; the sergeant in charge of the guard-room watch +for the night also received strict orders that that same prisoner +was on no account to be disturbed until the hour of six in the +morning, when he was to be served with anything in the way of +breakfast that he might fancy. + +All this we know, and also that citizen Heron, having given all +necessary orders for the morning's expedition, returned to the +Conciergerie, and found his colleague Chauvelin waiting for him in +the guard-room. + +"Well?" he asked with febrile impatience--" the prisoner? + +"He seems better and stronger," replied Chauvelin. "Not too well, +I hope?" + +"No, no, only just well enough." + +"You have seen him--since his supper?" + +"Only from the doorway. It seems he ate and drank hardly at all, +and the sergeant had some difficulty in keeping him awake until +you tame." + +"Well, now for the letter," concluded Heron with the same marked +feverishness of manner which sat so curiously on his uncouth +personality. "Pen, ink and paper, sergeant!" he commanded. + +"On the table, in the prisoner's cell, citizen," replied the +sergeant. + +He preceded the two citizens across the guard-room to the doorway, +and raised for them the iron bar, lowering it back after them. + +The next moment Heron and Chauvelin were once more face to face +with their prisoner. + +Whether by accident or design the lamp had been so placed that as +the two men approached its light fell full upon their faces, while +that of the prisoner remained in shadow. He was leaning forward +with both elbows on the table, his thin, tapering fingers toying +with the pen and ink-horn which had been placed close to his hand. + +"I trust that everything has been arranged for your comfort, Sir +Percy?" Chauvelin asked with a sarcastic little smile. + +"I thank you, sir," replied Blakeney politely. + +"You feel refreshed, I hope?" + +"Greatly so, I assure you. But I am still demmed sleepy; and if +you would kindly be brief--" + +"You have not changed your mind, sir?" queried Chauvelin, and a +note of anxiety, which he vainly tried to conceal, quivered in his +voice. + +"No, my good M. Chambertin," replied Blakeney with the same urbane +courtesy, "I have not changed my mind." + +A sigh of relief escaped the lips of both the men. The prisoner +certainly had spoken in a clearer and firmer voice; but whatever +renewed strength wine and food had imparted to him he apparently +did not mean to employ in renewed obstinacy. Chauvelin, after a +moment's pause, resumed more calmly: + +"You are prepared to direct us to the place where little Capet +lies hidden?" + +"I am prepared to do anything, sir, to get out of this d--d hole." + +"Very well. My colleague, citizen Heron, has arranged for an +escort of twenty men picked from the best regiment of the Garde de +Paris to accompany us--yourself, him and me--to wherever you will +direct us. Is that clear?" + +"Perfectly, sir." + +"You must not imagine for a moment that we, on the other hand, +guarantee to give you your life and freedom even if this +expedition prove unsuccessful." + +"I would not venture on suggesting such a wild proposition, sir," +said Blakeney placidly. + +Chauvelin looked keenly on him. There was something in the tone +of that voice that he did not altogether like--something that +reminded him of an evening at Calais, and yet again of a day at +Boulogne. He could not read the expression in the eyes, so with a +quick gesture he pulled the lamp forward so that its light now +fell full on the face of the prisoner. + +"Ah! that is certainly better, is it not, my dear M. Chambertin?" +said Sir Percy, beaming on his adversary with a pleasant smile. + +His face, though still of the same ashen hue, looked serene if +hopelessly wearied; the eyes seemed to mock. But this Chauvelin +decided in himself must have been a trick of his own overwrought +fancy. After a brief moment's pause he resumed dryly: + +"If, however, the expedition turns out successful in every way--if +little Capet, without much trouble to our escort, falls safe and +sound into our hands--if certain contingencies which I am about to +tell you all fall out as we wish--then, Sir Percy, I see no reason +why the Government of this country should not exercise its +prerogative of mercy towards you after all." + +"An exercise, my dear M. Chambertin, which must have wearied +through frequent repetition," retorted Blakeney with the same +imperturbable smile. + +"The contingency at present is somewhat remote; when the time +comes we'll talk this matter over.... I will make no promise ... +and, anyhow, we can discuss it later." + +"At present we are but wasting our valuable time over so trifling +a matter.... If you'll excuse me, sir ... I am so demmed +fatigued--" + +"Then you will be glad to have everything settled quickly, I am +sure." + +"Exactly, sir." + +Heron was taking no part ill the present conversation. He knew +that his temper was not likely to remain within bounds, and though +he had nothing but contempt for his colleague's courtly manners, +yet vaguely in his stupid, blundering way he grudgingly admitted +that mayhap it was better to allow citizen Chauvelin to deal with +the Englishman. There was always the danger that if his own +violent temper got the better of him, he might even at this +eleventh hour order this insolent prisoner to summary trial and +the guillotine, and thus lose the final chance of the more +important capture. + +He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with his +big head sunk between his broad shoulders, his shifty, prominent +eyes wandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that +of the other man. + +But now he gave a grunt of impatience. + +"We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin," he muttered. "I have +still a great deal to see to if we are to start at dawn. Get the +d--d letter written, and--" + +The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur. +Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders, paid no further heed to +him; he turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner. + +"I see with pleasure, Sir Percy," he said, "that we thoroughly +understand one another. Having had a few hours' rest you will, I +know, feel quite ready for the expedition. Will you kindly +indicate to me the direction in which we will have to travel?" + +"Northwards all the way." + +"Towards the coast?" + +"The place to which we must go is about seven leagues from the +sea." + +"Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, +Crecy, and so on?" + +"Precisely." + +"As far as the forest of Boulogne, shall we say?" + +"Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to +trust to my guidance." + +"We might go there now, Sir Percy, and leave you here." + +"You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues +is not far from the coast. He might slip through your fingers." + +"And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send +you to the guillotine." + +"Quite so," rejoined the prisoner placidly. "Methought, sir, that +we. had decided that I should lead this little expedition? +Surely," he added, "it is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as +my share in this betrayal." + +"You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that as +settled. We go as far as Crecy, and thence place ourselves +entirely in your hands." + +"The journey should not take more than three days, sir." + +"During which you will travel in a coach in the company of my +friend Heron." + +"I could have chosen pleasanter company, sir; still, it will +serve." + +"This being settled, Sir Percy. I understand that you desire to +communicate with one of your followers." + +"Some one must let the others know ... those who have the Dauphin +in their charge." + +"Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that +you have decided to deliver the Dauphin into our hands in exchange +for your own safety." + +"You said just now that this you would not guarantee," interposed +Blakeney quietly. + +"If all turns out well," retorted Chauvelin with a show of +contempt, "and if you will write the exact letter which I shall +dictate, we might even give you that guarantee." + +"The quality of your mercy, sir, passes belief." + +"Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the +honour of the communication?" + +"My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I +believe. He can let the others know." + +Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He 'paused awhile, hesitating. +Would Sir Percy Blakeney be ready--if his own safety demanded +it--to sacrifice the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous +"either--or" that was to be put to him, by-and-by, would he choose +his own life and leave Armand St. Just to perish? It was not for +Chauvelin--or any man of his stamp--to judge of what Blakeney +would do under such circumstances, and had it been a question of +St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would have hesitated still more +at the present juncture. + +But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage +for the final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel +through the disgrace of its chief. There was the wife--Marguerite +Blakeney--sister of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, +whose very close affection for her brother might prove an additional +trump card in that handful which Chauvelin already held. + +Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other's hesitation. He did +not even look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards +him, and made ready to write. + +"What do you wish me to say?" he asked simply. + +"Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen +Chauvelin?" queried Heron roughly. + +Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quickly +re-assured him. + +"Better than any one else," he said firmly. "Will you write at my +dictation, Sir Percy? + +"I am waiting to do so, my dear sir." + +"Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue." + +And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it left +Blakeney's pen. + +"'I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, +and also M. Chauvelin--, Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin +... C, H, A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right--' have +made this prison a perfect hell for me.'" + +Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling. + +"You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said; "I have +really been most comfortable." + +"I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a +manner as I can," retorted Chauvelin dryly. + +"I thank you, sir. Pray proceed." + +"... a perfect hell for me,'" resumed the other. "Have you that? +... 'and I have been forced to give way. To-morrow we start from +here at dawn; and I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he +can find the Dauphin. But the authorities demand that one of my +followers, one who has once been a member of the League of the +Scarlet Pimpernel, shall accompany me on this expedition. I +therefore ask you'--or 'desire you' or 'beg you'--whichever you +prefer, Sir Percy ..." + +"'Ask you' will do quite nicely. This is really very interesting, +you know." + +"... 'to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, +and you would be required to be at the main gate of the house of +Justice at six o'clock precisely. I have an assurance from the +authorities that your life should be in-violate, but if you refuse +to accompany me, the guillotine will await me on the morrow.'" + +"'The guillotine will await me on the morrow.' That sounds quite +cheerful, does it not, M. Chambertin?" said the prisoner, who had +not evinced the slightest surprise at the wording of the letter +whilst he wrote at the other's dictation. "Do you know, I quite +enjoyed writing this letter; it so reminded me of happy days in +Boulogne." + +Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a +retort from him would have been undignified, more especially as +just at this moment there came from the guard room the sound of +mn's voices talking and laughing, the occasional clang of steel, +or of a heavy boot against the tiled floor, the rattling of dice, +or a sudden burst of laughter--sounds, in fact, that betokened the +presence of a number of soldiers close by. + +Chauvelin contented himself with a nod in the direction of the +guard-room. + +"The conditions are somewhat different now," he said placidly, +"from those that reigned in Boulogne. But will you not sign your +letter, Sir Percy?" + +"With pleasure, sir," responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate +flourish of the pen he appended his name to the missive. + +Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx +by their keenness. He took up the completed letter, read it +through very carefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind +the very words which he himself had dictated; he studied the +signature, and looked vainly for a mark or a sign that might +convey a different sense to that which he had intended. Finally, +finding none, he folded the letter up with his own hand, and at +once slipped it in the pocket of his coat. + +"Take care, M. Chambertin," said Blakeney lightly; "it will burn a +hole in that elegant vest of yours." + +"It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin +blandly; "an you will furnish me with citizen St. Just's present +address, I will myself convey the letter to him at once." + +"At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he'll be abed. But +his address, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix Blanche, on the first +floor, the door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know +the room well, citizen Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And +now," he added with a loud and ostentatious yawn, "shall we all to +bed? We start at dawn, you said, and I am so d--d fatigued." + +Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his +matured plans, despite all the precautions that be meant to take +for the success of this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange +sense of fear creeping into his bones. Half an hour ago he had +seen a man in what looked like the last stage of utter physical +exhaustion, a hunched up figure, listless and limp, hands that +twitched nervously, the face as of a dying man. Now those outward +symptoms were still there certainly; the face by the light of the +lamp still looked livid, the lips bloodless, the hands emaciated +and waxen, but the eyes!--they were still hollow, with heavy lids +still purple, but in their depths there was a curious, mysterious +light, a look that seemed to see something that was hidden to +natural sight. + +Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious of +this, but the Committee's agent was sprawling on a chair, sucking +a short-stemmed pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction +on the prisoner. + +"The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and +I, citizen Chauvelin," he said complacently. + +"You think that everything is quite satisfactory?" asked the other +with anxious stress on his words. + +"Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give +final orders for to-morrow, but I shall sleep in the guard-room." + +"And I on that inviting bed," interposed the prisoner lightly, as +he rose to his feet. "Your servant, citizens!" + +He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two +men prepared to go. Chauvelin took a final long look at the man +whom he firmly believed he had at last brought down to abject +disgrace. + +Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures-- +one slender hand was on the table. Chauvelin saw that it was +leaning rather heavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a +final mocking laugh sped him and his colleague on their way, the +tall figure of the conquered lion swayed like a stalwart oak that +is forced to bend to the mighty fury of an all-compelling wind. + +With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, +and together the two men walked out of the cell. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX +KILL HIM! + +Two hours after midnight Armand St. Just was wakened from sleep by +a peremptory pull at his hell. In these days in Paris but one +meaning could as a rule be attached to such a summons at this hour +of the night, and Armand, though possessed of an unconditional +certificate of safety, sat up in bed, quite convinced that for +some reason which would presently be explained to him he had once +more been placed on the list of the "suspect," and that his trial +and condemnation on a trumped-up charge would follow in due course. + +Truth to tell, he felt no fear at the prospect, and only a very +little sorrow. The sorrow was not for himself; he regretted +neither life nor happiness. Life had become hateful to him since +happiness had fled with it on the dark wings of dishonour; sorrow +such as he felt was only for Jeanne! She was very young, and +would weep bitter tears. She would be unhappy, because she truly +loved him, and because this would be the first cup of bitterness +which life was holding out to her. But she was very young, and +sorrow would not be eternal. It was better so. He, Armand St. +Just, though he loved her with an intensity of passion that had +been magnified and strengthened by his own overwhelming shame, had +never really brought his beloved one single moment of unalloyed +happiness. + +From the very first day when he sat beside her in the tiny boudoir +of the Square du Roule, and the heavy foot fall of Heron and his +bloodhounds broke in on their first kiss, down to this hour which +he believed struck his own death-knell, his love for her had +brought more tears to her dear eyes than smiles to her exquisite +mouth. + +Her he had loved so dearly, that for her sweet sake he had +sacrificed honour, friendship and truth; to free her, as he +believed, from the hands of impious brutes he had done a deed that +cried Cain-like for vengeance to the very throne of God. For her +he had sinned, and because of that sin, even before it was +committed, their love had been blighted, and happiness had never +been theirs. + +Now it was all over. He would pass out of her life, up the steps +of the scaffold, tasting as he mounted them the most entire +happiness that he had known since that awful day when he became a +Judas. + +The peremptory summons, once more repeated, roused him from his +meditations. He lit a candle, and without troubling to slip any +of his clothes on, he crossed the narrow ante-chamber, and opened +the door that gave on the landing. + +"In the name of the people!" + +He had expected to hear not only those words, but also the +grounding of arms and the brief command to halt. He had expected +to see before him the white facings of the uniform of the Garde de +Paris, and to feel himself roughly pushed back into his lodging +preparatory to the search being made of all his effects and the +placing of irons on his wrists. + +Instead of this, it was a quiet, dry voice that said without undue +harshness: + +"In the name of the people!" + +And instead of the uniforms, the bayonets and the scarlet caps +with tricolour cockades, he was confronted by a slight, sable-clad +figure, whose face, lit by the flickering light of the tallow +candle, looked strangely pale and earnest. + +"Citizen Chauvelin!" gasped Armand, more surprised than frightened +at this unexpected apparition. + +"Himself, citizen, at your service," replied Chauvelin with his +quiet, ironical manner. "I am the bearer of a letter for you from +Sir Percy Blakeney. Have I your permission to enter?" + +Mechanically Armand stood aside, allowing the other man to pass +in. He closed the door behind his nocturnal visitor, then, taper +in hand, he preceded him into the inner room. + +It was the same one in which a fortnight ago a fighting lion had +been brought to his knees. Now it lay wrapped in gloom, the +feeble light of the candle only lighting Armand's face and the +white frill of his shirt. The young man put the taper down on the +table and turned to his visitor. + +"Shall I light the lamp?" he asked. + +"Quite unnecessary," replied Chauvelin curtly. "I have only a +letter to deliver, and after that to ask you one brief question." + +From the pocket of his coat he drew the letter which Blakeney had +written an hour ago. + +"The prisoner wrote this in my presence," he said as he handed the +letter over to Armand. "Will you read it?" + +Armand took it from him, and sat down close to the table; leaning +forward he held the paper near the light, and began to read. He +read the letter through very slowly to the end, then once again +from the beginning. He was trying to do that which Chauvelin had +wished to do an hour ago; he was trying to find the inner meaning +which he felt must inevitably lie behind these words which Percy +had written with his own hand. + +That these bare words were but a blind to deceive the enemy Armand +never doubted for a moment. In this he was as loyal as Marguerite +would have been herself. Never for a moment did the suspicion +cross his mind that Blakeney was about to play the part of a +coward, but he, Armand, felt that as a faithful friend and follower +he ought by instinct to know exactly what his chief intended, what +he meant him to do. + +Swiftly his thoughts flew back to that other letter, the one which +Marguerite had given him--the letter full of pity and of friendship +which had brought him hope and a joy and peace which he had thought +at one time that he would never know again. And suddenly one sentence +in that letter stood out so clearly before his eyes that it blurred +the actual, tangible ones on the paper which even now rustled in his hand. + + + +But if at any time you receive another letter from me--be its +contents what they may--act in accordance with the letter, but +send a copy of it at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite. + + + +Now everything seemed at once quite clear; his duty, his next +actions, every word that he would speak to Chauvelin. Those that +Percy had written to him were already indelibly graven on his +memory. + +Chauvelin had waited with his usual patience, silent and +imperturbable, while the young man read. Now when he saw that +Armand had finished, he said quietly: + +"Just one question, citizen, and I need not detain you longer. +But first will you kindly give me back that letter? It is a +precious document which will for ever remain in the archives of +the nation." + +But even while he spoke Armand, with one of those quick intuitions +that come in moments of acute crisis, had done just that which he +felt Blakeney would wish him to do. He had held the letter close +to the candle. A corner of the thin crisp paper immediately +caught fire, and before Chauvelin could utter a word of anger, or +make a movement to prevent the conflagration, the flames had +licked up fully one half of the letter, and Armand had only just +time to throw the remainder on the floor and to stamp out the +blaze with his foot. + +"I am sorry, citizen," he said calmly; "an accident." + +"A useless act of devotion," interposed Chauvelin, who already had +smothered the oath that had risen to his lips. The Scarlet +Pimpernel's actions in the present matter will not lose their +merited publicity through the foolish destruction of this document." + +"I had no thought, citizen," retorted the young man, "of +commenting on the actions of my chief, or of trying to deny them +that publicity which you seem to desire for them almost as much as +I do." + +"More, citizen, a great deal more! The impeccable Scarlet +Pimpernel, the noble and gallant English gentleman, has agreed to +deliver into our hands the uncrowned King of France--in exchange +for his own life and freedom. Methinks that even his worst enemy +would not wish for a better ending to a career of adventure, and a +reputation for bravery unequalled in Europe. But no more of this, +time is pressing, I must help citizen Heron with his final +preparations for his journey. You, of course, citizen St. Just, +will act in accordance with Sir Percy Blakeney's wishes?" + +"Of course," replied Armand. + +"You will present yourself at the main entrance of the house of +Justice at six o'clock this morning." + +"I will not fail you." + +"A coach will be provided for you. You will follow the expedition +as hostage for the good faith of your chief." + +"I quite understand." + +"H'm! That's brave! You have no fear, citizen St. Just?" + +"Fear of what, sir? + +"You will be a hostage in our hands, citizen; your life a +guarantee that your chief has no thought of playing us false. Now +I was thinking of--of certain events--which led to the arrest of +Sir Percy Blakeney." + +"Of my treachery, you mean," rejoined the young man calmly, even +though his face had suddenly become pale as death. "Of the +damnable lie wherewith you cheated me into selling my honour, and +made me what I am--a creature scarce fit to walk upon this earth." + +"Oh!" protested Chauvelin blandly. + +"The damnable lie," continued Armand more vehemently, "that hath +made me one with Cain and the Iscariot. When you goaded me into +the hellish act, Jeanne Lange was already free." + +"Free--but not safe." + +"A lie, man! A lie! For which you are thrice accursed. Great +God, is it not you that should have cause for fear? Methinks were +I to strangle you now I should suffer less of remorse." + +"And would be rendering your ex-chief but a sorry service," +interposed Chauvelin with quiet irony. "Sir Percy Blakeney is a +dying man, citizen St. Just; he'll be a dead man at dawn if I do +not put in an appearance by six o'clock this morning. This is a +private understanding between citizen Heron and myself. We agreed +to it before I came to see you." + +"Oh, you take care of your own miserable skin well enough! But +you need not be afraid of me--I take my orders from my chief, and +he has not ordered me to kill you." + +"That was kind of him. Then we may count on you? You are not +afraid?" + +"Afraid that the Scarlet Pimpernel would leave me in the lurch +because of the immeasurable wrong I have done to him?" retorted +Armand, proud and defiant in the name of his chief. "No, sir, I +am not afraid of that; I have spent the last fortnight in praying +to God that my life might yet be given for his." + +"H'm! I think it most unlikely that your prayers will be granted, +citizen; prayers, I imagine, so very seldom are; but I don't know, +I never pray myself. In your case, now, I should say that you +have not the slightest chance of the Deity interfering in so +pleasant a manner. Even were Sir Percy Blakeney prepared to wreak +personal revenge on you, he would scarcely be so foolish as to +risk the other life which we shall also hold as hostage for his +good faith." + +"The other life?" + +"Yes. Your sister, Lady Blakeney, will also join the expedition +to-morrow. This Sir Percy does not yet know; but it will come as +a pleasant surprise for him. At the slightest suspicion of false +play on Sir Percy's part, at his slightest attempt at escape, your +life and that of your sister are forfeit; you will both be +summarily shot before his eyes. I do not think that I need be more +precise, eh, citizen St. Just?" + +The young man was quivering with passion. A terrible loathing for +himself, for his crime which had been the precursor of this +terrible situation, filled his soul to the verge of sheer physical +nausea. A red film gathered before his eyes, and through it he +saw the grinning face of the inhuman monster who had planned this +hideous, abominable thing. It seemed to him as if in the silence +and the hush of the night, above the feeble, flickering flame that +threw weird shadows around, a group of devils were surrounding +him, and were shouting, "Kill him! Kill him now! Rid the earth +of this hellish brute!" + +No doubt if Chauvelin had exhibited the slightest sign of fear, if +he had moved an inch towards the door, Armand, blind with passion, +driven to madness by agonising remorse more even than by rage, +would have sprung at his enemy's throat and crushed the life out +of him as he would out of a venomous beast. But the man's calm, +his immobility, recalled St. Just to himself. Reason, that had +almost yielded to passion again, found strength to drive the enemy +back this time, to whisper a warning, an admonition, even a +reminder. Enough harm, God knows, had been done by tempestuous +passion already. And God alone knew what terrible consequences +its triumph now might bring in its trial, and striking on Armand's +buzzing ears Chauvelin's words came back as a triumphant and +mocking echo: + +"He'll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance by +six o'clock." + +The red film lifted, the candle flickered low, the devils +vanished, only the pale face of the Terrorist gazed with gentle +irony out of the gloom. + +"I think that I need not detain you any longer, citizen, St. +Just," he said quietly; "you can get three or four hours' rest yet +before you need make a start, and I still have a great many things +to see to. I wish you good-night, citizen." + +"Good-night," murmured Armand mechanically. + +He took the candle and escorted his visitor back to the door. He +waited on the landing, taper in hand, while Chauvelin descended +the narrow, winding stairs. + +There was a light in the concierge's lodge. No doubt the woman +had struck it when the nocturnal visitor had first demanded +admittance. His name and tricolour scarf of office had ensured +him the full measure of her attention, and now she was evidently +sitting up waiting to let him out. + +St. Just, satisfied that Chauvelin had finally gone, now turned +back to his own rooms. + + + +CHAPTER XL +GOD HELP US ALL + +He carefully locked the outer door. Then he lit the lamp, for the +candle gave but a flickering light, and he had some important work +to do. + +Firstly, he picked up the charred fragment of the letter, and +smoothed it out carefully and reverently as he would a relic. +Tears had gathered in his eyes, but he was not ashamed of them, +for no one saw them; but they eased his heart, and helped to +strengthen his resolve. It was a mere fragment that had been +spared by the flame, but Armand knew every word of the letter by +heart. + +He had pen, ink and paper ready to his band, and from memory wrote +out a copy of it. To this he added a covering letter from himself +to Marguerite: + + + +This--which I had from Percy through the hands of Chauvelin--I +neither question nor understand.... He wrote the letter, and I +have no thought but to obey. In his previous letter to me he +enjoined me, if ever he wrote to me again, to obey him implicitly, +and to communicate with you. To both these commands do I submit +with a glad heart. But of this must I give you warning, little +mother--Chauvelin desires you also to accompany us to-morrow.... +Percy does not know this yet, else he would never start. But +those fiends fear that his readiness is a blind ... and that he +has some plan in his head for his own escape and the continued +safety of the Dauphin.... This plan they hope to frustrate +through holding you and me as hostages for his good faith. God +only knows how gladly I would give my life for my chief ... but +your life, dear little mother ... is sacred above all.... I think +that I do right in warning you. God help us all. + + + +Having written the letter, he sealed it, together with the copy of +Percy's letter which he had made. Then he took up the candle and +went downstairs. + +There was no longer any light in the concierge's lodge, and Armand +had some difficulty in making himself heard. At last the woman +came to the door. She was tired and cross after two interruptions +of her night's rest, but she had a partiality for her young +lodger, whose pleasant ways and easy liberality had been like a +pale ray of sunshine through the squalor of every-day misery. + +"It is a letter, citoyenne," said Armand, with earnest entreaty, +"for my sister. She lives in the Rue de Charonne, near the +fortifications, and must have it within an hour; it is a matter of +life and death to her, to me, and to another who is very dear to +us both." + +The concierge threw up her hands in horror. + +"Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications," she exclaimed, "and +within an hour! By the Holy Virgin, citizen, that is impossible. +Who will take it? There is no way." + +"A way must be found, citoyenne," said Armand firmly, "and at +once; it is not far, and there are five golden louis waiting for +the messenger!" + +Five golden louis! The poor, hardworking woman's eyes gleamed at +the thought. Five louis meant food for at least two months if one +was careful, and-- + +"Give me the letter, citizen," she said, "time to slip on a warm +petticoat and a shawl, and I'll go myself. It's not fit for the +boy to go at this hour." + +"You will bring me back a line from my sister in reply to this," +said Armand, whom circumstances had at last rendered cautious. +"Bring it up to my rooms that I may give you the five louis in +exchange." + +He waited while the woman slipped back into her room. She heard +him speaking to her boy; the same lad who a fortnight ago had +taken the treacherous letter which had lured Blakeney to the house +into the fatal ambuscade that had been prepared for him. +Everything reminded Armand of that awful night, every hour that he +had since spent in the house had been racking torture to him. Now +at last he was to leave it, and on an errand which might help to +ease the load of remorse from his heart. + +The woman was soon ready. Armand gave her final directions as to +how to find the house ; then she took the letter and promised to +be very quick, and to bring back a reply from the lady. + +Armand accompanied her to the door. The night was dark, a thin +drizzle was falling; he stood and watched until the woman's +rapidly walking figure was lost in the misty gloom. + +Then with a heavy sigh he once more went within. + + + +CHAPTER XLI +WHEN HOPE WAS DEAD + +In a small upstairs room in the Rue de Charonne, above the shop of +Lucas the old-clothes dealer, Marguerite sat with Sir Andrew +Ffoulkes. Armand's letter, with its message and its warning, lay +open on the table between them, and she had in her hand the sealed +packet which Percy had given her just ten days ago, and which she +was only to open if all hope seemed to be dead, if nothing +appeared to stand any longer between that one dear life and +irretrievable shame. + +A small lamp placed on the table threw a feeble yellow light on +the squalid, ill-furnished room, for it lacked still an hour or so +before dawn. Armand's concierge had brought her lodger's letter, +and Marguerite had quickly despatched a brief reply to him, a +reply that held love and also encouragement. + +Then she had summoned Sir Andrew. He never had a thought of +leaving her during these days of dire trouble, and he had lodged +all this while in a tiny room on the top-most floor of this house +in the Rue de Charonne. + +At her call he had come down very quickly, and now they sat +together at the table, with the oil-lamp illumining their pale, +anxious faces; she the wife and he the friend holding a +consultation together in this most miserable hour that preceded +the cold wintry dawn. + +Outside a thin, persistent rain mixed with snow pattered against +the small window panes, and an icy wind found out all the crevices +in the worm-eaten woodwork that would afford it ingress to the +room. But neither Marguerite nor Ffoulkes was conscious of the +cold. They had wrapped their cloaks round their shoulders, and +did not feel the chill currents of air that caused the lamp to +flicker and to smoke. + +"I can see now," said Marguerite in that calm voice which comes so +naturally in moments of infinite despair--"I can see now exactly +what Percy meant when he made me promise not to open this packet +until it seemed to me--to me and to you, Sir Andrew--that he was +about to play the part of a coward. A coward! Great God!" She +checked the sob that had risen to her throat, and continued in the +same calm manner and quiet, even voice: + +"You do think with me, do you not, that the time has come, and +that we must open this packet?" + +"Without a doubt, Lady Blakeney," replied Ffoulkes with equal +earnestness. "I would stake my life that already a fortnight ago +Blakeney had that same plan in his mind which he has now matured. +Escape from that awful Conciergerie prison with all the +precautions so carefully taken against it was impossible. I knew +that alas! from the first. But in the open all might yet be +different. I'll not believe it that a man like Blakeney is +destined to perish at the hands of those curs." + +She looked on her loyal friend with tear-dimmed eyes through which +shone boundless gratitude and heart-broken sorrow. + +He had spoken of a fortnight! It was ten days since she had seen +Percy. It had then seemed as if death had already marked him with +its grim sign. Since then she had tried to shut away from her +mind the terrible visions which her anguish constantly conjured up +before her of his growing weakness, of the gradual impairing of +that brilliant intellect, the gradual exhaustion of that mighty +physical strength. + +"God bless you, Sir Andrew, for your enthusiasm and for your +trust," she said with a sad little smile; "but for you I should +long ago have lost all courage, and these last ten days--what a +cycle of misery they represent--would have been maddening but for +your help and your loyalty. God knows I would have courage for +everything in life, for everything save one, but just that, his +death; that would be beyond my strength--neither reason nor body +could stand it. Therefore, I am so afraid, Sir Andrew," she added +piteously. + +"Of what, Lady Blakeney?" + +"That when he knows that I too am to go as hostage, as Armand says +in his letter, that my life is to be guarantee his, I am afraid +that he will draw back--that he will--my God!" she cried with +sudden fervour, "tell me what to do!" + +"Shall we open the packet?" asked Ffoulkes gently, "and then just +make up our minds to act exactly as Blakeney has enjoined us to +do, neither more nor less, but just word for word, deed for deed, +and I believe that that will be right--whatever may betide--in the +end." + +Once more his quiet strength, his earnestness and his faith +comforted her. She dried her eyes and broke open the seal. There +were two separate letters in the packet, one unaddressed, +obviously intended for her and Ffoulkes, the other was addressed +to M. le baron Jean de Batz, 15, Rue St. Jean de Latran a Paris. + +"A letter addressed to that awful Baron de Batz," said Marguerite, +looking with puzzled eyes on the paper as she turned it over and +over in her hand, "to that bombastic windbag! I know him and his +ways well! What can Percy have to say to him?" + +Sir Andrew too looked puzzled. But neither of them had the mind +to waste time in useless speculations. Marguerite unfolded the +letter which was intended for her, and after a final look on her +friend, whose kind face was quivering with excitement, she began +slowly to read aloud: + + + +I need not ask either of you two to trust me, knowing that you +will. But I could not die inside this hole like a rat in a +trap--I had to try and free myself, at the worst to die in the +open beneath God's sky. You two will understand, and +understanding you will trust me to the end. Send the enclosed +letter at once to its address. And you, Ffoulkes, my most sincere +and most loyal friend, I beg with all my soul to see to the safety +of Marguerite. Armand will stay by me--but you, Ffoulkes, do not +leave her, stand by her. As soon as you read this letter--and you +will not read it until both she and you have felt that hope has +fled and I myself am about to throw up the sponge--try and +persuade her to make for the coast as quickly as may be.... At +Calais you can open up communications with the Day-Dream in the +usual way, and embark on her at once. Let no member of the League +remain on French soil one hour longer after that. Then tell the +skipper to make for Le Portal--the place which he knows--and there +to keep a sharp outlook for another three nights. After that make +straight for home, for it will he no use waiting any longer. I +shall not come. These measures are for Marguerite's safety, and +for you all who are in France at this moment. Comrade, I entreat +you to look on these measures as on my dying wish. To de Batz I +have given rendezvous at the Chapelle of the Holy Sepulchre, just +outside the park of the Chateau d'Ourde. He will help me to save +the Dauphin, and if by good luck he also helps me to save myself I +shall be within seven leagues of Le Portal, and with the Liane +frozen as she is I could reach the coast. + +But Marguerite's safety I leave in your hands, Ffoulkes. Would +that I could look more clearly into the future, and know that +those devils will not drag her into danger. Beg her to start at +once for Calais immediately you have both read this. I only beg, +I do not command. I know that you, Ffoulkes, will stand by her +whatever she may wish to do. God's blessing be for ever on you +both. + + + +Marguerite's voice died away in the silence that still lay over +this deserted part of the great city and in this squalid house +where she and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had found shelter these last ten +days. The agony of mind which they had here endured, never +doubting, but scarcely ever hoping, had found its culmination at +last in this final message, which almost seemed to come to them +from the grave. + +It had been written ten days ago. A plan had then apparently +formed in Percy's mind which he had set forth during the brief +half-hour's respite which those fiends had once given him. Since +then they had never given him ten consecutive minutes' peace; +since then ten days had gone by how much power, how much vitality +had gone by too on the leaden wings of all those terrible hours +spent in solitude and in misery? + +"We can but hope, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew Ffoulkes after a +while, "that you will be allowed out of Paris; but from what +Armand says--" + +"And Percy does not actually send me away," she rejoined with a +pathetic little smile. + +"No. He cannot compel you, Lady Blakeney. You are not a member +of the League." + +"Oh, yes, I am!" she retorted firmly; "and I have sworn obedience, +just as all of you have done. I will go, just as he bids me. and +you, Sir Andrew, you will obey him too?" + +"My orders are to stand by you. That is an easy task." + +"You know where this place is?" she asked--"the Chateau d'Ourde?" + +"Oh, yes, we all know it! It is empty, and the park is a wreck; +the owner fled from it at the very outbreak of the revolution; he +left some kind of steward nominally in charge, a curious creature, +half imbecile; the chateau and the chapel in the forest just +outside the grounds have oft served Blakeney and all of us as a +place of refuge on our way to the coast." + +"But the Dauphin is not there?" she said. + +"No. According to the first letter which you brought me from +Blakeney ten days ago, and on which I acted, Tony, who has charge +of the Dauphin, must have crossed into Holland with his little +Majesty to-day." + +"I understand," she said simply. "But then--this letter to de +Batz?" + +"Ah, there I am completely at sea! But I'll deliver it, and at +once too, only I don't like to leave you. Will you let me get you +out of Paris first? I think just before dawn it could be done. +We can get the cart from Lucas, and if we could reach St. Germain +before noon, I could come straight back then and deliver the +letter to de Batz. This, I feel, I ought to do myself; hut at +Achard's farm I would know that you were safe for a few hours." + +"I will do whatever you think right, Sir Andrew," she said simply; +"my will is bound up with Percy's dying wish. God knows I would +rather follow him now, step by step,--as hostage, as prisoner--any +way so long as I can see him, but--" + +She rose and turned to go, almost impassive now in that great calm +born of despair. + +A stranger seeing her now had thought her indifferent. She was +very pale, and deep circles round her eyes told of sleepless +nights and days of mental misery, but otherwise there was not the +faintest outward symptom of that terrible anguish which was +rending her heartstrings. Her lips did not quiver, and the source +of her tears had been dried up ten days ago. + +"Ten minutes and I'll be ready, Sir Andrew," she said. "I have +but few belongings. Will you the while see Lucas about the cart?" + +He did as she desired. Her calm in no way deceived him; he knew +that she must be suffering keenly, and would suffer more keenly +still while she would be trying to efface her own personal +feelings all through that coming dreary journey to Calais. + +He went to see the landlord about the horse and cart, and a +quarter of an hour later Marguerite came downstairs ready to +start. She found Sir Andrew in close converse with an officer of +the Garde de Paris, whilst two soldiers of the same regiment were +standing at the horse's head. + +When she appeared in the doorway Sir Andrew came at once up to her. + +"It is just as I feared, Lady Blakeney," he said; "this man has +been sent here to take charge of you. Of course, he knows nothing +beyond the fact that his orders are to convey you at once to the +guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne, where he is to hand you over to +citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety." + +Sir Andrew could not fail to see the look of intense relief which, +in the midst of all her sorrow, seemed suddenly to have lighted up +the whole of Marguerite's wan face. The thought of wending her own +way to safety whilst Percy, mayhap, was fighting an uneven fight +with death had been well-nigh intolerable; but she had been ready +to okey without a murmur. Now Fate and the enemy himself had +decided otherwise. She felt as if a load had been lifted from her +heart. + +"I will at once go and find de Batz," Sir Andrew contrived to +whisper hurriedly. "As soon as Percy's letter is safely in his +hands I will make my way northwards and communicate with all the +members of the League, on whom the chief has so strictly enjoined +to quit French soil immediately. We will proceed to Calais first +and open up communication with the Day-Dream in the usual way. +The others had best embark on board her, and the skipper shall +then make for the known spot of Le Portel, of which Percy speaks +in his letter. I myself will go by land to Le Portel, and thence, +if I have no news of you or of the expedition, I will slowly work +southwards in the direction of the Chateau d'Ourde. That is all +that I can do. If you can contrive to let Percy or even Armand +know my movements, do so by all means. I know that I shall be +doing right, for, in a way, I shall be watching over you and +arranging for your safety, as Blakeney begged me to do. God bless +you, Lady Blakeney, and God save the Scarlet Pimpernel!" + +He stooped and kissed her hand, and she intimated to the officer +that she was ready. He had a hackney coach waiting for her lower +down the street. To it she walked with a firm step, and as she +entered it she waved a last farewell to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. + + + +CHAPTER XLII +THE GUARD-HOUSE OF THE RUE STE. ANNE + +The little cortege was turning out of the great gates of the house +of Justice. It was intensely cold; a bitter north-easterly gale +was blowing from across the heights of Montmartre, driving sleet +and snow and half-frozen rain into the faces of the men, and +finding its way up their sleeves, down their collars and round the +knees of their threadbare breeches. + +Armand, whose fingers were numb with the cold, could scarcely feel +the reins in his hands. Chauvelin was riding dose beside him, but +the two men had not exchanged one word since the moment when the +small troop of some twenty mounted soldiers had filed up inside +the courtyard, and Chauvelin, with a curt word of command, had +ordered one of the troopers to take Armand's horse on the lead. + +A hackney coach brought up the rear of the cortege, with a man +riding at either door and two more following at a distance of +twenty paces. Heron's gaunt, ugly face, crowned with a battered, +sugar-loaf hat, appeared from time to time at the window of the +coach. He was no horseman, and, moreover, preferred to keep the +prisoner closely under his own eye. The corporal had told Armand +that the prisoner was with citizen Heron inside the coach--in +irons. Beyond that the soldiers could tell him nothing; they knew +nothing of the object of this expedition. Vaguely they might have +wondered in their dull minds why this particular prisoner was thus +being escorted out of the Conciergerie prison with so much +paraphernalia and such an air of mystery, when there were +thousands of prisoners in the city and the provinces at the +present moment who anon would be bundled up wholesale into carts +to be dragged to the guillotine like a flock of sheep to the +butchers. + +But even if they wondered they made no remarks among themselves. +Their faces, blue with the cold, were the perfect mirrors of their +own unconquerable stolidity. + +The tower clock of Notre Dame struck seven when the small +cavalcade finally moved slowly out of the monumental gates. In +the east the wan light of a February morning slowly struggled out +of the surrounding gloom. Now the towers of many churches loomed +ghostlike against the dull grey sky, and down below, on the right, +the frozen river, like a smooth sheet of steel, wound its graceful +curves round the islands and past the facade of the Louvres +palace, whose walls looked grim and silent, like the mausoleum of +the dead giants of the past. + +All around the great city gave signs of awakening; the business of +the day renewed its course every twenty-four hours, despite the +tragedies of death and of dishonour that walked with it hand in +hand. From the Place de La Revolution the intermittent roll of +drums came from time to time with its muffled sound striking the +ear of the passer-by. Along the quay opposite an open-air camp was +already astir; men, women, and children engaged in the great task +of clothing and feeding the people of France, armed against +tyranny, were bending to their task, even before the wintry dawn +had spread its pale grey tints over the narrower streets of the +city. + +Armand shivered under his cloak. This silent ride beneath the +laden sky, through the veil of half-frozen rain and snow, seemed +like a dream to him. And now, as the outriders of the little +cavalcade turned to cross the Pont au Change, he saw spread out on +his left what appeared like the living panorama of these three +weeks that had just gone by. He could see the house of the Rue +St. Germain l'Auxerrois where Percy had lodged before he carried +through the rescue of the little Dauphin. Armand could even see +the window at which the dreamer had stood, weaving noble dreams +that his brilliant daring had turned into realities, until the +hand of a traitor had brought him down to--to what? Armand would +not have dared at this moment to look back at that hideous, vulgar +hackney coach wherein that proud, reckless adventurer, who had +defied Fate and mocked Death, sat, in chains, beside a loathsome +creature whose very propinquity was an outrage. + +Now they were passing under the very house on the Quai de La +Ferraille, above the saddler's shop, the house where Marguerite +had lodged ten days ago, whither Armand had come, trying to fool +himself into the belief that the love of "little mother" could be +deceived into blindness against his own crime. He had tried to +draw a veil before those eyes which he had scarcely dared +encounter, but he knew that that veil must lift one day, and then +a curse would send him forth, outlawed and homeless, a wanderer on +the face of the earth. + +Soon as the little cortege wended its way northwards it filed out +beneath the walls of the Temple prison; there was the main gate +with its sentry standing at attention, there the archway with the +guichet of the concierge, and beyond it the paved courtyard. +Armand closed his eyes deliberately; he could not bear to look. + +No wonder that he shivered and tried to draw his cloak closer +around him. Every stone, every street corner was full of +memories. The chill that struck to the very marrow of his bones +came from no outward cause; it was the very hand of remorse that, +as it passed over him, froze the blood in his veins and made the +rattle of those wheels behind him sound like a hellish knell. + +At last the more closely populated quarters of the city were left +behind. On ahead the first section of the guard had turned into +the Rue St. Anne. The houses became more sparse, intersected by +narrow pieces of terrains vagues, or small weed-covered bits of +kitchen garden. + +Then a halt was called. + +It was quite light now. As light as it would ever be beneath this +leaden sky. Rain and snow still fell in gusts, driven by the +blast. + +Some one ordered Armand to dismount. It was probably Chauvelin. +He did as he was told, and a trooper led him to the door of an +irregular brick building that stood isolated on the right, +extended on either side by a low wall, and surrounded by a patch +of uncultivated land, which now looked like a sea of mud. + +On ahead was the line of fortifications dimly outlined against the +grey of the sky, and in between brown, sodden earth, with here and +there a detached house, a cabbage patch, a couple of windmills +deserted and desolate. + +The loneliness of an unpopulated outlying quarter of the great +mother city, a useless limb of her active body, an ostracised +member of her vast family. + +Mechanically Armand had followed the soldier to the door of the +building. Here Chauvelin was standing, and bade him follow. A +smell of hot coffee hung in the dark narrow passage in front. +Chauvelin led the way to a room on the left. + +Still that smell of hot coffee. Ever after it was associated in +Armand's mind with this awful morning in the guard-house of the +Rue Ste. Anne, when the rain and snow beat against the windows, +and he stood there in the low guard-room shivering and half-numbed +with cold. + +There was a table in the middle of the room, and on it stood cups +of hot coffee. Chauvelin bade him drink, suggesting, not +unkindly, that the warm beverage would do him good. Armand +advanced further into the room, and saw that there were wooden +benches all round against the wall. On one of these sat his +sister Marguerite. + +When she saw him she made a sudden, instinctive movement to go to +him, but Chauvelin interposed in his usual bland, quiet manner. + +"Not just now, citizeness," he said. + +She sat down again, and Armand noted how cold and stony seemed her +eyes, as if life within her was at a stand-still, and a shadow +that was almost like death had atrophied every emotion in her. + +"I trust you have not suffered too much from the cold, Lady +Blakeney," resumed Chauvelin politely; "we ought not to have kept +you waiting here for so long, but delay at departure is sometimes +inevitable." + +She made no reply, only acknowledging his reiterated inquiry as to +her comfort with an inclination of the head. + +Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the +moment he felt less chilled. He held the cup between his two +hands, and gradually some warmth crept into his bones. + +"Little mother," he said in English, "try and drink some of this, +it will do you good." + +"Thank you, dear," she replied. "I have had some. I am not +cold." + +Then a door at the end of the room was pushed open, and Heron +stalked in. + +"Are we going to be all day in this confounded hole?" he queried +roughly. + +Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she +started at the sight of the wretch, and seemed immediately to +shrink still further within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly +luminous and dilated, rested on him like those of a captive bird +upon an approaching cobra. + +But Chauvelin was not to be shaken out of his suave manner. + +"One moment, citizen Heron," he said; "this coffee is very +comforting. Is the prisoner with you?" he added lightly. + +Heron nodded in the direction of the other room. + +"In there," he said curtly. + +"Then, perhaps, if you will be so good, citizen, to invite him +thither, I could explain to him his future position and our own." + +Heron muttered something between his fleshy lips, then he turned +back towards the open door, solemnly spat twice on the threshold, +and nodded his gaunt head once or twice in a manner which +apparently was understood from within. + +"No, sergeant, I don't want you," he said gruffly; "only the +prisoner." + +A second or two later Sir Percy Blakeney stood in the doorway; his +hands were behind his back, obviously hand-cuffed, but he held +himself very erect, though it was clear that this caused him a +mighty effort. As soon as he had crossed the threshold his quick +glance had swept right round the room. + +He saw Armand, and his eyes lit up almost imperceptibly. + +Then he caught sight of Marguerite, and his pale face took on +suddenly a more ashen hue. + +Chauvelin was watching him with those keen, light-coloured eyes of +his. Blakeney, conscious of this, made no movement, only his lips +tightened, and the heavy lids fell over the hollow eyes, +completely hiding their glance. + +But what even the most astute, most deadly enemy could not see was +that subtle message of understanding that passed at once between +Marguerite and the man she loved; it was a magnetic current, +intangible, invisible to all save to her and to him. She was +prepared to see him, prepared to see in him all that she had +feared; the weakness, the mental exhaustion, the submission to the +inevitable. Therefore she had also schooled her glance to express +to him all that she knew she would not be allowed to say--the +reassurance that she had read his last letter, that she had obeyed +it to the last word, save where Fate and her enemy had interfered +with regard to herself. + +With a slight, imperceptible movement--imperceptible to every one +save to him, she had seemed to handle a piece of paper in her +kerchief, then she had nodded slowly, with her eyes--steadfast, +reassuring--fixed upon him, and his glance gave answer that he had +understood. + +But Chauvelin and Heron had seen nothing of this. They were +satisfied that there had been no communication between the +prisoner and his wife and friend. + +"You are no doubt surprised, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin after a +while, "to see Lady Blakeney here. She, as well as citizen St. +Just, will accompany our expedition to the place where you will +lead us. We none of us know where that place is--citizen Heron +and myself are entirely in your hands--you might be leading us to +certain death, or again to a spot where your own escape would be +an easy matter to yourself. You will not be surprised, therefore, +that we have thought fit to take certain precautions both against +any little ambuscade which you may have prepared for us, or +against your making one of those daring attempts at escape for +which the noted Scarlet Pimpernel is so justly famous." + +He paused, and only Heron's low chuckle of satisfaction broke the +momentary silence that followed. Blakeney made no reply. +Obviously he knew exactly what was coming. He knew Chauvelin and +his ways, knew the kind of tortuous conception that would find +origin in his brain; the moment that he saw Marguerite sitting +there he must have guessed that Chauvelin once more desired to put +her precious life in the balance of his intrigues. + +"Citizen Heron is impatient, Sir Percy," resumed Chauvelin after a +while, "so I must be brief. Lady Blakeney, as well as citizen St. +Just, will accompany us on this expedition to whithersoever you +may lead us. They will be the hostages which we will hold against +your own good faith. At the slightest suspicion--a mere suspicion +perhaps--that you have played us false, at a hint that you have +led us into an ambush, or that the whole of this expedition has +been but a trick on your part to effect your own escape, or if +merely our hope of finding Capet at the end of our journey is +frustrated, the lives of our two hostages belong to us, and your +friend and your wife will be summarily shot before your eyes." + +Outside the rain pattered against the window-panes, the gale +whistled mournfully among the stunted trees, but within this room +not a sound stirred the deadly stillness of the air, and yet at +this moment hatred and love, savage lust and sublime +self-abnegation--the most power full passions the heart of man can +know--held three men here enchained; each a slave to his dominant +passion, each ready to stake his all for the satisfaction of his +master. Heron was the first to speak. + +"Well!" he said with a fierce oath, "what are we waiting for? The +prisoner knows how he stands. Now we can go." + +"One moment, citizen," interposed Chauvelin, his quiet manner +contrasting strangely with his colleague's savage mood. "You have +quite understood, Sir Percy," he continued, directly addressing +the prisoner, "the conditions under which we are all of us about +to proceed on this journey?" + +"All of us?" said Blakeney slowly. "Are you taking it for granted +then that I accept your conditions and that I am prepared to +proceed on the journey?" + +"If you do not proceed on the journey," cried Heron with savage +fury, "I'll strangle that woman with my own hands--now!" + +Blakeney looked at him for a moment or two through half-closed +lids, and it seemed then to those who knew him well, to those who +loved him and to the man who hated him, that the mighty sinews +almost cracked with the passionate desire to kill. Then the +sunken eyes turned slowly to Marguerite, and she alone caught the +look--it was a mere flash, of a humble appeal for pardon. + +It was all over in a second; almost immediately the tension on the +pale face relaxed, and into the eyes there came that look of +acceptance--nearly akin to fatalism--an acceptance of which the +strong alone are capable, for with them it only comes in the face +of the inevitable. + +Now he shrugged his broad shoulders, and once more turning to +Heron he said quietly: + +"You leave me no option in that case. As you have remarked +before, citizen Heron, why should we wait any longer? Surely we +can now go." + + + +CHAPTER XLIII +THE DREARY JOURNEY + +Rain! Rain! Rain! Incessant, monotonous and dreary! The wind +had changed round to the southwest. It blew now in great gusts +that sent weird, sighing sounds through the trees, and drove the +heavy showers into the faces of the men as they rode on, with +heads bent forward against the gale. + +The rain-sodden bridles slipped through their hands, bringing out +sores and blisters on their palms; the horses were fidgety, +tossing their heads with wearying persistence as the wet trickled +into their ears, or the sharp, intermittent hailstones struck +their sensitive noses. + +Three days of this awful monotony, varied only by the halts at +wayside inns, the changing of troops at one of the guard-houses on +the way, the reiterated commands given to the fresh squad before +starting on the next lap of this strange, momentous way; and all +the while, audible above the clatter of horses' hoofs, the +rumbling of coach-wheels--two closed carriages, each drawn by a +pair of sturdy horses; which were changed at every halt. A soldier +on each box urged them to a good pace to keep up with the +troopers, who were allowed to go at an easy canter or light +jog-trot, whatever might prove easiest and least fatiguing. And +from time to time Heron's shaggy, gaunt head would appear at the +window of one of the coaches, asking the way, the distance to the +next city or to the nearest wayside inn; cursing the troopers, the +coachman, his colleague and every one concerned, blaspheming +against the interminable length of the road, against the cold and +against the wet. + +Early in the evening on the second day of the journey he had met +with an accident. The prisoner, who presumably was weak and +weary, and not over steady on his feet, had fallen up against him +as they were both about to re-enter the coach after a halt just +outside Amiens, and citizen Heron had lost his footing in the +slippery mud of the road. head came in violent contact with the +step, and his right temple was severely cut. Since then he had +been forced to wear a bandage across the top of his face, under +his sugar-loaf hat, which had added nothing to his beauty, but a +great deal to the violence of his temper. He wanted to push the +men on, to force the pace, to shorten the halts; but Chauvelin +knew better than to allow slackness and discontent to follow in +the wake of over-fatigue. + +The soldiers were always well rested and well fed, and though the +delay caused by long and frequent halts must have been just as +irksome to him as it was to Heron, yet he bore it imperturbably, +for he would have had no use on this momentous journey for a +handful of men whose enthusiasm and spirit had been blown away by +the roughness of the gale, or drowned in the fury of the constant +downpour of rain. + +Of all this Marguerite had been conscious in a vague, dreamy kind +of way. She seemed to herself like the spectator in a moving +panoramic drama, unable to raise a finger or to do aught to stop +that final, inevitable ending, the cataclysm of sorrow and misery +that awaited her, when the dreary curtain would fall on the last +act, and she and all the other spectators--Armand, Chauvelin, +Heron, the Soldiers--would slowly wend their way home, leaving the +principal actor behind the fallen curtain, which never would be +lifted again. + +After that first halt in the guard-room of the Rue Ste. Anne she +had been bidden to enter a second hackney coach, which, followed +the other at a distance of fifty metres or so, and was, like that +other, closely surrounded by a squad of mounted men. + +Armand and Chauvelin rode in this carriage with her; all day she +sat looking out on the endless monotony of the road, on the drops +of rain that pattered against the window-glass, and ran down from +it like a perpetual stream of tears. + +There were two halts called during the day--one for dinner and one +midway through the afternoon--when she and Armand would step out +of the coach and be led--always with soldiers close around +them--to some wayside inn, where some sort of a meal was served, +where the atmosphere was close and stuffy and smelt of onion soup +and of stale cheese. + +Armand and Marguerite would in most cases have a room to +themselves, with sentinels posted outside the door, and they would +try and eat enough to keep body and soul together, for they would +not allow their strength to fall away before the end of the +journey was reached. + +For the night halt--once at Beauvais and the second night at +Abbeville--they were escorted to a house in the interior of the +city, where they were accommodated with moderately clean lodgings. +Sentinels, however, were always at their doors; they were +prisoners in all but name, and had little or no privacy; for at +night they were both so tired that they were glad to retire +immediately, and to lie down on the hard beds that had been +provided for them, even if sleep fled from their eyes, and their +hearts and souls were flying through the city in search of him who +filled their every thought. + +Of Percy they saw little or nothing. In the daytime food was +evidently brought to him in the carriage, for they did not see him +get down, and on those two nights at Beauvais and Abbeville, when +they caught sight of him stepping out of the coach outside the +gates of the barracks, he was so surrounded by soldiers that they +only saw the top of his head and his broad shoulders towering +above those of the men. + +Once Marguerite had put all her pride, all her dignity by, and +asked citizen Chauvelin for news of her husband. + +"He is well and cheerful, Lady Blakeney," he had replied with his +sarcastic smile. "Ah!" he added pleasantly, "those English are +remarkable people. We, of Gallic breed, will never really +understand them. Their fatalism is quite Oriental in its quiet +resignation to the decree of Fate. Did you know, Lady Blakeney, +that when Sir Percy was arrested he did not raise a hand. I +thought, and so did my colleague, that he would have fought like a +lion. And now, that he has no doubt realised that quiet submission +will serve him best in the end, he is as calm on this journey as I +am myself. In fact," he concluded complacently, "whenever I have +succeeded in peeping into the coach I have invariably found Sir +Percy Blakeney fast asleep." + +He--" she murmured, for it was so difficult to speak to this +callous wretch, who was obviously mocking her in her misery-- +"he--you--you are not keeping him in irons?" + +"No! Oh no!" replied Chauvelin with perfect urbanity. "You see, +now that we have you, Lady Blakeney, and citizen St. Just with us +we have no reason to fear that that elusive Pimpernel will spirit +himself away." + +A hot retort had risen to Armand's lips. The warm Latin blood in +him rebelled against this intolerable situation, the man's sneers +in the face of Marguerite's anguish. But her restraining, gentle +hand had already pressed his. What was the use of protesting, of +insulting this brute, who cared nothing for the misery which he +had caused so long as he gained his own ends? + +And Armand held his tongue and tried to curb his temper, tried to +cultivate a little of that fatalism which Chauvelin had said was +characteristic of the English. He sat beside his sister, longing +to comfort her, yet feeling that his very presence near her was an +outrage and a sacrilege. She spoke so seldom to him, even when +they were alone, that at times the awful thought which had more +than once found birth in his weary brain became crystallised and +more real. Did Marguerite guess? Had she the slightest suspicion +that the awful cataclysm to which they were tending with every +revolution of the creaking coach-wheels had been brought about by +her brother's treacherous hand? + +And when that thought had lodged itself quite snugly in his mind +he began to wonder whether it would not be far more simple, far +more easy, to end his miserable life in some manner that might +suggest itself on the way. When the coach crossed one of those +dilapidated, parapetless bridges, over abysses fifty metres deep, +it might be so easy to throw open the carriage door and to take +one final jump into eternity. + +So easy--but so damnably cowardly. + +Marguerite's near presence quickly brought him back to himself. +His life was no longer his own to do with as he pleased; it +belonged to the chief whom he had betrayed, to the sister whom he +must endeavour to protect. + +Of Jeanne now he thought but little. He had put even the memory +of her by--tenderly, like a sprig of lavender pressed between the +faded leaves of his own happiness. His hand was no longer fit to +hold that of any pure woman--his hand had on it a deep stain, +immutable, like the brand of Cain. + +Yet Marguerite beside him held his hand and together they looked +out on that dreary, dreary road and listened to of the patter of +the rain and the rumbling of the wheels of that other coach on +ahead--and it was all so dismal and so horrible, the rain, the +soughing of the wind in the stunted trees, this landscape of mud +and desolation, this eternally grey sky. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV +THE HALT AT CRECY + +"Now, then, citizen, don't go to sleep; this is Crecy, our last +halt!" + +Armand woke up from his last dream. They had been moving steadily +on since they left Abbeville soon after dawn; the rumble of the +wheels, the swaying and rocking of the carriage, the interminable +patter of the rain had lulled him into a kind of wakeful sleep. + +Chauvelin had already alighted from the coach. He was helping +Marguerite to descend. Armand shook the stiffness from his limbs +and followed in the wake of his sister. Always those miserable +soldiers round them, with their dank coats of rough blue cloth, +and the red caps on their heads! Armand pulled Marguerite's hand +through his arm, and dragged her with him into the house. + +The small city lay damp and grey before them; the rough pavement +of the narrow street glistened with the wet, reflecting the dull, +leaden sky overhead; the rain beat into the puddles; the +slate-roofs shone in the cold wintry light. + +This was Crecy! The last halt of the journey, so Chauvelin had +said. The party had drawn rein in front of a small one-storied +building that had a wooden verandah running the whole length of +its front. + +The usual low narrow room greeted Armand and Marguerite as they +entered; the usual mildewed walls, with the colour wash flowing +away in streaks from the unsympathetic beam above; the same +device, "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite!" scribbled in charcoal +above the black iron stove; the usual musty, close atmosphere, the +usual smell of onion and stale cheese, the usual hard straight +benches and central table with its soiled and tattered cloth. + +Marguerite seemed dazed and giddy; she had been five hours in that +stuffy coach with nothing to distract her thoughts except the +rain-sodden landscape, on which she had ceaselessly gazed since +the early dawn. + +Armand led her to the bench, and she sank down on it, numb and +inert, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. + +"If it were only all over!" she sighed involuntarily. Armand, at +times now I feel as if I were not really sane--as if my reason had +already given way! Tell me, do I seem mad to you at times?" + +He sat down beside her and tried to chafe her little cold hands. + +There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for permission +Chauvelin entered the room. + +"My humble apologies to you, Lady Blakeney," he said in his usual +suave manner, "but our worthy host informs me that this is the +only room in which he can serve a meal. Therefore I am forced to +intrude my presence upon you." + +Though he spoke with outward politeness, his tone had become more +peremptory, less bland, and he did not await Marguerite's reply +before he sat down opposite to her and continued to talk airily. + +"An ill-conditioned fellow, our host," he said--"quite reminds me +of our friend Brogard at the Chat Gris in Calais. You remember +him, Lady Blakeney?" + +"My sister is giddy and over-tired," interposed Armand firmly. "I +pray you, citizen, to have some regard for her." + +"All regard in the world, citizen St. Just," protested Chauvelin +jovially. "Methought that those pleasant reminiscences would +cheer her. Ah! here comes the soup," he added, as a man in blue +blouse and breeches, with sabots on his feet, slouched into the +room, carrying a tureen which he incontinently placed upon the +table. "I feel sure that in England Lady Blakeney misses our +excellent croutes-au-pot, the glory of our bourgeois cookery--Lady +Blakeney, a little soup?" + +"I thank you, sir," she murmured. + +"Do try and eat something, little mother," Armand whispered in her +ear; "try and keep up your strength for his sake, if not for +mine." + +She turned a wan, pale face to him, and tried to smile. + +"I'll try, dear," she said. + +"You have taken bread and meat to the citizens in the coach?" +Chauvelin called out to the retreating figure of mine host. + +"H'm!" grunted the latter in assent. + +"And see that the citizen soldiers are well fed, or there will be +trouble." + +"H'm!" grunted the man again. After which he banged the door to +behind him. + +"Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight," +explained Chauvelin lightly, "now that we have reached the last, +most important stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy's +mid-day meal in the interior of the coach." + +He ate his soup with a relish, ostentatiously paying many small +attentions to Marguerite all the time. He ordered meat for +her--bread, butter--asked if any dainties could be got. He was +apparently in the best of tempers. + +After he had eaten and drunk he rose and bowed ceremoniously to +her. + +"Your pardon, Lady Blakeney," he said, "but I must confer with the +prisoner now, and take from him full directions for the +continuance of our journey. After that I go to the guard-house, +which is some distance from here, right at the other end of the +city. We pick up a fresh squad here, twenty hardened troopers +from a cavalry regiment usually stationed at Abbeville. They have +had work to do in this town, which is a hot-bed of treachery. I +must go inspect the men and the sergeant who will be in command. +Citizen Heron leaves all these inspections to me; he likes to stay +by his prisoner. In the meanwhile you will be escorted back to +your coach, where I pray you to await my arrival, when we change +guard first, then proceed on our way." + +Marguerite was longing to ask him many questions; once again she +would have smothered her pride and begged for news of her husband, +but Chauvelin did not wait. He hurried out of the room, and +Armand and Marguerite could hear him ordering the soldiers to take +them forthwith back to the coach. + +As they came out of the inn they saw the other coach some fifty +metres further up the street. The horses that had done duty since +leaving Abbeville had been taken out, and two soldiers in ragged +shirts, and with crimson caps set jauntily over their left ear, +were leading the two fresh horses along. The troopers were still +mounting guard round both the coaches; they would be relieved +presently. + +Marguerite would have given ten years of her life at this moment +for the privilege of speaking to her husband, or even of seeing +him--of seeing that he was well. A quick, wild plan sprang up in +her mind that she would bribe the sergeant in command to grant her +wish while citizen Chauvelin was absent. The man had not an +unkind face, and he must be very poor--people in France were very +poor these days, though the rich had been robbed and luxurious +homes devastated ostensibly to help the poor. + +She was about to put this sudden thought into execution when +Heron's hideous face, doubly hideous now with that bandage of +doubtful cleanliness cutting across his brow, appeared at the +carriage window. + +He cursed violently and at the top of his voice. + +"What are those d--d aristos doing out there?" he shouted. + +"Just getting into the coach, citizen," replied the sergeant +promptly. + +And Armand and Marguerite were immediately ordered back into the +coach. + +Heron remained at the window for a few moments longer; he bad a +toothpick in his hand which he was using very freely. + +"How much longer are we going to wait in this cursed hole?" he +called out to the sergeant. + +"Only a few moments longer, citizen. Citizen Chauvelin will be +back soon with the guard." + +A quarter of an hour later the clatter of cavalry horses on the +rough, uneven pavement drew Marguerite's attention. She lowered +the carriage window and looked out. Chauvelin had just returned +with the new escort. He was on horseback; his horse's bridle, +since he was but an indifferent horseman, was held by one of the +troopers. + +Outside the inn he dismounted; evidently he had taken full command +of the expedition, and scarcely referred to Heron, who spent most +of his time cursing at the men or the weather when he was not +lying half-asleep and partially drunk in the inside of the +carriage. + +The changing of the guard was now accomplished quietly and in +perfect order. The new escort consisted of twenty mounted men, +including a sergeant and a corporal, and of two drivers, one for +each coach. The cortege now was filed up in marching order; ahead +a small party of scouts, then the coach with Marguerite and Armand +closely surrounded by mounted men, and at a short distance the +second coach with citizen Heron and the prisoner equally well +guarded. + +Chauvelin superintended all the arrangements himself. He spoke for +some few moments with the sergeant, also with the driver of his +own coach. He went to the window of the other carriage, probably +in order to consult with citizen Heron, or to take final +directions from the prisoner, for Marguerite, who was watching +him, saw him standing on the step and leaning well forward into +the interior, whilst apparently he was taking notes on a small +tablet which he had in his hand. + +A small knot of idlers had congregated in the narrow street; men +in blouses and boys in ragged breeches lounged against the +verandah of the inn and gazed with inexpressive, stolid eyes on +the soldiers, the coaches, the citizen who wore the tricolour +scarf. They had seen this sort of thing before now--aristos being +conveyed to Paris under arrest, prisoners on their way to or from +Amiens. They saw Marguerite's pale face at the carriage window. +It was not the first woman's face they had seen under like +circumstances, and there was no special interest about this +aristo. They were smoking or spitting, or just lounging idly +against the balustrade. Marguerite wondered if none of them had +wife, sister, or mother, or child; if every sympathy, every kind +of feeling in these poor wretches had been atrophied by misery or +by fear. + +At last everything was in order and the small party ready to +start. + +"Does any one here know the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, close by +the park of the Chateau d'Ourde?" asked Chauvelin, vaguely +addressing the knot of gaffers that stood closest to him. + +The men shook their heads. Some had dimly heard of the Chateau +d'Ourde; it was some way in the interior of the forest of +Boulogne, but no one knew about a chapel; people did not trouble +about chapels nowadays. With the indifference so peculiar to +local peasantry, these men knew no more of the surrounding country +than the twelve or fifteen league circle that was within a walk of +their sleepy little town. + +One of the scouts on ahead turned in his saddle and spoke to +citizen Chauvelin: + +"I think I know the way pretty well; citizen Chauvelin," he said; +"at any rate, I know it as far as the forest of Boulogne." + +Chauvelin referred to his tablets. + +"That's good," he said; "then when you reach the mile-stone that +stands on this road at the confine of the forest, bear sharply to +your right and skirt the wood until you see the hamlet of--Le-- +something. Le--Le--yes--Le Crocq--that's it in the valley below." + +"I know Le Crocq, I think," said the trooper. + +"Very well, then; at that point it seems that a wide road strikes +at right angles into the interior of the forest; you follow that +until a stone chapel with a colonnaded porch stands before you on +your left, and the walls and gates of a park on your right. That +is so, is it not, Sir Percy?" he added, once more turning towards +the interior of the coach. + +Apparently the answer satisfied him, for he gave the quick word of +command, "En avant!" then turned back towards his own coach and +finally entered it. + +"Do you know the Chateau d'Ourde, citizen St. Just?" he asked +abruptly as soon as the carriage began to move. + +Armand woke--as was habitual with him these days--from some gloomy +reverie. + +"Yes, citizen," he replied. "I know it." + +"And the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre?" + +"Yes. I know it too." + +Indeed, he knew the chateau well, and the little chapel in the +forest, whither the fisher-folk from Portel and Boulogne came on a +pilgrimage once a year to lay their nets on the miracle-working +relic. The chapel was disused now. Since the owner of the +chateau had fled no one had tended it, and the fisher-folk were +afraid to wander out, lest their superstitious faith be counted +against them by the authorities, who had abolished le bon Dieu. + +But Armand had found refuge there eighteen months ago, on his way +to Calais, when Percy had risked his life in order to save +hi--Armand--from death. He could have groaned aloud with the +anguish of this recollection. But Marguerite's aching nerves had +thrilled at the name. + +The Chateau d'Ourde! The Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre! That was +the place which Percy had mentioned in his letter, the place where +he had given rendezvous to de Batz. Sir Andrew had said that the +Dauphin could not possibly be there, yet Percy was leading his +enemies thither, and had given the rendezvous there to de Batz. +And this despite that whatever plans, whatever hopes, had been +born in his mind when he was still immured in the Conciergerie +prison must have been set at naught by the clever counter plot of +Chauvelin and Heron. + +"At the merest suspicion that you have played us false, at a hint +that you have led us into an ambush, or if merely our hopes of +finding Capet at the end of the journey are frustrated, the lives +of your wife and of your friend are forfeit to us, and they will +both be shot before your eyes." + +With these words, with this precaution, those cunning fiends had +effectually not only tied the schemer's hands, but forced him +either to deliver the child to them or to sacrifice his wife and +his friend. + +The impasse was so horrible that she could not face it even in her +thoughts. A strange, fever-like heat coursed through her veins, +yet left her hands icy-cold; she longed for, yet dreaded, the end +of the journey--that awful grappling with the certainty of coming +death. Perhaps, after all, Percy, too, had given up all hope. +Long ago he had consecrated his life to the attainment of his own +ideals; and there was a vein of fatalism in him; perhaps he had +resigned himself to the inevitable, and his only desire now was to +give up his life, as he had said, in the open, beneath God's sky, +to draw his last breath with the storm-clouds tossed through +infinity above him, and the murmur of the wind in the trees to +sing him to rest. + +Crecy was gradually fading into the distance, wrapped in a mantle +of damp and mist. For a long while Marguerite could see the sloping +slate roofs glimmering like steel in the grey afternoon light, and +the quaint church tower with its beautiful lantern, through the +pierced stonework of which shone patches of the leaden sky. + +Then a sudden twist of the road hid the city from view; only the +outlying churchyard remained in sight, with its white monuments +and granite crosses, over which the dark yews, wet with the rain +and shaken by the gale, sent showers of diamond-like sprays. + + + +CHAPTER XLV +THE FOREST OF BOULOGNE + +Progress was not easy, and very slow along the muddy road; the two +coaches moved along laboriously, with wheels creaking and sinking +deeply from time to time in the quagmire. + +When the small party finally reached the edge of the wood the +greyish light of this dismal day had changed in the west to a dull +reddish glow--a glow that had neither brilliance nor incandescence +in it; only a weird tint that hung over the horizon and turned the +distance into lines of purple. + +The nearness of the sea made itself already felt; there was a +briny taste in the damp atmosphere, and the trees all turned their +branches away in the same direction against the onslaught of the +prevailing winds. + +The road at this point formed a sharp fork, skirting the wood on +either side, the forest lying like a black close mass of spruce +and firs on the left, while the open expanse of country stretched +out on the right. The south-westerly gale struck with full +violence against the barrier of forest trees, bending the tall +crests of the pines and causing their small dead branches to break +and fall with a sharp, crisp sound like a cry of pain. + +The squad had been fresh at starting; now the men had been four +hours in the saddle under persistent rain and gusty wind; they +were tired, and the atmosphere of the close, black forest so near +the road was weighing upon their spirits. + +Strange sounds came to them from out the dense network of +trees--the screeching of night-birds, the weird call of the owls, +the swift and furtive tread of wild beasts on the prowl. The cold +winter and lack of food had lured the wolves from their +fastnesses--hunger had emboldened them, and now, as gradually the +grey light fled from the sky, dismal howls could be heard in the +distance, and now and then a pair of eyes, bright with the +reflection of the lurid western glow, would shine momentarily out +of the darkness like tiny glow-worms, and as quickly vanish away. + +The men shivered--more with vague superstitious fear than with +cold. They would have urged their horses on, but the wheels of +the coaches stuck persistently in the mud, and now and again a +halt had to be called so that the spokes and axles might he +cleared. + +They rode on in silence. No one had a mind to speak, and the +mournful soughing of the wind in the pine-trees seemed to check +the words on every lip. The dull thud of hoofs in the soft road, +the clang of steel bits and buckles, the snorting of the horses +alone answered the wind, and also the monotonous creaking of the +wheels ploughing through the ruts. + +Soon the ruddy glow in the west faded into soft-toned purple and +then into grey; finally that too vanished. Darkness was drawing +in on every side like a wide, black mantle pulled together closer +and closer overhead by invisible giant hands. + +The rain still fell in a thin drizzle that soaked through caps and +coats, made the bridles slimy and the saddles slippery and damp. +A veil of vapour hung over the horses' cruppers, and was rendered +fuller and thicker every moment with the breath that came from +their nostrils. The wind no longer blew with gusty fury--its +strength seemed to have been spent with the grey light of day-- +but now and then it would still come sweeping across the open +country, and dash itself upon the wall of forest trees, lashing +against the horses' ears, catching the corner of a mantle here, an +ill-adjusted cap there, and wreaking its mischievous freak for a +while, then with a sigh of satisfaction die, murmuring among the +pines. + +Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from +the drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his head out of the +carriage window. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"The scouts, citizen," replied the sergeant, who had been riding +close to the coach door all this while; "they have returned." + +"Tell one man to come straight to me and report." + +Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live +momentarily, for her spirit was absent from her body, which felt +neither fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting +of the horse close by as its rider pulled him up sharply beside +the carriage door. + +"Well?" said Chauvelin curtly. + +"This is the cross-road, citizen," replied the man; "it strikes +straight into the wood, and the hamlet of Le Crocq lies down in +the valley on the right." + +"Did you follow the road in the wood?" + +"Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing +with a small stone chapel, more like a large shrine, nestling +among the trees. Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with +large wrought-iron gates at the corner, and from these a wide +drive leads through a park." + +"Did you turn into the drive?" + +"Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first +that all is safe." + +"You saw no one?" + +"No one." + +"The chateau, then, lies some distance from the gates?" + +"A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are +outhouses and stabling, the disused buildings of the home farm, I +should say." + +"Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with +your men now, but only some two hundred metres or so. Stay!" he +added, as if on second thoughts. "Ride down to the other coach and +ask the prisoner if we are on the right track." + +The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heard-the +clang of metal and the sound of retreating hoofs. + +A few moments later the man returned. + +"Yes, citizen," he reported, "the prisoner says it is quite right. +The Chateau d'Ourde lies a full league from its gates. This is +the nearest road to the chapel and the chateau. He says we should +reach the former in half an hour. It will be very dark in there," +he added with a significant nod in the direction of the wood. + +Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach. +Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the window, following his +small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted +men, catching at a horse's bit now and then, or at a bridle, +making a way for himself amongst the restless, champing animals, +without the slightest hesitation or fear. + +Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted +against the evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil of vapour +which was blown out of the horses' nostrils or rising from their +damp cruppers; it became more vague, almost ghost-like, through +the mist and the fast-gathering gloom. + +Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but +she could hear his thin, smooth voice quite clearly as he called +to citizen Heron. + +"We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen," she heard +him say. "If the prisoner has not played us false little Capet +should be in our charge within the hour." + +A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths +of the forest answered him. + +"If he is not," and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of +citizen Heron--"if he is not, then two corpses will be rotting in +this wood tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner +will be on his way back to Paris with me." + +Some one laughed. It might have been one of the troopers, more +callous than his comrades, but to Marguerite the laugh had a +strange, familiar ring in it, the echo of something long since +past and gone. + +Then Chauvelin's voice once more came clearly to her ear: + +"My suggestion, citizen," he was saying, "is that the prisoner +shall now give me an order--couched in whatever terms he may think +necessary--but a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to +me without any resistance. I could then take some of the men with +me, and ride as quickly as the light will allow up to the chateau, +and take possession of it, of Capet, and of those who are with +him. We could get along faster thus. One man can give up his +horse to me and continue the journey on the box of your coach. +The two carriages could then follow at foot pace. But I fear that +if we stick together complete darkness will overtake us and we +might find ourselves obliged to pass a very uncomfortable night in +this wood." + +"I won't spend another night in this suspense--it would kill me," +growled Heron to the accompaniment of one of his choicest oaths. +"You must do as you think right--you planned the whole of this +affair--see to it that it works out well in the end." + +"How many men shall I take with me? Our advance guard is here, of +course." + +"I couldn't spare you more than four more men--I shall want the +others to guard the prisoners." + +"Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance +guard. That will leave you twelve men for guarding your +prisoners, and you really only need to guard the woman--her life +will answer for the others." + +He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending +that Marguerite and Armand should hear. + +"Then I'll ahead," he continued, apparently in answer to an assent +from his colleague. "Sir Percy, will you be so kind as to +scribble the necessary words on these tablets?" + +There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the +long and dismal cry of a night bird that, mayhap, was seeking its +mate. Then Chauvelin's voice was raised again. + +"I thank you," he said; "this certainly should be quite effectual. +And now, citizen Heron, I do not think that under the circumstances +we need fear an ambuscade or any kind of trickery--you hold the +hostages. And if by any chance I and my men are attacked, or if +we encounter armed resistance at the chateau, I will despatch a +rider back straightway to you, and--well, you will know what to do." + +His voice died away, merged in the soughing of the wind, drowned +by the clang of metal, of horses snorting, of men living and +breathing. Marguerite felt that beside her Armand had shuddered, +and that in the darkness his trembling hand had sought and found +hers. + +She leaned well out of the window, trying to see. The gloom had +gathered more closely in, and round her the veil of vapour from +the horses' steaming cruppers hung heavily in the misty air. In +front of her the straight lines of a few fir trees stood out dense +and black against the greyness beyond, and between these lines +purple tints of various tones and shades mingled one with the +other, merging the horizon line with the sky. Here and there a +more solid black patch indicated the tiny houses of the hamlet of +Le Crocq far down in the valley below; from some of these houses +small lights began to glimmer like blinking yellow eyes. +Marguerite's gaze, however, did not rest on the distant landscape-- +it tried to pierce the gloom that hid her immediate surroundings; +the mounted men were all round the coach--more closely round her +than the trees in the forest. But the horses were restless, moving +all the time, and as they moved she caught glimpses of that other +coach and of Chauvelin's ghostlike figure, walking rapidly through +the mist. Just for one brief moment she saw the other coach, and +Heron's head and shoulders leaning out of the window. If is +sugar-loaf hat was on his head, and the bandage across his brow +looked like a sharp, pale streak below it. + +"Do not doubt it, citizen Chauvelin," he called out loudly in his +harsh, raucous voice, "I shall know what to do; the wolves will +have their meal to-night, and the guillotine will not be cheated +either." + +Armand put his arm round his sister's shoulders and gently drew +her hack into the carriage. + +"Little mother," he said, "if you can think of a way whereby my +life would redeem Percy's and yours, show me that way now." + +But she replied quietly and firmly: + +"There is no way, Armand. If there is, it is in the hands of +God." + + + +CHAPTER XLVI +OTHERS IN THE PARK + +Chauvelin and his picked escort had in the meanwhile detached +themselves from the main body of the squad. Soon the dull thud of +their horses' hoofs treading the soft ground came more softly-- +then more softly still as they turned into the wood, and the +purple shadows seemed to enfold every sound and finally to swallow +them completely. + +Armand and Marguerite from the depth of the carriage heard Heron's +voice ordering his own driver now to take the lead. They sat +quite still and watched, and presently the other coach passed them +slowly on the road, its silhouette standing out ghostly and grim +for a moment against the indigo tones of the distant country. + +Heron's head, with its battered sugar-loaf hat, and the soiled +bandage round the brow, was as usual out of the carriage window. +He leered across at Marguerite when he saw the outline of her face +framed by the window of the carriage. + +"Say all the prayers you have ever known, citizeness," he said +with a loud laugh, "that my friend Chauvelin may find Capet at the +chateau, or else you may take a last look at the open country, for +you will not see the sun rise on it to-morrow. It is one or the +other, you know." + +She tried not to look at him; the very sight of him filled her +with horror--that blotched, gaunt face of his, the fleshy lips, +that hideous bandage across his face that hid one of his eyes! +She tried not to see him and not to hear him laugh. + +Obviously he too laboured under the stress of great excitement. +So far everything had gone well; the prisoner had made no attempt +at escape, and apparently did not mean to play a double game. But +the crucial hour had come, and with it darkness and the mysterious +depths of the forest with their weird sounds and sudden flashes of +ghostly lights. They naturally wrought on the nerves of men like +Heron, whose conscience might have been dormant, but whose ears +were nevertheless filled with the cries of innocent victims +sacrificed to their own lustful ambitions and their blind, +unreasoning hates. + +He gave sharp orders to the men to close tip round the carriages, +and then gave the curt word of command: + +"En avant!" + +Marguerite could but strain her ears to listen. All her senses, +all her faculties had merged into that of hearing, rendering it +doubly keen. It seemed to her that she could distinguish the +faint sound--that even as she listened grew fainter and fainter +yet--of Chauvelin and his squad moving away rapidly into the +thickness of the wood some distance already ahead. + +Close to her there was the snorting of horses, the clanging and +noise of moving mounted men. Heron's coach had taken the lead; +she could hear the creaking of its wheels, the calls of the driver +urging his beasts. + +The diminished party was moving at foot-pace in the darkness that +seemed to grow denser at every step, and through that silence +which was so full of mysterious sounds. + +The carriage rolled and rocked on its springs; Marguerite, giddy +and overtired, lay back with closed eyes, her hand resting in that +of Armand. Time, space and distance had ceased to be; only Death, +the great Lord of all, had remained; he walked on ahead, scythe on +skeleton shoulder, and beckoned patiently, but with a sure, grim +hand. + +There was another halt, the coach-wheels groaned and creaked on +their axles, one or two horses reared with the sudden drawing up +of the curb. + +"What is it now?" came Heron's hoarse voice through the darkness. + +"It is pitch-dark, citizen," was the response from ahead. The +drivers cannot see their horses' ears. They wait to know if they +may light their lanthorns and then lead their horses." + +"They can lead their horses," replied Heron roughly, "but I'll +have no lanthorns lighted. We don't know what fools may be +lurking behind trees, hoping to put a bullet through my head--or +yours, sergeant--we don't want to make a lighted target of +ourselves--what? But let the drivers lead their horses, and one +or two of you who are riding greys might dismount too and lead the +way--the greys would show up perhaps in this cursed blackness." + +While his orders were being carried out, he called out once more: + +"Are we far now from that confounded chapel?" + +"We can't be far, citizen; the whole forest is not more than six +leagues wide at any point, and we have gone two since we turned +into it." + +"Hush!" Heron's voice suddenly broke in hoarsely. What was that? +Silence, I say. Damn you--can't you hear?" + +There was a hush--every ear straining to listen; but the horses +were not still--they continued to champ their bits, to paw the +ground, and to toss their heads, impatient to get on. Only now +and again there would come a lull even through these sounds--a +second or two, mayhap, of perfect, unbroken silence--and then it +seemed as if right through the darkness a mysterious echo sent +back those same sounds--the champing of bits, the pawing of soft +ground, the tossing and snorting of animals, human life that +breathed far out there among the trees. + +"It is citizen Chauvelin and his men," said the sergeant after a +while, and speaking in a whisper. + +"Silence--I want to hear," came the curt, hoarsely-whispered +command. + +Once more every one listened, the men hardly daring to breathe, +clinging to their bridles and pulling on their horses' mouths, +trying to keep them still, and again through the night there came +like a faint echo which seemed to throw back those sounds that +indicated the presence of men and of horses not very far away. + +"Yes, it must be citizen Chauvelin," said Heron at last; but the +tone of his voice sounded as if he were anxious and only half +convinced; "but I thought he would be at the chateau by now." + +"He may have had to go at foot-pace; it is very dark, citizen +Heron," remarked the sergeant. + +"En avant, then," quoth the other; "the sooner we come tip with +him the better." + +And the squad of mounted men, the two coaches, the drivers and the +advance section who were leading their horses slowly restarted on +the way. The horses snorted, the bits and stirrups clanged, and +the springs and wheels of the coaches creaked and groaned dismally +as the ramshackle vehicles began once more to plough the carpet of +pine-needles that lay thick upon the road. + +But inside the carriage Armand and Marguerite held one another +tightly by the hand. + +"It is de Batz--with his friends," she whispered scarce above her +breath. + +"De Batz?" he asked vaguely and fearfully, for in the dark he +could not see her face, and as he did not understand why she +should suddenly be talking of de Batz he thought with horror that +mayhap her prophecy anent herself had come true, and that her mind +wearied and over-wrought--had become suddenly unhinged. + +"Yes, de Batz," she replied. "Percy sent him a message, through +me, to meet him--here. I am not mad, Armand," she added more +calmly. "Sir Andrew took Percy's letter to de Batz the day that +we started from Paris." + +"Great God!" exclaimed Armand, and instinctively, with a sense of +protection, he put his arms round his sister. "Then, if Chauvelin +or the squad is attacked--if--" + +"Yes," she said calmly; "if de Batz makes an attack on Chauvelin, +or if he reaches the chateau first and tries to defend it, they +will shoot us ... Armand, and Percy." + +"But is the Dauphin at the Chateau d'Ourde?" + +"No, no! I think not." + +"Then why should Percy have invoked the aid of de Batz? Now, +when--" + +"I don't know," she murmured helplessly. "Of course, when he +wrote the letter he could not guess that they would hold us as +hostages. He may have thought that under cover of darkness and of +an unexpected attack he might have saved himself had he been +alone; but now--now that you and I are here-- Oh! it is all so +horrible, and I cannot understand it all." + +"Hark!" broke in Armand, suddenly gripping her arm more tightly. + +"Halt !" rang the sergeant's voice through the night. + +This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from +no far distance. It was the sound of a man running and panting, +and now and again calling out as he ran. + +For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself +was hushed between two gusts, even the rain had ceased its +incessant pattering. Heron's harsh voice was raised in the +stillness. + +"What is it now?" he demanded. + +"A runner, citizen," replied the sergeant, "coming through the +wood from the right." + +"From the right?" and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley +of oaths; "the direction of the chateau? Chauvelin has been +attacked; he is sending a messenger back to me. Sergeant--sergeant, +close up round that coach; guard your prisoners as you value your +life, and--" + +The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury +that the horses, already over-nervous and fidgety, reared in mad +terror, and the men had the greatest difficulty in holding them +in. For a few minutes noisy confusion prevailed, until the men +could quieten their quivering animals with soft words and gentle +pattings. + +Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein +brother and sister sat huddled against one another. + +One of the men said under his breath: + +"Ah! but the citizen agent knows how to curse! One day he will +break his gullet with the fury of his oaths." + +In the meanwhile the runner had come nearer, always at the same +breathless speed. + +The next moment he was challenged: + +"Qui va la?" + +"A friend!" he replied, panting and exhausted. "Where is citizen +Heron?" + +"Here!" came the reply in a voice hoarse with passionate excitement. +"Come up, damn you. Be quick!" + +"A lanthorn, citizen," suggested one of the drivers. + +"No--no--not now. Here! Where the devil are we?" + +"We are close to the chapel on our left, citizen," said the sergeant. + +The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had +drawn nearer to the carriage. + +"The gates of the chateau," he said, still somewhat breathlessly, +"are just opposite here on the right, citizen. I have just come +through them." + +"Speak up, man!" and Heron's voice now sounded as if choked with +passion. "Citizen Chauvelin sent you?" + +"Yes. He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the +chateau, and that Capet is not there." + +A series of citizen Heron's choicest oaths interrupted the man's +speech. Then he was curtly ordered to proceed, and he resumed his +report. + +"Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while +he was admitted by an old servant, who appeared to be in charge, +but the place seemed otherwise absolutely deserted--only--" + +"Only what? Go on; what is it?" + +"As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being +watched, and followed. We heard distinctly the sound of horses +behind and around us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I +ran back, again I heard. There are others in the park to-night +besides us, citizen." + +There was silence after that. It seemed as if the flood of +Heron's blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at last. + +"Others in the park!" And now his voice was scarcely above a +whisper, hoarse and trembling. "How many? Could you see?" + +"No, citizen, we could not see; but there are horsemen lurking +round the chateau now. Citizen Chauvelin took four men into the +house with him and left the others on guard outside. He bade me +tell you that it might be safer to send him a few more men if you +could spare them. There are a number of disused farm buildings +quite close to the gates, and he suggested that all the horses be +put up there for the night, and that the men come up to the +chateau on foot; it would be quicker and safer, for the darkness +is intense." + +Even while the man spoke the forest in the distance seemed to wake +from its solemn silence, the wind on its wings brought sounds of +life and movement different from the prowling of beasts or the +screeching of night-birds. It was the furtive advance of men, the +quick whispers of command, of encouragement, of the human animal +preparing to attack his kind. But all in the distance still, all +muffled, all furtive as yet. + +"Sergeant!" It was Heron's voice, but it too was subdued, and +almost calm now; "can you see the chapel?" + +"More clearly, citizen," replied the sergeant. "It is on our +left; quite a small building, I think." + +"Then dismount, and walk all round it. See that there are no +windows or door in the rear." + +There was a prolonged silence, during which those distant sounds +of men moving, of furtive preparations for attack, struck +distinctly through the night. + +Marguerite and Armand, clinging to one another, not knowing what +to think, nor yet what to fear, heard the sounds mingling with +those immediately round them, and Marguerite murmured under her +breath: + +"It is de Batz and some of his friends; but what can they do? +What can Percy hope for now?" + +But of Percy she could hear and see nothing. The darkness and the +silence had drawn their impenetrable veil between his unseen +presence and her own consciousness. She could see the coach in +which he was, but Heron's hideous personality, his head with its +battered hat and soiled bandage, had seemed to obtrude itself +always before her gaze, blotting out from her mind even the +knowledge that Percy was there not fifty yards away from her. + +So strong did this feeling grow in her that presently the awful +dread seized upon her that he was no longer there; that he was +dead, worn out with fatigue and illness brought on by terrible +privations, or if not dead that he had swooned, that he was +unconscious--his spirit absent from his body. She remembered that +frightful yell of rage and hate which Heron had uttered a few +minutes ago. Had the brute vented his fury on his helpless, +weakened prisoner, and stilled forever those lips that, mayhap, +had mocked him to the last? + +Marguerite could not guess. She hardly knew what to hope. +Vaguely, when the thought of Percy lying dead beside his enemy +floated through her aching brain, she was almost conscious of a +sense of relief at the thought that at least he would be spared +the pain of the final, inevitable cataclysm. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII +THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE + +The sergeant's voice broke in upon her misery. + +The man had apparently done as the citizen agent had ordered, and +had closely examined the little building that stood on the left--a +vague, black mass more dense than the surrounding gloom. + +"It is all solid stone, citizen," he said; "iron gates in front, +closed but not locked, rusty key in the lock, which turns quite +easily; no windows or door in the rear." + +"You are quite sure?" + +"Quite certain, citizen; it is plain, solid stone at the back, and +the only possible access to the interior is through the iron gate +in front." + +"Good." + +Marguerite could only just hear Heron speaking to the sergeant. +Darkness enveloped every form and deadened every sound. Even the +harsh voice which she had learned to loathe and to dread sounded +curiously subdued and unfamiliar. Heron no longer seemed inclined +to storm, to rage, or to curse. The momentary danger, the thought +of failure, the hope of revenge, had apparently cooled his temper, +strengthened his determination, and forced his voice down to a +little above a whisper. He gave his orders clearly and firmly, +and the words came to Marguerite on the wings of the wind with +strange distinctness, borne to her ears by the darkness itself, +and the hush that lay over the wood. + +"Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant," she beard him say, +"and join citizen Chauvelin at the chateau. You can stable your +horses in the farm buildings close by, as he suggests and run to +him on foot. You and your men should quickly get the best of a +handful of midnight prowlers; you are well armed and they only +civilians. Tell citizen Chauvelin that I in the meanwhile will +take care of our prisoners. The Englishman I shall put in irons +and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the command of +your corporal to guard him, the other two I will drive myself +straight to Crecy with what is left of the escort. You +understand?" + +"Yes, citizen." + +"We may not reach Crecy until two hours after midnight, but +directly I arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin further +reinforcements, which, however, I hope may not necessary, but +which will reach him in the early morning. Even if he is +seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he will have with +him, hold out inside the castle through the night. Tell him also +that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in the +courtyard of the guard-house at Crecy, but that whether he has got +hold of Capet or not he had best pick up the Englishman in the +chapel in the morning and bring him straight to Crecy, where I +shall be awaiting him ready to return to Paris. You understand?" + +"Yes, citizen." + +"Then repeat what I said." + +"I am to take six men with me to reinforce citizen Chauvelin now." + +"Yes." + +"And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crecy, and will +send us further reinforcements from there, which will reach us in +the early morning." + +"Yes." + +"We are to hold the chateau against those unknown marauders if +necessary until the reinforcements come from Crecy. Having routed +them, we return here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have +locked up in the chapel under a strong guard commanded by Corporal +Cassard, and join you forthwith at Crecy." + +"This, whether citizen Chauvelin has got hold of Capet or not." + +"Yes, citizen, I understand," concluded the sergeant +imperturbably; "and I am also to tell citizen Chauvelin that the +two prisoners will be shot at dawn in the courtyard of the +guard-house at Crecy." + +"Yes. That is all. Try to find the leader of the attacking +party, and bring him along to Crecy with the Englishman; but +unless they are in very small numbers do not trouble about the +others. Now en avant; citizen Chauvelin might be glad of your +help. And--stay--order all the men to dismount, and take the +horses out of one of the coaches, then let the men you are taking +with you each lead a horse, or even two, and stable them all in +the farm buildings. I shall not need them, and could not spare +any of my men for the work later on. Remember that, above all, +silence is the order. When you are ready to start, come back to +me here." + +The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the +citizen agent's orders to the soldiers. The dismounting was +carried on in wonderful silence--for silence had been one of the +principal commands--only one or two words reached her ears. + +"First section and first half of second section fall in, right +wheel. First section each take two horses on the lead. Quietly +now there; don't tug at his bridle--let him go." + +And after that a simple report: + +"All ready, citizen!" + +"Good!" was the response. "Now detail your corporal and two men +to come here to me, so that we may put the Englishman in irons, +and take him at once to the chapel, and four men to stand guard at +the doors of the other coach." + +The necessary orders were given, and after that there came the +curt command: + +"En avant!" + +The sergeant, with his squad and all the horses, was slowly moving +away in the night. The horses' hoofs hardly made a noise on the +soft carpet of pine-needles and of dead fallen leaves, but the +champing of the bits was of course audible, and now and then the +snorting of some poor, tired horse longing for its stable. + +Somehow in Marguerite's fevered mind this departure of a squad of +men seemed like the final flitting of her last hope; the slow +agony of the familiar sounds, the retreating horses and soldiers +moving away amongst the shadows, took on a weird significance. +Heron had given his last orders. Percy, helpless and probably +unconscious, would spend the night in that dank chapel, while she +and Armand would be taken back to Crecy, driven to death like some +insentient animals to the slaughter. + +When the grey dawn would first begin to peep through the branches +of the pines Percy would be led back to Paris and the guillotine, +and she and Armand will have been sacrificed to the hatred and +revenge of brutes. + +The end had come, and there was nothing more to be done. +Struggling, fighting, scheming, could be of no avail now; but she +wanted to get to her husband; she wanted to be near him now that +death was so imminent both for him and for her. + +She tried to envisage it all, quite calmly, just as she knew that +Percy would wish her to do. The inevitable end was there, and she +would not give to these callous wretches here the gratuitous +spectacle of a despairing woman fighting blindly against adverse +Fate. + +But she wanted to go to her husband. She felt that she could face +death more easily on the morrow if she could but see him once, if +she could but look once more into the eyes that had mirrored so +much enthusiasm, such absolute vitality and whole-hearted +self-sacrifice, and such an intensity of love and passion; if she +Could but kiss once more those lips that had smiled through life, +and would smile, she knew, even in the face of death. + +She tried to open the carriage door, but it was held from without, +and a harsh voice cursed her, ordering her to sit still. + +But she could lean out of the window and strain her eyes to see. +They were by now accustomed to the gloom, the dilated pupils +taking in pictures of vague forms moving like ghouls in the +shadows. The other coach was not far, and she could hear Heron's +voice, still subdued and calm, and the curses of the men. But not +a sound from Percy. + +"I think the prisoner is unconscious," she heard one of the men say. + +"Lift him out of the carriage, then," was Heron's curt command; +"and you go and throw open the chapel gates." + +Marguerite saw it all. The movement, the crowd of men, two vague, +black forms lifting another one, which appeared heavy and inert, +out of the coach, and carrying it staggering up towards the +chapel. + +Then the forms disappeared, swallowed up by the more dense mass of +the little building, merged in with it, immovable as the stone +itself. + +Only a few words reached her now. + +"He is unconscious." + +"Leave him there, then; he'll not move!" + +"Now close the gates!" + +There was a loud clang, and Marguerite gave a piercing scream. +She tore at the handle of the carriage door. + +"Armand, Armand, go to him!" she cried; and all her self-control, +all her enforced calm, vanished in an outburst of wild, agonising +passion. "Let me get to him, Armand! This is the end; get me to +him, in the name of God!" + +"Stop that woman screaming," came Heron's voice clearly through +the night. "Put her and the other prisoner in irons--quick!" + +But while Marguerite expended her feeble strength in a mad, +pathetic effort to reach her husband, even now at this last hour, +when all hope was dead and Death was so nigh, Armand had already +wrenched the carriage door from the grasp of the soldier who was +guarding it. He was of the South, and knew the trick of charging +an unsuspecting adversary with head thrust forward like a bull +inside a ring. Thus he knocked one of the soldiers down and made a +quick rush for the chapel gates. + +The men, attacked so suddenly and in such complete darkness, did +not wait for orders. They closed in round Armand; one man drew +his sabre and hacked away with it in aimless rage. + +But for the moment he evaded them all, pushing his way through +them, not heeding the blows that came on him from out the +darkness. At last he reached the chapel. With one bound he was +at the gate, his numb fingers fumbling for the lock, which he +could not see. + +It was a vigorous blow from Heron's fist that brought him at last +to his knees, and even then his hands did not relax their hold; +they gripped the ornamental scroll of the gate, shook the gate +itself in its rusty hinges, pushed and pulled with the unreasoning +strength of despair. He had a sabre cut across his brow, and the +blood flowed in a warm, trickling stream down his face. But of +this he was unconscious; all that he wanted, all that he was +striving for with agonising heart-beats and cracking sinews, was +to get to his friend, who was lying in there unconscious, +abandoned--dead, perhaps. + +"Curse you," struck Heron's voice close to his ear. "Cannot some +of you stop this raving maniac?" + +Then it was that the heavy blow on his head caused him a sensation +of sickness, and he fell on his knees, still gripping the ironwork. + +Stronger hands than his were forcing him to loosen his hold; blows +that hurt terribly rained on his numbed fingers; he felt himself +dragged away, carried like an inert mass further and further from +that gate which he would have given his lifeblood to force open. + +And Marguerite heard all this from the inside of the coach where +she was imprisoned as effectually as was Percy's unconscious body +inside that dark chapel. She could hear the noise and scramble, +and Heron's hoarse commands, the swift sabre strokes as they cut +through the air. + +Already a trooper had clapped irons on her wrists, two others held +the carriage doors. Now Armand was lifted back into the coach, +and she could not even help to make him comfortable, though as he +was lifted in she heard him feebly moaning. Then the Carriage +doors were banged to again. + +"Do not allow either of the prisoners out again, on peril of your +lives!" came with a vigorous curse from Heron. + +After which there was a moment's silence; whispered commands came +spasmodically in deadened sound to her ear. + +"Will the key turn?" + +"Yes, citizen." + +"All secure?" + +"Yes, citizen. The prisoner is groaning." + +"Let him groan." + +"The empty coach, citizen? The horses have been taken out." + +"Leave it standing where it is, then; citizen Chauvelin will need +it in the morning." + +"Armand," whispered Marguerite inside the coach, "did you see +Percy?" + +"It was so dark," murmured Armand feebly; "but I saw him, just +inside the gates, where they had laid him down. I heard him +groaning. Oh, my God!" + +"Hush, dear!" she said. "We can do nothing more, only die, as he +lived, bravely and with a smile on our lips, in memory of him." + +"Number 35 is wounded, citizen," said one of the men. + +"Curse the fool who did the mischief," was the placid response. +"Leave him here with the guard." + +"How many of you are there left, then?" asked the same voice a +moment later. + +"Only two, citizen; if one whole section remains with me at the +chapel door, and also the wounded man." + +"Two are enough for me, and five are not too many at the chapel +door." And Heron's coarse, cruel laugh echoed against the stone +walls of the little chapel. "Now then, one of you get into the +coach, and the other go to the horses' heads; and remember, +Corporal Cassard, that you and your men who stay here to guard +that chapel door are answerable to the whole nation with your +lives for the safety of the Englishman." + +The carriage door was thrown open, and a soldier stepped in and +sat down opposite Marguerite and Armand. Heron in the meanwhile +was apparently scrambling up the box. Marguerite could hear him +muttering curses as he groped for the reins, and finally gathered +them into his hand. + +The springs of the coach creaked and groaned as the vehicle slowly +swung round; the wheels ploughed deeply through the soft carpet of +dead leaves. + +Marguerite felt Armand's inert body leaning heavily against her +shoulder. + +"Are you in pain, dear?" she asked softly. + +He made no reply, and she thought that he had fainted. It was +better so; at least the next dreary hours would flit by for him in +the blissful state of unconsciousness. Now at last the heavy +carriage began to move more evenly. The soldier at the horses' +heads was stepping along at a rapid pace. + +Marguerite would have given much even now to look back once more +at the dense black mass, blacker and denser than any shadow that +had ever descended before on God's earth, which held between its +cold, cruel walls all that she loved in the world. + +But her wrists were fettered by the irons, which cut into her +flesh when she moved. She could no longer lean out of the window, +and she could not even hear. The whole forest was hushed, the +wind was lulled to rest; wild beasts and night-birds were silent +and still. And the wheels of the coach creaked in the ruts, +bearing Marguerite with every turn further and further away from +the man who lay helpless in the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII +THE WANING MOON + +Armand had wakened from his attack of faintness, and brother and +sister sat close to one another, shoulder touching shoulder. That +sense of nearness was the one tiny spark of comfort to both of +them on this dreary, dreary way. + +The coach had lumbered on unceasingly since all eternity--so it +seemed to them both. Once there had been a brief halt, when +Heron's rough voice had ordered the soldier at the horses' heads +to climb on the box beside him, and once--it had been a very +little while ago--a terrible cry of pain and terror had rung +through the stillness of the night. Immediately after that the +horses had been put at a more rapid pace, but it had seemed to +Marguerite as if that one cry of pain had been repeated by several +others which sounded more feeble and soon appeared to be dying +away in the distance behind. + +The soldier who sat opposite to them must have heard the cry too, +for he jumped up, as if wakened from sleep, and put his head out +of the window. + +"Did you hear that cry, citizen?" he asked. + +But only a curse answered him, and a peremptory command not to +lose sight of the prisoners by poking his head out of the window. + +"Did you hear the cry?" asked the soldier of Marguerite as he made +haste to obey. + +"Yes! What could it be?" she murmured. + +"It seems dangerous to drive so fast in this darkness," muttered +the soldier. + +After which remark he, with the stolidity peculiar to his kind, +figuratively shrugged his shoulders, detaching himself, as it +were, of the whole affair. + +"We should be out of the forest by now," he remarked in an +undertone a little while later; "the way seemed shorter before." + +Just then the coach gave an unexpected lurch to one side, and +after much groaning and creaking of axles and springs it came to a +standstill, and the citizen agent was heard cursing loudly and +then scrambling down from the box. + +The next moment the carriage-door was pulled open from without, +and the harsh voice called out peremptorily: + +"Citizen soldier, here--quick!--quick!--curse you!--we'll have one +of the horses down if you don't hurry!" + +The soldier struggled to his feet; it was never good to be slow in +obeying the citizen agent's commands. He was half-asleep and no +doubt numb with cold and long sitting still; to accelerate his +movements he was suddenly gripped by the arm and dragged +incontinently out of the coach. + +Then the door was slammed to again, either by a rough hand or a +sudden gust of wind, Marguerite could not tell; she heard a cry of +rage and one of terror, and Heron's raucous curses. She cowered +in the corner of the carriage with Armand's head against her +shoulder, and tried to close her ears to all those hideous sounds. + +Then suddenly all the sounds were hushed and all around everything +became perfectly calm and still--so still that at first the +silence oppressed her with a vague, nameless dread. It was as if +Nature herself had paused, that she might listen; and the silence +became more and more absolute, until Marguerite could hear +Armand's soft, regular breathing close to her ear. + +The window nearest to her was open, and as she leaned forward with +that paralysing sense of oppression a breath of pure air struck +full upon her nostrils and brought with it a briny taste as if +from the sea. + +It was not quite so dark; and there was a sense as of open country +stretching out to the limits of the horizon. Overhead a vague +greyish light suffused the sky, and the wind swept the clouds in +great rolling banks right across that light. + +Marguerite gazed upward with a more calm feeling that was akin to +gratitude. That pale light, though so wan and feeble, was thrice +welcome after that inky blackness wherein shadows were less dark +than the lights. She watched eagerly the bank of clouds driven by +the dying gale. + +The light grew brighter and faintly golden, now the banks of +clouds--storm-tossed and fleecy--raced past one another, parted +and reunited like veils of unseen giant dancers waved by hands +that controlled infinite space--advanced and rushed and slackened +speed again--united and finally tore asunder to reveal the waning +moon, honey-coloured and mysterious, rising as if from an +invisible ocean far away. + +The wan pale light spread over the wide stretch of country, +throwing over it as it spread dull tones of indigo and of blue. +Here and there sparse, stunted trees with fringed gaunt arms +bending to prevailing winds proclaimed the neighbourhood of the +sea. + +Marguerite gazed on the picture which the waning moon had so +suddenly revealed; but she gazed with eyes that knew not what they +saw. The moon had risen on her right--there lay the east--and the +coach must have been travelling due north, whereas Crecy ... + +In the absolute silence that reigned she could perceive from far, +very far away, the sound of a church clock striking the midnight +hour; and now it seemed to her supersensitive senses that a firm +footstep was treading the soft earth, a footstep that drew +nearer--and then nearer still. + +Nature did pause to listen. The wind was hushed, the night-birds +in the forest had gone to rest. Marguerite's heart beat so fast +that its throbbings choked her, and a dizziness clouded her +consciousness. + +But through this state of torpor she heard the opening of the +carriage door, she felt the onrush of that pure, briny air, and +she felt a long, burning kiss upon her hands. + +She thought then that she was really dead, and that God in His +infinite love had opened to her the outer gates of Paradise. + +"My love!" she murmured. + +She was leaning back in the carriage and her eyes were closed, but +she felt that firm fingers removed the irons from her wrists, and +that a pair of warm lips were pressed there in their stead. + +"There, little woman, that's better so--is it not? Now let me get +hold of poor old Armand!" + +It was Heaven, of course, else how could earth hold such heavenly +joy? + +"Percy!" exclaimed Armand in an awed voice. + +"Hush, dear!" murmured Marguerite feebly; "we are in Heaven you +and I--" + +Whereupon a ringing laugh woke the echoes of the silent night. + +"In Heaven, dear heart!" And the voice had a delicious earthly +ring in its whole-hearted merriment. "Please God, you'll both be +at Portel with me before dawn." + +Then she was indeed forced to believe. She put out her hands and +groped for him, for it was dark inside the carriage; she groped, +and felt his massive shoulders leaning across the body of the +coach, while his fingers busied themselves with the irons on +Armand's wrist. + +"Don't touch that brute's filthy coat with your dainty fingers, +dear heart," he said gaily. "Great Lord! I have worn that +wretch's clothes for over two hours; I feel as if the dirt had +penetrated to my bones." + +Then with that gesture so habitual to him he took her head between +his two hands, and drawing her to him until the wan light from +without lit up the face that he worshipped, he gazed his fill into +her eyes. + +She could only see the outline of his head silhouetted against the +wind-tossed sky; she could not see his eyes, nor his lips, but she +felt his nearness, and the happiness of that almost caused her to +swoon. + +"Come out into the open, my lady fair," he murmured, and though +she could not see, she could feel that he smiled; "let God's pure +air blow through your hair and round your dear head. Then, if you +can walk so far, there's a small half-way house close by here. I +have knocked up the none too amiable host. You and Armand could +have half an hour's rest there before we go further on our way." + +"But you, Percy?--are you safe?" + +"Yes, m'dear, we are all of us safe until morning-time enough to +reach Le Portel, and to be aboard the Day-Dream before mine +amiable friend M. Chambertin has discovered his worthy colleague +lying gagged and bound inside the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. +By Gad! how old Heron will curse--the moment he can open his +mouth!" + +He half helped, half lifted her out of the carriage. The strong +pure air suddenly rushing right through to her lungs made her feel +faint, and she almost fell. But it was good to feel herself +falling, when one pair of arms amongst the millions on the earth +were there to receive her. + +"Can you walk, dear heart?" he asked. "Lean well on me--it is not +far, and the rest will do you good." + +"But you, Percy--" + +He laughed, and the most complete joy of living seemed to resound +through that laugh. Her arm was in his, and for one moment he +stood still while his eyes swept the far reaches of the country, +the mellow distance still wrapped in its mantle of indigo, still +untouched by the mysterious light of the waning moon. + +He pressed her arm against his heart, but his right hand was +stretched out towards the black wall of the forest behind him, +towards the dark crests of the pines in which the dying wind sent +its last mournful sighs. + +"Dear heart," he said, and his voice quivered with the intensity +of his excitement, "beyond the stretch of that wood, from far away +over there, there are cries and moans of anguish that come to my +ear even now. But for you, dear, I would cross that wood to-night +and re-enter Paris to-morrow. But for you, dear--but for you," he +reiterated earnestly as he pressed her closer to him, for a bitter +cry had risen to her lips. + +She went on in silence. Her happiness was great--as great as was +her pain. She had found him again, the man whom she worshipped, +the husband whom she thought never to see again on earth. She had +found him, and not even now--not after those terrible weeks of +misery and suffering unspeakable--could she feel that love had +triumphed over the wild, adventurous spirit, the reckless +enthusiasm, the ardour of self-sacrifice. + + + +CHAPTER XLIX +THE LAND OF ELDORADO + +It seems that in the pocket of Heron's coat there was a +letter-case with some few hundred francs. It was amusing to think +that the brute's money helped to bribe the ill-tempered keeper of +the half-way house to receive guests at midnight, and to ply them +well with food, drink, and the shelter of a stuffy coffee-room. + +Marguerite sat silently beside her husband, her hand in his. +Armand, opposite to them, had both elbows on the table. He looked +pale and wan, with a bandage across his forehead, and his glowing +eyes were resting on his chief. + +"Yes! you demmed young idiot," said Blakeney merrily, "you nearly +upset my plan in the end, with your yelling and screaming outside +the chapel gates." + +"I wanted to get to you, Percy. I thought those brutes had got you +there inside that building." + +"Not they!" he exclaimed. "It was my friend Heron whom they had +trussed and gagged, and whom my amiable friend M. Chambertin will +find in there to-morrow morning. By Gad! I would go back if only +for the pleasure of hearing Heron curse when first the gag is +taken from his mouth." + +"But how was it all done, Percy? And there was de Batz--" + +"De Batz was part of the scheme I had planned for mine own escape +before I knew that those brutes meant to take Marguerite and you +as hostages for my good behaviour. What I hoped then was that +under cover of a tussle or a fight I could somehow or other +contrive to slip through their fingers. It was a chance, and you +know my belief in bald-headed Fortune, with the one solitary hair. +Well, I meant to grab that hair; and at the worst I could but die +in the open and not caged in that awful hole like some noxious +vermin. I knew that de Batz would rise to the bait. I told him in +my letter that the Dauphin would be at the Chateau d'Ourde this +night, but that I feared the revolutionary Government had got wind +of this fact, and were sending an armed escort to bring the lad +away. This letter Ffoulkes took to him; I knew that he would make +a vigorous effort to get the Dauphin into his hands, and that +during the scuffle that one hair on Fortune's head would for one +second only, mayhap, come within my reach. I had so planned the +expedition that we were bound to arrive at the forest of Boulogne +by nightfall, and night is always a useful ally. But at the +guard-house of the Rue Ste. Anne I realised for the first time +that those brutes had pressed me into a tighter corner than I had +pre-conceived." + +He paused, and once again that look of recklessness swept over his +face, and his eyes--still hollow and circled--shone with the +excitement of past memories. + +"I was such a weak, miserable wretch, then," he said, in answer to +Marguerite's appeal. "I had to try and build up some strength, +when--Heaven forgive me for the sacrilege--I had unwittingly +risked your precious life, dear heart, in that blind endeavour to +save mine own. By Gad! it was no easy task in that jolting +vehicle with that noisome wretch beside me for sole company; yet I +ate and I drank and I slept for three days and two nights, until +the hour when in the darkness I struck Heron from behind, +half-strangled him first, then gagged him, and finally slipped +into his filthy coat and put that loathsome bandage across my +head, and his battered hat above it all. The yell he gave when +first I attacked him made every horse rear--you must remember +it--the noise effectually drowned our last scuffle in the coach. +Chauvelin was the only man who might have suspected what had +occurred, but he had gone on ahead, and bald-headed Fortune had +passed by me, and I had managed to grab its one hair. After that +it was all quite easy. The sergeant and the soldiers had seen +very little of Heron and nothing of me; it did not take a great +effort to deceive them, and the darkness of the night was my most +faithful friend. His raucous voice was not difficult to imitate, +and darkness always muffles and changes every tone. Anyway, it +was not likely that those loutish soldiers would even remotely +suspect the trick that was being played on them. The citizen +agent's orders were promptly and implicitly obeyed. The men never +even thought to wonder that after insisting on an escort of twenty +he should drive off with two prisoners and only two men to guard +them. If they did wonder, it was not theirs to question. Those +two troopers are spending an uncomfortable night somewhere in the +forest of Boulogne, each tied to a tree, and some two leagues +apart one from the other. And now," he added gaily, "en voiture, +my fair lady; and you, too, Armand. 'Tis seven leagues to Le +Portel, and we must be there before dawn." + +"Sir Andrew's intention was to make for Calais first, there to +open communication with the Day-Dream and then for Le Portel," +said Marguerite; "after that he meant to strike back for the +Chateau d'Ourde in search of me." + +"Then we'll still find him at Le Portel--I shall know how to lay +hands on him; but you two must get aboard the Day-Dream at once, +for Ffoulkes and I can always look after ourselves." + +It was one hour after midnight when--refreshed with food and +rest--Marguerite, Armand and Sir Percy left the half-way house. +Marguerite was standing in the doorway ready to go. Percy and +Armand had gone ahead to bring the coach along. + +"Percy," whispered Armand, "Marguerite does not know?" + +"Of course she does not, you young fool," retorted Percy lightly. +"If you try and tell her I think I would smash your head." + +"But you--" said the young man with sudden vehemence; "can you +bear the sight of me? My God! when I think--" + +"Don't think, my good Armand--not of that anyway. Only think of +the woman for whose sake you committed a crime--if she is pure and +good, woo her and win her--not just now, for it were foolish to go +back to Paris after her, but anon, when she comes to England and +all these past days are forgotten--then love her as much as you +can, Armand. Learn your lesson of love better than I have learnt +mine; do not cause Jeanne Lange those tears of anguish which my +mad spirit brings to your sister's eyes. You were right, Armand, +when you said that I do not know how to love!" + +But on board the Day-Dream, when all danger was past, Marguerite +felt that he did. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of El Dorado, by Baroness Orczy + diff --git a/old/ldrdo10.zip b/old/ldrdo10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c2400b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ldrdo10.zip |