that of anyone else, and together they would roam through the final garden and rich deer park or stroll along the river. But Suzanne had not come yet, and Marguerite, being dressed, prepared to go downstairs. She looked quite a girl this morning in her simple muslin frock, with a broad blue sash around her slim waist, and the dainty crossover fissue into which, at her bosom, she had fastened a few late crimson roses. She crossed the landing outside her own suite of apartments and stood still for a moment at the head of the fine oak staircase, which led to the lower floor. On her left were her husband's apartments, a suite of rooms which she practically never entered. They consisted of a bedroom, dressing and reception room, and at the extreme end of the landing of a small study, which, when Sir Percy did not use it, was always kept locked. His own special and confidential valet, Frank, had charge of this room. No one was ever allowed to go inside. My lady had never cared to do so, and the other servants had, of course, not dared to break his hard and fast rule. It had often, with that good-natured contempt which she had recently adopted toward her husband, chafed him about the secrecy which surrounded his private study. Laughingly, she had always declared that he strictly excluded all prying eyes from his sanctum for fear that they should detect how very little study went on within its four walls. A comfortable armchair for Sir Percy's sweet slumbers was, no doubt, its most conspicuous piece of furniture. Marguerite thought of all this on this bright October morning as she glanced along the corridor. Frank was evidently busy with his master's rooms, for most of the door stood open, that of the study amongst the others. A sudden, burning, childish curiosity seized her to have a peep at Sir Percy's sanctum. This restriction, of course, did not apply to her, and Frank would, of course, not dare to oppose her. Well, she hoped that the valet would be busy in one of the other rooms, that she might have one quick peep in secret and unmolested. Gently, on tiptoe, she crossed the landing, and, like Bluebeard's wife, trembling half with excitement and wonder, she paused a moment on the threshold, strangely perturbed and irresolute. The door was ajar, and she could not see anything within. She pushed it open tentatively, there was no sound. Frank was evidently not there, and she walked boldly in. At once she was struck by the severe simplicity of everything around her. The dark and heavy hangings, the massive oak furniture, the one or two maps on the wall, in no way recalled to her mind the lazy man about town, the lover of race courses, the dandy-fied leader of fashion, that was the outward representation of Sir Percy Blakeney. There was no sign here, at any rate, of hurried departure. Everything was in its place, not a scrap of paper littered the floor, not a cupboard or drawer was left open, the curtains were drawn aside, and, through the open window, the fresh morning air was streaming in. Between the window, and well into the center of the room, stood a ponderous business-like desk, which looked as if it had seen much service. On the wall to the left of the desk, reaching almost from floor to ceiling, was a large, full-length portrait of a woman, magnificently framed, exquisitely painted, and signed with the name of Boucher. It was Percy's mother. Marguerite knew very little about her, except that she had died abroad, ailing in body as well as in mind, which Percy was still a lad. She must have been a very beautiful woman once, when Boucher painted her, and, as Marguerite looked at the portrait, she could not but be struck by the extraordinary resemblance which must have existed between mother and son. There was the same low, square forehead, crowned with thick, fair hair, smooth and heavy, the same deep set, somewhat lazy blue eyes, beneath firmly marked, straight brows, and in those eyes there was the same intensity behind that apparent laziness, the same latent passion which used to light up Percy's face in the olden days before his marriage, and which Marguerite had again noted last night at dawn, when she had come quite close to him, and had allowed a note of tenderness to creep into her voice. Marguerite studied the portrait, for it interested her. After that she turned and looked again at the ponderous desk. It was covered with a mass of papers, all neatly tied and docketed, which looked like accounts and receipts arrayed with perfect method. It had never before struck Marguerite, nor had she alas, found it worthwhile to inquire as to how Sir Percy, whom all the world had credited with a total lack of brains, administered the vast fortune which his father had left him. Since she had entered this neat, orderly room, she had been taken so much by surprise that this obvious proof of her husband's strong business capacities did not cause her more than a passing thought of wonder. But it also strengthened in her the now-certain knowledge that, with his worldly inanities, his foppish ways, and his foolish talk, he was not only wearing a mask, but was playing a deliberate and studied part. Marguerite wondered again, why should he take all this trouble? Why should he, who was obviously a serious, earnest man, wish to appear before his fellow man as an empty-headed nincompoop? He may have wished to hide his love for a wife who held him in contempt, but surely such an object could have been gained at less sacrifice and with far less trouble than constant incessant acting of in a natural part. She looked round her quite aimlessly now. She was horribly puzzled, and a nameless dread, before all this strange, unaccountable mystery had begun to seize upon her. She felt cold and uncomfortable, suddenly, in this severe and dark room. There were no pictures on the wall, save for the fine Boucher portrait. Only a couple of maps, both of parts of France, one of the North Coast, and the other of the environs of Paris. What, did Sir Percy want with those, she wondered. After her head began to ache, she turned away from this strange, bluebeard's chamber, which she had entered, and which she did not understand. She did not wish Frank to find her here, and, with a fast look round, she once more turned to the door. As she did, so her foot knocked against a small object, which had apparently been lying close to the desk, on the carpet, and which now went rolling right across the room. She stooped to pick it up. It was a solid gold ring, with a flat shield, on which was engraved a small device. Marguerite turned it over in her fingers, and then studied the engraving on the shield. It represented a small star-shaped flower of a shape she had seen so distinctly twice before, once at the opera, and once at Lord Grenville's ball. End of Chapter 18 reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. CHAPTER 19 At what particular moment the strange doubt first crept into Marguerite's mind she could not herself have set. With the ring tightly clutched in her hand, she had run out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the garden, where, in complete seclusion, alone with the flowers and the river and the birds, she could look again at the ring and study that device more closely. Stupidly, senselessly now, sitting beneath the shade of an overhanging sycamore, she was looking at the plain gold shield with the star-shaped little flower engraved upon it. Bah! It was ridiculous. She was dreaming. Her nerves were overwrought, and she saw signs and mysteries in the most trivial coincidences. Had not everybody about town recently made a point of affecting the device of that mysterious and heroic scarlet pimpernil? Did she herself wear it embroidered on her gowns, set in gems and enamel in her hair? What was there strange in the fact that Sir Percy should have chosen to use the device as a seal ring? He might easily have done that. Yes, quite easily. And besides, what connection could there be between her exquisite dandy of a husband with his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who rescued French victims from beneath the very eyes of the leaders of a bloodthirsty revolution? Her thoughts were in a whirl, her mind a blank. She did not see anything that was going on around her, and was quite startled when a fresh young voice called to her across the garden. Cherie? Cherie? Where are you? And little Suzanne, fresh as a rosebud, with eyes dancing with glee and brown curls fluttering in the soft morning breeze, came running across the lawn. They told me you were in the garden. She went on praddling merrily, and throwing herself with a pretty girlish impulse into Marguerite's arms. So I ran out to give you a surprise.  Marguerite, who had hastily concealed the ring in the folds of her kerchief, tried to respond gaily and unconcernedly to the young girl's impulsiveness. Indeed, sweet one. She said with a smile. It is delightful to have you all to myself and for a nice whole long day. You won't be bored. Oh, bored? Margot, how can you say such a wicked thing? Why, when we were in the dear old convent together, we were always happy when we were allowed to be alone together. And to talk secrets? The two young girls had linked their arms in one another's and began wandering round the garden. Oh, how lovely your home is, Margot, darling. Said little Suzanne enthusiastically. And how happy you must be. Hi, indeed. I ought to be happy ought my sweet one. Said Marguerite with a wistful little sigh. How sadly you say it, Cherie. Ah, well.  Oh, what lots and lots of secrets we used to have at school. Do you remember? Some we did not even confide to Sister Teresa of the Holy Angels, though she was such a dear. And now you have one all-important secret, eh, little one? Said Marguerite merrily. Which you are forthwith going to confide in me. Nay, you need not blush, Cherie. She added, as she saw Suzanne's pretty little face crimson with blushes. Faith is not to be ashamed of. He is a noble and true man, and one to be proud of as a lover, and as a husband. Indeed, Cherie, I am not ashamed. Rejoined Suzanne softly. And it makes me very, very proud to hear you speak so well of him. I think Momon will consent. She added thoughtfully. And I shall be, oh, so happy. But of course, nothing is to be thought of until Papa is safe. Marguerite started. Suzanne's father, the Comte de Tornais, one of those whose life would be jeopardized if Chauvin succeeded in establishing the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. She had understood all along from the Comtesse, and also from one or two of the members of the League, that their mysterious leader had pledged his honour to bring the fugitive Comte de Tornais safely out of France.  Marguerite's thoughts went back to the events of the past night. Armand's peril, Chauvin's threat, his cruel either or, which she had accepted. And then her own work in the matter, which should have culminated at one o'clock in Lord Greenville's dining room, when the relentless agent of the French government would finally learn who was this mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, who so openly defied any army of spies and placed himself so boldly and premier sport on the side of the enemies of France. Since then she had heard nothing from Chauvin. She had concluded that he had failed, and yet she had not felt anxious about Armand, because her husband had promised her that Armand would be safe. But now, suddenly, as Suzanne prattled merrily along, an awful horror came upon her for what she had done. Chauvin had told her nothing, it was true, but she remembered how sarcastic and evil he had looked when she took final leave of him after the ball. Had he discovered something then? Had he already laid his plans for catching the daring plotter, red-handed in France, and sending him to the guillotine without compunction or delay?  You are not listening, Sherry. Said Suzanne reproachfully, as she paused in her long, highly interesting narrative. Yes, yes, darling, indeed I am. Said Marguerite with an effort, forcing herself to smile. I love to hear you talking, and your happiness makes me so very glad. Have no fear, we will manage to propitiate Le Mans. Sir Andrew Fuchs is a noble English gentleman, he has money and position the contest will not refuse her consent. But now, little one, tell me, what is the latest news about your father? Oh! Said Suzanne with mad glee. The best we could possibly hear. Milord Hastings came to see Mama early this morning. He said that all is now well with dear Papa, and we may safely expect him here in England in less than four days. Yes? Said Marguerite, whose glowing eyes were fastened on Suzanne's lips as she continued merrily. Oh! We have no fear now. You don't know, Sherry, that that great and noble scarlet pimpinelle himself has gone to save Papa. He has gone, Sherry, actually gone. Added Suzanne excitedly. He was in London this morning, he will be in Calais, perhaps, tomorrow, where he will meet Papa, and then, and then. The blow had fallen.  He had gone to Calais, had been in London this morning. He, the scarlet pimpinelle, Percy Blackney, her husband, whom she had betrayed last night to Chauvelin, Percy, Percy, her husband, the scarlet pimpinelle, oh! How could she have been so blind? She understood it all now, all at once. That part he played, the mask he wore, in order to throw dust in everybody's eyes, and all for the sheer sport and devilry, of course, saving men, women and children from death, as other men destroy and kill animals for the excitement, the love of the thing. The idle, rich man wanted some aim in life. He, and the few young bucks he enrolled under his banner, had amused themselves for months in risking their lives for the sake of an innocent few. Perhaps he had meant to tell her when they were first married, and then the story of the Marquis de Saint-Sierre had come to his ears, and he had suddenly turned from her, thinking, no doubt, that she might some day betray him and his comrades, who had sworn to follow him, and so he had tricked her, as he tricked all others, wiltsed hundreds now owed their lives to him, and many families owed him both life and happiness. The mask of an inane fob had been a good one, and the part consummately well played. No wonder that Chauvelin's spies had failed to detect, in the apparently brainless nincompoop, the man whose reckless daring and resourceful ingenuity had baffled the keenest French spies, both in France and in England. Even last night, when Chauvelin went to Lord Greenville's dining-room to seek that daring scarlet Pimpernel, he only saw that inane Sir Percy Blackney fast asleep in a corner of the sofa. Had his astute mind guessed the secret then, he relayed the whole awful, horrible, amazing puzzle, in betraying a nameless stranger to his fate in order to save her brother. Had Marguerite Blackney sent her husband to his death? No, no, no, a thousand times, no! Surely fate could not deal a blow like that. Nature itself would rise and revolt, her hand, when it held that tiny scrap of paper last night, would have surely have been struck numb air it committed a deed so appalling and so terrible. But what is it, Sherry? Said little Suzanne, now genuinely alarmed, for Marguerite's colour had become dull and ashen. Are you ill, Marguerite? What is it? Nothing, nothing, child. She murmured, as in a dream. Wait a moment, let me think. Think! You said the scarlet Pimpanel had gone to-day. Marguerite, Sherry, what is it? You frighten me. It is nothing, child, I tell you nothing. I must be alone a minute, and, dear one, I may have to curtail our time together to-day. I may have to go away, you'll understand. I understand that something has happened, Sherry, and that you want to be alone. I won't be a hindrance to you, don't think of me. My maid Lucille has not yet gone. We will go back together. Don't think of me. She threw her arms impulsively round Marguerite. Child as she was, she felt the poignancy of her friend's grief, and with the infinite tact of her girlish tenderness, she did not try to pry into it, but was ready to efface herself. She kissed Marguerite again and again, then walked sadly back across the lawn. Marguerite did not move. She remained there, thinking, wondering what was to be done. Just as little Suzanne was about to mount the terrace steps, a groom came running round the house towards his mistress. He carried a sealed letter in his hand. Suzanne instinctively turned back. Her heart told her that here perhaps was further ill news for her friend, and she felt that poor Marguerite was not in a fit state to bear any more. The groom stood respectfully beside his mistress, then he handed her the sealed letter. What is that? Asked Marguerite. Here come my runner, my lady. Marguerite took the letter mechanically, and turned it over in her trembling fingers. Who sent it? She said. The runner said, my lady. Marguerite tore open the envelope. Already her instinct told her what it contained, and her eyes only glanced at it mechanically. It was a letter by Armand St. Just to Sir Andrew Fox. The letter which Shovland spies had stolen at the fisherman's rest, and which Shovland had held as a rod over her to enforce her obedience. Now he had kept his word. He had sent her back St. Just's compromising letter, for he was on the track of the scarlet Pimpernel. Marguerite sensed his reeled. Her very soul seemed to be leaving her body. She tottered, and would have fallen but for Suzanne's arm round her waist. With superhuman effort she regained control over herself. There was yet much to be done. Bring that runner here to me. She said to the servant, with much calm. He has not gone? No, my lady. The groom went, and Marguerite turned to Suzanne. And you child, run within. Tell Lucille to get ready. I fear that I must send you home, child. And stay, tell one of the maids to prepare a travelling dress and cloak for me. Suzanne made no reply. She kissed Marguerite tenderly, and obeyed without a word.  A minute later the groom returned, followed by the runner who had brought the letter. Who gave you this packet? Asked Marguerite. A gentleman, my lady. Replied the man. At the rose and thistle in opposite chairing cross. He said you would understand. At the rose and thistle? What was he doing? He was waiting for the coach, your ladyship, which he had ordered. The coach? Yes, my lady. A special coach he had ordered. I understood from his man that he was posting straight to Dover. That's enough. You may go. Then she turned to the groom. My coach and the four swiftest horses in the stable to be ready at once. The groom and runner both went quickly off to obey. Marguerite remained standing for a moment on the lawn, quite alone. Her graceful figure was as rigid as a statue. Her eyes were fixed. Her hands were tightly clasped across her breast. Her lips moved as they murmured with pathetic, heartbreaking persistence. What's to be done? What's to be done? Who had to find him? Oh, God! Grant me light! But this was not the moment for remorse and despair.  She saw it in all its horror. Her very blindness in not having guessed her husband's secret seemed now to her another deadly sin. She ought to have known. She ought to have known. How could she imagine that a man who could love with so much intensity as Percy Blackney had loved her from the first?  She, at least, ought to have known that he was wearing a mask, and having found that out, she should have torn it from his face whenever they were alone together. Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by her own pride, and she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him. But there was no time now to go over the past. By her own blindness she had sinned. Now she must repay, not by empty remorse, but by prompt and useful action. Percy had started for Calais utterly unconscious of the fact that his most relentless enemy was on his heels. She had set sail early that morning from London Bridge. Provided he had a favourable wind, he would no doubt be in France within twenty-four hours, no doubt he had reckoned on the wind and chosen this route. Chauvelin, on the other hand, would post to Dover, charter a vessel there, and undoubtedly reach Calais much about the same time. Once in Calais, Percy would meet all those who were eagerly waiting for the noble and brave Scarlet Pimpernel who had come to rescue them from horrible and unmerited death. With Chauvelin's eyes now fixed upon his every movement, Percy would thus not only be endangering his own life, but that of Suzanne's father, the old comp de Tournai, and of those other fugitives who were waiting for him and trusting in him. There was also Armand, who had gone to meet de Tournai, secure in the knowledge that the Scarlet Pimpernel was watching over his safety. All these lives and that of her husband lay in Marguerite's hands. Because she must save if human pluck and ingenuity were equal to the task. Unfortunately she could not do all this quite alone. Once in Calais she would not know where to find her husband, whilst Chauvelin, in stealing the papers at Dover, had obtained the whole itinerary. Above everything she wished to warn Percy. She knew enough about him by now to understand that he would never abandon those who trusted in him, that he would not turn his back from danger and leave the comp de Tournai to fall into the bloodthirsty hands that knew of no mercy. But if he were warned, he might form new plans, be more wary, more prudent. Unconsciously he might fall into a cunning trap, but once warned he might yet succeed. And if he failed, if indeed fate and Chauvelin, with all the resources at his command, proved too strong for the daring plotter after all, then at least she would be there by his side to comfort, love, and cherish, to cheat death perhaps at the last by making it seem sweet, if they died both together, locked in each other's arms, with the supreme happiness of knowing that passion had responded to passion, and that all misunderstandings were at an end. Her whole body stiffened, as with a great and firm resolution. This she meant to do, if God gave her wits and strength. Her eyes lost their fixed look. They glowed with inward fire at the thought of meeting him again so soon, in the very midst of most deadly perils, they sparkled with the joy of sharing these dangers with him, of helping him perhaps, of being with him at the last, if she failed. The childlike sweet face had become hard and set. The curved mouth was closed tightly over her clenched teeth. She meant to do or die with him and for his sake. A frown, which spoke of an iron will and unbending resolution, appeared between the two straight brows. Ready her plans were formed. She would go and find Sir Andrew Folk's first. He was Percy's best friend, and Marguerite remembered, with a thrill, with what blind enthusiasm the young man always spoke of his mysterious leader. He would help her where she needed help. Her coach was ready. A change of raiment, and a farewell to little Suzanne, and she could be on her way. Without haste, but without hesitation, she walked quietly into the house. End of Chapter 19, Recording by Rissa Byrne, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, December 2, 2008. Less than half an hour later, Marguerite, buried in thought, sat inside her coach, which was burying her swiftly to London. She had taken an affectionate farewell of little Suzanne, and seen the child safely started with her maid, and in her own coach back to town. She had sent one courier with a respectful letter of excuse to his royal highness, begging for a postponement of the August visit on account of pressing and urgent business, and another on ahead to bespeak a fresh relay of horses at Pevercham. Then she had changed her Muslim frock for a dark traveling costume and mantle, had provided herself with money, which her husband's lavishness always placed fully at her disposal, and had started on her way. She did not attempt to delude herself with any vain and futile hopes. The safety of her brother Armand was to have been conditional on the imminent capture of the Scarlet Impornel. Aschelvon had sent her back Armand's compromising letter. There was no doubt that he was quite satisfied in his own mind that Percy Blakeney was the man whose death he had sworn to bring about. No, there was no room for any fond illusions. Percy, the husband whom she loved with all the ardour which her admiration for his bravery had kindled, was an immediate deadly peril through her hand. She had betrayed him to his enemy, unwittingly to his true, but she had betrayed him. And if Chauvon succeeded in trapping him, who so far was unaware of his danger, then his death would be at her door. His death, one with her very heart's blood, she would have defended him and given willingly her life for his. She had ordered her coach to drive her to the crown in. Once there, she told her coachman to give the horses food and rest. Then she ordered a chair and had herself carried to the house in Paul Mall, where Sir Andrew folks lived. Among all Percy's friends who were enrolled under his daring banner, she felt that she would prefer to confide in Sir Andrew folks. He had always been her friend, and now his love for little Suzanne had brought him closer to her still. Had he been away from home, gone on the mad errand with Percy perhaps, then she would have called on Lord Hastings or Lord Tony, for she wanted the help of one of these young men, or she would indeed be powerless to save her husband. Sir Andrew folks, however, was at home, and his servant introduced her ladyship immediately. She went upstairs to the young man's comfortable bachelor's chambers, and was shown into a small, though luxuriously furnished, dining room. A moment or two later, Sir Andrew folks himself appeared. He had evidently been much startled when he heard who his lady visitor was, for he looked anxiously, even suspiciously, at Marguerite, whilst performing the elaborate bows before her, which the rigid etiquette of the time demanded. Marguerite had laid aside every vestige of nervousness. She was perfectly calm, and having returned the young man's elaborate salute, she began very calmly. Sir Andrew, I have no desire to waste valuable time in much talk. You must take certain things I'm going to tell you for granted. These will be of no importance. What is important is that your leader and comrade, the Scarlet Pimpernel, my husband, Percy Blakeney, is in deadly peril. Had she the remotest doubt of the correctness of her deductions, she would have had them confirmed now. For Sir Andrew, completely taken by surprise, had grown very pale, and was quite incapable of making the slightest attempt at clever parrying. No matter how I know this, Sir Andrew, she continued quietly. Thank God that I do, and that perhaps it is not too late to save him. Unfortunately, I cannot do this quite alone, and therefore have come to you for help. Percy Blakeney? Said the young man, trying to recover himself up. I... Will you hear me first? She interrupted. This is how the matter stands. When the agent of the French government stole your papers that night in Dover, he found amongst them certain plans, which you were your leader meant to carry out for the rescue of the Comte Tournée and others. The Scarlet Pimpernel, Percy, my husband, has gone on this errand himself to-day. Chauvelin knows that the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney are one and the same person. He will follow him to Calais and there will lay hands on him. You know as well as I do the fate that awaits him at the hands of the revolutionary government of France. No interference from England, from King George himself would save him. Hobbes Peer and his gang would see to it that the interference came too late. But not only that. The much trusted leader will also have been unconsciously the means of revealing the hiding place of the Comte Tournée and of all those who even now are placing their hopes in him. She had spoken quietly, dispassionately, and with firm on bending resolution. Her purpose was to make that young man trust and help her, for she could do nothing without him. I do not understand. He repeated, trying to gain time, to think what was best to be done. Hi, but I think you do, Sir Andrew. You must know that I am speaking the truth. Look these facts straight in the face. Percy has sailed for Calais, I presume, for some lonely part of the coast, and Chauvelin is on his track. He has posted for Dover and will cross the channel probably to-night. What do you think will happen? The young man was silent. Percy will arrive at his destination. Unconscious of being followed, he will seek out to Tournée and the others, among these is Armand Saint-Just, my brother. He will seek them out one after another probably, not knowing that the sharpest eyes in the world are watching his every movement. When he has thus unconsciously betrayed those who blindly trust in him, when nothing can be gained from him and he is ready to come back to England with those whom he has gone so bravely to save, the doors of the trap will close upon him, and he will be sent to end his noble life upon the guillotine. Still Sir Andrew was silent. You do not trust me. She said passionately. Oh God! Can you not see that I am in deadly earnest? Man! Man! She added, while with her tiny hand she seized the young man suddenly by the shoulders, forcing him to look straight at her. Tell me, do I look like that vilest thing on earth, a woman who would betray her own husband? God forbid, Lady Blakeney! Said the young man at last.  Tell me! Quick, man! The very seconds are precious! Will you tell me? He asked resolutely, and looking searchingly into her blue eyes. Whose hand helped to guide Monsieur Chauvelin to the knowledge which he say he possesses? Mine. She said quietly, I own it. I will not lie to you, for I wish you to trust me absolutely. But I had no idea. How could I have, of the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel? And my brother's safety was to be my prize if I succeeded. In helping Chauvelin to track the Scarlet Pimpernel? She nodded. It is no use telling you how he forced my hand. Amar is more than a brother to me, and—and how could I guess? But we waste time, Sir Andrew, every second is precious. In the name of God, my husband is in peril. Your friend, your comrade, help me to save him. Sir Andrew felt his position to be a very awkward one. The oath he had taken before his leader and comrade was one of obedience and secrecy, and yet the beautiful woman who was asking him to trust her was undoubtedly an earnest. His friend and leader was equally undoubtedly an imminent danger, and— Lady Blakeney! He said at last, God knows you have perplexed me, so that I do not know which way my duty lies. Tell me what you wish me to do. There are nineteen of us ready to lay down our lives for the Scarlet Pimperdell, if he is in danger. There is no need for lives just now, my friend. She said dryly. My wits and force-wift horses will serve the necessary purpose, but I must know where to find him. See!  I have humbled myself before you. I have owned my faults to you. Shall I also confess my weakness? My husband and I have been a strange because he did not trust me, and because I was too blind to understand. You must confess that the bandage which he put over my eyes was a very thick one. Is it small wonder that I did not see through it? But last night, after I led him unwittingly into such deadly peril, it suddenly fell from my eyes. If you will not help me, Sir Andrew, I would still strive to save my husband. I would still exert every faculty I possess for his sake. But I might be powerless, for I might arrive too late. And nothing would be left for you but life-long remorse, for me a broken heart. But Lady Blakeney said the young man touched by the gentle earnestness of this exquisitely beautiful woman. Do you know that what you propose doing is band's work? You cannot possibly journey to Calais alone. You will be running the greatest possible risk to yourself, and your chances of finding your husband now were I to direct you ever so carefully, infinitely remote. Oh, I hope there are risks. I hope there are dangers too. I have so much to atone for. But I fear you are mistaken. Chauvelin's eyes have fixed upon you all. He will scarce notice me. Quick, Sir Andrew, the coach is ready, and there is not a moment to be lost. I must get to him. I must. She repeated with almost savage energy. To warn him that that man is on his track. Can't you see? Can't you see that I must get to him, even? Even if it be too late to save him. At least to be by his side. At the least. Faith, madam, you must command me. Gladly would I, or any of my comrades, lay down our lives for your husband, if you will go yourself. Nay, friend, do you not see that I would go mad if I let you go without me? She stretched out her hand to him. You will trust me. I await your orders. He said simply. Listen then. My coach is ready to take me to Dover. Do you follow me as swiftly as horses will take you? We meet at nightfall at the fisherman's rest. Chauvelin would avoid it as he is known there, and I think it would be the safest. I will gladly accept your escort to Calais. As you say, I might miss a person who will you to direct me ever so carefully. We'll charter a schooner at Dover and cross over during the night. Disguised, if you will agree to it as my lackey, you will, I think, escape detection. I'm entirely at your service, madame. Rejoin the young man earnestly. I trust to God that you will cite the daydream before we reach Calais. With Chauvelin at his heels, every step the scarlet pimpineau takes on French soil is fraught with danger. God grant it, Sir Andrew, but thou fare well. We meet tonight at Dover. It will be a race between Chauvelin and me across the channel tonight, and the prize the life of the scarlet pimpineau. He kissed her hand and then escorted her to her chair. A quarter of an hour later she was back at the crown inn, where her coach and horses were ready and waiting for her. The next moment they thundered along the London streets and then straight on to the Dover road at maddening speed. She had no time for despair now. She was up and doing and had no leisure to think. With Sir Andrew folks as her companion and ally, hope had once again revived in her heart. God would be merciful. He would not allow so appalling a crime to be committed as the death of a brave man through the hand of a woman who loved him and worshipped him and who would gladly have died for his sake. Marguerite's thoughts flew back to him, the mysterious hero whom she had always unconsciously loved when his identity was still unknown to her. Laughingly in the olden days she used to call him the shadowy king of her heart and now she had suddenly found that this enigmatic personality whom she had worshipped and the man who had loved her so passionately were one and the same. She wondered that one or two happier visions began to force their way before her mind. She vaguely wondered what she would say to him when first they would stand face to face. She had had so many anxieties, so much excitement during the past few hours, that she allowed herself the luxury of nursing these few more hopeful, brighter thoughts. Gradually the rumble of the coach wheels with its incessant monotony acted soothingly on her nerves, her eyes aching with fatigue and many shed and unshed tears closed involuntarily and she fell into a troubled sleep. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of The Scarlet Pimpernel This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Ortsey Chapter 21 Suspense It was late into the night when she at last reached the fisherman's rest. She had done the whole journey in less than eight hours, thanks to innumerable changes of horses at the various coaching stations, for which she had always paid lavishly, thus obtaining the very best and swiftest that could be had. Her coachman, too, had been indefatigable. The promise of special and rich reward had no doubt helped to keep him up and he had literally burned the ground beneath his mistress's coach wheels. The arrival of Lady Blakeney in the middle of the night caused a considerable flutter at the fisherman's rest. Sally jumped hastily out of bed and Mr. Jelliband was at great pains how to make his important guest feel comfortable. Both of these good folk were far too well-drilled in the manners appertaining to innkeepers to exhibit the slightest surprise at Lady Blakeney's arrival, alone, at this extraordinary hour. No doubt they thought all the more, but Marguerite was far too absorbed in the importance the deadly earnestness of her journey to stop and ponder over trifles of that sort. The coffee room, the scene lately of the dastardly outrage on two English gentlemen, was quite deserted. Mr. Jelliband hastily relit the lamp, rekindle the tearful bit of fire in the great hearth, and then wheel the comfortable chair by it into which Marguerite gratefully sank. Will your ladyship stay the night? Asked pretty Miss Sally, who was already busy laying a snow-white cloth on the table preparatory to providing a simple supper for her ladyship. No, not the whole night, replied Marguerite. At any rate I shall not want any room with this if I can have it to myself for an hour or two. It is at your ladyship's service said honest Jelliband, whose rovocund face was set in its tightest fold, lest it should betray before the quality that boundless astonishment which the very worthy fellow had begun to feel. I shall be crossing over at the first turn of the tide, said Marguerite, and in the first schooner I can get. But my coachmen and men will stay the night and probably several days longer so I hope you will make them comfortable. Yes, my lady, I'll look after them.  Yes, please. Put something cold on the table and as soon as Sir Andrew Fuchs comes, show him in here. Yes, my lady. Honest Jelliband's face now expressed distress in spite of himself. He had great regard for Sir Percy Blakeney and did not like to see his lady running away with young Sir Andrew. Of course it was no business of his and Mr. Jelliband was no gossip. Still, in his heart he recollected that her ladyship was, after all, only one of them furners. What wonder that she was immoral like the rest of them? Don't sit up honest Jelliband. Continued Marguerite kindly. Nor you either, Mr. Sally. Sir Andrew may be late. Jelliband was only too willing that Sally should go to bed. He was beginning not to like these goings on at all. Still, Lady Blakeney would pay handsomely for the accommodation and it certainly was no business of his. Sally arranged a simple supper of fruit on the table. Then with a respectful curtsy she retired, wondering in her little mind why her ladyship looked so serious when she was about to lope with her gallant. Then commenced a period of weary waiting for Marguerite. She knew that Sir Andrew, who would have to provide himself with clothes befitting a lackey, could not possibly reached over for at least a couple of hours. He was a splendid horseman, of course, and would make light in such an emergency of the seventy odd miles between London and Dover. He would, too, literally burn the ground with his horse's hooves, but he might not always get very good remounts, and in any case he could not have started from London until at least an hour after she did. She had seen nothing of Chauvelin on the road. Her coachman whom she questioned had not seen anyone answering the description his mistress gave him of the wisdom figure of the little Frenchman. Evidently, therefore, he had been ahead of her all the time. She had not dared to question the people at the various inns where they had stopped to change horses. She feared that Chauvelin had spies all along and overhear her questions then outdistance her and warn her enemy of her approach. Now she wondered at what in he might be stopping or whether he had had the good luck of chartering a vessel already and was now himself on the way to France. That thought gripped her at the heart as with an iron vice. If indeed she should not be too late already. The loneliness of the room overwhelmed her. Everything within was so horribly still. The ticking of the grandfather's clock, dreadfully slow and measured, was the only sound which broke this awful loneliness. Marguerite had need of all her energy, all her steadfastness of purpose to keep up her courage through this weary midnight waiting. Everyone else in the house but herself must have been asleep. She had heard Sally go upstairs. Mr. Jelly Band had gone to see her coachmen and men and then had returned and taken up a position under the porch outside, just where Marguerite had first met Chauvelin about a week ago. He evidently meant to wait up for surrender folks but was soon overcome by sweet slumbers. For presently, in addition to the slow ticking of the clock, Marguerite could hear the monotonous and doucelot tones of the worthy fellow's breathing. For some time now she had realized that the beautiful warm October's day, so happily begun, had turned into a rough and cold night. She had felt very chilly and was glad of the cheerful blaze in the hearth, but gradually, as time wore on, the weather became more rough and the sound of the great breakers against the Admiral Tree Pier, though some distance from the inn, came to her as the noise of muffled thunder. The wind was becoming boisterous, rattling the leaded windows and the massive doors of the old fashioned house. It shook the trees outside and roared down the vast chimney. Marguerite wondered if the wind would be favorable for her journey. She had no fear of the storm and would have braved worse risks sooner than delay the crossing by an hour. A sudden commotion outside roused her from her meditations. Evidently, it was Sir Andrew Folks just arrived in mad haste, for she heard his horses hoos thundering on the flagstones outside, then Mr. Jelly Ben Sleepy yet cheerful tones bidding him welcome. For a moment then, the awkwardness of her position struck Marguerite. Alone at this hour, in a place where she was well-known and having made an assignation with a young Cavalier equally well-known and who arrived in disguise, went food for gossip to those mischievously inclined. The idea struck Marguerite chiefly from its humorous side, there was such quaint contrast between the seriousness of her errand and the construction which would naturally be put on her actions by honest Mr. Jelly Ben, for the first time since many hours a little smile became playing round the corners of her childlike mouth, and when presently Sir Andrew, almost unrecognizable in his lackey-like garb, entered the coffee-room, she was able to greet him with a merry laugh. Faith, Mr. My Lackey, she said, I am satisfied with your appearance. Mr. Jelly Ben had followed Sir Andrew looking strangely perplexed. The young gallant's disguise had confirmed his worse suspicions. Without a smile upon his jovial face he drew the cork from the bottle of wine, set the chairs ready and prepared to wait. Thanks, honest friend. Sir Marguerite, who was still smiling at the thought of what the worthy fellow must be thinking at that very moment, we shall require nothing more, and here's for all the trouble you have been put to on our account. She handed two or three gold pieces to Jelly Ben, who took them respectfully and with becoming gratitude. Stay, Lady Blakeney. Interposed Sir Andrew as Jelly Ben is about to retire. I'm afraid we shall require something more of my friend Jelly's hospitality. I'm sorry to say we cannot cross over to-night. Not cross over to-night? She repeated in amazement. But we must, Sir Andrew, we must. There can be no question of cannot, and whatever it may cost we must get a vessel to-night. But the young man shook his head sadly. I'm afraid it is not a question of cost, Lady Blakeney. There is a nasty storm blowing from France. The wind is dead against us. We cannot possibly sail until it has changed. Marguerite became deadly pale. She had not foreseen this.  Percy was in danger, and she could not go to him because the wind happened to blow from the coast of France. But we must go. We must. She repeated with strange, persistent energy. You know we must go. Can't you find a way? I have been down to the shore already. He said. And had a talk to one or two skippers. It is quite impossible to set sail to-night, so every sailor assured me. No one. He added, looking significantly at Marguerite. No one could possibly put out of dober to-night. Marguerite at once understood what he meant. She included Chauvelin as well as herself. She nodded pleasantly to Jelly Band. Well, then I must resign myself. She said to him, Have you a room for me? Oh yes, your ladyship. A nice bright, airy room. I'll see to it once, and there is another one for Sir Andrew. Both quite ready. That's brave now, my honest Jelly. Said Sir Andrew Gailey, and clapping his worth host vigorously on the back. You unlock both these rooms and leave our candles here on the dresser. I vow you are dead with sleep, and her ladyship must have some supper before she retires. There, have no fear. Friend of the roof or countenance. Her ladyship's visit, though at this unusual hour, is a great honour to thy house. And so Percy Blakeney will reward thee doubly if thou ceased well to her privacy and comfort. Sir Andrew had no doubt guessed the many conflicting doubts and fears which raged in honest Jelly Band's head. And, as he was a gallant gentleman, he tried by this brave hint to allay some of the worthy innkeeper's suspicions. He had the satisfaction of seeing that he had partially succeeded. Jelly Band's ruby countenance brightened somewhat at the mention of Sir Percy's name. I'll go and see to it at once, sir, he said with alacrity and with less rigidity in his manner. Has her ladyship everything she wants for supper? Everything, thanks, honest friend. And as I am famished and dead with fatigue, I am here to see to the rooms. Now tell me, she said eagerly as soon as Jelly Band had gone from the room, tell me all your news. There is nothing else much to tell you, Lady Blakeney. Reply the young man. The store makes it quite impossible for any vessel to put out of Durba this tide. But what seems to you at first a terrible calamity is really a blessing in disguise. If we cannot cross over to France tonight, Chauvelin is in the same quandary. He may have left before the storm broke out. God grant he may, said Sir Andrew Merrily, for very likely then he'll been driven out of his course. Who knows? He may now even be lying at the bottom of the sea, for there is a furious storm raging and it will fare ill with all small craft which happen to be out. But I fear me we cannot build our hopes upon the shipwreck of that cunning devil. An end of all his murderous plans. The sailors I spoke to all assured me that no schooner had put out of Durba for several hours. On the other hand I ascertained that a stranger had arrived by coach this afternoon and had, like myself, made some inquiries about crossing over to France. Then Chauvelin is still in Dover. Undoubtedly. Shall I go waylay him and run my sword through him? That were indeed the quickest way out of the difficulty. Nay, Sir Andrew, do not jest.  But what you suggest is impossible. The laws of this country do not permit a murder. It is only in our beautiful France that wholesale slaughter is done lawfully in the name of liberty and a brotherly love. Sir Andrew had persuaded her to sit down to the table with some supper and to drink a little wine. This enforced rest of at least twelve hours until the next tide was sure to be terribly difficult to bear in the state of intense excitement in which she was. Obedient in these small manners like a child, Marguerite tried to eat and drink. Sir Andrew, with that profound sympathy born in all those who are in love, made her almost happy by talking to her about her husband.  He made her eyes glow with enthusiasm by telling her of his bravery, his ingenuity, his resourcefulness, when it meant stashing the lives of men, women, and even children from beneath the very edge of that murderous, ever-ready guillotine. He even made her smile quite merrily by telling her of the Scarlet Pimpernel's quaint and many disguises through which he had baffled the strictest watch set against him at the barricades of Paris. This last time, the escape of the contest to Tornay and her children had been a veritable masterpiece. Blakeney disguised as a hideous old market woman in filthy cap and straggling grey locks was a sight fit to make the gods laugh. Marguerite laughed heartily as Sir Andrew tried to describe Blakeney's appearance whose gravest difficulty always consisted in his great height, which in France made disguise doubly difficult. Thus an hour wore on. There were many more to spend in enforced an activity in Dover. Marguerite rose from the table with an impatient sigh. She looked forward with dread to the night in the bed upstairs, with terribly anxious thoughts to keep her company and the howling of the storm to help chase sleep away. She wondered where Percy was now. The daydream was a strong, well-built, sea-going yacht. Sir Andrew had expressed the opinion that no doubt she had got in the lee of the wind before the storm broke out, or else perhaps had not ventured into the open at all but was lying quietly at gravesend. Briggs was an expert skipper and Sir Percy handled the schooner as well as any master mariner. There was no danger for them from the storm. It was long past midnight when at last Marguerite retired to rest. As she had feared, sleep saguelessly avoided her eyes. Her thoughts were of the blackest during these long, weary hours whilst that incessant storm raged which was keeping her away from Percy. The sound of the distant breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. She was very happy that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water rolling on and on with such persistent irritating monotony to the accompaniment of our thoughts whether grave or gay. When they are gay the waves echo their gaiety but when they are sad then every breaker as it rolls seems to bring additional sadness and to speak to us of hopelessness and the pettiness of all our joys. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Ortsy Chapter 22, Calais The weiriest nights, the longest days, sooner or later must perforce come to an end. Marguerite had spent over 15 hours in such acute mental torture as Will Nye drove her crazy. After this night she rose early wild with excitement dying to start on her journey terrified thus further obstacles lay in her way. She rose before anyone else in the house was a stir so frightened was she lest she should miss the one golden opportunity of making a start. When she came downstairs she found surrender folks sitting in the coffee room. He had been out half an hour earlier and had gone to the Admiralty Pier only to find that neither the French packet nor any privately charted vessel could put out of Dover yet. Marguerite felt the sickness of despair when she heard this melancholy news. Only the most firm resolution kept her from totally breaking down and thus adding to the young man's anxiety which evidently had become very keen. Though he tried to hide it Marguerite could see that Sir Andrew was just as anxious as she was to reach out to the Admiralty Pier to find out what was going on. Marguerite felt the sickness of despair when she heard this melancholy news. Only the most firm resolution kept her from finding her was just as anxious as she was to reach his comrade and friend. This enforced inactivity was terrible to them both. How they spent that weirsome day at Dover Marguerite could never afterwards say she was in terror of showing herself that Chauvelin's spies happened to be about so she had a private sitting room and she answered Andrew sat there hour after hour trying to take at long intervals some perfunctory meals which little Sally would bring them with nothing to do with think, to conjecture the storm had abated just too late the tide was by then too far out to allow a vessel to put off to sea the wind had changed and was settling down to a comfortable northwesterly breeze a veritable godsend for a speedy passage across to France and there those two waited wondering if the hour would ever come where they could finally make a start there had been one happy interval in this long weary day and that was when Sir Andrew went down once again to the pier and presently came back to tell Marguerite that he had chartered a quick schooner whose skipper was ready to put to sea the moment the tide was favorable from that moment the hour seemed less weary some there was less hopelessness in the waiting and at last at five o'clock in the afternoon Marguerite closely veiled and followed by Sir Andrew folks who in the guise of her lackey was carrying a number of impendementa found her way down to the pier once on board the keen fresh sea air revived her the breeze was just strong enough to nicely swell the sails of the foam crest as she cut her way merrily towards the open the sunset was glorious after the storm and Marguerite as she watched the white cliffs of Dover gradually disappearing from view felt more at peace and once more almost helpful Sir Andrew was full of kind attentions and she felt how lucky she had been to have him by her side in this her great trouble gradually the gray coast of France began to emerge from the fast gathering evening miss one or two lights could be seen flickering and the spires of several churches to rise out of the surrounding haze half an hour later Marguerite had landed upon French shore she was back in that country where at this very moment men fluttered their fellow creatures by the hundreds and sent innocent women and children in thousands to the block the very aspect of the country and its people even in this remote sea coast town spoke of that seething revolution 300 miles away in beautiful Paris now rendered hideous by the constant flow of the blood of her noblest sons by the wailing of the widows and the cries of his children the men all wore red caps in various stages of cleanliness but all with the tricolored cockade pinned on the left side Marguerite don't us with a shutter that instead of the laughing Mary countenance habitual to her own countrymen their faces now invariably wore a look of sly distrust every man nowadays was a spy upon his fellows the most innocent word uttered in jest might at any time be brought up as a proof of aristocratic tendencies or of treachery against the people even the woman went about with a curious look of fear and of hate lurking in their brown eyes and all watched Marguerite as she stepped on shore followed by Sir Andrews and murmured as she passed along Sakura Aristos or else Sakura English otherwise their presence excited no further comment Kalei even in those days was in constant business communication with England and English merchants were often seen on this coast it was well known that in view of the heavy duties in England a vast deal of mines and brandies were smuggled across this pleased the French bourgeois immensely he liked to see the English government and the English king both of whom he hated cheated out of their revenues and an English smuggler was always a welcome guest at the tumbled down taverns of Kalei and Bouillon so perhaps as Sir Andrew gradually directed Marguerite through the torturous streets of Kalei many of the population who turned with an oath to look at the strangers clad in English fashion thought that they were bent on purchasing dutiful articles in a written country and gave them no more than a passing thought Marguerite however wondered how her husband's tall massive figure could have passed through Kalei unobserved she marveled but disguised he assumed to do his noble work without exciting too much attention without exchanging more than a few words Sir Andrew was leading her right across the town to the other side from that where they had landed and the way towards the Capgrisnes the streets were narrow torturous and mostly evil smelling with a mixture of stale fish and damp cellar there had been heavy rains here during the storm last night and sometimes Marguerite sank ankle deep in the mud for the roads were not lighted safe by the occasional glimmer from a lamp inside a house but she did not heed any of these petty discomforts we may meet Blakeney at the Chagri Sir Andrew had said when they landed and she was walking as if on a carpet of rose leaves where she was going to meet him almost at once at last they reached their destination Sir Andrew evidently knew the road for he had walked unerringly in the dark and had not asked his way from anyone it was too dark then for Marguerite to notice the outside aspect of this house the shot gris as Sir Andrew had called it was evidently a small wayside in on the outskirts of Calais and on the way to the Grisnes it lay some distance from the coast where the sound of the sea seemed to come from afar Sir Andrew knocked at the door with the knob of his cane and from within Marguerite heard a sort of grunt and the muttering of a number of oaths Sir Andrew knocked again this time more oaths were heard and then shuffling steps seemed to draw near at the door presently this was thrown open and Marguerite found herself on the threshold of the most elabidated most squalid room she had ever seen in all her life the paper such as it was was hanging from the walls and strips there did not seem to be a single piece of furniture in the room that could by the wildest stretch of imagination be called whole most of the chairs had broken backs others had no seats to them one corner of the table was propped up with a bundle where the fourth leg had been broken in one corner of the room there was a huge hearth over which hung a stockpot with a knot all together unpalatable odor of hot soup emanating there from on one side of the room high up in the wall there was a species of loft before which hung a tattered blue and white checked curtain a rickety set of steps led up to this loft on the great bare walls with their colorless paper all stained with varied filth there were chalked up at intervals in great bold characters the words rickety, eaglity, fraternity the whole of this sordid abode was dimly lighted by an evil smelling oil lamp which hung from the rickety rafters of the ceiling it all looked so horribly squalid so dirty and uninviting that margarite hardly dared to cross the threshold sir andrew however had stepped unhesitatingly forward he said boldly and speaking in french the individual who had come to the door in response to sir andrew's knock and who was the owner of this squalid abode was an elderly heavily built peasant dressed in a dirty blue blouse heavy saboo from which wisps of straw protruded all around shabby blue trousers and the inevitable red cap with the tricolor cockade that proclaimed his momentary political views he carried a short wooden pipe from which the odor of ranked tobacco emanated he looked with some suspicion and a great deal of contempt at the two travelers muttering sacral glaze and spat upon the ground to further show his independence of spirit but nevertheless he stood aside to let them enter no doubt well aware that the same sacral glaze always had well filled verses oh what said margarite as she advanced into the room holding her handkerchief to her dainty nose what a dreadful hole are you sure this is the place this is the place sure enough replied the young man as with his lace edged fashionable handkerchief he dusted a chair for margarite to sit on never saw a more villainous hole faith she said looking round with some curiosity and a great deal of horror at the dilapidated walls the broken chair the rickety table it certainly does not look inviting the landlord of the chakri by name brogarde had taken no further notice of his guests he concluded that presently they would order supper and in the meanwhile it was not for a free citizen to show deference or even courtesy to anyone however smartly they might be dressed by the hearth said a huddled up figure clad seemingly mostly in rags that figure was apparently a woman although even that would have been hard to distinguish except for the cap which had once been white and for what looked like the semblance of a petticoat she was sitting mumbling to herself and from time to time stirring the brew in her stockpot hey my friend said sir andrew at last we should like some supper is it going on there he added he's concocting some delicious soup I'll warrant and my mistress has not tasted food for several hours brogarde some few minutes to consider the question a free citizen does not respond too readily to the wishes of those who happen to require something of him sacralitos he murmured and once more spat upon the ground then he went very slowly up to a dresser which stood in a corner of the room from this he took an old pewter soup tureen and slowly and without a word he handed it to his better half who in the same silence began filling the tureen with the soup that he had made out of her stockpot margarite had watched all these preparations with absolute horror were it not for the earnestness of her purpose she would incontinently have fled from this abode of dirt and evil smells faith though host and hostess are not cheerful people said sir andrew seeing the look of horror on margarite's face I would I could offer you a more hearty and more appetizing meal but I think you will find the soup eatable and the wine good these people wallow in dirt nay I pray you sir Andrew she said gently be not anxious about me my mind is scarce inclined to dwell on thoughts of supper brogarde was slowly pursuing his gruesome preparations he had placed a couple of spoons also two glasses on the table both of which sir andrew took the precaution of wiping carefully brogarde had also produced a bottle of wine and some bread and margarite made an effort to draw her chair to the table and to make some pretence at eating sir andrew as befitting his role of chair nay madame I pray you he said seeing that margarite seemed quite unable to eat I beg you to try and swallow some food remember you have need of all your strength the soup certainly was not bad it smelled and tasted good margarite might have enjoyed it but for the horrible surroundings she broke the bread however and drank some of the wine nay sir Andrew she said I do not like to see you standing you have need of food just as much as I have this creature will only think that I am an eccentric english woman alloping with her lackey if you'll sit down and partake of this semblance of supper beside me indeed brogarde having placed what was strictly necessary upon the table seemed not to trouble himself any further about his guests the mare a brogarde had quietly shoveled out of the room and the man stood and lunged about smoking his evil smelling pipe sometimes under margarite's very nose as any free born citizen who was anybody's equal should do confound the brute said sir andrew with native british wrath as brogarde at the table smoking and looking down super seriously at these two soccer anglais in heaven's name man and monish margarite hurriedly seeing that sir andrew with british born instinct was ominously clenching his fist remember that you are in france and that in this year of grace this is the temper of the people I'd like to scratch the brute muttered sir andrew savagely he had taken margarite's advice and sat next to her at table and they were both making noble efforts to deceive one another by pretending to eat and drink I pray you have a good temper so that he may answer the questions we must put to him I'll do my best but big gad I'd soon ascrag him than question him hey my friend he said pleasantly in french and tapping brogarde lightly on the shoulder do you see many of our quality along these parts many english travelers I mean brogarde looked round at him over his shoulder puffed away at his pipe for a moment or two as he was in no hurry then muttered boy sometimes ah said sir Andrew carelessly English travelers always know where they can get good wine eh my friend now tell me my lady was desiring to know if by any chance you happen to have seen a great friend of hers an English gentleman who often comes to Calais on business he is tall and recently was on his way to Paris my lady hoped to have met him in Calais margarite tried not to look at brogarde that she should betray before him the burning anxiety with which he waited for his reply but a free born french citizen is never in any hurry to answer questions brogarde took his time then he said very slowly all englishmen today yes yes today muttered brogarde suddenly then he quietly took sir Andrew's hat from a chair close by put it on his own head tugged at his dirty blouse and generally tried to express in pantomime that the individual in question wore very fine clothes he muttered that tall englishman margarite could scarce repress a scream it's sir Percy right enough she murmured and not even in disguise she smiled in the midst of all her anxiety and through her gathering tears at the thought of the ruling passion strong and death of Percy running into the wildest maddest dangers with the latest cut coat upon his back and the laces of his jabot unruffled oh the full heartiness of it quick sir Andrew ask the man when he went oh yes my friend said sir Andrew addressing brogarde with the same assumption of carelessness my lord always wears beautiful clothes the tall englishman you saw was certainly my lady's friend and he is gone you say he went yes but he's coming back here he ordered supper sir Andrew put his hand with a quick gesture of warning upon margarite's arm it came none too soon for the next moment her wild mad joy would have betrayed her if an well was coming back here presently she would see him in a few moments perhaps oh the wildness of her joy seemed almost more than she could bear she said to brogarde who seemed suddenly to have been transformed in her eyes into some heaven born messenger of bliss here did you say the english gentleman was coming back here the heaven born messenger of bliss bat upon the floor to express his content for all unsundry aristos who chose to haunt the shot green he muttered back he added by way of protest against all this fuss for a mere englishman but where is he now do you know she asked eagerly placing her dainty white hand upon the dirty sleeve of his blue blouse you went to get a horse and cart said brogarde laconically as with a surly gesture he shook off from his arm that pretty hand which princes had been proud to kiss but brogarde had evidently had enough of these questionings he did not think that it was fitting for a citizen to be equal of anybody to be thus catechized by these saccharistos even though they were rich english ones it was distinctly more fitting to his newborn dignity to be as rude as possible it was a sure sign of servility to meekly reply to civil questions i don't know he said surly i have said enough voyons les aristos he came today he ordered supper he went out he'll come back voila the citizen and a free man to be as rude as he well pleased brogarde shuffled out of the room banging the door after him end of chapter 22 chapter 23 of the scarlet pimpernel this is the LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Ortsy chapter 23 hope please madam i'm sure you're seeing that margaret seems desirous to call her surly host back again i think we'd better leave him alone we shall not get anything more out of him and we might arouse his suspicions one never knows what spies may be lurking around these god-forsaken places what care I she replied lightly now i know that my husband is safe and that i shall see him almost directly hush he said in genuine alarm in the fullness of her glee the very walls have ears in France these days he rose quickly from the table and walked around the bare squalid room listening attentively at the door through which roguard had just disappeared and whence only muttered oaths and shuffling footsteps could be heard he also ran up the rickety steps that led to the attic to assure himself that there were no spies of chauvelins about the place are we alone manjour my lackey are we alone manjour my lackey I agree to galey as the young man once more sat down beside her may we talk as cautiously as possible he entreated faith man but you wear a glum face as for me i could dance with joy surely there is no longer any cause for fear our boat is on the beach the foam crest not two miles out at sea and my husband will be here under this very roof within the next half hour perhaps sure there is not to hinder us chauvelin and his gang have not yet arrived nay madam that I fear we do not know what do you mean he was at dober at the same time that we were held up by the same storm which kept us from starting exactly but I did not speak with before for I feared to alarm you I saw him on the beach not five minutes before we embarked at least I swore to myself at the time that it was himself he was dressed as a curie so that satan his own guardian would scarce have known him but I heard him then bargaining for a vessel to take him swiftly to calais and he must have said say oh less than an hour after we did margaret's face had quickly lost its look of joy the terrible danger in which porsi stood now that he was actually on french soil became suddenly and horribly clear to her chauvelin was close upon his heels here in calais the astute diplomatist was all powerful a word from him and porsi could be tracked and arrested and every drop of blood seemed to freeze in her veins not even during the moments of her wild disanguish in england had she so completely realized the eminence of the peril in which her husband stood chauvelin had sworn to bring the scarlet pimpernel to the guillotine and now the daring plotter whose anonymity hitherto had been his safeguard stood revealing himself to her who had been his safeguard stood revealed through her own hand to his most bitter most relentless enemy chauvelin when he way-laid lord toni and surrender folks in the coffee room of the fisherman's rest had obtained possession of all the plans of this latest expedition armand son juice the conch de tournai and other fugitive royalists were to have met the scarlet pimpernel or rather as it had been originally arranged two of his emissaries on this day the second of october at a place evidently known to the league and vaguely alluded to as the PR Blanchard's hut Armand whose connection with the scarlet pimpernel and a saval of the brutal policy of the reign of terror was still unknown to his countrymen had left england a little more than a week ago carrying with him the necessary instructions which would enable him to meet the other fugitives and to convey them to this place of safety this much marguerite had fully understood from the first and surrender folks had confirmed her surmises she knew too that when sur Percy realized that his own plans in his directions to his descendants had been stolen by chauvin it was too late to communicate with armand or to send fresh instructions to the fugitives they would of necessity be at the appointed time and place not knowing how grave was the danger which now awaited their brave rescuer like me who as usual had planned and organized the whole expedition would not allow any of his younger comrades to run the risk of almost certain capture hence is hurried note to them at lord grandville's ball start myself tomorrow alone the identity known to his most bitter enemy his every step would be dog the moment he set foot in france he would be tracked by chauvin's emissaries followed until he reached that mysterious hut where the fugitives were waiting for him and there the trap would be closed on him and on them there was but one hour the hour start which marguerite and surrender had of their enemy in which to warn Percy of the imminence of his danger and to persuade him to give up the foolhardy expedition which could only end in his own death but there was that one hour chauvin knows of this inn from the papacy stall said sir ander earnestly and on landing will make straight for it he has not landed yet she said we have an hour start on him and Percy will be here directly we shall be mid-channel air chauvin has realized that we have slipped through his fingers she spoke excitedly and eagerly wishing to infuse into her young friend some of that buoyant hope which still clung to her heart but he shook his head sadly silent again sir Andrew she said with some impatience why do you shake your head and look so glum faith madame he replied it is only because in making your rose colored plans you are forgetting the most important factor what in the world do you mean I am forgetting nothing what factor do you mean she added with more impatience it stands six foot odd high replied sir Andrew quietly and hath the name Percy Blakeney I don't understand she murmured do you think the Blakeney would leave Calais without having accomplished what he set out to do you mean there's the old comp de tournée the comp de she murmured and Saint-Just and others my brother she said with a heartbroken salve of anguish heaven help me but I fear I had forgotten fugitives as they are these men at this moment await with perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the scarlet pimpanel who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the channel indeed she had forgotten with the sublime selfishness of a woman who loves with her whole heart the last 24 hours had no thought save for him his precious noble life his danger he, the loved one, the brave hero he alone dwelt in her mind my brother she murmured as one by one the heavy tears gathered in her eyes as memory came back to her of Armand the companion and darling of her childhood the man for whom she had committed the deadly sin which had so hopelessly imperiled her brave husband's life so Percy Blakeney would not be the trusted leader of a score of English gentlemen said Sir Andrew proudly if he abandoned those who placed their trust in him as for bracing his word the very thought is preposterous there was silence for a moment or two Marguerite had buried her face in her hands and was letting the tears slowly trickle through her trembling fingers the young man said nothing his heart egged for this beautiful woman in her awful grief all along he had felt the terrible impasse in which her own rash act had plunged them all he knew his friend and leader so well with his reckless daring his mad bravery his worship of his own word of honour Sir Andrew knew that Blakeney would brave any danger run the wildest risks sooner than break it and with Chauvin at his very heels would make a final attempt however desperate to rescue those who trusted in him Pace, Sir Andrew said Marguerite at last making brave efforts to dry her tears you are right and I would not now shame myself by trying to dissuade him from doing his duty as you say I should plead in vain God grant him strength and ability she added fervently and resolutely to outwit his pursuers he will not refuse to take you with him perhaps when he starts on his noble work between you you will have cunning as well as valor God guard you both in the meanwhile I think we should lose no time I still believe that his safety depends upon his knowing that Chauvin is on his track undoubtedly he has wonderful resources at his command as soon as he is aware of his danger he will exercise more caution his ingenuity is a veritable miracle then what say you to a voyage of reconnaissance in the village whilst I wait here against his coming you might come across Percy's track to save valuable time if you find him tell him to beware his bitterest enemies on his heels but this is such a villainous hold for you to wait in nay that I do not mind but you might ask our surly host if he could let me wait in another room where I could be safer from the prying eyes of any chance traveler offer him some ready money so that he should not fail to give me word the moment the tall Englishman returns she spoke quite calmly even cheerfully now thinking out her plans ready for the worst of need be she would show no more weakness she would prove herself worthy of him he was about to give his life for the sake of his fellow men Sir Andrew obeyed her without further comment instinctively he felt that hers now was a stronger mind he was willing to give himself over to her guidance to become the hand whilst she was the directing head he went to the door of the inner room through which Brogarde and his wife had disappeared before and knocked until he was answered by a salvo of mutterdose hey friend Brogarde said the man peremptorily my lady friend would wish to rest here a while could you give her the use of another room she would wish to be alone he took some money out of his pocket and allowed it to jingle significantly in his hand Brogarde had opened the door and listened with his usual surly apathy to the young man's request at the sight of the gold however his lazy attitude relaxed slightly he took his pipe from his mouth and shuffled into the room he then pointed over his shoulder at the attic up in the wall she can wait up there he said with a grunt it's comforable I have no other room nothing could be better said Marguerite in English she at once realized the advantages such a position hidden from view would give her give him the money Sir Andrew I shall be quite happy up there and can see everything without being seen she nodded to Brogarde who condescended to go up to the attic and to shake up the straw that lay on the floor may I entreat you, madam to do nothing rash said Sir Andrew as Marguerite prepared in her turn to ascend the rickety flight of steps remember this place is infested with spies do not, I beg of you, reveal yourself to Sir Percy unless you are absolutely certain that you are alone with him even as he spoke he felt how unnecessary was his caution Marguerite was as calm as clear-headed as any man there was no fear of her doing anything that was rash nay she said with a slight attempt at cheerfulness that I can faithfully promise you I would not jeopardize my husband's life nor yet his plans by speaking to him before strangers have no fear I will watch my opportunity and serve him in the manner I think he needs it most Brigard had come down the steps again and Marguerite was ready to go up to her safe retreat I dare not kiss your hand, madam said Sir Andrew as she began to mount the steps since I am your lackey but I pray you be of good cheer if I do not come across Blakeney in half an hour I shall return expecting to find him here yes that will be best we can afford to wait for half an hour Chauvelin cannot possibly be here before that God grant that either you or I may have seen Percy by then good luck to you friend have no fear for me Lately she mounted the rickety wooden steps that led to the attic Brigard was taking no further heed of her she could make herself comfortable there or not as she chose Sir Andrew watched her until she had reached the curtains across and the young man noted that she was singularly well placed there for seeing and hearing whilst remaining unobserved he had paid Brigard well the surly old innkeeper would have no object in betraying her then Sir Andrew prepared to go at the door he turned once again and looked up at the loft through the ragged curtains Marguerite's sweet face was peeping down at him and the young man rejoiced to see that it looked serene and even gently smiling with the final nod of her well to her he walked out into the night End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of the Scarlet Pimpernow This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eliza The Scarlet Pimpernow by Baroness Emma Orksy Chapter 24 The Death Trap The next quarter of an hour went swiftly and noiselessly by In the room downstairs Brogarde had for a while busyed himself with clearing the table and rearranging it for another guest It was because she watched these preparations that Marguerite found the time slipping by more It was for Percy that this semblance of supper was being got ready Evidently Brogarde had a certain amount of respect for the tall Englishman as he seemed to take some trouble in making the place look a trifle less unbiting than it had done before He even produced from some hidden recess in the old dresser what actually looked like a tablecloth and when he spread it out and saw it was full of holes he shook his head dubiously for a while then was at much pain so to spread it over the table as to hide most of its blemishes He got out of serviette, also old and ragged but possessing some measure of cleanliness and with this he carefully wiped the glasses spoons and plates which he put on the table Marguerite could not help smiling to herself as she watched all these preparations which Brogarde accomplished to an accompaniment of muttered oats clearly the great height and bulk of the Englishman or perhaps the weight of his fist had over all this freeborn citizen of France or he would never have been at such trouble for any Sacristo When the table was set such as it was Brogarde surveyed it with evident satisfaction he then dusted one of the chairs with the corner of his blouse gave a stir to the stockpot threw a fresh bundle of faggots onto the fire and slouched out of the room Marguerite was left alone with her reflections she had spread her traveling cloak over the straw and was sitting fairly comfortably as the straw was fresh and the evil odors from below came up to her only in a modified form but momentarily she was almost happy happy because when she peeped through the tattered curtains she could see a rickety chair a torn tablecloth a glass, a plate, and a spoon that was all but those mute and ugly things seemed to say to her that they were waiting for Percy that soon, very soon, he would be here that the squalid room being still empty they would be alone together that thought was so heavenly that Marguerite closed her eyes in order to shut out everything but that in a few minutes she would be alone with him she would run down the ladder she would see her then he would take her in his arms and she would let him see that after that she would gladly die for him and with him for earth could hold no greater happiness than that and then what would happen she could not even remotely conjecture she knew of course that Sir Andrew was right that Percy would do everything he had set out to accomplish that she, now she was here could do nothing beyond warning him to be cautious since Shoblin himself was on his track after having cautioned him she would preforce have to see him go off upon the terrible and daring mission she could not even with a word or look attempt to keep him back she would have to obey whatever he told her to do even perhaps have to efface herself and wait in indescribable agony whilst he perhaps went to his death but even that seemed less terrible to bear than the thought that he should never know how much she loved him that at any rate would be spared her the squalid room itself after him told her that he would be here soon suddenly her oversensitive ears caught the sound of distant footsteps drawing near her heart gave a wild leap of joy was it Percy at last no, the step did not seem quite as long nor quite as firm as his she also thought that she could hear two distinct sets of footsteps yes, that was it two men were coming this way two strangers perhaps to get a drink or but she had not time to conjecture and the next moment it was violently open from the outside whilst a rough commanding voice shouted hey, citoyen, brogarde, hola Marguerite could not see the newcomers but through a hole in one of the curtains she could observe one portion of the room below she heard brogarde's shuffling footsteps as he came out of the inner room muttering his usual string of oaths on seeing the strangers, however, he paused in the middle of the room well within range of Marguerite's vision looked at them with even more withering contempt than he had bestowed upon his former guest and muttered Marguerite's heart seemed all at once to stop beating her eyes large and dilated had fastened out one of the newcomers who, at this point, had taken a quick step forwards towards brogarde he was dressed in the soutaine, broad brimmed hat and buckled shoes habitual to the French cure but as he stood opposite the innkeeper he threw open his soutaine for a moment displaying the tricolor scarf of officialism which sight immediately had the effect of transforming brogarde's attitude of contempt into one of cringing obsequiousness it was the sight of this French cure which seemed to freeze the very blood in Marguerite's veins she could not see his face which was shaded by his broad brimmed hat but she recognized the thin, bony hands the slight stoop the whole gate of the man it was chauvinant the horror of the situation struck her as with a physical blow the awful disappointment the dread of what was to come and she needed almost superhuman effort not to fall senseless beneath it all the plet of soup and a bottle of wine said chauvin imperiously to brogarde then clear out of here understand, I want to be alone silently and without any muttering this time brogarde obeyed chauvinant sat down at the table which had been prepared for the tall Englishman and the innkeeper busied himself obsequiously round him, dishing up the soup and pouring out the wine the man who had entered with chauvinant at sea, stood waiting close by the door at a brusque sign from chauvinant brogarde had hurried back to the inner room and the former now beckoned to the man who had accompanied him in him marguerite once recognized Degas chauvinant's secretary in Confidential Effect Totem whom she had often seen in Paris in days gone by he crossed the room and for a moment or two listened attentively at the brogarde's door not listening? as chauvinant curtly for a moment marguerite dreaded chauvinant should order Degas to search the place what would happen if she were to be discovered she hardly dared to imagine fortunately however chauvinant seemed more impatient to talk to his secretary than afraid of spies for he called Degas quickly back to his side the English schooner he asked she was lost side up at sundown to try on replied Degas what was then making wet towards Capri Ned ah good and now how about immediately what did he say he assured me that all the orders you sent him last week have been implicitly obeyed all the roads which converged to this place have been patrolled night and day ever since and the beach and cliffs have been most rigorously searched and guarded does he know where this père Blanchard's hut is no c'est try on nobody seems to know of it by that name there are any amount of fishermen's huts all along the coast but that'll do now about tonight interrupted chauvinant impatiently the roads and the beach are patrolled as usual to try on and captain Jutley awaits further orders go back to him at once then tell him to send reinforcements to the various patrols and especially to those along the beach you understand chauvinant spoke curtly into the point and every word he uttered struck at marguerite's heart like the death knell of her fondest hopes the men he continued to keep the sharpest possible lookout for any stranger who may be walking or riding or deriving along the road or the beach more especially for a tall stranger whom I need not describe further as probably he will be disguised but he cannot very well conceal his height except by stooping you understand perfectly c'est try on as soon as any of the men have sighted a stranger or two of them are to keep him in view the man who loses sight of the tall stranger after he is once seen will pay for his negligence with his laugh but one man is to ride straight back here and report to me is that clear absolutely clear c'est try on very well and go and see Jotley at once see the reinforcements start off for the patrol duty that after the captain to let you have a half a dozen more men and bring them here with you you can be back in ten minutes go Degas eluded and went to the door as marguerite, sick with horror listened to chauvinant's directions to his underling the whole of the plan for the capture the scarlet Pimpernel became appallingly clear to her chauvin wished that the fugitives should be left in false security waiting in their hidden retreat until Percy joined them then the daring plotter was to be surrounded and caught red-handed in the very act of aiding and abetting royalists who were traitors to the republic thus if his capture were noised abroad even the British government could not legally protest in his favour having plotted with the enemies of the French government France had the right to put him to death escape for him and them would be impossible all the roads patrolled and watched the trap well set the net wide at present but drawing together tighter and tighter until it closed upon the daring plotter whose superhuman cunning even could not rescue him from its meshes now Degas was about to go but chauvinant once more called him back marguerite vaguely wondered what further devilish plans he could have formed in order to entrap one brave man alone against two score of others she looked at him as he turned to speak to Degas she could just see his face beneath the broad brim to cure his hat there was at that moment so much deadly hatred such fiendish malice in the thin face and pale small eyes that marguerite's last hope died in her heart for she felt that from this man she could expect no mercy I had forgotten repeated chauvinant with a weird chuckle as he rubbed his bony talon-like hands one against the other with a gesture of fiendish satisfaction the third stranger made sure fight in any case no shooting remember except as a last resort I wanted at all a stranger alive if possible meh he laughed as Dante has told us that the devils laugh at the sight of the torture of the damned marguerite had thought that by now she had lived through the whole gamut of horror and anguish that human heart could bear yet now, when Degas left the house and she remained alone in this lonely squalid room with that fiend for company she felt as if all that she had suffered was nothing compared with this he continued to laugh and chuckle to himself for a while rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his triumph his plans were well laid and he might well triumph not a loophole was left through which the bravest, the most cunning man might escape every road guarded, every corner watched and in that lonely hut somewhere on the coast a small band of fugitives waiting for their rescuer and leading him to his death nay, to worse than death that fiend there in a holy man's garb was too much of a devil to allow a brave man to die the quick sudden death of a soldier at the post of duty he, above all, longed to have the cunning enemy who had so long baffled him helpless in his power he wished to gloat over him to enjoy his downfall, to inflict upon him what moral and mental torture a deadly hatred alone can devise the brave eagle captured and with noble wings clipped was doomed to endure the gnawing of the rat and she, his wife who loved him and who had brought him to this could do nothing to help him nothing save to hope for death by his side and for one brief moment in which to tell him that her love, whole, true and passionate, was entirely his Chauvelin was now sitting close to the table he had taken off his hat and Marguerite could just see the outline of his thin chin as he bent over his meager supper he was evidently quite contented and awaited events with perfect calm he even seemed to enjoy Brogarde's unsabery fare Marguerite wondered how so much hatred could lurk in one human being against another suddenly as she watched Chauvelin a sound caught her ear which turned her very heart to stone and yet that sound was not calculated to inspire anyone with horror for it was merely the cheerful sound of a gay, fresh voice singing lustily but save our king End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of The Scarlet Pimpinel This is a LibraVox recording All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org Narration by Beth Thomas The Scarlet Pimpinel by Baroness Otzi Chapter 25 The Eagle and the Fox Marguerite's breath stopped short she seemed to feel her very life standing still momentarily while she listened to that voice and to that song In the singer she had recognised her husband Chauvelin too had heard it for he darted a quick glance towards the door then hurriedly took up his broad brimmed hat and clapped it over his head The voice drew nearer for one brief second the wild desire seized Marguerite to rush down the steps and fly across the room to stop that song at any cost to beg the cheerful singer to fly fly for his life before it be too late She checked the impulse just in time Chauvelin would stop her before she reached the door and, moreover she had no idea if he had any soldiers posted within his call Her impetuous act might prove the death signal of the man she would have died to save God save great George our king long live our noble king God save our king God save our king sent him victorious happy and glorious long to reign over us God save the king Saying the voice more lustily than ever the next moment the door was thrown open and there was a dead silence for a second or so Marguerite could not see the door she held her breath trying to imagine what was happening Percy Blake in the on-entering had of course at once caught sight of the curate at the table His hesitation lasted less than five seconds the next moment Marguerite saw his tall figure crossing the room whilst he called in a loud cheerful voice Hello there No one about? Where's that full broguard? He wore the magnificent coat and riding suit which he had on when Marguerite last saw him at Richmond so many hours ago As usual his get up was absolutely irreproachable the fine meshlin lace at his neck and wrists were immaculate and white his fair hair was carefully brushed and he carried his eyeglass with his usual affected gesture In fact at this moment so Percy Blakeney, Baronet might have been on his way to a garden party at the Prince of Wales instead of deliberately cold bloodedly running his head in a trap set for him by his deadliest enemy He stood for a moment in the middle of the room whilst Marguerite absolutely paralysed with horror seemed unable even to breathe Every moment she expected that Chauvalan would give a signal that the place would fill with soldiers that she would rush down and help Percy to sell his life dearly As he stood there suavely unconscious she very nearly screamed out to him Fly Percy, tis your deadly enemy fly before it be too late but she had not time even to do that for the next moment Blakeney quietly walked to the table and Jovially clapped the curate on the back said in his own drawly affected way Chauvalan's fish Monsieur Chauvalan I vow I never thought of meeting you here Chauvalan, who had been in the very act of conveying slip to his mouth, fairly choked His thin face became absolutely purple and a violent fit of coughing saved this cunning representative of France from betraying the most boundless surprise he had ever experienced There was no doubt that this bold move on the part of the enemy had been wholly unexpected as far as he was concerned and the daring impudence of it completely for the moment Obviously he had not taken the precaution of having the in surrounded with soldiers Blakeney had evidently guessed that much and no doubt his resourceful brain had already formed some plan by which he could turn this unexpected interview to account Marguerite up in the loft had not moved She had made a solemn promise to Sir Andrew not to speak to her husband before strangers and she had sufficient self control not to throw herself unreasoningly and impulsively across his plans to sit still and watch these two men together in his fortitude Marguerite had heard Chauvelin give the orders for patrolling of all of the roads She knew that if Sir Percy left now the Chagri in whatever direction he happened to go he could not go far without being cited by some of Captain Jutley's men on patrol On the other hand, if he stayed then Degas would have time to come back with the dozen men that Chauvelin had specially ordered The trap was closing in and Marguerite could do nothing but watch and wonder The two men looked such a strange contrast and of the two it was Chauvelin who exhibited a slight touch of fear Marguerite knew him well enough to guess what was passing in his mind He had no fear for his own person although he certainly was alone in a lonely inn with a man who was powerfully built and who was daring and reckless beyond the bounds of probability She knew that Chauvelin would willingly have braved perilous encounters for the sake of the cause he had at heart But what he did fear was that this impudent Englishman would by knocking him down double his own chances of escape His underlings might not succeed while at Pimpinol were not directed by the cunning hand and the shrewd brain which had deadly hate for an incentive Evidently however, the representative of the French government had nothing to fear for the moment at the hands of this powerful adversary Blakeney with his most inane laugh and pleasant good nature was solemnly patting him on the back I'm so damn sorry So very sorry I seem to have upset you Eating soup too Nasty, awkward thing soup A friend of mine died once Choked Just like you with a spoon full of soup And he smiled shyly, good-humidly down at Chauvelin He continued, as soon as the latter had somewhat recovered himself Beastly hold this, ain't it now La, you don't mind He added apologetically as he sat down on a chair close to the table and drew the soup tureen towards him That fool Brogarde seems to be asleep or something There was a second plate on the table and he calmly helped himself to soup then poured himself a glass of wine For a moment Marguerite wondered what Chauvelin would do His disguise was so good that perhaps he meant on recovering himself to deny his identity but Chauvelin was too astute to make such an obviously false and childish move and already he too had stretched out his hand and said pleasantly I am indeed charm to see you, Sir Percy You must excuse me I thought you were the other side of the channel sudden surprise almost took my breath away La He did that quite, didn't it? Uh, Mr, uh Chauvelin Pardon me, Chauvelin I beg pardon, a thousand times Yes, Chauvelin, of course Uh, I never could part into foreign names He was calmly eating his soup laughing with pleasant good humour as if he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of enjoying supper at this filthy inn in the company of his arch enemy For a moment Marguerite wondered why Percy did not knock the little Frenchman down then and there, and no doubt something of the sort must have darted through his mind for every now and then his lazy eyes seemed to flash ominously as they rested on the slight figure of Chauvelin who had now quite recovered himself and was also calmly eating soup But the keen brain which had planned and carried through so many daring plots was too far-seeing to take unnecessary risks This place, after all, might be infested with spies The incapable might be in Chauvelin's pay One call on Chauvelin's part might bring twenty men about Blake in his ears for oughty new, and he might be caught and trapped before he could help or at least warn the fugitives This he would not risk He meant to help the others to get them safely away for he had pledged his word to them and his word he would keep And whilst he ate and chatted he thought and planned Whilst up in the loft the poor anxious woman racked her brain as to what she should do and endured agonies of longing to rush down to him yet not daring to move for fear of upsetting his plans I didn't know Blake and he were saying Joabilly were in holy orders I bear him Stem of Chauvelin The calm impudence of his antagonist had evidently thrown him off his usual balance But Vaugh, I should have known you anywhere continued Sir Percy placidly as he poured himself out another glass of wine Although the wig and hat have changed you a bit Do you think so? But they alter a man so but begad I hope you don't mind my having made the remark damned bad form making remarks I hope you don't mind No no, not at all I hope Lady Blackney as well Said Chauvelin hurriedly changing the topic of conversation Blakeney with much deliberation finished his plate of soup drank his glass of wine and momentarily it seemed to Marguerite as if he glanced all around the room Quite well, thank you There was a pause during which Marguerite could watch these two antagonist who evidently in their minds were measuring themselves against one another She could see Percy almost full face where he sat at the table not ten yards from where she herself was crouching puzzled not knowing what to do or what she should think She had quite controlled her impulse now of rushing down and disclosing herself to her husband A man capable of acting apart in the way he was doing at the present moment did not need a woman's word to warn him to be cautious Marguerite indulged in the luxury dear to every tender woman's heart of looking at the man she loved She looked through the tattered curtain across at the handsome face of her husband in whose lazy blue eyes and behind whose inane smile she could now so plainly see the strength, energy and resourcefulness which had caused the scarlet pimpenel to be reverenced and trusted by his followers There are nineteen of us ready to lay down our lives for your husband Lady Blakeney, so Andrew had said to her and as she looked at the forehead low but square and broad the eyes blue yet deep set and intense the whole aspect of the man of indomitable energy hiding behind a perfectly trusted comedy, his almost superhuman strength of will and marvellous ingenuity she understood the fascination which he exercised over his followers or had he not also cast his spells over her heart and imagination Chauvelin who was trying to conceal his impatience beneath his usual urbane manner took a quick look at his watch Degas should not be long another two or three minutes and this impudent Englishman would be secure in the keeping of half a dozen of Captain Jutley's most trusted men You are on your way to Paris, Sir Percy God's life, no replied Blakeney with a laugh only as far as Lil, not Paris for me beastly uncomfortable place Paris just now Ah, Monsieur Chambretine Oh, beg pardon Chauvelin Rejoin Chauvelin sarcastically It takes no interest in the conflict that he's arranging there La, you see it's no business of mine and our damned government is all on your side of the business called pit, derrancy, boo to a goose You are in a hurry, sir He added a chauvelin once again took out his watch An appointment perhaps? I pray you take no heed of me my time is my own He rose from the table and dragged a chair to the hearth Once more Marguerite was terribly tempted to go to him for time was getting on Degas might be back at any moment with his men Percy did not know that and oh how horrible it all was and how helpless she felt I am in no hurry But la, I don't want to spend any more time than I can help in this God forsaken whole But begat sir He added a chauvelin had sarcastically looked at his watch for the third time That watch of yours won't go any faster for all the looking you give it You are expecting a friend maybe? Aye, a friend Not a lady, I trust Monsieur Labier Laught blackening Surely the holy church does not allow eh, what? But I say come by the fire it's getting damned cold He kicked the fire with the heel of his boot making the logs blaze in the old hearth He seemed in no hurry to go and apparently was quite unconscious of his immediate danger He dragged another chair to the fire and chauvelin, whose impatience was by now quite beyond control, sat down beside the hearth in such a way as to command a view of the door Degas had been gone nearly a quarter of an hour It was quite plain to Marguerite's aching senses that as soon as he arrived chauvelin would abandon all his other plans with regard to the fugitives and capture this impudent scarlet pimpin'l at once Hey Monsieur Chauvelin The latter was saying eerily Tell me, I pray you, is your friend pretty?  But I protest I need not ask He added as he carelessly strode back towards the supper table In matters of taste the church has never been back or day But chauvelin was not listening His every faculty was now concentrated on that door through which presently Degas would enter The church too was centred there for her ears had suddenly caught through the stillness of the night the sound of numerous and measured treads some distance away It was Degas and his men another three minutes and they would be here another three minutes and the awful thing would have occurred the brave eagle would have fallen in the ferrets trap she would have moved now and screamed but she dared not for while she heard the soldiers approaching she was looking at Percy and watching his every movement He was standing at the table In the supper plates, glasses, spoons salt and pepper pots were scattered pel mel His back was turned to chauvelin and he was still prattling along and his own affected an inane way but from his pocket he had taken his snuff box and quickly and suddenly he emptied the contents of the pepper pot into it then he again turned with an inane laugh to chauvelin Did you speak sir? Chauvelin had been too intent on listening to the sound of those approaching footsteps to notice what his cunning adversary had been doing He now pulled himself together trying to look unconcerned in the very midst of his anticipated triumph No! he said presently That is, as you are saying, sir Percy I was saying said Blakeney going up to chauvelin by the fire that the Jew in Piccadilly has sold me better snuff this time than I have ever tasted Will you honour me, Monsieur Labet? He stood close to chauvelin in his own careless debonair way holding out his snuff box to his arch enemy Chauvelin, who, as he told Marguerite once had seen a trick or two in his day had never dreamed of this one With one ear fixed on those fast approaching footsteps one eye turned to that door where Daggar and his men would presently appear lulled into a false security by the impudent Englishman's airy manner He never even remotely guessed the trick which was being played on him He took a pinch of snuff Only he who has ever by accident accidentally sniffed vigorously a dose of pepper can have the faintest conception of the hopeless condition in which such a sniff would reduce any human being Chauvelin felt his head would burst sneeze after sneeze seemed nearly to choke him He was blind, deaf and dumb for the moment and during that moment to break me quietly without the slightest haste took up his hat took some money out of his pocket which he left on the table and then calmly stalked out of the room End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of the Scarlet Pimpernel This is the LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Orksi Chapter 26 The Jew It took Marguerite some time to collect her scattered senses The whole of this last short episode had taken place in less than a minute and Degas and the soldiers were still about 200 yards away from the Chauvelin When she realized what had happened a curious mixture of joy and wonder filled her heart It was also neat, so ingenious Chauvelin was still absolutely helpless far more so than he could even have been under a blow from the fist for now he could neither see nor hear nor speak whilst his cunning adversary had quietly slipped through his fingers Blake knew he was gone, obviously to try and join the fugitives at the parable on Charet's hut For the moment, true, Chauvelin was helpless For the moment the Daring Scarlet Pimpernel had not been caught by Degas and his men but all the roads in the beach were patrolled every place was watched and every stranger kept in sight How far could Percy go? He was being sited and followed Now she blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to him sooner and given him that word of warning and of love which, perhaps, after all, he needed He could not know of the orders which Chauvelin had given for his capture and even now, perhaps But before all these horrible thoughts had taken concrete form in her brain she heard the grounding of arms outside close to the door and Degas' voice shouting All to his men Chauvelin had partially recovered from less violent and he had struggled to his feet He managed to reach the door just as Degas' knock was heard on the outside Chauvelin threw open the door and before his secretary could say a word he had managed to stammer between two sneezes The tall stranger, quick Did any of you see him? Where, Citroyan? As Degas' surprise He helped man through that door not five minutes ago We saw nothing, Citroyan The moon is not yet up and? And you are just five minutes too late, my friend Citroyan with concentrated fury Citroyan, I...  He stammered Was here in this room a five minutes ago having supper at that table Damn his impudence The obvious reasons I had dared not tackle him alone Brogar is too big a fool and that cursed Englishman appears to have the strength of a bullock and so he slipped away under your very nose He cannot go far without being excited, Citroyan Captain Jutley sent 40 men as reinforcements for the patrol duty 20 went down to the beach He again assured me that the watch had been constant all day and that no stranger could possibly get to the beach or reach a boat without being cited That's good Do the men know their work? They have had very clear orders, Citroyan and I myself spoke to those who were about to start They are too shadow as secretly as possible any stranger they may see especially if he be tall or if he would disguise his height In no case to detain such a person of course That impudence scarlet pimponel would slip through clumsy fingers We must let him get to the pair Blanchard's hut now There surround and capture him The men understand that, Citroyan and also that as soon as a tall stranger has been cited he must be shadow whilst one man is to turn straight back and report to you That is right Having his hands well pleased I have further news for you, Citroyan What is it? A tall Englishman had a long conversation about three quarters of an hour ago with a Jew Ruben by name who lives not ten paces from here And? The conversation was all about a horse and cart which the tall Englishman wished to hire and which was to have been ready for him by eleven o'clock Where does this Robin live? A few minutes walk from this door Said the one of the men to find out if the stranger has driven off in Ruben's cart Yes, Citroyan Degas went to give the necessary orders to one of the men Not a word of this conversation between him and Chauvelin had escaped Marguerite and every word they had spoken seemed to strike at her heart with terrible hopelessness and dark foreboding She had come all this way and with such high hopes and firm determination to help her husband and so far she had been able to do nothing much with a heart breaking with anguish the meshes of the deadly net closing around the daring Scarlet Pimpernel He could not now advance many steps without spying eyes to track and denounce him Her own helplessness struck her with a terrible sense of utter disappointment The possibility of being the slightest use to her husband had become almost nil and her only hope rested in being allowed to share his fate whatever it might ultimately be For the moment even her chance of ever seeing the man she loved again had become a remote one Still, she was determined to keep a close watch over his enemy and a vague hope filled her heart that whilst she kept Chauvelin in sight Percy's fate might still be hanging in the balance They got left Chauvelin moodily pacing up and down the room whilst he himself waited outside for the return of the man whom he had sent in search of Reuben Thus several minutes went by Chauvelin was evidently devoured with impatience Apparently he trusted no one This last trick played upon him by the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had made him suddenly doubtful of success unless he himself was there to watch direct and superintend the capture of this impudent Englishman About five minutes later they got returned followed by an elderly Jew and a dirty threadbare gabardine worn greasy across his shoulders His red hair which he wore after the fashion of the Polish Jews with the corkscrew curls each side of his face was plentifully sprinkled with gray A general coating of grime about his cheeks and his chin gave him a peculiarly dirty and lilsome appearance He had the habitual stoop those of his race affected in mock humility in past centuries before the dawn of equality and freedom in manners of faith and he walked behind a guy with a peculiar shuffling gate which has remained the characteristic of the Jew trader in continental Europe to this day Chauvelin who had all the Frenchman's prejudice against the despised race motioned to the fellow to keep at a respectful distance The group of the three men were standing just underneath the hanging oil lamp and Marguerite had a clear view of them all What is this, the man? Ask Chauvelin No, Citroyan replied Degas Rubin could not be found so presumably his cart has gone with the stranger but this man here seems to know something which he is willing to sell for a consideration Dagh said Chauvelin turning away with disgust from the lilsome specimen of humanity before him The Jew with characteristic patience stood humbly on one side leaving on the nodded staff his greasy broad brimmed hat casting a deep shadow over his grimy face waiting for the noble Excellency to deign to put some questions to him The Citroyan tells me said Chauvelin preemptorily to him that you know something of my friend the tall Englishman whom I desire to meet nor bleu keep your distance man He added hurriedly as the Jew took a quick and eager step forward Yes, your Excellency replied the Jew who spoke the language with that peculiar list which denotes Eastern origin I and Ruben Goldstein met a tall Englishman on the road close by here this evening Did you speak to him? He spoke to us your Excellency He wanted to know if he could hire a horse and cart to go down along the St. Martin Road to a place he wanted to reach tonight What did you say? I did not say anything So did you in an injured tone?  He listened to Ruben Goldstein He listened to Ruben Goldstein No Excellency and put his hand in his bucket then and there and took out a handful of gold which he showed to that descendant a bezel-bub telling him that all that would be his that the horse and cart were ready for him by eleven o'clock And of course the horse and cart were ready Well, they were ready for him in a manner to so to speak It was lame, as usual She refused to budget first It was only after a time and with plenty of kicks that she at last could be made to move So the Jew was a malicious chuckle Then they started?   He asked quietly Evidently he had no desire to terrorize the man but to conciliate him for his own purposes for his manner was pleasant and suave No doubt he feared that threats of the guillotine and various other persuasive methods of that type might addle the old man's brains and that he would be more likely to be useful through greed of gain than through terror of debt The eyes of the Jew shot a quick keen glance at the gold in his interlocutor's hand At least by I should say Your Excellency You're applied obsequiously Enough do you think to listen at any tongue of yours? What does your Excellency wish to know? Whether your horse and cart can take me to where I can find my friend a tall stranger who has driven off in Rubin Goldstein's cart My horse and cart can take your honor There, where you please Do you have a place called the Père Blanchard's hut? Your honor has guest Said the Jew in astonishment You know the place which road leads to it The St. Martin Road, your honor Then a footpath from there to the cliffs You know the road? Repeated Shobland roughly Every stone, every blade of grass, your honor Reply the Jew quietly Shobland without another word threw the five pieces of gold one by one to the Jew who knelt down and on his hands and knees struggled to collect them One rolled away and he had some trouble to get it for it had lodged underneath the dresser Shobland quietly waited while the old man scrambled on the floor to find the piece of gold When the Jew was again on his feet Shobland said How soon can your horse and cart be ready? They are ready now Your honor Where? Not ten meters from this door Will your Excellency see it? How far can you drive me in it? As far as the pair Lancer taught, your honor and farther than Ruben's nag took your friend, I am sure that not two leagues from here we shall come across that wily Ruben his nag his cart and the tall stranger in the middle of the road How far is the nearest village from here? On the road which the Englishman took, Mechelon is the nearest village not two leagues from here There he could get fresh conveyance if he wanted to go farther He could if he ever got so far Can you? Will your Excellency try? Said the Jew simply That is my intention Said Shobland very quietly But remember, if you have deceived me I shall tell off two of my most stalwart soldiers to give you such a beating that your breath will perhaps leave your ugly body forever But if we find my friend the tall Englishman either on the road or at the pair Blanchard's hut, there will be ten more gold pieces for you Do you accept the bargain? The Jew again thoughtfully rubbed his chin He looked at the money in his hand then at his stern interlocutor and at Degas, who had stood silently behind him all this while After a moment's pause he said deliberately I accept Said Shobland And remember to stick to your bargain or buy even I will keep to mine With the final most abject and cringing bow the old Jew shuffled out of the room Shobland seemed pleased with his interview for he rubbed his hands together with that usual gesture of his of malignant satisfaction Makot and Boots He said to Degas at last Degas went to the door and apparently gave the necessary orders for presently a soldier entered carrying Shobland's coat, boots, and hat He took off his suit and beneath which he was wearing close fitting breeches and a cloth waistcoat and began changing his attire He said to Degas Go back to Captain Jutley as fast as you can and tell him to let you have another dozen men and bring them with you along the San Martin road where I dare say you shall soon overtake the Jew's cart with myself in it There will be odd work presently if I mistake not in the pair Blanchard's hut I won't honor our game there, I won't For this impudent Scarlet Pimpernel has had the audacity or the stupidity I hardly know which to adhere to his original plans He has gone to meet the tournée Sargeust and the other traitors which for the moment I thought perhaps he did not intend to do When we find them there will be a band of desperate men at bay Some of our men will, I presume, be put out of the combat The priests are good swordsmen and the Englishman is devilish cunning and looks very powerful Still we shall be five against one at least You can follow the cart closely with your men all along the San Martin road through Michelin The Englishman is ahead of us and not likely to look behind him Whilst he gave these curtain concise orders he had completed his change of attire The priest's costume had been laid aside and he was once more dressed in his usual dark tight fitting clothes At last he took up his hat I shall have an interesting prisoner to deliver into your hands He said with a chuckle, as with unwonted familiarity he took Degas arm and let him towards the door We won't kill him outright, eh? friend Degas The Père Blanchard that is and I must take note a lonely sport upon the beach and our men will enjoy a bit of rough sport there with the wounded fox Choose your men well, friend Degas of the sort who will enjoy that type of sport eh? we must see that the scarlet pimpinel wither a bit what? shrink and tremble, eh? before we finally he made an expressive gesture whilst he left a low evil laugh which filled marguerite's soul with sickening horror ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Choose your men well, citoyen Degas He said once more He let his secretary finally out of the room. Never for a moment did Marguerite Blakeney hesitate. The last sounds outside the Chagri had died away in the night. She had heard Degas giving orders to his men and then starting off towards the fort to get a reinforcement of a dozen more men. Six were not thought sufficient to capture the cunning Englishman, whose resourceful brain was even more dangerous than his valor and his strength. Then a few minutes later she heard the Jews husky voice again, evidently shouting to his neig then the rumble of wheels and noise of a rickety cart bumping over the rough road. Inside the inn everything was still. Brogare and his wife, terrified of Shobla, had given no sign of life. They hoped to be forgotten and at any rate to remain unperceived. Marguerite could not even hear their usual volleys of muttered oaths. She waited a moment or two longer than she quietly slipped down the broken stairs, wrapped her dark cloak closely round her, and slipped out of the inn. The night was fairly dark, sufficiently so at any rate to hide her dark figure from view whilst her keen ears kept count of the sound of the cart going on ahead. She hoped by keeping well within the shadow of the ditches which lined the road that she would not be seen by Degas men when they approached, or by the patrols which she concluded were still on duty. Thus she started to do this, the last stage of her weary journey, alone, at night, and on foot. Nearly three leagues to Michelin, and then on to Père Blanchard's hut, wherever that fatal spot might be, probably over rough roads, she cared not. The Jew's nag could not get on very fast, and though she was weary with mental fatigue and nerve strain, she knew that she could easily keep up with it on a hilly road where the poor beast who was sure to be half-starved would have to be allowed long and frequent rests. The road lay some distance from the sea, bordered on either side by shrubs and stunted trees, sparsely covered with meager foliage, all turning away from the north with their branches looking in the semi-darkness like stiff ghostly hair, blown by a perpetual wind. Fortunately, the moon showed no desire to peep between the clouds, and Marguerite hugging the edge of the road and keeping close to the lone line of shrubs was fairly safe from view. Everything around her was so still, only from far, very far away, there came like a long soft moan, the sound of the distant sea. The air was keen and full of brine, after that enforced period of inactivity inside the evil-smelling squalid inn, Marguerite would have enjoyed the sweet scent of this autumnal night, and the distant melancholy rumble of the waves. She would have reveled in the calm and stillness of this lonely spot, a calm broken only at intervals by the strident and mournful cry of some distant gull, and by the creaking of the wheel some way down the road. She would have loved the cool atmosphere, the peaceful immensity of nature, in this lonely part of the coast, but her heart was too full of cruel foreboding of a great ache and longing for a being who had become infinitely dear to her. Her feet slipped on the grassy bank, for she thought it safest not to walk near the center of the road, and she found it difficult to keep up a sharp pace along the muddy incline. She even thought it best not to keep too near to the cart, everything was so still that the rumble of the wheels could not fail to be a safe guide. The loneliness was absolute, already the few dim lights of Calais lay far behind, and on this road there was not a sign of human habitation, not even the hut of a fisherman or of a woodcutter anywhere near. Far away on her right was the edge of the cliff, below it the rough beach against which the incoming tide was dashing itself with its constant distant murmur, and ahead the rumble of the wheels bearing an implacable enemy to his triumph. Marguerite wondered at what particular spot on this lonely coast Percy could be at this moment, not very far surely, for he had had less than a quarter of an hour's start of chauvin. She wondered if he knew that in this cool ocean-scented bit of France there looked many spies, all eager to cite his tall figure, to track him to where his unsuspecting friends waited for him, and then to close the net over him and them. Chauvin on ahead, jolted and jostled in the Jew's vehicle, was nursing comfortable thoughts. He rubbed his hands together with content as he thought of the web which he had woven, and through which that ubiquitous and daring Englishman could not hope to escape. As the time went on and the old Jew drove him leisurely but surely along the dark road, he felt more and more eager for the grand finale of this exciting chase after the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel. The capture of the adacious plotter would be the finest leaf in Citoyen-sur-Bland's wreath of glory, caught red-handed on the spot in the very act of aiding and abetting the traders against the Republic of France, the Englishman could claim no protection from his own country. Chauvin ahead in any case fully made up his mind that all intervention should come too late. However for a moment the slightest remorse entered his heart as to the terrible position which he had placed the unfortunate wife, who had unconsciously betrayed her husband. As a matter of fact Chauvin had ceased even to think of her, she had been a useful tool, that was all. The Jew's lean nag did little more than walk. She was going along at a slow jog trot and her dri