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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b56f62 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65695 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65695) diff --git a/old/65695-0.txt b/old/65695-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 959ab07..0000000 --- a/old/65695-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11621 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel, by -Emmuska Orczy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel - -Author: Emmuska Orczy - -Release Date: June 25, 2021 [eBook #65695] -[Most recently updated: August 18, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously - made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIUMPH OF THE SCARLET -PIMPERNEL *** - -THE TRIUMPH -OF THE -SCARLET PIMPERNEL - - -BY - -BARONESS ORCZY - -_Author of "Nicolette," "The First Sir Percy" -"Flower 'o the Lily," "The Scarlet -Pimpernel," etc._ - - - - -NEW YORK - -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1922, - -BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAPTER - -I. "The Everlasting Stars Look Down" -II. Feet of Clay -III. The Fellowship of Grief -IV. One Dram of Joy Must Have a Pound of -Care -V. Rascality Rejoices -VI. One Crowded Hour of Glorious Life -VII. Two Interludes -VIII. The Beautiful Spaniard -IX. A Hideous, Fearful Hour -X. The Grim Idol that the World Adores -XI. Strange Happenings -XII. Chauvelin -XIII. The Fisherman's Rest -XIV. The Castaway -XV. The Nest -XVI. A Lover of Sport -XVII. Reunion -XVIII. Night and Morning -XIX. A Rencontre -XX. Departure -XXI. Memories -XXII. Waiting -XXIII. Mice and Men -XXIV. By Order of the State -XXV. Four Days -XXVI. A Dream -XXVII. Terror or Ambition -XXVIII. In the Meanwhile -XXIX. The Close of the Second Day -XXX. When the Storm Burst -XXXI. Our Lady of Pity -XXXII. Grey Dawn -XXXIII. The Cataclysm -XXXIV. The Whirlwind - - - - -THE TRIUMPH OF - -THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -"THE EVERLASTING STARS LOOK DOWN, LIKE GLISTENING -EYES BRIGHT WITH IMMORTAL PITT, OVER THE LOT OF -MAN." - - -§1 - - -Nearly five years have gone by! - -Five years, since the charred ruins of grim Bastille--stone image of -Absolutism and of Autocracy--set the seal of victory upon the expression -of a people's will and marked the beginning of that marvellous era of -Liberty and of Fraternity which has led us step by step from the -dethronement of a King, through the martyrdom of countless innocents, to -the tyranny of an oligarchy more arbitrary, more relentless, above all -more cruel, than any that the dictators of Rome or Stamboul ever dreamed -of in their wildest thirst for power. An era that sees a populace always -clamouring for the Millennium, which ranting demagogues have never -ceased to promise: a Millennium to be achieved alternatively through the -extermination of Aristocracy, of Titles, of Riches, and the abrogation -of Priesthood: through dethroned royalty and desecrated altars, through -an army without leadership, or an Assembly without power. - -They have never ceased to prate, these frothy rhetoricians! And the -people went on, vaguely believing that one day, soon, that Millennium -would surely come, after seas of blood had purged the soil of France -from the last vestige of bygone oppression, and after her sons and -daughters had been massacred in their thousands and their tens of -thousands, until their headless bodies had built up a veritable scaling -ladder for the tottering feet of lustful climbers, and these in their -turn had perished to make way for other ranters, other speech-makers, a -new Demosthenes or long-tongued Cicero. - -Inevitably these too perished, one by one, irrespective of their virtues -or their vices, their errors or their ideals: Vergniaud, the enthusiast, -and Desmoulins, the irresponsible; Barnave, the just, and Chaumette, the -blasphemer; Hébert, the carrion, and Danton, the power. All, all have -perished, one after the other: victims of their greed and of their -crimes--they and their adherents and their enemies. They slew and were -slain in their turn. They struck blindly, like raging beasts, most of -them for fear lest they too should be struck by beasts more furious than -they. All have perished; but not before their iniquities have for ever -sullied what might have been the most glorious page in the history of -France--her fight for Liberty. Because of these monsters--and of a truth -there were only a few--the fight, itself sublime in its ideals, noble in -its conception, has become abhorrent to the rest of mankind. - -But they, arraigned at the bar of history, what have they to say, what -to show as evidence of their patriotism, the purity of their intentions? - -On this day of April, 1794, year II of the New Calendar, eight thousand -men, women, and not a few children, are crowding the prisons of Paris to -overflowing. Four thousand heads have fallen under the guillotine in the -past three months. All the great names of France, her noblesse, her -magistracy, her clergy, members of past Parliaments, shining lights in -the sciences, the arts, the Universities, men of substance, poets, -brain-workers, have been torn from their homes, their churches or their -places of refuge, dragged before a travesty of justice, judged, -condemned and slaughtered; not singly, not individually, but in -batches--whole families, complete hierarchies, entire households; one -lot for the crime of being rich, another for being nobly born; some -because of their religion, others because of professed free-thought. One -man for devotion to his friend, another for perfidy; one for having -spoken, another for having held his tongue, and another for no crime at -all--just because of his family connexions, his profession or his -ancestry. - -For months it had been the innocents; but since then it has also been -the assassins. And the populace, still awaiting the Millennium, clamour -for more victims and for more--for the aristocrat and for the -sans-culotte, and howl with execration impartially at both. - - - - -§2 - - -But through this mad orgy of murder and of hatred, one man survives, -stands apart indeed, wielding a power which the whole pack of infuriated -wolves thirsting for his blood are too cowardly to challenge. The -Girondists and the Extremists have fallen. Hébert, the idol of the mob, -Danton, its hero and its mouthpiece, have been hurled from their throne, -sent to the scaffold along with ci-devant nobles, aristocrats, royalists -and traitors. But this one man remains, calm in the midst of every -storm, absolute in his will, indigent where others have grasped riches -with both hands, adored, almost deified, by a few, dreaded by all, -sphinx-like, invulnerable, sinister--Robespierre! - -Robespierre at this time was at the height of his popularity and of his -power. The two great Committees of Public Safety and of General Security -were swayed by his desires, the Clubs worshipped him, the Convention was -packed with obedient slaves to his every word. The Dantonists, cowed -into submission by the bold coup which had sent their leader, their -hero, their idol, to the guillotine, were like a tree that has been -struck at the root. Without Danton, the giant of the Revolution, the -colossus of crime, the maker of the Terror, the thunderbolt of the -Convention, the party was atrophied, robbed of its strength and its -vitality, its last few members hanging, servile and timorous, upon the -great man's lips. - -Robespierre was in truth absolute master of France. The man who had -dared to drag his only rival down to the scaffold was beyond the reach -of any attack. By this final act of unparalleled despotism he had -revealed the secrets of his soul, shown himself to be rapacious as well -as self-seeking. Something of his aloofness, of his incorruptibility, -had vanished, yielding to that ever-present and towering ambition which -hitherto none had dared to suspect. But ambition is the one vice to -which the generality of mankind will always accord homage, and -Robespierre, by gaining the victory over his one rival, had virtually -begun to rule, whilst his colleagues in the Convention, in the Clubs and -in the Committees, had tacitly agreed to obey. The tyrant out of his -vaulting ambition had brought forth the slaves. - -Faint hearted and servile, they brooded over their wrongs, gazed with -smouldering wrath on Danton's vacant seat in the Convention, which no -one cared to fill. But they did not murmur, hardly dared to plot, and -gave assent to every decree, every measure, every suggestion promulgated -by the dictator who held their lives in the hollow of his thin white -hand; who with a word, a gesture, could send his enemy, his detractor, a -mere critic of his actions, to the guillotine. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -FEET OF CLAY - - -§1 - - -On this 26th day of April, 1794, which in the newly constituted calendar -is the 7th Floreal, year II of the Republic, three women and one man -were assembled in a small, closely curtained room on the top floor of a -house in the Rue de la Planchette, which is situated in a remote and -dreary quarter of Paris. The man sat upon a chair which was raised on a -dais. He was neatly, indeed, immaculately dressed, in dark cloth coat -and tan breeches, with clean linen at throat and wrists, white stockings -and buckled shoes. His own hair was concealed under a mouse-coloured -wig. He sat quite still, with one leg crossed over the other, and his -thin, bony hands were clasped in front of him. - -Behind the dais there was a heavy curtain which stretched right across -the room, and in front of it, at opposite corners, two young girls, clad -in grey, clinging draperies, sat upon their heels, with the palms of -their hands resting flat upon their thighs. Their hair hung loose down -their backs, their chins were uplifted, their eyes fixed, their bodies -rigid in an attitude of contemplation. In the centre of the room a woman -stood, gazing upwards at the ceiling, her arms folded across her breast. -Her grey hair, lank and unruly, was partially hidden by an ample -floating veil of an indefinite shade of grey, and from her meagre -shoulders and arms, her garment--it was hardly a gown--descended in -straight, heavy, shapeless folds. In front of her was a small table, on -it a large crystal globe, which rested on a stand of black wood, -exquisitely carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and beside it a -small metal box. - -Immediately above the old woman's head an oil lamp, the flame of which -was screened by a piece of crimson silk, shed a feeble and lurid light -upon the scene. Against the wall half a dozen chairs, on the floor a -threadbare carpet, and in one corner a broken-down chiffonier -represented the sum total of the furniture in the stuffy little room. -The curtains in front of the window, as well as the portières which -masked both the doors, were heavy and thick, excluding all light and -most of the outside air. - -The old woman, with eyes fixed upon the ceiling, spoke in a dull, even -monotone. - -"Citizen Robespierre, who is the Chosen of the Most High, hath deigned -to enter the humble abode of his servant," she said. "What is his -pleasure to-day?" - -"The shade of Danton pursues me," Robespierre replied, and his voice too -sounded toneless, as if muffled by the heavily weighted atmosphere. "Can -you not lay him to rest?" - -The woman stretched out her arms. The folds of her woollen draperies -hung straight from shoulder to wrist down to the ground, so that she -looked like a shapeless, bodiless, grey ghost in the dim, red light. - -"Blood!" she exclaimed in a weird, cadaverous wail. "Blood around thee -and blood at thy feet! But not upon thy head, O Chosen of the Almighty! -Thy decrees are those of the Most High! Thy hand wields His avenging -Sword! I see thee walking upon a sea of blood, yet thy feet are as white -as lilies and thy garments are spotless as the driven: snow. Avaunt," -she cried in sepulchral tones, "ye spirits of evil! Avaunt, ye vampires -and ghouls! and venture not with your noxious breath to disturb the -serenity of our Morning Star!" - -The girls in front of the dais raised their arms above their heads and -echoed the old soothsayer's wails. - -"Avaunt!" they cried solemnly. "Avaunt!" - -Now from a distant corner of the room, a small figure detached itself -out of the murky shadows. It was the figure of a young negro, clad in -white from head to foot. In the semi-darkness the draperies which he -wore were alone visible, and the whites of his eyes. Thus he seemed to -be walking without any feet, to have eyes without any face, and to be -carrying a heavy vessel without using any hands. His appearance indeed -was so startling and so unearthly that the man upon the dais could not -suppress an exclamation of terror. Whereupon a wide row of dazzling -white teeth showed somewhere between the folds of the spectral -draperies, and further enhanced the spook-like appearance of the -blackamoor. He carried a deep bowl fashioned of chased copper, which he -placed upon the table in front of the old woman, immediately behind the -crystal globe and the small metal box. The seer then opened the box, -took out a pinch of something brown and powdery, and holding it between -finger and thumb, she said solemnly: - -"From out the heart of France rises the incense of faith, of hope, and -of love!" and she dropped the powder into the bowl. "May it prove -acceptable to him who is her chosen Lord!" - -A bluish flame shot up from out the depth of the vessel, shed for the -space of a second or two its ghostly light upon the gaunt features of -the old hag, the squat and grinning face of the negro, and toyed with -will-o'-the-wisp-like fitfulness with the surrounding gloom. A -sweet-scented smoke rose upwards to the ceiling. Then the flame died -down again, making the crimson darkness around appear by contrast more -lurid and more mysterious than before. - -Robespierre had not moved. His boundless vanity, his insatiable -ambition, blinded him to the effrontery, the ridicule of this mysticism. -He accepted the tangible incense, took a deep breath, as if to fill his -entire being with its heady fumes, just as he was always ready to accept -the fulsome adulation of his devotees and of his sycophants. - -The old charlatan then repeated her incantations. Once more she took -powder from the box, threw some of it into the vessel, and spoke in a -sepulchral voice: - -"From out the heart of those who worship thee rises the incense of their -praise!" - -A delicate white flame rose immediately out of the vessel. It shed a -momentary, unearthly brightness around, then as speedily vanished again. -And for the third time the witch spoke the mystic words: - -"From out the heart of an entire nation rises the incense of perfect joy -in thy triumph over thine enemies!" - -This time, however, the magic powder did not act quite so rapidly as it -had done on the two previous occasions. For a few seconds the vessel -remained dark and unresponsive; nothing came to dispel the surrounding -gloom. Even the light of the oil lamp overhead appeared suddenly to grow -dim. At any rate, so it seemed to the autocrat who, with nerves on edge, -sat upon his throne-like seat, his bony hands, so like the talons of a -bird of prey, clutching the arms of his chair, his narrow eyes fixed -upon the sybil, who in her turn was gazing on the metal vessel as if she -would extort some cabalistic mystery from its depth. - -All at once a bright red flame shot out of the bowl. Everything in the -room became suffused with a crimson glow. The old witch bending over her -cauldron looked as if she were smeared with blood, her eyes appeared -bloodshot, her long hooked nose cast a huge black shadow over her mouth, -distorting the face into a hideous, cadaverous grin. From her throat -issued strange sounds like those of an animal in the throes of pain. - -"Red! Red!" she lamented, and gradually as the flame subsided and -finally flickered out altogether, her words became more distinct. She -raised the crystal globe and gazed fixedly into it. "Always red," she -went on slowly. "Thrice yesterday did I cast the spell in the name of -Our Chosen . . . thrice did the spirits cloak their identity in a -blood-red flame . . . red . . . always red . . . not only blood . . . -but danger . . . danger of death through that which is red. . . ." - -Robespierre had risen from his seat, his thin lips were murmuring hasty -imprecations. The kneeling figurants looked scared, and strange wailing -sounds came from their mouths. The young blackamoor alone looked -self-possessed. He stood by, evidently enjoying the scene, his white -teeth gleaming in a huge, broad grin. - -"A truce on riddles, Mother!" Robespierre exclaimed at last impatiently, -and descended hastily from the dais. He approached the old necromancer, -seized her by the arm, thrust his head in front of hers in an endeavour -to see something which apparently was revealed to her in the crystal -globe. "What is it you see in there?" he queried harshly. - -But she pushed him aside, gazed with rapt intentness into the globe. - -"Red!" she murmured. "Scarlet . . . aye, scarlet! And now it takes -shape . . . Scarlet . . . and it obscures the Chosen One . . . the shape -becomes more clear . . . the Chosen One appears more dim. . . ." Then -she gave a piercing shriek. - -"Beware! . . . beware! . . . that which is Scarlet is shaped like a -flower . . . five petals, I see them distinctly . . . and the Chosen One -I see no more. . . ." - -"Malediction!" the man exclaimed. "What foolery is this?" - -"No foolery," the old charlatan resumed in a dull monotone. "Thou didst -consult the oracle, oh thou, who art the Chosen of the people of France! -and the oracle has spoken. Beware of a scarlet flower! From that which -is scarlet comes danger of death for thee!" - -Whereat Robespierre tried to laugh. - -"Some one has filled thy head, Mother," he said in a voice which he -vainly tried to steady, "with tales of the mysterious Englishman who -goes by the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel----" - -"Thy mortal enemy, O Messenger of the Most High!" the old blasphemer -broke in solemnly. "In far-off fog-bound England he hath sworn thy -death. Beware----" - -"If that is the only danger which threatens me----" the other began, -striving to speak carelessly. - -"The only one, and the greatest one," the hag went on insistently. -"Despise it not because it seems small and remote." - -"I do not despise it; neither do I magnify it. A gnat is a nuisance, but -not a danger." - -"A gnat may wield a poisoned dart. The spirits have spoken. Heed their -warning, O Chosen of the People! Destroy the Englishman ere he destroy -thee!" - -"Pardi!" Robespierre retorted, and despite the stuffiness of the room he -gave a shiver as if he felt cold. "Since thou dost commune with the -spirits, find out from them how I can accomplish that." - -The woman once more raised the crystal globe to the level of her breast. -With her elbows stretched out and her draperies falling straight all -around her, she gazed into it for a while in silence. Then she began to -murmur. - -"I see the Scarlet Flower quite plainly . . . a small Scarlet -Flower. . . . And I see the great Light which is like an aureole, the -Light of the Chosen One. It is of dazzling brightness--but over it the -Scarlet Flower casts a Stygian shadow." - -"Ask them," Robespierre broke in peremptorily, "ask thy spirits how best -I can overcome mine enemy." - -"I see something," the witch went on in an even monotone, still gazing -into the crystal globe, "white and rose and tender . . . is it a -woman . . .?" - -"A woman?" - -"She is tall, and she is beautiful . . . a stranger in the land . . . -with eyes dark as the night and tresses black as the raven's wing. . . . -Yes, it is a woman. . . . She stands between the Light and that -blood-red flower. She takes the flower in her hand . . . she fondles it, -raises it to her lips. . . . Ah!" and the old seer gave a loud cry of -triumph. "She tosses it mangled and bleeding into the consuming -Light. . . . And now it lies faded, torn, crushed, and the Light grows in -radiance and in brilliancy, and there is none now to dim its pristine -glory----" - -"But the woman? Who is she?" the man broke in impatiently. "What is her -name?" - -"The spirits speak no names," the seer replied. "Any woman would gladly -be thy handmaid, O Elect of France! The spirits have spoken," she -concluded solemnly. "Salvation will come to thee by the hand of a -woman." - -"And mine enemy?" he insisted. "Which of us two is in danger of death -now--now that I am warned--which of us two?--mine English enemy, or I?" - -Nothing loth, the old hag was ready to continue her sortilege. -Robespierre hung breathless upon her lips. His whole personality seemed -transformed. He appeared eager, fearful, credulous--a different man to -the cold, calculating despot who sent thousands to their death with his -measured oratory, the mere power of his presence. Indeed, history has -sought in vain for the probable motive which drove this cynical tyrant -into consulting this pitiable charlatan. That Catherine Théot had -certain psychic powers has never been gainsaid, and since the -philosophers of the eighteenth century had undermined the religious -superstitions of the Middle Ages, it was only to be expected that in the -great upheaval of this awful Revolution, men and women should turn to -the mystic and the supernatural as to a solace and respite from the -fathomless misery of their daily lives. - -In this world of ours, the more stupendous the events, the more abysmal -the catastrophes, the more do men realize their own impotence and the -more eagerly do they look for the Hidden Hand that is powerful enough to -bring about such events and to hurl upon them such devastating -cataclysms. Indeed, never since the dawn of history had so many -theosophies, demonologies, occult arts, spiritualism, exorcism of all -sorts, flourished as they did now: the Theists, the Rosicrucians, the -Illuminati, Swedenborg, the Count of Saint Germain, Weishaupt, and -scores of others, avowed charlatans or earnest believers, had their -neophytes, their devotees, and their cults. - -Catherine Théot was one of many: for the nonce, one of the most -noteworthy in Paris. She believed herself to be endowed with the gift of -prophecy, and her fetish was Robespierre. In this at least she was -genuine. She believed him to be a new Messiah, the Elect of God. Nay! -she loudly proclaimed him as such, and one of her earliest neophytes, an -ex-Carthusian monk named Gerle, who sat in the Convention next to the -great man, had whispered in the latter's ear the insidious flattery -which had gradually led his footsteps to the witch's lair. - -Whether his own vanity--which was without limit and probably without -parallel--caused him to believe in his own heaven-sent mission, or -whether he only desired to strengthen his own popularity by endowing it -with supernatural prestige, is a matter of conjecture. Certain it is -that he did lend himself to Catherine Théot's cabalistic practices and -that he allowed himself to be flattered and worshipped by the numerous -neophytes who flocked to this new temple of magic, either from mystical -fervour or merely to serve their own ends by fawning on the most dreaded -man in France. - - - - -§2 - - -Catherine Théot had remained rigidly still, in rapt contemplation. It -seemed as if she pondered over the Chosen One's last peremptory demand. - -"Which of us two," he had queried, in a dry, hard voice, "is in danger -of death now--now that I am warned--mine English enemy, or I?" - -The next moment, as if moved by inspiration, she took another pinch of -powder out of the metal box. The nigger's bright black eyes followed her -every movement, as did the dictator's half-contemptuous gaze. The girls -had begun to intone a monotonous chant. As the seer dropped the powder -into the metal bowl, a highly scented smoke shot upwards and the -interior of the vessel was suffused with a golden glow. The smoke rose -in spirals. Its fumes spread through the airless room, rendering the -atmosphere insufferably heavy. - -The dictator of France felt a strange exultation running through him, as -with deep breaths he inhaled the potent fumes. It seemed to him as if -his body had suddenly become etherealised, as if he were in truth the -Chosen of the Most High as well as the idol of France. Thus disembodied, -he felt in himself boundless strength: the power to rise triumphant over -all his enemies, whoever they might be. There was a mighty buzzing in -his ears like the reverberation of thousands of trumpets and drums -ringing and beating in unison to his exaltation and to his might. His -eyes appeared to see the whole of the people of France, clad in white -robes, with ropes round their necks, and bowing as slaves to the ground -before him. He was riding on a cloud. His throne was of gold. In his -hand he had a sceptre of flame, and beneath his feet lay, crushed and -mangled, a huge scarlet flower. The sybil's voice reached his ears as if -through a supernal trumpet: - -"Thus lie for ever crushed at the feet of the Chosen One, those who have -dared to defy his power!" - -Greater and greater became his exultation. He felt himself uplifted -high, high above the clouds, until he could see the world as a mere -crystal ball at his feet. His head had touched the portals of heaven; -his eyes gazed upon his own majesty, which was second only to that of -God. An eternity went by. He was immortal. - -Then suddenly, through all the mystic music, the clarion sounds and -songs of praise, there came a sound, so strange and yet so human, that -the almighty dictator's wandering spirit was in an instant hurled back -to earth, brought down with a mighty jerk which left him giddy, sick, -with throat dry and burning eyes. He could not stand on his feet, indeed -would have fallen but that the negro lad hastily pulled a chair forward, -into which he sank, swooning with unaccountable horror. - -And yet that sound had been harmless enough: just a peal of laughter, -merry and inane--nothing more. It came faintly echoing from beyond the -heavy portière. Yet it had unnerved the most ruthless despot in France. -He looked about him, scared and mystified. Nothing had been changed -since he had gone wandering into Elysian fields. He was still in a -stuffy, curtained room; there was the dais on which he had sat; the two -women still chanted their weird lament; and there was the old -necromancer in her shapeless, colourless robe, coolly setting down the -crystal globe upon its carved stand. There was the blackamoor, grinning -and mischievous, the metal vessel, the oil lamp, the threadbare carpet. -What of all this had been a dream? The clouds and the trumpets, or that -peal of human laughter with the quaint, inane catch in it? No one looked -scared: the girls chanted, the old hag mumbled vague directions to her -black attendant, who tried to look solemn, since he was paid to keep his -impish mirth in check. - -"What was that?" Robespierre murmured at last. - -The old woman looked up. - -"What was what, O Chosen One?" she asked. - -"I heard a sound----" he mumbled. "A laugh. . . . Is any one else in the -room?" - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -"People are waiting in the antechamber," she replied carelessly, "until -it is the pleasure of the Chosen One to go. As a rule they wait -patiently, and in silence. But one of them may have laughed." Then, as -he made no further comment but still stood there silent, as if -irresolute, she queried with a great show of deference: "What is thy -next pleasure, O thou who art beloved of the people of France?" - -"Nothing . . . nothing!" he murmured. "I’ll go now." - -She turned straight to him and made him an elaborate obeisance, waving -her arms about her. The two girls struck the ground with their -foreheads. The Chosen One, in his innermost heart vaguely conscious of -ridicule, frowned impatiently. - -"Do not," he said peremptorily, "let any one know that I have been -here." - -"Only those who idolise thee----" she began. - -"I know--I know," he broke in more gently, for the fulsome adulation -soothed his exacerbated nerves. "But I have many enemies . . . and thou -too art watched with malevolent eyes. . . . Let not our enemies make -capital of our intercourse." - -"I swear to thee, O Mighty Lord, that thy servant obeys thy behests in -all things." - -"That is well," he retorted drily. "But thy adepts are wont to talk too -much. I'll not have my name bandied about for the glorification of thy -necromancy." - -"Thy name is sacred to thy servants," she insisted with ponderous -solemnity. "As sacred as is thy person. Thou art the regenerator of the -true faith, the Elect of the First Cause, the high priest of a new -religion. We are but thy servants, thy handmaids, thy worshippers." - -All this charlatanism was precious incense to the limitless vanity of -the despot. His impatience vanished, as did his momentary terror. He -became kind, urbane, condescending. At the last, the old hag almost -prostrated herself before him, and clasping her wrinkled hands together, -she said in tones of reverential entreaty: - -"In the name of thyself, of France, of the entire world, I adjure thee -to lend ear to what the spirits have revealed this day. Beware the -danger that comes to thee from the scarlet flower. Set thy almighty mind -to compass its destruction. Do not disdain a woman's help, since the -spirits have proclaimed that through a woman thou shalt be saved. -Remember! Remember!" she adjured him with ever-growing earnestness. -"Once before, the world was saved through a woman. A woman crushed the -serpent beneath her foot. Let a woman now crush that scarlet flower -beneath hers. Remember!" - -She actually kissed his feet; and he, blinded by self-conceit to the -folly of this fetishism and the ridicule of his own acceptance of it, -raised his hand above her head as if in the act of pronouncing a -benediction. - -Then without another word he turned to go. The young negro brought him -his hat and cloak. The latter he wrapped closely round his shoulders, -his hat he pulled down well over his eyes. Thus muffled and, he hoped, -unrecognisable, he passed with a firm tread out of the room. - - - - -§3 - - -For awhile the old witch waited, straining her ears to catch the last -sound of those retreating footsteps; then, with a curt word and an -impatient clapping of her hands, she dismissed her attendants, the negro -as well as her neophytes. These young women at her word lost quickly -enough their air of rapt mysticism, became very human indeed, stretched -out their limbs, yawned lustily, and with none too graceful movements -uncurled themselves and struggled to their feet. Chattering and laughing -like so many magpies let out of a cage, they soon disappeared through -the door in the rear. - -Again the old woman waited silent and motionless until that merry sound -too gradually subsided. Then she went across the room to the dais, and -drew aside the curtain which hung behind it. - -"Citizen Chauvelin!" she called peremptorily. - -A small figure of a man stepped out from the gloom. He was dressed in -black, his hair, of a nondescript blonde shade and his crumpled linen -alone told light in the general sombreness of his appearance. - -"Well?" he retorted drily. - -"Are you satisfied?" the old woman went on with eager impatience. "You -heard what I said?" - -"Yes, I heard," he replied. "Think you he will act on it?" - -"I am certain of it." - -"But why not have named Theresia Cabarrus? Then, at least, I would have -been sure----" - -"He might have recoiled at an actual name," the woman replied, -"suspected me of connivance. The Chosen of the people of France is -shrewd as well as distrustful. And I have my reputation to consider. -But, remember what I said: 'tall, dark, beautiful, a stranger in this -land!' So, if indeed you require the help of the Spaniard----" - -"Indeed I do!" he rejoined earnestly. And, as if speaking to his own -inward self, "Theresia Cabarrus is the only woman I know who can really -help me." - -"But you cannot force her consent, citizen Chauvelin," the sybil -insisted. - -The eyes of citizen Chauvelin lit up suddenly with a flash of that old -fire of long ago, when he was powerful enough to compel the consent or -the co-operation of any man, woman or child on whom he had deigned to -cast an appraising glance. But the flash was only momentary. The next -second he had once more resumed his unobtrusive, even humble, attitude. - -"My friends, who are few," he said, with a quick sigh of impatience; -"and mine enemies, who are without number, will readily share your -conviction, Mother, that citizen Chauvelin can compel no one to do his -bidding these days. Least of all the affianced wife of powerful -Tallien." - -"Well, then," the sybil argued, "how think you that----" - -"I only hope, Mother," Chauvelin broke in suavely, "that after your -séance to-day, citizen Robespierre himself will see to it that Theresia -Cabarrus gives me the help I need." - -Catherine Théot shrugged her shoulders. - -"Oh!" she said drily, "the Cabarrus knows no law save that of her -caprice. And as Tallien's fiancée she is almost immune." - -"Almost, but not quite! Tallien is powerful, but so was Danton." - -"But Tallien is prudent, which Danton was not." - -"Tallien is also a coward; and easily led like a lamb, with a halter. He -came back from Bordeaux tied to the apron-strings of the fair Spaniard. -He should have spread fire and terror in the region; but at her bidding -he dispensed justice and even mercy instead. A little more airing of his -moderate views, a few more acts of unpatriotic clemency, and powerful -Tallien himself may become 'suspect.'" - -"And you think that, when he is," the old woman rejoined with grim -sarcasm, "you will hold his fair betrothed in the hollow of your hand?" - -"Certainly!" he assented, and with an acid smile fell to contemplating -his thin, talon-like palms. "Since Robespierre, counselled by Mother -Théot, will himself have placed her there." - -Whereupon Catherine Théot ceased to argue, since the other appeared so -sure of himself. Once more she shrugged her shoulders. - -"Well, then, if you are satisfied . . ." she said. - -"I am. Quite," he replied and at once plunged his hand in the -breast-pocket of his coat. He had caught the look of avarice and of -greed which had glittered in the old hag's eyes. From his pocket he drew -a bundle of notes, for which Catherine immediately stretched out a -grasping hand. But before giving her the money, he added a stern -warning. - -"Silence, remember! And, above all, discretion!" - -"You may rely on me, citizen," the sybil riposted quietly. "I am not -likely to blab." - -He did not place the notes in her hand, but threw them down on the table -with a gesture of contempt, without deigning to count. But Catherine -Théot cared nothing for his contempt. She coolly picked up the notes -and hid them in the folds of her voluminous draperies. Then as -Chauvelin, without another word, had turned unceremoniously to go, she -placed a bony hand upon his arm. - -"And I can rely on you, citizen," she insisted firmly, "that when the -Scarlet Pimpernel is duly captured . . ." - -"There will be ten thousand livres for you," he broke in impatiently, -"if my scheme with Theresia Cabarrus is successful. I never go back on -my word." - -"And I'll not go back on mine," she concluded drily. "We are dependent -on one another, citizen Chauvelin. You want to capture the English spy, -and I want ten thousand livres, so that I may retire from active life -and quietly cultivate a plot of cabbages somewhere in the sunshine. So -you may leave the matter to me, my friend. I'll not allow the great -Robespierre to rest till he has compelled Theresia Cabarrus to do your -bidding. Then you may use her as you think best. That gang of English -spies must be found, and crushed. We cannot have the Chosen of the Most -High threatened by such vermin. Ten thousand livres, you say?" the sybil -went on, and once again, as in the presence of the dictator, a mystic -exultation appeared to possess her soul. Gone was the glitter of avarice -from her eyes; her wizened face seemed transfigured, her shrunken form -to gain in stature. "Hay! I would serve you on my knees and accord you -worship, if you avert the scarlet danger that hovers over the head of -the Beloved of France!" - -But Chauvelin was obviously in no mood to listen to the old hag's -jeremiads, and while with arms uplifted she once more worked herself up -to a hysterical burst of enthusiasm for the bloodthirsty monster whom -she worshipped, he shook himself free from her grasp and finally slipped -out of the room, without further wasting his breath. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -THE FELLOWSHIP OF GRIEF - - -§1 - - -In the antechamber of Catherine Théot's abode of mysteries some two -hours later, half a dozen persons were sitting. The room was long, -narrow and bare, its walls dank and colourless, and save for the rough -wooden benches on which these persons sat, was void of any furniture. -The benches were ranged against the walls; the one window at the end was -shuttered so as to exclude all daylight, and from the ceiling there hung -a broken-down wrought-iron chandelier, wherein a couple of lighted -tallow candles were set, the smoke from which rose in irregular spirals -upwards to the low and blackened ceiling. - -These persons who sat or sprawled upon the benches did not speak to one -another. They appeared to be waiting. One or two of them were seemingly -asleep; others, from time to time, would rouse themselves from their -apathy, look with dim, inquiring eyes in the direction of a heavy -portière which hung in front of a door near the far end of the room, -and would strain their ears to listen. This occurred every time that a -cry, or a moan, or a sob came from behind the portière. When this -subsided again all those in the bare waiting-room resumed their patient, -lethargic attitude, and a silence--weird and absolute--reigned once more -over them all. Now and then somebody would sigh, and at one time one of -the sleepers snored. - -Far away a church clock struck six. - - - - -§2 - - -A few minutes later, the portière was lifted, and a girl came into the -room. She held a shawl, very much the worse for wear, tightly wrapped -around her meagre shoulders, and from beneath her rough woollen skirt -her small feet appeared clad in well-worn shoes and darned worsted -stockings. Her hair, which was fair and soft, was partially hidden under -a white muslin cap, and as she walked with a brisk step across the room, -she looked neither to right nor left, appeared to move as in a dream. -And her large grey eyes were brimming over with tears. - -Neither her rapid passage across the room nor her exit through a door -immediately opposite the window created the slightest stir amongst those -who were waiting. Only one of the men, a huge, ungainly giant, whose -long limbs appeared to stretch half-across the bare wooden floor, looked -up lazily as she passed. - -After the girl had gone, silence once more fell on the small assembly. -Not a sound came from behind the portière; but from beyond the other -door the faint patter of the girl's feet could be heard gradually fading -away as she went slowly down the stone stairs. - -A few more minutes went by, then the door behind the portière was -opened and a cadaverous voice spoke the word, "Enter!" - -There was a faint stir among those who waited. A woman rose from her -seat, said dully: "My turn, I think?" and, gliding across the room like -some bodiless spectre, she presently vanished behind the portière. - -"Are you going to the Fraternal Supper to-night, citizen Langlois?" the -giant said, after the woman had gone. His tone was rasping and harsh and -his voice came with a wheeze and an obviously painful effort from his -broad, doubled-up chest. - -"Not I!" Langlois replied. "I must speak with Mother Théot. My wife -made me promise. She is too ill to come herself, and the poor -unfortunate believes in the Théot's incantations." - -"Come out and get some fresh air, then," the other rejoined. "It is -stifling in here!" - -It was indeed stuffy in the dark, smoke-laden room. The man put his bony -hand up to his chest, as if to quell a spasm of pain. A horrible, -rasping cough shook his big body and brought a sweat to his brow. -Langlois, a wizened little figure of a man, who looked himself as if he -had one foot in the grave, waited patiently until the spasm was over, -then, with the indifference peculiar to these turbulent times, he said -lightly: - -"I would just as soon sit here as wear out shoe-leather on the -cobblestones of this God-forsaken hole. And I don't want to miss my turn -with Mother Théot." - -"You'll have another four hours mayhap to wait in this filthy -atmosphere." - -"What an aristo you are, citizen Rateau!" the other retorted drily. -"Always talking about atmosphere!" - -"So would you, if you had only one lung wherewith to inhale this filth," -growled the giant through a wheeze. - -"Then don't wait for me, my friend," Langlois concluded with a careless -shrug of his narrow shoulders. "And, if you don't mind missing your -turn. . . ." - -"I do not," was Rateau's curt reply. "I would as soon be last as not. -But I'll come back presently. I am the third from now. If I'm not back -you can have my turn, and I'll follow you in. But I can't----" - -His next words were smothered in a terrible fit of coughing, as he -struggled to his feet. Langlois swore at him for making such a noise, -and the women, roused from their somnolence, sighed with impatience or -resignation. But all those who remained seated on the benches watched -with a kind of dull curiosity, the ungainly figure of the asthmatic -giant as he made his way across the room and anon went out through the -door. - -His heavy footsteps were heard descending the stone stairs with a -shuffling sound, and the clatter of his wooden shoes. The women once -more settled themselves against the dank walls, with feet stretched out -before them and arms folded over their breasts, and in that highly -uncomfortable position prepared once more to go to sleep. - -Langlois buried his hands in the pockets of his breeches, spat -contentedly upon the floor, and continued to wait. - - - - -§3 - - -In the meanwhile, the girl who, with tear-filled eyes, had come out of -the inner mysterious room in Mother Théot's apartments, had, after a -slow descent down the interminable stone stairs, at last reached the -open air. - -The Rue de la Planchette is only a street in name, for the houses in it -are few and far between. One side of it is taken up for the major -portion of its length by the dry moat which at this point forms the -boundary of the Arsenal and of the military ground around the Bastille. -The house wherein lodged Mother Théot is one of a small group situated -behind the Bastille, the grim ruins of which can be distinctly seen from -the upper windows. Immediately facing those houses is the Porte St. -Antoine, through which the wayfarer in this remote quarter of Paris has -to pass in order to reach the more populous parts of the great city. -This is just a lonely and squalid backwater, broken up by undeveloped -land and timber yards. One end of the street abuts on the river, the -other becomes merged in the equally remote suburb of Popincourt. - -But, for the girl who had just come out of the heavy, fetid atmosphere -of Mother Théot's lodgings, the air which reached her nostrils as she -came out of the wicket-gate, was positive manna to her lungs. She stood -for awhile quite still, drinking in the balmy spring air, almost dizzy -with the sensation of purity and of freedom which came to her from over -the vast stretch of open ground occupied by the Arsenal. For a minute or -two she stood there, then walked deliberately in the direction of the -Porte St. Antoine. - -She was very tired, for she had come to the Rue de la Planchette on foot -all the way from the small apartment in the St. Germain quarter, where -she lodged with her mother and sister and a young brother; she had -become weary and jaded by sitting for hours on a hard wooden bench, -waiting her turn to speak with Mother Théot, and then standing for what -seemed an eternity of time in the presence of the soothsayer, who had -further harassed her nerves by weird prophecies and mystic incantations. - -But for the nonce weariness was forgotten. Régine de Serval was going -to meet the man she loved, at a trysting-place which they had marked as -their own; the porch of the church of Petit St. Antoine, a secluded spot -where neither prying eyes could see them nor ears listen to what they -had to say. A spot which to poor little Régine was the very threshold -of Paradise, for here she had Bertrand all to herself, undisturbed by -the prattle of Joséphine or Jacques or the querulous complaints of -maman, cooped up in that miserable apartment in the old St. Germain -quarter of the city. - -So she walked briskly and without hesitation. Bertrand had agreed to -meet her at five o'clock. It was now close on half-past six. It was -still daylight, and a brilliant April sunset tinged the cupola of Ste. -Marie with gold and drew long fantastic shadows across the wide Rue St. -Antoine. - -Régine had crossed the Rue des Balais, and the church porch of Petit -St. Antoine was but a few paces farther on, when she became conscious of -heavy, dragging footsteps some little way behind her. Immediately -afterwards, the distressing sound of a racking cough reached her ears, -followed by heartrending groans as of a human creature in grievous -bodily pain. The girl, not in the least frightened, instinctively turned -to look, and was moved to pity on seeing a man leaning against the wall -of a house, in a state bordering on collapse, his hands convulsively -grasping his chest, which appeared literally torn by a violent fit of -coughing. Forgetting her own troubles, as well as the joy which awaited -her so close at hand, Régine unhesitatingly recrossed the road, -approached the sufferer, and in a gentle voice asked him if she could be -of any assistance to him in his distress. - -"A little water," he gasped, "for mercy's sake!" - -Just for a second or two she looked about her, doubtful as to what to -do, hoping perhaps to catch sight of Bertrand, if he had not given up -all hope of meeting her. The next, she had stepped boldly through the -wicket-gate of the nearest porte-cochère, and finding her way to the -lodge of the concierge, she asked for a drop of water for a passer-by -who was in pain. A jug of water was at once handed to her by a -sympathetic concierge, and with it she went back to complete her simple -act of mercy. - -For a moment she was puzzled not seeing the poor vagabond there, where -she had left him, half-swooning against the wall. But soon she spied -him, in the very act of turning under the little church porch of Petit -St. Antoine, the hallowed spot of her frequent meetings with Bertrand. - - - - -§4 - - -He seemed to have crawled there for shelter, and there he collapsed upon -the wooden bench, in the most remote angle of the porch. Of Bertrand -there was not a sign. - -Régine was soon by the side of the unfortunate. She held up the jug of -water to his quaking lips, and he drank eagerly. After that he felt -better, muttered vague words of thanks. But he seemed so weak, despite -his stature, which appeared immense in this narrow enclosure, that she -did not like to leave him. She sat down beside him, suddenly conscious -of fatigue. He seemed harmless enough, and after awhile began to tell -her of his trouble. This awful asthma, which he had contracted in the -campaign against the English in Holland, where he and his comrades had -to march in snow and ice, often shoeless and with nothing but bass mats -around their shoulders. He had but lately been discharged out of the -army as totally unfit, and as he had no money wherewith to pay a doctor, -he would no doubt have been dead by now but that a comrade had spoken to -him of Mother Théot, a marvellous sorceress, who knew the art of drugs -and simples, and could cure all ailments of the body by the mere laying -on of hands. - -"Ah, yes," the girl sighed involuntarily, "of the body!" - -Through the very act of sitting still, a deadly lassitude had crept into -her limbs. She was thankful not to move, to say little, and to listen -with half an ear to the vagabond's jeremiads. Anyhow, she was sure that -Bertrand would no longer be waiting. He was ever impatient if he thought -that she failed him in anything, and it was she who had appointed five -o'clock for their meeting. Even now the church clock way above the porch -was striking half-past six. And the asthmatic giant went glibly on. He -had partially recovered his breath. - -"Aye!" he was saying, in response to her lament, "and of the mind, too. -I had a comrade whose sweetheart was false to him while he was fighting -for his country. Mother Théot gave him a potion which he administered -to the faithless one, and she returned to him as full of ardour as ever -before." - -"I have no faith in potions," the girl said, and shook her head sadly -the while tears once more gathered in her eyes. - -"No more have I," the giant assented carelessly. "But if my sweetheart -was false to me I know what I would do." - -This he said in so droll a fashion, and the whole idea of this ugly, -ungainly creature having a sweetheart was so comical, that despite her -will, the ghost of a smile crept round the young girl's sensitive mouth. - -"What would you do, citizen?" she queried gently. - -"Just take her away, out of the reach of temptation," he replied -sententiously. "I should say, 'This must stop,' and 'You come away with -me, ma mie!'" - -"Ah!" she retorted impulsively, "it is easy to talk. A man can do so -much. What can a woman do?" - -She checked herself abruptly, ashamed of having said so much. What was -this miserable caitiff to her that she should as much as hint at her -troubles in his hearing? In these days of countless spies, of -innumerable confidence tricks set to catch the unwary, it was more than -foolhardy to speak of one's private affairs to any stranger, let alone -to an out-at-elbows vagabond who was just the sort of refuse of humanity -who would earn a precarious livelihood by the sale of information, true -or false, wormed out of some innocent fellow-creature. Hardly, then, -were the words out of her mouth than the girl repented of her folly, -turned quick, frightened eyes on the abject creature beside her. - -But he appeared not to have heard. A wheezy cough came out of his bony -chest. Nor did he meet her terrified gaze. - -"What did you say, citoyenne?" he muttered fretfully. "Are you -dreaming? . . . or what? . . ." - -"Yes--yes!" she murmured vaguely, her heart still beating with that -sudden fright. "I must have been dreaming. . . . But you . . . you are -better----?" - -"Better? Perhaps," he replied, with a hoarse laugh. "I might even be -able to crawl home." - -"Do you live very far?" she asked. - -"No. Just by the Rue de l'Anier." - -He made no attempt to thank her for her gentle ministration, and she -thought how ungainly he looked--almost repellent--sprawling right across -the porch, with his long legs stretched out before him and his hands -buried in the pockets of his breeches. Nevertheless, he looked so -helpless and so pitiable that the girl's kind heart was again stirred -with compassion, and when presently he struggled with difficulty to his -feet, she said impulsively: - -"The Rue de l'Anier is on my way. If you will wait, I'll return the jug -to the kind concierge who let me have it and I'll walk with you. You -really ought not to be about the street alone." - -"Oh, I am better now," he muttered, in the same ungracious way. "You had -best leave me alone. I am not a suitable gallant for a pretty wench like -you." - -But already the girl had tripped away with the jug, and returned two -minutes later to find that the curious creature had already started on -his way and was fifty yards and more farther up the street by now. She -shrugged her shoulders, feeling mortified at his ingratitude, and not a -little ashamed that she had forced her compassion where it was so -obviously unwelcome. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -ONE DRAM OF JOY MUST HAVE A POUND OF CARE - - -§1 - - -She stood for a moment, gazing mechanically on the retreating figure of -the asthmatic giant. The next moment she heard her name spoken, and -turned quickly with a little cry of joy. - -"Régine!" - -A young man was hurrying towards her, was soon by her side and took her -hand. - -"I have been waiting," he said reproachfully, "for more than an hour." - -In the twilight his face appeared pinched and pale, with dark, -deep-sunken eyes that told of a troubled soul and a consuming, inward -fire. He wore cloth clothes that were very much the worse for wear, and -boots that were down at heel. A battered tricorne hat was pushed back -from his high forehead, exposing the veined temples with the line of -brown hair, and the arched, intellectual brows that proclaimed the -enthusiast rather than the man of action. - -"I am sorry, Bertrand," the girl said simply. "But I had to wait such a -long time at Mother Théot's, and----" - -"But what were you doing now?" he queried with an impatient frown. "I -saw you from a distance. You came out of yonder house, and then stood -here like one bewildered. You did not hear when first I called." - -"I have had quite a funny adventure," Régine explained; "and I am very -tired. Sit down with me, Bertrand, for a moment I'll tell you all about -it." - -A flat refusal hovered palpably on his lips. - -"It is too late----" he began, and the frown of impatience deepened upon -his brow. He tried to protest, but Régine did look very tired. Already, -without waiting for his consent, she had turned into the little porch, -and Bertrand perforce had to follow her. - -The shades of evening now were fast gathering in, and the lengthened -shadows stretched out away, right across the street. The last rays of -the sinking sun still tinged the roofs and chimney pots opposite with a -crimson hue. But here, in the hallowed little trysting-place, the -kingdom of night had already established its sway. The darkness lent an -air of solitude and of security to this tiny refuge, and Régine drew a -happy little sigh as she walked deliberately to its farthermost recess -and sat down on the wooden bench in its extreme and darkest angle. - -Behind her, the heavy oaken door of the church was closed. The church -itself, owing to the contumaciousness of its parish priest, had been -desecrated by the ruthless hands of the Terrorists and left derelict, to -fall into decay. The stone walls themselves appeared cut off from the -world, as if ostracised. But between them Régine felt safe, and when -Bertrand Moncrif somewhat reluctantly sat down beside her, she also felt -almost happy. - -"It is very late," he murmured once more, ungraciously. - -She was leaning her head against the wall, looked so pale, with eyes -closed and bloodless lips, that the young man's heart was suddenly -filled with compunction. - -"You are not ill, Régine?" he asked, more gently. - -"No" she replied, and smiled bravely up at him. "Only very tired and a -little dizzy. The atmosphere in Catherine Théot's rooms was stifling, -and then when I came out----" - -He took her hand, obviously making an effort to be patient and to be -kind; and she, not noticing the effort or his absorption, began to tell -him about her little adventure with the asthmatic giant. - -"Such a droll creature," she explained. "He would have frightened me but -for that awful, churchyard cough." - -But the matter did not seem to interest Bertrand very much; and -presently he took advantage of a pause in her narrative to ask abruptly: - -"And Mother Théot, what had she to say?" - -Régine gave a shudder. - -"She foretells danger for us all," she said. - -"The old charlatan!" he retorted with a shrug of the shoulders. "As if -every one was not in danger these days!" - -"She gave me a powder," Régine went on simply, "which she thinks will -calm Joséphine's nerves." - -"And that is folly," he broke in harshly. "We do not want Joséphine's -nerves to be calmed." - -But at his words, which in truth sounded almost cruel, Régine roused -herself with a sudden air of authority. - -"Bertrand," she said firmly, "you are doing a great wrong by dragging -the child into your schemes. Joséphine is too young to be used as a -tool by a pack of thoughtless enthusiasts." - -A bitter, scornful laugh from Bertrand broke in on her vehemence. - -"Thoughtless enthusiasts!" he exclaimed roughly. "Is that how you call -us, Régine? My God! where is your loyalty, your devotion? Have you no -faith, no aspirations? Do you no longer worship God or reverence your -King?" - -"In heaven's name, Bertrand, take care!" she whispered hoarsely, looked -about her as if the stone walls of the porch had ears and eyes fixed -upon the man she loved. - -"Take care!" he rejoined bitterly. "Yes! that is your creed now. -Caution! Circumspection! You fear----" - -"For you," she broke in reproachfully; "for Joséphine; for maman; for -Jacques--not for myself, God knows!" - -"We must all take risks, Régine," he retorted more composedly. "We must -all risk our miserable lives in order to end this awful, revolting -tyranny. We must have a wider outlook, think not only of ourselves, of -those immediately round us, but of France, of humanity, of the entire -world. The despotism of a bloodthirsty autocrat has made of the people -of France a people of slaves, cringing, fearful, abject--swayed by his -word, too cowardly now to rebel." - -"And what are you? My God!" she cried passionately. "You and your -friends, my poor young sister, my foolish little brother? What are you, -that you think you can stem the torrent of this stupendous Revolution? -How think you that your feeble voices will be heard above the roar of a -whole nation in the throes of misery and of shame?" - -"It is the still small voice," Bertrand replied, in the tone of a -visionary, who sees mysteries and who dreams dreams, "that is heard by -its persistence even above the fury of thousands in full cry. Do we not -call our organisation 'the Fatalists'? Our aim is to take every -opportunity by quick, short speeches, by mixing with the crowd and -putting in a word here and there, to make propaganda against the fiend -Robespierre. The populace are like sheep; they'll follow a lead. One -day, one of us--it may be the humblest, the weakest, the youngest; it -may be Joséphine or Jacques; I pray God it may be me--but one of us -will find the word and speak it at the right time, and the people will -follow us and turn against that execrable monster and hurl him from his -throne, down into Gehenna." - -He spoke below his breath, in a hoarse whisper which even she had to -strain her ears to hear. - -"I know, I know, Bertrand," she rejoined, and her tiny hand stole out in -a pathetic endeavour to capture his. "Your aims are splendid. You are -wonderful, all of you. Who am I, that I should even with a word or a -prayer, try to dissuade you from doing what you think is right? But -Joséphine is so young, so hot-headed! What help can she give you? She -is only seventeen. And Jacques! He is just an irresponsible boy! Think, -Bertrand, think! If anything were to happen to these children, it would -kill maman!" - -He gave a shrug of the shoulders and smothered a weary sigh. Fortunately -she did not see the one or hear the other. She had succeeded in -capturing his hand, clung to it with the strength of a passionate -appeal. - -"You and I will never understand one another, Régine," he began; then -added quickly, "over these matters," because, following on his cruel -words he had heard the tiny cry of pain, so like that of a wounded bird, -which much against her will had escaped her lips. "You do not -understand," he went on, more quietly, "that in a great cause the -sufferings of individuals are nought beside the glorious achievement -that is in view." - -"The sufferings of individuals," she murmured, with a pathetic little -sigh. "In truth 'tis but little heed you pay, Bertrand, to my sufferings -these days." She paused awhile, then added under her breath: "Since -first you met Theresia Cabarrus, three months ago, you have eyes and -ears only for her." - -He smothered an angry exclamation. - -"It is useless, Régine----" he began. - -"I know," she broke in quietly. "Theresia Cabarrus is beautiful; she has -charm, wit, power--all things which I do not possess." - -"She has fearlessness and a heart of gold," Bertrand rejoined and, -probably despite himself, a sudden warmth crept into his voice. "Do you -not know of the marvellous influence which she exercised over that fiend -Tallien, down in Bordeaux? He went there filled with a veritable tiger’s -fury, ready for a wholesale butchery of all the royalists, the -aristocrats, the bourgeois, over there--all those, in fact whom he chose -to believe were conspiring against this hideous Revolution. Well! under -Theresia's influence he actually modified his views and became so -lenient that he was recalled. You know, or should know, Régine," the -young man added in a tone of bitter reproach, "that Theresia is as good -as she is beautiful." - -"I do know that, Bertrand," the girl rejoined with an effort "Only----" - -"Only what?" he queried roughly. - -"I do not trust her . . . that is all." Then, as he made no attempt at -concealing his scorn and his impatience, she went on in a tone which was -much harsher, more uncompromising than the one she had adopted hitherto: -"Your infatuation blinds you, Bertrand, or you--an enthusiastic -royalist, an ardent loyalist--would not place your trust in an avowed -Republican. Theresia Cabarrus may be kind-hearted--I don't deny it. She -may have done and she may be all that you say; but she stands for the -negation of every one of your ideals, for the destruction of what you -exalt, the glorification of the principles of this execrable -Revolution." - -"Jealousy blinds you, Régine," he retorted moodily. - -She shook her head. - -"No, it is not jealousy, Bertrand--not common, vulgar jealousy--that -prompts me to warn you, before it is too late. Remember," she added -solemnly, "that you have not only yourself to think of, but that you are -accountable to God and to me for the innocent lives of Joséphine and of -Jacques. By confiding in that Spanish woman----" - -"Now you are insulting her," he broke in mercilessly. "Making her out to -be a spy." - -"What else is she?" the girl riposted vehemently. "You know that she is -affianced to Tallien, whose influence and whose cruelty are second only -to those of Robespierre. You know it, Bertrand!" she insisted, seeing -that at last she had silenced him and that he sat beside her, sullen and -obstinate. "You know it, even though you choose to close your eyes and -ears to what is common knowledge." - -There was silence after that for a while in the narrow porch, where two -hearts once united were filled now with bitterness, one against the -other. Even out in the street it had become quite dark, the darkness of -a spring night, full of mysterious lights and grey, indeterminate -shadows. The girl shivered as with cold and drew her tattered shawl more -closely around her shoulders. She was vainly trying to swallow her -tears. Goaded into saying more than she had ever meant to, she felt the -finality of what she had said. Something had finally snapped just now; -something that could never in after years be put together again. The boy -and girl love which had survived the past two years of trouble and of -stress, lay wounded unto death, bleeding at the foot of the shrine of a -man's infatuation and a woman's vanity. How impossible this would have -seemed but a brief while ago! - -Through the darkness, swift visions of past happy times came fleeting -before the girl's tear-dimmed gaze: visions of walks in the woods round -Auteuil, of drifting down-stream in a boat on the Seine on hot August -days--aye! even of danger shared and perilous moments passed together, -hand in hand, with bated breath, in darkened rooms, with curtains drawn -and ears straining to hear the distant cannonade, the shouts of an -infuriated populace or the rattle of death-carts upon the cobblestones. -Swift visions of past sorrows and past joys! An immense self-pity filled -the girl's heart to bursting. An insistent sob that would not be -suppressed rose to her throat. - -"Oh, Mother of God, have mercy!" she murmured through her tears. - -Bertrand, shamed and confused, his heart stirred by the misery of this -girl whom he had so dearly loved, his nerves strained beyond endurance -through the many mad schemes which his enthusiasm was for ever evolving, -felt like a creature on the rack, torn between compunction and remorse -on the one hand and irresistible passion on the other. - -"Régine," he pleaded, "forgive me! I am a brute, I know--a brute to -you, who have been the kindest little friend a man could possibly -hope for. Oh, my dear," he added pitiably. "If you would only -understand. . . ." - -At once her tender, womanly sentiment was to the fore, sweeping pride -and just resentment out of the way. Hers was one of those motherly -natures that are always more ready to comfort than to chide. Already she -had swallowed her tears, and now that with a wearied gesture he had -buried his face in his hands, she put her arm around his neck, pillowed -his head against her breast. - -"I do understand, Bertrand," she said gently. "And you must never ask my -forgiveness, for you and I have loved one another too well to bear anger -or grudge one toward the other. There!" she said, and rose to her feet, -seemed by that sudden act to gather up all the moral strength of which -she stood in such sore need. "It is getting late, and maman will be -anxious. Another time we must have a more quiet talk about our future. -But," she added, with renewed seriousness, "if I concede you Theresia -Cabarrus without another murmur, you must give me back Joséphine and -Jacques. If--if I--am to lose you--I could not bear to lose them as -well. They are so young. . . ." - -"Who talks of losing them?" he broke in, once more impatient, -enthusiastic--his moodiness gone, his remorse smothered, his conscience -dead to all save to his schemes. "And what have I to do with it all? -Joséphine and Jacques are members of the Club. They may be young, but -they are old enough to know the value of an oath. They are pledged just -like I am, just like we all are. I could not, even if I would, make them -false to their oath." Then, as she made no reply, he leaned over to her, -took her hands in his, tried to read her inscrutable face through the -shadows of night. He thought that he read obstinacy in her rigid -attitude, the unresponsive placidity of her hands. "You would not have -them false to their oath?" he insisted. - -She made no reply to that, only queried dully: - -"What are you going to do to-night?" - -"To-night," he said with passionate earnestness, his eyes glowing with -fervid ardour of self-immolation, "we are going to let hell loose around -the name of Robespierre." - -"Where?" - -"At the open-air supper in the Rue St. Honoré. Joséphine and Jacques -will be there." - -She nodded mechanically, quietly disengaged her hands from his feverish -grasp. - -"I know," she said quietly. "They told me they were going. I have no -influence to stop them." - -"You will be there, too?" he asked. - -"Of course. So will poor maman," she replied simply. - -"This may be the turning point, Régine," he said with passionate -earnestness, "in the history of France!" - -"Perhaps!" - -"Think of it, Régine! Think of it! Your sister, your young brother! -Their names may go down to posterity as the saviours of France!" - -"The saviours of France!" she murmured vaguely. - -"One word has swayed a multitude before now. It may do so again . . . -to-night!" - -"Yes," she said. "And those poor children believe in the power of their -oratory." - -"Do not you?" - -"I only remember that you, Bertrand, have probably spoken of your plan -to Theresia Cabarrus, that the place will be swarming with the spies of -Robespierre, and that you and the children will be recognised, seized, -dragged into prison, then to the guillotine! My God!" she added in a -pitiful murmur. "And I am powerless to do anything but look on like an -insentient log, whilst you run your rash heads into a noose, and then -follow you all to death, whilst maman is left alone to perish in misery -and in want." - -"A pessimist again, Régine!" he said with a forced laugh, and in his -turn rose to his feet. "'Tis little we have accomplished this evening," -he added bitterly, "by talking." - -She said nothing more. An icy chill had hold of her heart. Not only of -her heart, but of her brain and her whole being. Strive as she might, -she could not enter into Bertrand's schemes, and as his whole entity was -wrapped up in them she felt estranged from him, out of touch, shut out -from his heart. Unspeakable bitterness filled her soul. She hated -Theresia Cabarrus, who had enslaved Bertrand's fancy, and above all she -mistrusted her. At this moment she would gladly have given her life to -get Bertrand away from the influence of that woman and away from that -madcap association which called itself "the Fatalists," and into which -he had dragged both Joséphine and Jacques. - -Silently she preceded him out of the little church porch, the habitual -trysting-place, where at one time she had spent so many happy hours. -Just before she turned off into the street, she looked back, as if -through the impenetrable darkness which enveloped it now she would -conjure up, just once more, those happy images of the past. But the -darkness made no response to the mute cry of her fancy, and with a last -sigh of intense bitterness, she followed Bertrand down the street. - - - - -§2 - - -Less than five minutes after Bertrand and Régine had left the porch of -Petit St. Antoine, the heavy oak door of the church was cautiously -opened. It moved noiselessly upon its hinges, and presently through the -aperture the figure of a man emerged, hardly discernible in the gloom. -He slipped through the door into the porch, then closed the former -noiselessly behind him. - -A moment or two later his huge, bulky figure was lumbering up the Rue -St. Antoine, in the direction of the Arsenal, his down-at-heel shoes -making a dull clip-clop on the cobblestones. There were but very few -passers-by at this hour, and the man went along with his peculiar -shuffling gait until he reached the Porte St. Antoine. The city gates -were still open at this hour, for it was only a little while ago that -the many church clocks of the quartier had struck eight, nor did the -sergeant at the gate pay much heed to the beggarly caitiff who went by; -only he and the half-dozen men of the National Guard who were in charge -of the gate, did remark that the belated wayfarer appeared to be in -distress with a terrible asthmatic cough which caused one of the men to -say with grim facetiousness: - -"Pardi! but here's a man who will not give maman guillotine any -trouble!" - -They all noticed, moreover, that after the asthmatic giant had passed -through the city gate, he turned his shuffling footsteps in the -direction of the Rue de la Planchette. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -RASCALITY REJOICES - - -§1 - - -The Fraternal Suppers were a great success. They were the invention of -Robespierre, and the unusual warmth of these early spring evenings lent -the support of their balmy atmosphere to the scheme. - -Whole Paris is out in the streets on these mild April nights. Families -out on a holiday, after the daily spectacle of the death-cart taking the -enemies of the people, the conspirators against their liberty, to the -guillotine. - -And maman brings a basket filled with whatever scanty provisions she can -save from the maximum per day allowed for the provisioning of her -family. Beside her, papa comes along, dragging his youngest by the -hand--the latter no longer chubby and rosy, as were his prototypes in -the days gone by, because food is scarce and dear, and milk -unobtainable; but looking a man for all that, though bare-footed and -bare-kneed, with the red cap upon his lank, unwashed looks, and hugging -against his meagre little chest a tiny toy guillotine, the latest -popular fancy, all complete with miniature knife and pulleys, and frame -artistically painted a vivid crimson. - -The Rue St. Honoré is a typical example of what goes on all over the -city. Though it is very narrow and therefore peculiarly inconvenient for -the holding of outdoor entertainments, the Fraternal Suppers there are -extensively patronised, because the street itself is consecrated as -holding the house wherein lives Robespierre. - -Here, as elsewhere, huge braziers are lit at intervals, so that -materfamilias may cook the few herrings she has brought with her if she -be so minded, and all down the narrow street tables are set, innocent of -cloths or even of that cleanliness which is next to the equally -neglected virtue of godliness. But the tables have an air of cheeriness -nevertheless, with resin torches, tallow candles, or old stable lanterns -set here and there, the flames flickering in the gentle breeze, adding -picturesqueness to the scene which might otherwise have seemed sordid, -with those pewter mugs and tin plates, the horn-handled knives and iron -spoons. - -The scanty light does little more than accentuate the darkness around, -the deep shadows under projecting balconies or lintels of -portes-cochères carefully closed and barred for the night; but it -glints with weird will-o'-the-wisp-like fitfulness on crimson caps and -tricolour cockades, on drawn and begrimed faces, bony arms, or lean, -brown hands. - -A motley throng, in truth! The workers of Paris, its proletariat, all -conscripted servants of the State--slaves, we might call them, though -they deem themselves free men--all driven into hard manual labour, -partly by starvation and wholly by the decree of the Committees, who -decide how and when and in what form the nation requires the arms or -hands--not the brains, mind you!--of its citizens. For brains the nation -has no use, only in the heads of those who sit in Convention or on -Committees. "The State hath no use for science," was grimly said to -Lavoisier, the great chemist, when he begged for a few days' surcease -from death in order to complete some important experiments. - -But coal-heavers are useful citizens of the State; so are smiths and -armourers and gunmakers, and those who can sew and knit stockings, do -anything in fact to clothe and feed the national army, the defenders of -the sacred soil of France. For them, for these workers--the honest, the -industrious, the sober--are the Fraternal Suppers invented; but not for -them only. There are the "tricotteuses," sexless hags, who, by order of -the State, sit at the foot of the scaffold surrounded by their families -and their children and knit, and knit, the while they jeer--still by -order of the State, at the condemned--old men, young women, children -even, as they walk up to the guillotine. There are the "insulteuses -publiques," public insulters, women mostly--save the mark!--paid to howl -and blaspheme as the death-carts rattle by. There are the "tappe-durs," -the hit-hards, who, armed with weighted sticks, form the bodyguard -around the sacred person of Robespierre. Then, the members of the -Société Révolutionnaire, recruited from the refuse of misery and of -degradation of this great city; and--oh, the horror of it all!--the -"Enfants Rouges," the red children, who cry "Death" and "à la lanterne" -with the best of them--precocious little offsprings of the new Republic. -For them, too, are the Fraternal Suppers established: for all the -riff-raff, all the sweepings of abject humanity. For they too must be -amused and entertained, lest they sit in clusters and talk themselves -into the belief that they are more wretched, more indigent, more abased, -than they were in the days of monarchical oppression. - - - - -§2 - - -And so, on these balmy evenings of mid-April family parties are gathered -in the open air, around meagre suppers that are "fraternal" by order of -the State. Family parties which make for camaraderie between the honest -man and the thief, the sober citizen and the homeless vagabond, and help -one to forget awhile the misery, the starvation, the slavery, the daily -struggle for bare existence, in anticipation of the belated Millennium. - -There is even laughter around the festive boards, fun and frolic. Jokes -are cracked, mostly of a grim order. There is intoxication in the air: -spring has got into the heads of the young. And there is even kissing -under the shadows, love-making, sentiment; and here and there perhaps a -shred of real happiness. - -The provisions are scanty. Every family brings its own. Two or three -herrings, sprinkled with shredded onions and wetted with a little -vinegar, or else a few boiled prunes or a pottage of lentils and beans. - -"Can you spare some of that bread, citizen?" - -"Aye! if I can have a bite of your cheese." - -They are fraternal suppers! Do not, in the name of Liberty and Equality, -let us forget that. And the whole of it was Robespierre's idea. He -conceived and carried it through, commanded the voices in the Convention -that voted the money required for the tables, the benches, the tallow -candles. He lives close by, in this very street, humbly, quietly, like a -true son of the people, sharing house and board with citizen Duplay, the -cabinet-maker, and with his family. - -A great man, Robespierre! The only man! Men speak of him with bated -breath, young girls with glowing eyes. He is the fetich, the idol, the -demigod. No benefactor of mankind, no saint, no hero-martyr was ever -worshipped more devotedly than this death-dealing monster by his -votaries. Even the shade of Danton is reviled in order to exalt the -virtues of his successful rival. - -"Danton was gorged with riches: his pockets full, his stomach satisfied! -But look at Robespierre!" - -"Almost a wraith!--so thin, so white!" - -"An ascetic!" - -"Consumed by the fire of his own patriotism." - -"His eloquence!" - -"His selflessness!" - -"You have heard him speak, citizen?" - -A girl, still in her 'teens, her elbows resting on the table, her hands -supporting her rounded chin, asks the question with bated breath. Her -large grey eyes, hollow and glowing, are fixed upon her vis-à-vis, a -tall, ungainly creature, who sprawls over the table, vainly trying to -dispose of his long limbs in a manner comfortable to himself. - -His hair is lank and matted with grease, his face covered in coal-dust; -a sennight's growth of beard, stubby and dusty, accentuates the -squareness of his jaw even whilst it fails to conceal altogether the -cruel, sarcastic curves of his mouth. But for the moment, in the rapt -eyes of the young enthusiast, he is a prophet, a seer, a human marvel: -he has heard Robespierre speak. - -"Was it in the Club, citizen Rateau?" another woman asks--a young matron -with a poor little starveling at her breast. - -The man gives a loud guffaw, displays in the feeble, flickering light of -the nearest torch a row of hideous uneven teeth, scored with gaps and -stained with tobacco juice. - -"In the Club?" he says with a curse, and spits in a convenient direction -to show his contempt for that or any other institution. "I don't belong -to any Club. There's no money in my pocket. And the Jacobins and the -Cordeliers like to see a man with a decent coat on his back." - -His guffaw broke in a rasping cough which seemed to tear his broad chest -to ribbons. For a moment speech was denied him; even oaths failed to -reach his lips, trembling like an unset jelly in this distressing spasm. -His neighbours alongside the table, the young enthusiast opposite, the -comely matron, paid no heed to him--waited indifferently until the -clumsy lout had regained his breath. This, mark you, was not an era of -gentleness or womanly compassion, and an asthmatic mudlark was not like -to excite pity. Only when he once more stretched out his long limbs, -raised his head and looked about him, panting and blear-eyed, did the -girl insist quietly: - -"But you have heard _Him_ speak!" - -"Aye!" the ruffian replied drily. "I did." - -"When?" - -"Night before last. Tenez! He was stepping out of citizen Duplay's house -yonder. He saw me leaning against the wall close by. I was tired, half -asleep, what? He spoke to me and asked me where I lived." - -"Where you lived?" the girl echoed, disappointed. - -"Was that all?" the matron added with a shrug of her shoulders. - -The neighbours laughed. The men enjoyed the discomfiture of the women, -who were all craning their necks to hear something great, something -palpitating, about their idol. - -The young enthusiast sighed, clasped her hands in fervour. - -"He saw that you were poor, citizen Rateau," she said with conviction; -"and that you were tired. He wished to help and comfort you." - -"And where did you say you lived, citizen?" the young matron went on, in -her calm, matter-of-fact tone. - -"I live far from here, the other side of the water. Not in an -aristocratic quarter like this one--what?" - -"You told _Him_ that you lived there?" the girl still insisted. Any -scrap or crumb of information even remotely connected with her idol was -manna to her body and balm to her soul. - -"Yes, I did," citizen Rateau assented. - -"Then," the girl resumed earnestly, "solace and comfort will come to you -very soon, citizen. He never forgets. His eyes are upon you. He knows -your distress and that you are poor and weary. Leave it to him, citizen -Rateau. He will know how and when to help." - -"He will know, more like," here broke in a harsh voice, vibrating with -excitement, "how and when to lay his talons on an obscure and helpless -citizen whenever his Batches for the guillotine are insufficient to -satisfy his lust!" - -A dull murmur greeted this tirade. Only those who sat close by the -speaker knew which he was, for the lights were scanty and burnt dim in -the open air. The others only heard--received this arrow-shot aimed at -their idol--with for the most part a kind of dull resentment. The women -were more loudly indignant. One or two young devotees gave a shrill cry -or so of passionate indignation. - -"Shame! Treason!" - -"Guillotine, forsooth! The enemies of the people all deserve the -guillotine!" - -And the enemies of the people were those who dared raise their voices -against their Chosen, their Fetich, the great, incomprehensible Mystery. - -Citizen Rateau was once more rendered helpless by a tearing fit of -coughing. - -But from afar, down the street, there came one or two assenting cries. - -"Well spoken, young man! As for me, I never trusted that bloodhound!" - -And a woman's voice added shrilly: "His hands reek of blood. A butcher, -I call him!" - -"And a tyrant!" assented the original spokesman. "His aim is a -dictatorship, with his minions hanging around him like abject slaves. -Why not Versailles, then? How are we better off now than in the days of -kingship? Then, at least, the streets of Paris did not stink of blood. -Then, at least----" - -But the speaker got no farther. A hard crust of very dry, black bread, -aimed by a sure hand, caught him full in the face, whilst a hoarse voice -shouted lustily: - -"Hey there, citizen! If thou'lt not hold thy tongue 'tis thy neck that -will be recking with blood o'er soon, I'll warrant!" - -"Well said, citizen Rateau!" put in another, speaking with his mouth -full, but with splendid conviction. "Every word uttered by that -jackanapes yonder reeks of treason!" - -"Shame!" came from every side. - -"Where are the agents of the Committee of Public Safety? Men have been -thrown into prison for less than this." - -"Shame!" - -"Denounce him!" - -"Take him to the nearest Section!" - -"Ere he wreaks mischief more lasting than words!" cried a woman, who -tried as she spoke to give to her utterance its full, sinister meaning. - -"Shame! Treason!" came soon from every side. Voices were raised all down -the length of the tables--shrill, full-throated, even dull and -indifferent. Some really felt indignation--burning, ferocious -indignation; others only made a noise for the sheer pleasure of it, and -because the past five years had turned cries of "Treason!" and of -"Shame!" into a habit. Not that they knew what the disturbance was -about. The street was long and narrow, and the cries came some way from -where they were sitting; but when cries of "Treason!" flew through the -air these days, 'twas best to join in, lest those cries turned against -one, and the next stage in the proceedings became the approach of an -Agent of the Sûreté, the nearest prison, and the inevitable -guillotine. - -So every one cried, "Shame!" and "Treason!" whilst those who had first -dared to raise their voices against the popular demagogue drew together -into a closer hatch, trying no doubt to gather courage through one -another's proximity. Eager, excited, a small compact group of two -men--one a mere boy--and three women, it almost seemed as if they were -suffering from some temporary hallucination. How else would five -isolated persons--three of them in their first youth--have dared to -brave a multitude? - -In truth Bertrand Moncrif, face to face as he believed with martyrdom, -was like one transfigured. Always endowed with good looks, he appeared -like a veritable young prophet, haranguing the multitude and foretelling -its doom. The gloom partly hid his figure, but his hand was -outstretched, and the outline of an avenging finger pointing straight -out before him, appeared in the weird light of the resin torch, as if -carved in glowing lava. Now and then the fitful light caught the sharp -outline of his face--the straight nose and pointed chin, and brown hair -matted with the sweat of enthusiasm. - -Beside him Régine, motionless and white as a wraith, appeared alive -only by her eyes, which were fixed on her beloved. In the hulking giant -with the asthmatic cough she had recognised the man to whom she had -ministered earlier in the day. Somehow, his presence here and now seemed -to her sinister and threatening. It seemed as if all day he had been -dogging her footsteps; first at the soothsayer's, then he surely must -have followed her down the street. Then he had inspired her with pity; -now his hideous face, his grimy hands, that croaking voice and -churchyard cough, filled her with nameless terror. - -He appeared to her excited fancy like a veritable spectre of death, -hovering over Bertrand and over those she loved. With one arm she tried -to press her brother Jacques closer to her breast, to quench his -eagerness and silence his foolhardy tongue. But he, like a fierce, -impatient young animal, fought to free himself from her loving embrace, -shouted approval to Bertrand's oratory, played his part of young -propagandist, heedless of Régine's warning and of his mother's tears. -Next to Régine, her sister Joséphine--a girl not out of her 'teens, -with all the eagerness and exaggeration of extreme youth, was shouting -quite as loudly as her brother Jacques, clapping her small hands -together, turning glowing, defying, arrogant eyes on the crowd of great -unwashed whom she hoped to sway with her ardour and her eloquence. - -"Shame on us all!" she cried with passionate vehemence. "Shame on us -French women and French men, that we should be the abject slaves of such -a bloodthirsty tyrant!" - -Her mother, pale-faced, delicate, had obviously long since given up all -hope of controlling this unruly little crowd. She was too listless, too -anæmic, had no doubt suffered too much already, to be afraid for -herself or for her children. She was past any thought of fear. Her wan -face only expressed despair--despair that was absolutely final--and the -resignation of silent self-immolation, content to suffer beside those -she loved, only praying to be allowed to share their martyrdom, even -though she had no part in their enthusiasm. - -Bertrand, Joséphine and Jacques had all the ardour of martyrdom. -Régine and her mother all its resignation. - - - - -§3 - - -The Fraternal Supper threatened to end in a free fight, wherein the only -salvation for the young fire-eaters would lie in a swift taking to their -heels. And even then the chances would be hopelessly against them. Spies -of the Convention, spies of the Committees, spies of Robespierre -himself, swarmed all over the place. They were marked men and women, -those five. It was useless to appear defiant and high-minded and -patriotic. Even Danton had gone to the guillotine for less. - -"Shame! Treason!" - -The balmy air of mid-April seemed to echo the sinister words. But -Bertrand appeared unconscious of all danger. Nay! it almost seemed as -if he courted it. - -"Shame on you all!" he called out loudly, and his fresh, sonorous voice -rang out above the tumult and the hoarse murmurings. "Shame on the -people of France for bowing their necks to such monstrous tyranny. -Citizens of Paris, think on it! Is not Liberty a mockery now? Do you -call your bodies your own? They are but food for cannon at the bidding -of the Convention. Your families? You are parted from those you love. -Your wife? You are torn from her embrace. Your children? They are taken -from you for the service of the State. And by whose orders? Tell me -that! By whose orders, I say?" - -He was lashing himself into a veritable fury of self-sacrifice, stood up -beside the table and with a gesture even bade Joséphine and Jacques be -still. As for Régine, she hardly was conscious that she lived, so -acute, so poignant was her emotion, so gaunt and real the approach of -death which threatened her beloved. - -This of course was the end--this folly, this mad, senseless, useless -folly! Already through the gloom she could see as in a horrible vision -all those she cared for dragged before a tribunal that knew no mercy; -she could hear the death-carts rattling along the cobblestones, she -could see the hideous arms of the guillotine, ready to receive this -unique, this beloved, this precious prey. She could feel Joséphine's -arms clinging pitiably to her for courage; she could see Jacques' -defiant young face, glorying in martyrdom; she could see maman, drooping -like a faded flower, bereft of what was life to her--the nearness of her -children. She could see Bertrand, turning with a dying look of love, not -to her but to the beautiful Spaniard who had captured his fancy and then -sold him without compunction to the spies of Robespierre and of her own -party. - - - - -§4 - - -But for the fact that this was a "Fraternal Supper," that people had -come out here with their families, their young children, to eat and to -make merry and to forget all their troubles as well as the pall of crime -that hung over the entire city, I doubt not but what the young Hotspur -and his crowd of rashlings would ere now have been torn from their -seats, trampled under foot, at best been dragged to the nearest -Commissary, as the asthmatic citizen Rateau had already threatened. Even -as it was, the temper of many a paterfamilias was sorely tried by this -insistence, this wilful twisting of the tigers' tails. And the women -were on the verge of reprisals. As for Rateau, he just seemed to gather -his huge limbs together, uttered an impatient oath and an angry: "By all -the cats and dogs that render this world hideous with their howls, I -have had about enough of this screeching oratory." Then he threw one -long leg over the bench on which he had been sitting, and in an instant -was lost in the gloom, only to reappear in the dim light a few seconds -later, this time on the farther side of the table, immediately behind -the young rhetorician, his ugly, begrimed face with its grinning, -toothless mouth and his broad, bent shoulders towering above the other's -slender figure. - -"Knock him down, citizen!" a young woman cried excitedly. "Hit him in -the face! Silence his abominable tongue!" - -But Bertrand was not to be silenced yet. No doubt the fever of -notoriety, of martyrdom, had got into his blood. His youth, his good -looks--obvious even in the fitful light and despite his tattered -clothes--were an asset in his favour, no doubt; but a man-eating tiger -is apt to be indiscriminate in his appetites and will devour a child -with as much gusto as a gaffer; and this youthful firebrand was teasing -the man-eating tiger with reckless insistence. - -"By whose orders," he reiterated, with passionate vehemence, "by whose -orders are we, free citizens of France, dragged into this abominable -slavery? Is it by those of the Representatives of the People? No! Of the -Committees chosen by the People? No! Of your Municipalities? your Clubs? -your Sections? No! and again No! Your bodies, citizens, your freedom, -your wives, your children, are the slaves, the property, the toys of one -man--real tyrant and traitor, the oppressor of the weak, the enemy of -the people; and that man is----" - -Again he was interrupted, this time more forcibly. A terrific blow on -the head deprived him of speech and of sight. His senses reeled, there -was a mighty buzzing in his ears, which effectually drowned the cries of -execration or of approval that greeted his tirade, as well as a new and -deafening tumult which filled the whole narrow street with its weird and -hideous sounds. - -Whence the blow had come, Bertrand had no notion. It had all been so -swift. He had expected to be torn limb from limb, to be dragged to the -nearest Commissariat; he courted condemnation, envisaged the guillotine; -'stead of which, he was prosily knocked down by a blow which would have -felled an ox. - -Just for a second his fast-fading perceptions struggled back into -consciousness. He had a swift vision of a giant form towering over him, -with grimy fist uplifted and toothless mouth grinning hideously, and of -the crowd, rising from their seats, turning their backs upon him, waving -arms and caps frantically, and shouting, shouting, with vociferous -lustiness. He also had an equally swift pang of remorse as the faces of -his companions--of Régine and Mme. de Serval, of Joséphine and -Jacques--whom he dragged with him into this made and purposeless -outburst, rose prophetically before him from out the gloom, with -wide-eyed, sacred faces and arms uplifted to ward off vengeful blows. - -But the next moment these lightning-like visions faded into complete -oblivion. He felt something hard and heavy hitting him in the back. All -the lights, the faces, the outstretched hands, danced wildly before his -eyes, and he sank like a log on the greasy pavement, dragging pewter -plates, mugs and bottles down with him in his fall. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -ONE CROWDED HOUR OF GLORIOUS LIFE - - -§1 - - -And all the while, the people were shouting: - -"Le voilà!" - -"Robespierre!" - -The Fraternal Supper was interrupted. Men and women pushed and jostled -and screamed, the while a small, spare figure in dark cloth coat and -immaculate breeches, with smooth brown hair and pale, ascetic face, -stood for a moment under the lintel of a gaping porte-cochère. He had -two friends with him; handsome, enthusiastic St. Just, the right hand -and the spur of the bloodthirsty monster, own kinsman to Armand St. Just -the renegade, whose sister was married to a rich English milor; and -Couthon, delicate, half-paralyzed, wheeled about in a chair, with one -foot in the grave, whose devotion to the tyrant was partly made up of -ambition, and wholly of genuine admiration. - -At the uproarious cheering which greeted his appearance, Robespierre -advanced into the open, whilst a sudden swift light of triumph darted -from his narrow, pale eyes. - -"And you still hesitate!" St. Just whispered excitedly in his ear. -"Why, you hold the people absolutely in the hollow of your hand!" - -"Have patience, friend!" Couthon remonstrated quietly. "Robespierre's -hour is about to strike. To hasten it now, might be courting disaster." - -Robespierre himself would, in the meanwhile, have been in serious danger -through the exuberant welcome of his admirers. Their thoughtless -crowding around his person would easily have given some lurking enemy or -hot-headed, would-be martyr the chance of wielding an assassin's knife -with success, but for the presence amongst the crowd of his -"tappe-durs"--hit-hards--a magnificent bodyguard composed of picked -giants from the mining districts of Eastern France, who rallied around -the great man, and with their weighted sticks kept the enthusiastic -crowd at bay. - -He walked a few steps down the street, keeping close to the houses on -his left; his two friends, St. Just and Couthon in his carrying chair, -were immediately behind him, and between these three and the mob, the -tappe-durs, striding two abreast, formed a solid phalanx. - -Then, all of a sudden, the great man came to a halt, faced the crowd, -and with an impressive gesture imposed silence and attention. His -bodyguard cleared a space for him and he stood in the midst of them, -with the light of a resin torch striking full upon his spare figure and -bringing into bold relief that thin face so full of sinister expression, -the cruel mouth and the coldly glittering eyes. He was looking straight -across the table, on which the debris of Fraternal Suppers lay in -unsavoury confusion. - -On the other side of the table, Mme. de Serval with her three children -sat, or rather crouched, closely huddled against one another. Joséphine -was clinging to her mother, Jacques to Régine. Gone was the eagerness -out of their attitude now, gone the enthusiasm that had reviled the -bloodthirsty tyrant in the teeth of a threatening crowd. It seemed as -if, with that terrific blow dealt by a giant hand to Bertrand who was -their leader in this mad adventure, the awesome fear of death had -descended upon their souls. The two young faces as well as that of Mme. -de Serval appeared distorted and haggard, whilst Régine's eyes, dilated -with terror, strove to meet Robespierre's steady gaze, which was charged -with sinister mockery. - -And for one short interval of time the crowd was silent; and the -everlasting stars looked down from above on the doings of men. To these -trembling, terrified young creatures, suddenly possessed with youth's -passionate desire to live, with a passionate horror of death, these few -seconds of tense silence must have seemed like an eternity of suffering. -Then Robespierre's thin face lighted up in a portentous smile--a smile -that caused those pale cheeks yonder to take on a still more ashen hue. - -"And where is our eloquent orator of a while ago?" the great man asked -quietly. "I heard my name, for I sat at my window looking with joy on -the fraternisation of the people of France. I caught sight of the -speaker, and came down to hear more clearly what he had to say. But -where is he?" - -His pale eyes wandered slowly along the crowd; and such was the power -exercised by this extraordinary man, so great the terror that he -inspired, that every one there--men, women and children, workers and -vagabonds--turned their eyes away, dared not meet his glance lest in it -they read an accusation or a threat. - -Indeed, no one dared to speak. The young rhetorician had disappeared, -and every one trembled lest they should be implicated in his escape. He -had evidently got away under cover of the confusion and the noise. But -his companions were still there--four of them; the woman and the boy and -the two girls, crouching like frightened beasts before the obvious fury, -the certain vengeance of the people. The murmurs were ominous. "Death! -Guillotine! Traitors!" were words easily distinguishable in the confused -babbling of the sullen crowd. - -Robespierre's cruel, appraising glance rested on those four pathetic -forms, so helpless, so desperate, so terrified. - -"Citizens," he said coldly, "did you not hear me ask where your eloquent -companion is at this moment?" - -Régine alone knew that he lay like a log under the table, close to her -feet. She had seen him fall, struck by that awful blow from a brutal -fist; but at the ominous query she instinctively pressed her trembling -lips close together, whilst Joséphine and Jacques clung to her with the -strength of despair. - -"Do not parley with the rabble, citizen," St. Just whispered eagerly. -"This is a grand moment for you. Let the people of their own accord -condemn those who dared to defame you." - -And even Couthon, the prudent, added sententiously: - -"Such an opportunity may never occur again." - -The people, in truth, were over-ready to take vengeance into their own -hands. - -"À la lanterne, les aristos!" - -Gaunt, bedraggled forms leaned across the table, shook begrimed fists in -the direction of the four crouching figures. With the blind instinct of -trapped beasts, they retreated into the shadows step by step, as those -threatening fists appeared to draw closer, clutching at the nearest -table and dragging it with them, in an altogether futile attempt at a -barricade. - -"Holy Mother of God, protect us!" murmured Mme. de Serval from time to -time. - -Behind them there was nothing but the row of houses, no means of escape -even if their trembling knees had not refused them service; whilst -vaguely, through their terror, they were conscious of the proximity of -that awful asthmatic creature with the wheezy cough and the hideous, -toothless mouth. At times he seemed so close that they shut their eyes, -almost feeling his grimy hands around their throats, his huge, hairy -arms dragging them down to death. - -It all happened in the space of a very few minutes, far fewer even than -it would take completely to visualise the picture. Robespierre, like an -avenging wraith, theatrical yet impassive, standing in the light of a -huge resin torch, which threw alternate lights and shadows, grotesque -and weird, upon his meagre figure, now elongating the thin, straight -nose, now widening the narrow mouth, misshaping the figure till it -appeared like some fantastic ghoul-form from the nether world. Behind -him, his two friends were lost in the gloom, as were now Mme. de Serval -and her children. They were ensconced against a heavy porte-cochère, a -rickety table alone standing between them and the mob, who were ready to -drag them to the nearest lantern and immolate them before the eyes of -their outraged idol. - -"Leave the traitors alone!" Robespierre commanded. "Justice will deal -with them as they deserve." - -"À la lanterne!" the people--more especially the women--demanded -insistently. - -Robespierre turned to one of his "tappe-durs." - -"Take the aristos to the nearest Commissariat," he said. "I'll have no -bloodshed to mar our Fraternal Supper." - -"The Commissariat, forsooth!" a raucous voice positively bellowed. "Who -is going to stand between us and our vengeance? Robespierre has been -outraged by this rabble. Let them perish in sight of all!" - -How it all happened after that, none who were there could in truth have -told you. The darkness, the flickering lights, the glow of the braziers, -which made the inky blackness around more pronounced, made everything -indistinguishable to ordinary human sight. Certain it is that citizen -Rateau--who had constituted himself the spokesman of the mob--was at one -time seen towering behind the four unfortunates, with his huge arms -stretched out, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open, screaming -abuse and vituperation, demanding the people's right to take the law -into its own sovereign hands. - -At that moment the light of the nearest resin torch threw this hulking -person into bold relief against a heavy porte-cochère which was -immediately behind him. The mob acclaimed him, cheered him to the -echoes, agreed with him that summary justice in such a case was alone -satisfying. The next instant a puff of wind blew the flame of the torch -in a contrary direction, and darkness suddenly enveloped the ranting -colossus and the cowering prey all ready to his hand. - -"Rateau!" shouted some one. - -"Hey, there! citizen Rateau! Where art thou?" came soon from every side. - -No answer came from the spot where Rateau had last been seen, and it -seemed as if just then a strong current of air had slammed a heavy door -to somewhere in the gloom. Citizen Rateau had disappeared, and the four -traitors along with him. - -It took a few seconds of valuable time ere the mob suspected that it was -being robbed of its prey. Then a huge upheaval occurred, a motion of the -human mass densely packed in the Rue St. Honoré, that was not unlike -the rush of water through a narrow gorge. - -"Rateau!" People were yelling the name from end to end of the street. - - - - -§2 - - -Superstition, which was rampant in these days of carnage and of crime, -had possession of many a craven soul. Rateau had vanished. It seemed as -if the Evil One, whose name had been so freely invoked during the course -of the Fraternal Supper, had in very truth spirited Rateau away. - -On the top of the tumult came a silence as complete as that of a -graveyard at midnight. The "tappe-durs," who at their chief's command -had been forging their way through the crowd, in order to reach the -traitors, ceased their hoarse calls of "Make way there, in the name of -the Convention!" whilst St. Just, who still stood close to his friend, -literally saw the cry stifled on Robespierre's lips. - -Robespierre himself had not altogether realised what had happened. In -his innermost heart he had already yielded to his friends' suggestion, -and was willing to let mob-law run its course. As St. Just had said: -"What a triumph for himself if his detractors were lynched by the mob!" -When Rateau towered above the four unfortunates, hurling vituperation -above their heads, the tyrant smiled, well satisfied; and when the giant -thus incontinently vanished, Robespierre for a moment or two remained -complacent and content. - -Then the whole crowd oscillated in the direction of the mysterious -porte-cochère. Those who were in the front ranks threw themselves -against the heavy panels, whilst those in the rear pushed with all their -might. But the porte-cochères of old Paris are heavily constructed. -Woodwork that had resisted the passage of centuries withheld the -onslaught of a pack of half-starved caitiffs. But only for a while. - -The mob, fearing that it was getting foiled, broke into a howl of -execration, and Robespierre, his face more drawn and grey than before, -turned to his companions, trying to read their thoughts. - -"If it should be----" St. Just murmured, yet dared not put his surmise -into words. - -Nor had he time to do so, or Robespierre the leisure to visualise his -own fears. Already the massive oak panels were yielding to persistent -efforts. The mighty woodwork began to crack under the pressure of this -living battering ram; when suddenly the howls of those who were in the -rear turned to a wild cry of delight. Those who were pushing against the -porte-cochère paused in their task. All necks were suddenly craned -upwards. The weird lights of torches and the glow of braziers glinted on -gaunt necks and upturned chins, turned heads and faces into -phantasmagoric, unearthly shapes. - -Robespierre and his two companions instinctively looked up too. There, -some few mètres lower down the street, on the third-floor balcony of a -neighbouring house, the figure of Rateau had just appeared. The window -immediately behind him was wide open and the room beyond was flooded -with light, so that his huge person appeared distinctly silhouetted--a -black and gargantuan mass--against the vivid and glowing background. His -head was bare, his lank hair fluttered in the breeze, his huge chest was -bare and his ragged shirt hung in tatters from his brawny arms. Flung -across his left shoulder, he held an inanimate female form, whilst with -his right hand he dragged another through the open window in his wake. -Just below him, a huge brazier was shedding its crimson glow. - -The sight of him--gaunt, weird, a veritable tower of protean -revenge--paralyzed the most ebullient, silenced every clamour. For the -space of two seconds only did he stand there, in full view of the crowd, -in full view of the almighty tyrant whose defamation he had sworn to -avenge. Then he cried in stentorian tones: - -"Thus perish all conspirators against the liberty of the people, all -traitors to its cause, by the hands of the people and for the glory of -their chosen!" - -And, with a mighty twist of his huge body, he picked up the inanimate -form that lay lifeless at his feet. For a moment he held the two in his -arms, high above the iron railing of the balcony; for a moment those two -lifeless, shapeless forms hung in the darkness in mid-air, whilst an -entire crowd of fanatics held their breath and waited, awed and -palpitating, only to break out into frantic cheering as the giant hurled -the two lifeless bodies down, straight into the glowing brazier. - -"Two more to follow!" he shouted lustily. - -There was pushing and jostling and cheering. Women screamed, men -blasphemed and children cried. Shouts of "Vive Rateau!" mingled with -those of "Vive Robespierre!" A circle was formed, hands holding hands, -and a wild saraband danced around the glowing brazier. And this mad orgy -of enthusiasm lasted for full three minutes, until the foremost among -those who, awestruck and horrified, had approached the brazier in order -to see the final agony of the abominable traitor, burst out with a -prolonged "Malediction!" - -Beyond that exclamation, they were speechless--pointed with trembling -hands at the shapeless bundles on which the dull fire of the braziers -had not yet obtained a purchase. - -The bundles were shapeless indeed. Rags hastily tied together to -represent human forms; but rags only! No female traitors, no aristos -beneath! The people had been fooled, hideously fooled by a traitor all -the more execrable, as he had seemed one of themselves. - -"Malediction! Death to the traitor!" - -Aye, death indeed! The giant, whoever he might be, would have to bear a -charmed life if he were to escape the maddened fury of a foiled -populace. - -"Rateau!" they shouted hoarsely. - -They looked up to that third-floor balcony which had so fascinated them -awhile ago. But now the window was shut and no light from within chased -the gloom that hung over the houses around. - -"Rateau!" the people shouted. - -But Rateau had disappeared. It all seemed like a dream, a nightmare. Had -Rateau really existed, or was he a wraith, sent to tease and to scare -those honest patriots who were out for liberty and for fraternity? Many -there were who would have liked to hold on to that theory--men and women -whose souls, warped and starved by the excesses and the miseries of the -past five years, clung to any superstition, any so-called supernatural -revelations, that failed to replace the old religion that had been -banished from their hearts. - -But in this case not even superstition could be allowed free play. -Rateau had vanished, it is true. The house from whence he had thus -mocked and flouted the people was searched through and through by a mob -who found nothing but bare boards and naked walls, empty rooms and -disused cupboards on which to wreak its fury. - -But down there, lying on the top of the brazier, were those two bundles -of rags slowly being consumed by the smouldering embers, silent proofs -of the existence of that hulking creature whose size and power had, with -that swiftness peculiar to human conceptions, already become legendary. - -And in a third-floor room, a lamp that had recently been extinguished, a -coil of rope, more rags, male and female clothes, a pair of boots, a -battered hat, were mute witnesses to the swift passage of the mysterious -giant with the wheezy cough--the trickster who had fooled a crowd and -thrown the great Robespierre himself into ridicule. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -TWO INTERLUDES - - -§1 - - -Two hours later the Rue St. Honoré had resumed its habitual -graveyard-like stillness. The stillness had to come at last. Men in -their wildest passions, in their most ebullient moods, must calm down -sooner or later, if only temporarily. Blood aglow with enthusiasm, or -rage, or idolatry, cannot retain its fever-pitch uninterruptedly for -long. And so silence and quietude descended once more upon the setting -of that turbulent scene of awhile ago. - -Here, as in other quarters of Paris, the fraternal suppers had come to -an end; and perspiring matrons, dragging weary children at their skirts, -wended their way homewards, whilst their men went to consummate the -evening's entertainment at one of the numerous clubs or cabarets where -the marvellous doings in the Rue St. Honoré could be comfortably lived -over again or retailed to those, less fortunate, who had not been there -to see. - -In the early morning the "nettoyeurs publiques" would be coming along, -to clear away the debris of the festivities and to gather up the tables -and benches which were the property of the several Municipal sections, -and put them away for the next occasion. - -But these "nettoyeurs" were not here yet. They, too, were spending an -hour or two in the nearest cabarets, discussing the startling events -that had rendered notorious one corner of the Rue St. Honoré. - -And so the streets were entirely deserted, save here and there for the -swift passage of a furtive form, hugging the walls, with hands in -pockets and crimson cap pulled over the eyes, anxious only to escape the -vigilance of the night-watchman, swift of foot and silent of tread; and -anon, in the Rue St. Honoré itself, when even these night-birds had -ceased to flutter, the noiseless movement of a dark and mysterious form -that stirred cautiously upon the greasy cobblestones. More silent, more -furtive than any hunted beast creeping out of its lair, this mysterious -form emerged from under one of the tables that was standing nearly -opposite the house where Robespierre lived and close to the one where -the superhuman colossus had wrought his magic trick. - -It was Bertrand Moncrif. No longer a fiery Demosthenes now, but a -hunted, terror-filled human creature, whom a stunning blow from a giant -fist had rendered senseless, even whilst it saved him from the -consequences of his own folly. His senses still reeling, his limbs -cramped and aching, he had lain stark and still under the table just -where he had fallen, not sufficiently conscious to realise what was -happening beyond his very limited range of vision or to marvel what was -the ultimate fate of his companions. - -His only instinct throughout this comatose condition was the blind one -of self-preservation. Feeling rather than hearing the tumult around him, -he had gathered his limbs close together, lain as still as a mouse, -crouching within himself in the shelter of the table above. It was only -when the silence around had lasted an eternity of time that he ventured -out of his hiding place. With utmost caution, hardly daring to breathe, -he crept on hands and knees and looked about him, lip and down the -street. There was no one about. The night fortunately was moonless and -dark; nature had put herself on the side of those who wished to pass -unperceived. - -Bertrand struggled to his feet, smothering a cry of pain. His head ached -furiously, his knees shook under him; but he managed to crawl as far as -the nearest house, and rested for a while against its wall. The fresh -air did him good. The April breeze blew across his burning forehead. - -For a few minutes he remained thus, quite still, his eyes gradually -regaining their power of vision. He recollected where he was and all -that had happened. An icy shiver ran down his spine, for he also -remembered Régine and Mme. de Serval and the two children. But he was -still too much dazed, really only half conscious, to do more than -vaguely marvel what had become of them. - -He ventured to look fearfully up and down the street. Tables scattered -pell-mell, the unsavoury remnants of fraternal suppers, a couple of -smouldering braziers, collectively met his gaze. And, at one point, -sprawling across a table, with head lost between outstretched arms, a -figure, apparently asleep, perhaps dead. - -Bertrand, now nothing but a bundle of nerves, could hardly suppress a -cry of terror. It seemed to him as if his life depended on whether that -sprawling figure was alive or dead. But he dared not approach in order -to make sure. For a while he waited, sinking more and more deeply into -the shadows, watching that motionless form on which his life depended. - -The figure did not move, and gradually Bertrand nerved himself up to -confidence and then to action. He buried his head in the folds of his -coat-collar and his hands in the pockets of his breeches, and with -silent, stealthy footsteps he started to make his way down the street. -At first he looked back once or twice at the immobile figure sprawling -across the table. It had not moved, still appeared as if it might be -dead. Then Bertrand took to his heels and, no longer looking either -behind him or to the right or left, with elbows pressed close to his -side, he started to run in the direction of the Tuileries. - -A minute later, the motionless figure came back to life, rose quickly -and with swift, noiseless tread, started to run in the same direction. - - - - -§2 - - -In the cabarets throughout the city, the chief topic of conversation was -the mysterious event of the Rue St. Honoré. Those who had seen it all -had marvellous tales to tell of the hero of the adventure. - -"The man was eight or else nine feet high; his arms reached right across -the street from house to house. Flames spurted out of his mouth when he -coughed. He had horns on his head; cloven feet; a forked tail!" - -These were but a few of the asseverations which rendered the person of -the fictitious citizen Rateau a legendary one in the eyes of those who -had witnessed his amazing prowess. Those who had not been thus favoured -listened wide-eyed and open-mouthed. - -But all agreed that the mysterious giant was in truth none other than -the far-famed Englishman--that spook, that abominable trickster, that -devil incarnate, known to the Committees as the Scarlet Pimpernel. - -"But how could it be the Englishman?" was suddenly put forward by -citizen Hottot, the picturesque landlord of the Cabaret de la Liberté, -a well-known rendezvous close to the Carrousel. "How could it be the -Englishman who played you that trick, seeing that you all say it was -citizen Rateau who . . . The devil take it all!" he added, and scratched -his bald head with savage vigour, which he always did whene'er he felt -sorely perplexed. "A man can't be two at one and the same time; nor two -men become one. Nor . . . Name of a name of a dog!" concluded the worthy -citizen, puffing and blowing in the maze of his own puzzlement like an -old walrus that is floundering in the water. - -"It was the Englishman, I tell thee!" one of his customers asserted -indignantly. "Ask any one who saw him! Ask the tappe-durs! Ask -Robespierre himself! _He_ saw him, and turned as grey as--as putty, I -tell thee!" he concluded, with more conviction than eloquence. - -"And _I_ tell thee," broke in citizen Sical, the butcher--he with the -bullet-head and hull-neck and a fist that could in truth have felled an -ox; "I tell thee that it was citizen Rateau. Don't I know citizen -Rateau?" he added, and brought that heavy fist of his down upon the -upturned cask on which stood pewter mugs and bottles of eau de vie, and -glared aggressively round upon the assembly. He had only one eye; the -other presented a hideous appearance, scarred and blotched, the result -of a terrible fatality in his early youth. The one eye leered with a -glance of triumph as well as of challenge, daring any less muscular -person to impugn his veracity. - -One man alone was bold enough to take up the challenge--a wizened little -fellow, a printer by trade, with skin of the texture of grained oak and -a few unruly curls that tumbled over one another above a highly polished -forehead. - -"And I tell thee, citizen Sical," he said with firm decision; "I tell -thee and those who aver, as thou dost, that citizen Rateau had anything -to do with those monkey-tricks, that ye lie. Yes!" he reiterated -emphatically, and paying no heed to the glowering looks and blasphemies -of Sical and his friends. "Yes, ye lie! Not consciously, I grant you; -but you lie nevertheless. Because----" He paused and glanced around him, -like a clever actor conscious of the effect which he produced. His tiny -beady eyes blinked in the glare of the lamp before him. - -"Because what?" came in an eager chorus from every side. - -"Because," resumed the other sententiously, "all the while that ye were -supping at the expense of the State in the open, and had your gizzards -stirred by the juggling devices of some unknown mountebank, citizen -Rateau was lying comfortably drunk and snoring lustily in the -antechamber of Mother Théot, the soothsayer, right at the other end of -Paris!" - -"How do you know that, citizen Langlois?" queried the host with icy -reproval, for butcher Sical was his best customer, and Sical did not -like being contradicted. But little Langlois with the shiny forehead and -tiny, beady, humorous eyes, continued unperturbed. - -"Pardi!" he said gaily, "because I was at Mother Théot's myself, and -saw him there." - -That certainly was a statement to stagger even the great Sical. It was -received in complete silence. Every one promptly felt that the moment -was propitious for another drink; nay! that the situation demanded it. - -Sical, and those who had fought against the Scarlet Pimpernel theory, -were too staggered to speak. They continued to imbibe citizen Hottot's -eau de vie in sullen brooding. The idea of the legendary Englishman, -which had so unexpectedly been strengthened by citizen Langlois' -statement concerning Rateau, was repugnant to their common sense. -Superstition was all very well for women and weaklings like Langlois; -but for men to be asked to accept the theory that a kind of devil in -human shape had so thrown dust in the eyes of a number of perfectly -sober patriots that they literally could not believe what they saw, was -nothing short of an insult. - -And they had _seen_ Rateau at the fraternal supper, had talked with him, -until the moment when . . . Then who in Satan's name had they been -talking with? - -"Here, Langlois! Tell us----" - -And Langlois, who had become the hero of the hour, told all he knew, and -told it, we are told, a dozen times and more. How he had gone to Mother -Théot's at about four o'clock in the afternoon, and had sat patiently -waiting beside his friend Rateau, who wheezed and snored alternately for -a couple of hours. How, at six o'clock or a little after, Rateau went -out because--the aristo, forsooth!--had found the atmosphere filthy in -Mother Théot's antechamber--no doubt he went to get another drink. - -"At about half-past seven," the little printer went on glibly, "my turn -came to speak with the old witch. When I came out it was long past eight -o'clock and quite dark. I saw Rateau sprawling upon a bench, half -asleep. I tried to speak with him, but he only grunted. However, I went -out then to get a bit of supper at one of the open-air places, and at -ten o'clock I was once more past Mother Théot's place. One or two -people were coming out of the house. They were all grumbling because -they had been told to go. Rateau was one who was for making a -disturbance, but I took him by the arm. We went down the street -together, and parted company in the Rue de l'Anier, where he lodges. And -here I am!" concluded Langlois, and turned triumphantly to challenge the -gaze of every one of the sceptics around him. - -There was not a single doubtful point in his narrative, and though he -was questioned--aye! and severely cross-questioned, too--he never once -swerved from his narrative or in any manner did he contradict himself. -Later on it transpired that there were others who had been in Mother -Théot's antechamber that day. They too subsequently corroborated all -that the little printer had said. One of them was the wife of Sical's -own brother; and there were others. So, what would you? - -"Name of a name of a dog, then, who was it who spirited the aristos -away?" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -THE BEAUTIFUL SPANIARD - - -§1 - - -In the Rue Villedot, which is in the Louvre quarter of Paris, there is a -house, stone built and five-storied, with grey shutters to all the -windows and balconies of wrought-iron--a house exactly similar to -hundreds and thousands of others in every quarter of Paris. During the -day the small wicket in the huge porte-cochère is usually kept open; it -allows a peep into a short dark passage, and beyond it to the lodge of -the concierge. Beyond this again there is a courtyard, into which, from -every one of its four sides, five rows of windows, all adorned with grey -shutters, blink down like so many colourless eyes. The inevitable -wrought-iron balconies extend along three sides of the quadrangle on -every one of the five floors, and on the balustrade of these, pieces of -carpet in various stages of decay are usually to be seen hanging out to -air. From shutter to shutter clothes lines are stretched and support -fantastic arrays of family linen that flap lazily in the sultry, -vitiated air which alone finds its way down the shaft of the quadrangle. - -On the left of the entrance passage and opposite the lodge of the -concierge there is a tall glass door, and beyond it the vestibule and -primary staircase, which gives access to the principal apartments--those -that look out upon the street and are altogether more luxurious and more -airy than those which give upon the courtyard. To the latter, two back -stairways give access. They are at the far corners of the courtyard; -both are pitch dark and reek of stuffiness and evil smells. The -apartments which they serve, especially those on the lower floors, are -dependent for light and air on what modicum of these gifts of heaven -comes down the shaft into the quadrangle. - -After dark, of course, porte-cochère and wicket are both closed, and if -a belated lodger or visitor desires to enter the house, he must ring the -bell and the concierge in his lodge will pull a communicating cord that -will unlatch the wicket. It is up to the belated visitor or lodger to -close the wicket after him, and he is bound by law to give his name, -together with the number of the apartment to which he is going, in to -the concierge as he goes past the lodge. The concierge, on the other -hand, will take a look at him so that he may identify him should trouble -or police inquiry arise. - -On this night of April, somewhere near midnight, there was a ring at the -outer door. Citizen Leblanc, the concierge, roused from his first sleep, -pulled the communicating cord. A young man, hatless and in torn coat and -muddy hoots and breeches, slipped in through the wicket and hurried past -the lodge, giving only one name, but that in a clear voice, as he -passed: - -"Citoyenne Cabarrus." - -The concierge turned over in his bed and grunted, half asleep. His duty -clearly was to run after the visitor, who had failed to give his own -name; but to begin with, the worthy concierge was very tired; and then -the name which the belated caller had given was one requiring special -consideration. - -The citoyenne Cabarrus was young and well favoured, and even in these -troublous days, youth and beauty demanded certain privileges which no -patriotic concierge could refuse to grant. Moreover, the aforesaid lady -had visitors at all hours of the day and late into the night--visitors -for the most part with whom it was not well to interfere. Citizen -Tallien, the popular Representative in the Convention, was, as every one -knew, her ardent adorer. 'Twas said by all and sundry that since the -days when he met the fair Cabarrus in Bordeaux and she exercised such a -mellowing influence upon his bloodthirsty patriotism, he had no thought -save to win her regard. - -But he was not the only one who came to the dreary old apartment in the -Rue Villedot, with a view to worshipping at the Queen of Beauty's -shrine. Citizen Leblanc had seen many a great Representative of the -People pass by his lodge since the beautiful Theresia came to dwell -here. And if he became very confidential and his interlocutor very -insistent, he would throw out a hint that the greatest man in France -to-day was a not infrequent visitor in the house. - -Obviously, therefore, it was best not to pry too closely into secrets, -the keeping of which might prove uncomfortable for one's peace of mind. -And citizen Leblanc, tossing restlessly in his sleep, dreamed of the -fair Cabarrus and wished himself in the place of those who were -privileged to pay their court to her. - - - - -§2 - - -And so the belated visitor was able to make his way across the courtyard -and up the dark back stairs unmolested. But even this reassuring fact -failed to give him confidence. He hurried on with the swift and stealthy -footstep which had become habitual to him, glancing over his shoulder -from time to time, wide-eyed and with ears alert, and heart quivering -with apprehension. - -Up the dark and narrow staircase he hurried, dizzy and sick, his head -reeling in the dank atmosphere, his shaking hands seeking the support of -the walls as he climbed wearily up to the third-floor. Here he almost -measured his length upon the landing, tottered up again and came down -sprawling on his knees against one of the doors--the one which had the -number 22 painted upon it. For the moment it seemed as if he would once -more fall into a swoon. Terror and relief were playing havoc with his -whirling brain. He had not sufficient strength to stretch out an arm in -order to ring the bell, but only beat feebly against the panel of the -door with his moist palm. - -A moment later the door was opened, and the unfortunate fell forward -into the vestibule at the feet of a tall apparition clad in white and -holding a small table lamp above her head. The apparition gave a little -scream which was entirely human and wholly feminine, hastily put down -the lamp on a small consol close by, and by retreating forcefully -farther into the vestibule, dragged the half-animate form of the young -man along too; for he was now clinging to a handful of white skirt with -the strength of despair. - -"I am lost, Theresia!" he moaned pitiably. "Hide me, for God's sake -I . . . only for to-night!" - -Theresia Cabarrus was frowning now, looked more perplexed than kindly, -and certainly made no attempt to raise the crouching figure from the -ground. Anon she called loudly: "Pepita!" and whilst waiting for an -answer to this call, she remained quite still, and the frown of -puzzlement on her face yielded to one of fear. The young man, obviously -only half conscious, continued to moan and to implore. - -"Silence, you fool!" she said peremptorily. "The door is still open. Any -one on the stairs could hear you. Pepita!" she called again, more -harshly this time. - -The next moment an old woman came from somewhere out of the darkness, -threw up her hands at sight of that grovelling figure on the floor, and -would no doubt have broken out in loud lament but that her young -mistress ordered her at once to close the door. - -"Then help the citoyen Moncrif to a sofa in my room," the beautiful -Theresia went on peremptorily. "Give him a restorative and see above all -to it that he hold his tongue!" - -With a quick imperious jerk she freed herself from the convulsive grasp -of the young man, and walking quickly across the small vestibule, she -went through a door at the end of it that had been left ajar, leaving -the unfortunate Moncrif to the ministrations of Pepita. - - - - -§3 - - -Theresia Cabarrus, who had obtained a divorce from her husband, the -Marquis de Fontenay (by virtue of a decree of the former Legislative -Assembly, which allowed--nay, encouraged--the dissolution of a marriage -with an émigré who refused to return to France), Theresia Cabarrus was, -in this year 1794, in her twenty-fourth year, and perhaps in the zenith -of her beauty and in the plenitude of that power which had subjugated so -many men. In what that power consisted the historian has vainly tried to -guess; for it was not her beauty only that brought so many to her feet. -In the small oval face, the pointed chin, the full, sensuous lips, so -typically Spanish, we look in vain for traces of that beauty which we -are told surpassed that of other women of her time; whilst in the dark, -velvety eyes, more tender than spiritual, and in the narrow arched -brows, we fail to find an expression of that esprit which had moulded -Tallien to her will and even brought Robespierre out of the shell of his -asceticism--a willing victim to her wiles. - -But who would be bold enough to analyse that subtle quality, -acknowledged by all, possessed by a very few, which is vaguely denoted -by the word "charm"? Theresia Cabarrus must have possessed it to a -marvellous degree--that, and an utter callousness for the feelings of -her victims, which would leave her mind cool and keen to pursue her own -ends, whilst theirs was thrown into that maze of jealousy and of passion -wherein prudence flies to the winds and the fever of self-immolation -gets into the blood. - -At this moment, in the sparsely furnished room of her dingy apartment, -she looked like an angry goddess. Her figure, which undeniably was -superb, was drawn to its full height, its splendid proportions -accentuated by the clinging folds of her modish gown—a marvel of -artistic scantiness, which only half concealed the perfectly modelled -bust, and left the rounded thigh, in its skin-tight, flesh-coloured -undergarment, unblushingly exposed. Her blue-black hair was dressed in -the new fashion, copied from ancient Greece and snooded by a glittering -antique fillet; and her small bare feet were encased in satin sandals. -Truly a lovely woman, but for that air of cold displeasure coupled with -fear, which marred the harmony of the dainty, child-like features. - -After awhile Pepita came back. - -"Well?" queried Theresia impatiently. - -"Poor M. Bertrand is very ill," the old Spanish woman replied with -unconcealed sympathy. "He has fever, the poor cabbage. Bed is the only -place for him. . . ." - -"He cannot stay here, as thou well knowest, Pepita," the imperious -beauty retorted drily. "Thy head and mine are in danger every moment -that he spends under this roof." - -"But thou couldst not turn a sick man out into the streets in the middle -of the night." - -"Why not?" Theresia riposted coldly. "It is a beautiful and balmy night. -Why not?" she reiterated fretfully. - -"Because he would die on thy doorstep," was old Pepita's muttered reply. - -Theresia shrugged her shoulders. - -"He dies if he goes," she said slowly, "and we die if he stays. Tell him -to go, Pepita, ere citizen Tallien comes." - -A shudder went through the old woman's spare frame. "It's late," she -protested. "Citizen Tallien will not come to-night." - -"Not only he," Theresia rejoined coldly, "but--but--the other---- Thou -knowest well, Pepita--those two arranged to meet here in my lodgings -to-night." - -"But not at this hour!" - -"After the sitting of the Convention." - -"It is nearly midnight. They'll not come," the old woman persisted -obstinately. - -"They arranged to meet here, to talk over certain matters which interest -their party," citoyenne Cabarrus went on, equally firmly. "They'll not -fail. So tell citizen Moncrif to go, Pepita. He endangers my life by -staying here." - -"Then do the dirty work thyself," the old woman muttered sullenly. "I'll -not be a party to cold-blooded murder." - -"Well, since citizen Moncrif's life is more valuable to thee than -mine----" Theresia began, but got no farther. The words died on her -lips. - -Bertrand Moncrif, very pale, still looking scared and wild, had quietly -entered the room. - -"You wish me to go, Theresia," he said simply. "You did not think surely -that I would do anything that might endanger your safety. My God!" he -added with passionate vehemence, "Do you not know that I would at any -time lay down my life for yours?" - -Theresia shrugged her statuesque shoulders. - -"Of course, of course, Bertrand," she said a little impatiently, though -obviously trying to be kind. "But I do entreat you not to go into -heroics at this hour, and not to put on tragic airs. You must see that -for yourself as well as for me it would be fatal if you were found here, -and----" - -"And I am going, Theresia," he broke in seriously. "I ought never to -have come. I was a fool, as usual!" he added with bitterness. "But after -that awful fracas I was dazed and hardly knew what I was doing." - -The frown of vexation reappeared upon the woman's fair, smooth brow. - -"The fracas?" she asked quickly. "What fracas?" - -"In the Rue St. Honoré. I thought you knew." - -"No. I know nothing," she retorted, and her voice now was trenchant and -hard. "What happened?" - -"They were deifying that brute Robespierre----" - -"Silence!" she broke in harshly. "Name no names." - -"They were deifying a bloodthirsty tyrant, and I----" - -"And you rose from your seat," she broke in again, and this time with a -laugh that was cruel in its biting irony; "and lashed yourself into a -fury of eloquent vituperation. Oh, I know! I know!" she went on -excitedly. "You and your Fatalists, or whatever you call yourselves! And -that rage for martyrdom! . . . Senseless, stupid and selfish! Oh, my -God! _how_ selfish! And then you came here to drag me down with you into -an abyss of misery, along with you to the guillotine . . . to . . ." - -It seemed as if she were choking, and her small white hands, with a -gruesome and pathetic gesture, went up to her neck, smoothed it and -fondled it, as if to shield it from that awful fate. - -Bertrand tried to pacify her. It was he who was the more calm of the two -now. It seemed as if her danger had brought him back to full -consciousness. He forgot his own danger, the threat of death which lay -in wait for him, probably on the very threshold of this house. He was a -marked man now; martyrdom had ceased to be a dream; it had become a grim -reality. But of this he did not think. Theresia was in danger, -compromised by his own callous selfishness. His mind was full of her; -and Régine, the true and loyal friend, the beloved of past happier -years, had no place in his thoughts beside the exquisite enchantress, -whose very nearness was paradise. - -"I am going," he said earnestly. "Theresia, my beloved, try to forgive -me. I was a fool--a criminal fool! But lately--since I thought that -you--you did not really care; that all my hopes of future happiness were -naught but senseless dreams; since then I seem to have lost my head--I -don't know _what_ I am doing! . . . And so----" - -He got no farther. Ashamed of his own weakness, he was too proud to let -her see that she made him suffer. For the moment, he only bent the knee -and kissed the hem of her diaphanous gown. He looked so handsome then, -despite his bedraggled, woebegone appearance, so young, so ardent, that -Theresia's egotistical heart was touched, as it had always been when the -incense of his perfect love rose to her sophisticated nostrils. She put -out her hand and brushed with a gentle, almost maternal, gesture the -matted brown hair from his brow. - -"Dear Bertrand," she murmured vaguely. "What a foolish boy to think that -I do not care!" - -Already he had been brought back to his senses. The imminence of her -danger lent him the courage which he had been lacking, and -unhesitatingly now he jumped to his feet and turned to go. But she, -quick in the transition of her moods, had already seized him by the arm. - -"No, no!" she murmured in a hoarse whisper. "Don't go just yet . . . not -before Pepita has seen if the stairs are clear." - -Her small hand held him as in a vice, whilst Pepita, obedient and -silent, was shuffling across the vestibule in order to execute her -mistress's commands. But, even so, Bertrand struggled to get away. An -epitome of their whole life, this struggle between them!--he trying to -free himself from those insidious bonds that held him one moment and -loosed him the next; that numbed him to all that he was wont to hold -sacred and dear--his love for Régine, his loyalty, his honour. An -epitome of her character and his: he, weak and yielding, ever a ready -martyr, thirsting for self-immolation; and she, just a bundle of -feminine caprice, swayed by sentiment one moment and by considerations -of ambition or of personal safety the next. - -"You must wait, Bertrand," she urged insistently. "Citizen Tallien may -be on the stairs--he or--or the other. If they saw you! . . . My God!" - -"They would conclude that you had turned me out of doors," he riposted -simply. "Which would, in effect, be the truth. I entreat you to let me -go!" he added earnestly. "'Twere better they met me on the stairs than -here." - -The old woman's footsteps were heard hurrying back. Bertrand struggled -to free himself--did in truth succeed; and Theresia smothered a -desperate cry of warning as he strode rapidly through the door and -across the vestibule, only to be met here by Pepita, who pushed him with -all her might incontinently back. - -Theresia held her tiny handkerchief to her mouth to deaden the scream -that forced itself to her lips. She had followed Bertrand out of the -salon, and now stood in the doorway, a living statue of fear. - -"Citizen Tallien," Pepita had murmured hurriedly. "He is on the landing. -Come this way." - -She dragged Bertrand by the arm, not waiting for orders from her -mistress this time, along a narrow dark passage, which at its extreme -end gave access to a tiny kitchen. Into this she pushed him and locked -the door upon him. - -"Name of a name!" she muttered as she shuffled back to the vestibule. -"If they should find him here!" - -Citoyenne Cabarrus had not moved. Her eyes, dilated with terror, mutely -questioned the old woman as the latter made ready to admit the visitor. -Pepita gave reply as best she could, by silent gestures, indicating the -passage and the action of turning a key in the lock. Her wrinkled old -lips hardly stirred, and then only in order to murmur quickly and with a -sudden assumption of authority: - -"Self-possession, my cabbage, or you'll endanger yourself and us all!" - -Theresia pulled herself together. Obviously, the old woman's warning was -not to be ignored, nor had it been given a moment too soon. Outside, the -visitor had renewed his impatient rat-tat against the door. The eyes of -mistress and maid met for one brief second. Theresia was rapidly -regaining her presence of mind; whereupon Pepita smoothed out her apron, -readjusted her cap, and went to open the door, whilst Theresia said in a -firm voice, loudly enough for the new visitor to hear: - -"One of my guests, at last! Open quickly, Pepita!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -A HIDEOUS, FEARFUL HOUR - - -§1 - - -Young man--tall, spare, with sallow skin and shifty, restless -eyes--pushed unceremoniously past the old servant, threw his hat and -cane down on the nearest chair, and hurrying across the vestibule, -entered the salon where the beautiful Spaniard, a picture of serene -indifference, sat ready to receive him. - -She had chosen for the setting of this scene, a small settee covered in -old rose brocade. On this she half sat, half reclined, with an open book -in her hand, her elbow resting on the frame of the settee, her cheek -leaning against her hand. Immediately behind her, the light from an oil -lamp tempered by a shade of rose-coloured silk, outlined with a -brilliant, glowing pencil the contour of her small head, one exquisite -shoulder, and the mass of her raven hair, whilst it accentuated the cool -half-tones on her diaphanous gown, on the round bare arms and bust, the -tiny sandalled feet and cross-gartered legs. - -A picture in truth to dazzle the eyes of any man! Tallien should have -been at her feet in an instant. The fact that he paused in the doorway -bore witness to the unruly thoughts that ran riot in his brain. - -"Ah, citizen Tallien!" the fair Theresia exclaimed with a perfect -assumption of sang-froid. "You are the first to arrive, and are indeed -welcome; for I was nearly swooning with ennui. Well!" she added, with a -provocative smile, and extended a gracious arm in his direction. "Are -you not going to kiss my hand?" - -"I heard a voice," was all the response which he gave to this seductive -invitation. "A man's voice. Whose was it?" - -She raised a pair of delicately pencilled eyebrows. Her eyes became as -round and as innocent-looking as a child's. - -"A man's voice?" she riposted with a perfect air of astonishment. "You -are crazy, mon ami; or else are crediting my faithful Pepita with a -virile bass, which in truth she doth not possess!" - -"Whose voice was it?" Tallien reiterated, making an effort to speak -calmly, even though he was manifestly shaking with choler. - -Whereupon the fair Theresia, no longer gracious or arch, looked him up -and down as if he were no better than a lacquey. - -"Ah, ça!" she rejoined coldly. "Are you perchance trying to -cross-question me? By what right, I pray you, citizen Tallien, do you -assume this hectoring tone in my presence? I am not yet your wife, -remember; and 'tis not you, I imagine, who are the dictator of France." - -"Do not tease me, Theresia!" the man interposed hoarsely. "Bertrand -Moncrif is here." - -For the space of a second, or perhaps less, Theresia gave no reply to -the taunt. Her quick, alert brain had already faced possibilities, and -she was far too clever a woman to take the risks which a complete -evasion of the truth would have entailed at this moment. She did not, in -effect, know whether Tallien was speaking from positive information -given to him by spies, or merely from conjecture born of jealousy. -Moreover, another would be here presently--another, whose spies were -credited with omniscience, and whom she might not succeed in dominating -with a smile or a frown, as he could the love-sick Tallien. Therefore, -after that one brief instant's reflection she decided to temporise, to -shelter behind a half-truth, and replied, with a quick glance from under -her long lashes: - -"I am not teasing you, citizen. Bertrand came here for shelter awhile -ago." - -Tallien drew a quick sigh of satisfaction, and she went on carelessly: - -"But, obviously, I could not keep him here. He seemed hurt and -frightened. . . . He has been gone this past half-hour." - -For a moment it seemed as if the man, in face of this obvious lie, would -flare out into a hot retort; but Theresia's luminous eyes subdued him, -and before the cool contempt expressed by those exquisite lips, he felt -all his blustering courage oozing away. - -"The man is an abominable and an avowed traitor," he said sullenly. -"Only two hours ago----" - -"I know," she broke in coldly. "He vilified Robespierre. A dangerous -thing to do. Bertrand was ever a fool, and he lost his head." - -"He will lose it more effectually to-morrow," Tallien retorted grimly. - -"You mean that you would denounce him?" - -"That I _will_ denounce him. I would have done so to-night, before -coming here, only--only----" - -"Only what?" - -"I was afraid he might be here." - -Theresia broke into a ringing if somewhat artificial peal of laughter. - -"I must thank you, citizen, for this consideration of my feelings. It -was, in truth, thoughtful of you to think of sparing me a scandal. But, -since Bertrand is _not_ here----" - -"I know where he lodges. He'll not escape, citoyenne. My word on it!" - -Tallien spoke very quietly, but with that concentrated fury of which a -fiercely jealous man is ever capable. He had remained standing in the -doorway all this while, his eyes fixed on the beautiful woman before -him, but his attention feverishly divided between her and what might be -going on in the vestibule behind him. - -In answer to his last threatening words, the lovely Theresia rejoined, -more seriously: - -"So as to make sure I do not escape either!" And a flash of withering -anger shot from her dark eyes on the unromantic figure of her adorer. -"Or you, mon ami! You are determined that Mme. Roland's fate shall -overtake me, eh? And no doubt you will be thrilled to the marrow when -you see my head fall into your precious salad-bowl. Will yours follow -mine, think you? Or will you prefer to emulate citizen Roland's more -romantic ending?" - -Even while she spoke, Tallien had been unable to repress a shudder. - -"Theresia, in heaven's name----!" he murmured. - -"Bah, mon ami! There is no longer a heaven these days. You and your -party have carefully abolished the Hereafter. So, after you and I have -taken our walk up the steps of the scaffold----" - -"Theresia!" - -"Eh, what?" she went on coolly. "Is that not perchance what you have in -contemplation? Moncrif, you say, is an avowed traitor. Has openly -vilified and insulted your demi-god. He has been seen coming to my -apartments. Good! I tell you that he is no longer here. But let that -pass. He is denounced. Good! Sent to the guillotine. Good again! And -Theresia Cabarrus, in whose house he tried to seek refuge, much against -her will, goes to the guillotine in his company. The prospect may please -you, mon ami, because for the moment you are suffering from a senseless -attack of jealousy. But I confess that it does not appeal to me." - -The man was silent now; awed against his will. His curiously restless -eyes swept over the graceful apparition before him. Insane jealousy was -fighting a grim fight in his heart with terror for his beloved. Her -argument was a sound one. Even he was bound to admit that Powerful -though he was in the Convention, his influence was as nothing compared -with that of Robespierre. And he knew his redoubtable colleague well -enough that an insult such as Moncrif had put upon him in the Rue St. -Honoré this night would never be forgiven, neither in the young -hot-head himself nor in any of his friends, adherents, or mere pitying -sympathisers. - -Theresia Cabarrus was clever enough and quick enough to see that she had -gained one point. - -"Come and kiss my hand," she said, with a little sigh of satisfaction. - -This time the man obeyed, without an instant's hesitation. Already he -was down on his knees, repentant and humiliated. She gave him her small, -sandalled foot to kiss. After that, Tallien became abject. - -"You know that I would die for you, Theresia!" he murmured passionately. - -This was the second time to-night that such an assertion had been made -in this room. And both had been made in deadly earnest, whilst the fair -listener had remained equally indifferent to both. And for the second -time to-night, Theresia passed her cool white hand over the bent head of -an ardent worshipper, whilst her lips murmured vaguely: - -"Foolish! Oh, how foolish! Why do men torture themselves, I wonder, with -senseless jealousy?" - -Instinctively she turned her small head in the direction of the passage -and the little kitchen, where Bertrand Moncrif had found temporary and -precarious shelter. Self-pity and a kind of fierce helplessness not -untinged with remorse made her eyes appear resentful and hard. - -There, in the stuffy little kitchen at the end of the dark, dank -passage, love in its pure sense, happiness, brief perhaps but unalloyed, -and certainly obscure, lay in wait for her. Here, at her feet, was -security in the present turmoil, power, and a fitting background for her -beauty and her talents. She did not want to lose Bertrand; indeed, she -did not intend to lose him. She sighed a little regretfully as she -thought of his good looks, his enthusiasm, his selfless ardour. Then she -looked down once more on the narrow shoulders, the lank, colourless -hair, the bony hands of the erstwhile lawyer's clerk to whom she had -already promised marriage, and she shuddered a little when she -remembered that those same hands into which she had promised to place -her own and which now grasped hers in passionate adoration had, of a -certainty, signed the order for those execrable massacres which had for -ever sullied the early days of the Revolution. For a moment--a brief -one, in truth--she marvelled if union with such a man was not too heavy -a price to pay for immunity and for power. - -But the hesitancy lasted only a few seconds. The next, she had thrown -back her head as if in defiance of the whisperings of conscience and of -heart. She need not lose her youthful lover after all. He was satisfied -with so little! A few kind words here, an occasional kiss, a promise or -two, and he would always remain her willing slave. - -It were foolish indeed, and far, far too late, to give way to sentiment -at this hour, when Tallien's influence in the Convention was second only -to that of Robespierre, whilst Bertrand Moncrif was a fugitive, a -suspect, a poor miserable fanatic, whose hot-headedness was for ever -landing him from one dangerous situation into another. - -So, after indulging in the faintest little sigh of yearning for the -might-have-been, she met her latest adorer's worshipping glance with a -coquettish air of womanly submission which completed his subjugation, -and said lightly: - -"And now give me my orders for to-night, mon ami." - -She settled herself down more comfortably upon the settee, and -graciously allowed him to sit on a low chair beside her. - - - - -§2 - - -The turbulent little incident was closed. Theresia had her way, and -poor, harassed Tallien succeeded in shutting away in the innermost -recesses of his heart the pangs of jealousy which still tortured him. -His goddess now was all smiles, and the subtle flattery implied by her -preference for him above his many rivals warmed his atrophied heart and -soothed his boundless vanity. - -We must accept the verdict of history that Theresia Cabarrus never loved -Tallien. The truth appears to be that what love she was capable of had -undoubtedly been given to Bertrand Moncrif, whom she would not entirely -dismiss from his allegiance, even though she had at last been driven -into promising marriage to the powerful Terrorist. - -It is doubtful if, despite that half-hearted and wholly selfish love for -the young royalist, she had ever intended that he should be more to her -than a slavish worshipper, a friend on whom she could count for -perpetual adoration or mere sentimental dalliance; but a husband--never! -Certain it is that even Tallien, influential as he was, was only a -pis-aller. The lovely Spaniard, we make no doubt, would have preferred -Robespierre as a future husband, or, failing him, Louis-Antoine St. -Just. But the latter was deeply enamoured of another woman; and -Robespierre was too cautious, too ambitious, to allow himself to be -enmeshed. - -So she fell back on Tallien. - - - - -§3 - - -"Give me my orders for to-night," the lovely woman had said to her -future lord. And he--a bundle of vanity and egoism--was flattered and -soothed by this submission, though he knew in his heart of hearts that -it was only pretence. - -"You will help me, Theresia?" he pleaded. - -She nodded, and asked coldly: "How?" - -"You know that Robespierre suspects me," he went on, and instinctively, -at the mere breathing of that awe-inspiring name, his voice sank to a -murmur. "Ever since I came back from Bordeaux." - -"I know. Your leniency there is attributed to me." - -"It was your influence, Theresia----" he began. - -"That turned you," she broke in coldly, "from a bloodstained beast into -a right-minded justiciary. Do you regret it?" - -"No, no!" he protested; "since it gained me your love." - -"Could I love a beast of prey?" she retorted. "But if you do not regret, -you are certainly afraid." - -"Robespierre never forgives," he rejoined vaguely. "And he had sent me -to Bordeaux to punish, not to pardon." - -"Then you _are_ afraid!" she insisted. "Has anything happened?" - -"No; only his usual hints--his vague threats. You know them." - -She nodded. - -"The same," he went on sombrely, "that he used ere he struck Danton." - -"Danton was hot-headed. He was too proud to appeal to the populace who -idolised him." - -"And I have no popularity to which I can appeal. If Robespierre strikes -at me in the Convention, I am doomed----" - -"Unless you strike first." - -"I have no following. We none of us have. Robespierre sways the -Convention with one word." - -"You mean," she broke in more vehemently, "that you are all cringing -cowards--the abject slaves of one man. Two hundred of you are longing -for this era of bloodshed to cease; two hundred would stay the pitiless -work of the guillotine--and not one is plucky enough to cry, 'Halt! It -is enough!'" - -"The first man who cries 'Halt!' is called a traitor," Tallien retorted -gloomily. "And the guillotine will not rest until Robespierre himself -has said, 'It is enough!'" - -"He alone knows what he wants. He alone fears no one," she exclaimed, -almost involuntarily giving grudging admiration where in truth she felt -naught but loathing. - -"I would not fear either, Theresia," he protested, and there was a note -of tender reproach in his voice, "if it were not for you." - -"I know that, mon ami," she rejoined with an impatient little sigh. -"Well, what do you want me to do?" - -He leaned forward in his chair, closer to her, and did not mark--poor -fool!--that, as he drew near, she recoiled ever so slightly from him. - -"There are two things," he said insinuatingly, "which you could do, -Theresia, either of which would place Robespierre under such lasting -obligation to you that he would admit us into the inner circle of his -friends, trust us and confide in us as he does in St. Just or Couthon." - -"Trust you, you mean. He never would trust a woman." - -"It means the same thing--security for us both." - -"Well?" she rejoined. "What are these two things?" - -He paused a moment, appeared to hesitate; then said resolutely: - -"Firstly, there is Bertrand Moncrif . . . and his Fatalists----" - -Her face hardened. She shook her head. - -"I warned Robespierre about to-night," she said. "I knew that a lot of -young fools meant to cause a fracas in the Rue St. Honoré. But the -whole thing has been a failure, and Robespierre has no use for -failures." - -"It need not be a failure--even yet." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Robespierre will be here directly," he urged, in a whisper rendered -hoarse with excitement "Bertrand Moncrif is here---- Why not deliver the -young traitor, and earn Robespierre's gratitude?" - -"Oh!" she broke in indignant protest. Then, as she caught the look of -jealous anger which at her obvious agitation suddenly flared up in his -narrow eyes again, she went on with a careless shrug of her statuesque -shoulders: "Bertrand is not here, as I told you, my friend. So these -means of serving your cause are out of my reach." - -"Theresia," he urged, "by deceiving me----" - -"By tantalizing me," she broke in harshly, "you do yourself no good. Let -us understand one another, my friend," she went on more gently. "You -wish me to serve you by serving the dictator of France. And I tell you -you'll not gain your ends by taunting me." - -"Theresia, we must make friends with Robespierre! He has the power; he -rules over France. Whilst I----" - -"Ah!" she retorted with vehemence. "That is where you and your -weak-kneed friends are wrong! You say that Robespierre rules France. -'Tis not true. It is not Robespierre, the man, who rules; it is his -name! The name of Robespierre has become a fetish, an idolatry. Before -it every head is bent and every courage cowed. It rules by the fear -which it evokes and by the slavery which it compels under the perpetual -threat of death. Believe me," she insisted, "'tis not Robespierre who -rules, but the guillotine which he wields! And we are all of us -helpless--you and I and your friends. And all the others who long to see -the end of this era of bloodshed and of revenge, we have got to do as he -tells us--pile up crime upon crime, massacre upon massacre, and bear the -odium of it all, while he stands aloof in darkness and in solitude, the -brain that guides, whilst you and your party are only the hands that -strike. Oh! the humiliation of it! And if you were but men, all of you, -instead of puppets----" - -"Hush, Theresia, in heaven's name!" Tallien broke in peremptorily at -last. He had vainly tried to pacify her while she poured forth the vials -of her resentment and her contempt. But now his ears, attuned to -sensitiveness by an ever-present danger, had caught a sound which -proceeded from the vestibule--a sound which made him shudder--a -footstep--the opening of a door--a voice. "Hush!" he entreated. "Every -dumb wall has ears these days!" - -She broke into a harsh, excited little laugh. - -"You are right, my friend," she said under her breath. "What do I care, -after all? What do any of us care now, so long as our necks are fairly -safe upon our shoulders! But I'll not sell Bertrand," she added firmly. -"If I did it I should despise myself too much and hate you worse. So -tell me quickly what else I can do to propitiate the ogre!" - -"He'll tell you himself," Tallien murmured hurriedly, as the sounds in -the vestibule became more loud and distinctive. "Here they are! And, in -heaven's name, Theresia, remember that our lives are at that one man's -mercy!" - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -THE GRIM IDOL THAT THE WORLD ADORES - - -§1 - - -Theresia, being a woman, was necessarily the more accomplished actor. -While Tallien retired into a gloomy corner of the room, vainly trying to -conceal his agitation, she rose quite serene in order to greet her -visitors. - -Pepita had just admitted into her mistress's apartments a singular -group, composed of two able-bodied men supporting a palsied one. One of -the former was St. Just, one of the most romantic figures of the -Revolutionary period, the confidant and intimate friend of Robespierre -and own cousin to Armand St. Just and to the beautiful Marguerite, who -had married the fastidious English milor, Sir Percy Blakeney. The other -was Chauvelin, at one time one of the most influential members of the -Committee of Public Safety, now little more than a hanger-on of -Robespierre's party. A man of no account, to whom not even Tallien and -his colleagues thought it worth while to pay their court. The palsied -man was Couthon, despite his crimes an almost pathetic figure in his -helplessness, after his friends had deposited him in an arm-chair and -wrapped a rug around his knees. The carrying chair in which he spent the -greater part of his life had been left down below in the concierge's -lodge, and St. Just and Chauvelin had carried him up the three flights -of stairs to citoyenne Cabarrus's apartment. - -Close behind these three men came Robespierre. - -Heavens! If a thunderbolt had fallen from the skies on that night of the -26th of April, 1794, and destroyed house No. 22 in the Rue Villedot, -with all those who were in it, what a torrent of blood would have been -stemmed, what horrors averted, what misery forefended! - -But nothing untoward happened. The four men who sat that night and well -into the small hours of the morning in the dingy apartment, occupied for -the present by the beautiful Cabarrus, were allowed by inscrutable -Providence to discuss their nefarious designs unchecked. - -In truth, there was no discussion. One man dominated the small assembly, -even though he sat for the most part silent and apparently -self-absorbed, wrapped in that taciturnity and even occasional -somnolence which seemed to have become a pose with him of late. He sat -on a high chair, prim and upright. Immaculately dressed in blue cloth -coat and white breeches, with clean linen at throat and wrist, his hair -neatly tied back with a black silk bow, his nails polished, his shoes -free from mud, he presented a marked contrast to the ill-conditioned -appearance of these other products of revolutionary ideals. - -St Just, on the other hand--young, handsome, a brilliant talker and -convinced enthusiast--was only too willing to air his compelling -eloquence, was in effect the mouthpiece of the great man as he was his -confidant and his right hand. He had acquired in the camps which he so -frequently visited a breezy, dictatorial manner that pleased his friends -and irritated Tallien and his clique, more especially when sententious -phrases fell from his lips which were obviously the echo of some of -Robespierre's former speeches in the Convention. - -Then there was Couthon, sarcastic and contemptuous, delighting to tease -Tallien and to affect a truculent manner, which brought abject flattery -from the other's lips. - -St. Just the fiery young demagogue, and Couthon the half-paralyzed -enthusiast, were known to be pushing their leader toward the -proclamation of a triumvirate, with Robespierre as chief dictator and -themselves as his two hands; and it amused the helpless cripple to see -just how far the obsequiousness of Tallien and his colleagues would go -in subscribing to so monstrous a project. - -As for Chauvelin, he said very little, and the deference wherewith he -listened to the others, the occasional unctuous words which he let fall, -bore testimony to the humiliating subservience to which he had sunk. - -And the beautiful Theresia, presiding over the small assembly like a -goddess who listens to the prattle of men, sat for the most part quite -still, on the one dainty piece of furniture of which her dingy apartment -boasted. She was careful to sit so that the rosy glow of the lamp fell -on her in the direction most becoming to her attitude. From time to time -she threw in a word; but all the while her whole attention was -concentrated on what was said. At her future husband's fulsome words of -flattery, at his obvious cowardice before the popular idol and his -cringing abjectness, a faint smile of contempt would now and then force -itself up to her lips. But she neither reproved nor encouraged him. And -when Robespierre appeared to be flattered by Tallien's obsequiousness -she even gave a little sigh of satisfaction. - - - - -§2 - - -St. Just, now as always the mouthpiece of his friend, was the first to -give a serious turn to the conversation. Compliments, flatteries, had -gone their round; platitudes, grandiloquent phrases on the subject of -country, intellectual revolution, liberty, purity, and so on, had been -spouted with varying eloquence. The fraternal suppers had been alluded -to with servile eulogy of the giant brain who had conceived the project. - -Then it was that St. Just broke into a euphemistic account of the -disorderly scene in the Rue St. Honoré. - -Theresia Cabarrus, roused from her queen-like indifference, at once -became interested. - -"The young traitor!" she exclaimed, with a great show of indignation. -"Who was he? What was he like?" - -Couthon gave quite a minute description of Bertrand, an accurate one, -too. He had faced the blasphemer--thus was he called by this compact -group of devotees and sycophants--for fully five minutes, and despite -the flickering and deceptive light, had studied his features, distorted -by fury and hate, and was quite sure that he would know them again. - -Theresia listened eagerly, caught every inflection of the voices as they -discussed the strange events that followed. The keenest observer there -could not have detected the slightest agitation in her large, velvety -eyes--not even when they met Robespierre's coldly inquiring gaze. Not -one--not even Tallien--could have guessed what an effort it cost her to -appear unconcerned, when all the while she was straining every sense in -the direction of the small kitchen at the end of the passage, where the -much-discussed Bertrand was still lying concealed. - -However, the certainty that Robespierre's spies and those of the -Committees had apparently lost complete track of Moncrif, did much to -restore her assurance, and her gaiety became after awhile somewhat more -real. - -At one time she turned boldly to Tallien. - -"You were there, too, citizen," she said provokingly. "Did _you_ not -recognise any of the traitors?" - -Tallien stammered out an evasive answer, implored her with a look not to -taunt him and not to play like a thoughtless child within sight and -hearing of a man-eating tiger. - -Theresia's dalliance with the young and handsome Bertrand must in truth -be known to Robespierre's army of spies, and he--Tallien--was not -altogether convinced that the fair Spaniard, despite her assurances to -the contrary, was not harbouring Moncrif in her apartment even now. - -Therefore he would not meet her tantalising glance; and she, delighted -to tease, threw herself with greater zest than before into the -discussion, amused to see sober Tallien, whom in her innermost heart she -despised, enduring tortures of apprehension. - -"Ah!" she exclaimed, apparently enraptured by St. Just's glowing account -of the occurrence, "what would I not give to have seen it all! In truth, -we do not often get such thrilling incidents every day in this dull and -dreary Paris. The death-carts with their load of simpering aristos have -ceased to entertain us. But the drama in the Rue St. Honoré! à la -bonne heure! What a palpitating scene!" - -"Especially," added Couthon, "the spiriting away of the company of -traitors through the agency of that mysterious giant, who some aver was -just a coalheaver named Rateau, well-known to half the night-birds of -the city as an asthmatic reprobate; whilst others vow that he was----" - -"Name him not, friend Couthon," St. Just broke in with a sarcastic -chuckle. "I pray thee, spare the feelings of citizen Chauvelin." And his -bold, provoking eyes shot a glance of cool irony on the unfortunate -victim of his taunt. - -Chauvelin made no retort, pressed his thin lips more tightly together as -if to smother any incipient expression of the resentment which he felt. -Instinctively his glance sought those of Robespierre, who sat by, still -apparently disinterested and impassive, with head bent and arms crossed -over his narrow chest. - -"Ah, yes!" here interposed Tallien unctuously. "Citizen Chauvelin has -had one or two opportunities of measuring his prowess against that of -the mysterious Englishman; but we are told that, despite his great -talents, he has met with no success in that direction." - -"Do not tease our modest friend Chauvelin, I pray you, citizen," -Theresia broke in gaily. "The Scarlet Pimpernel--that is the name of the -mysterious Englishman, is it not?--is far more elusive and a thousand -times more resourceful and daring than any mere man can possibly -conceive. 'Tis woman's wits that will bring him to his knees one day. -You may take my word for that!" - -"_Your_ wits, citoyenne?" - -Robespierre had spoken. It was the first time, since the discussion had -turned on the present subject, that he had opened his lips. All eyes -were at once reverentially turned to him. His own, cold and sarcastic, -were fixed upon Theresia Cabarrus. - -She returned his glance with provoking coolness, shrugged her splendid -shoulders, and retorted airily: - -"Oh, you want a woman with some talent as a sleuthhound--a female -counterpart of citizen Chauvelin. I have no genius in that direction." - -"Why not?" Robespierre went on drily. "You, fair citoyenne, would be -well qualified to deal with the Scarlet Pimpernel, seeing that your -adorer, Bertrand Moncrif, appears to be a protégé of the mysterious -League." - -At this taunt, uttered by the dictator with deliberate emphasis, like -one who knows what he is talking about, Tallien gave a gasp and his -sallow cheeks became the colour of lead. But Theresia placed her cool, -reassuring hand upon his. - -"Bertrand Moncrif," she said serenely, "is no adorer of mine. He -foreswore his allegiance to me on the day that I plighted my troth to -citizen Tallien." - -"That is as may be," Robespierre retorted coldly. "But he certainly was -the leader of the gang of traitors whom that meddlesome English rabble -chose to snatch away to-night from the vengeance of a justly incensed -populace." - -"How do you know that, citizen Robespierre?" Theresia asked. She was -still maintaining an outwardly calm attitude; her voice was apparently -quite steady, her glance absolutely serene. Only Tallien's keen -perceptions were able to note the almost wax-like pallor which had -spread over her cheeks and the strained, high-pitched tone of her -usually mellow voice. "Why do you suppose, citizen," she insisted, "that -Bertrand Moncrif had anything to do with the fracas to-night? Methought -he had emigrated to England--or somewhere," she added airily, -"after--after I gave him his definite congé." - -"Did you think that, citoyenne?" Robespierre rejoined with a wry smile. -"Then let me tell you that you are under a misapprehension. Moncrif, the -traitor, was the leader of the gang that tried to rouse the people -against me to-night. You ask me how I know it?" he added icily. "Well, I -saw him--that is all!" - -"Ah!" exclaimed Theresia, in well-played mild astonishment. "You saw -Bertrand Moncrif, citizen. He is in Paris, then?" - -"Seemingly." - -"Strange, he never came to see me!" - -"Strange, indeed!" - -"What does he look like? Some people have told me that he is getting -fat." - -The discussion had now resolved itself into a duel between these two; -the ruthless dictator, sure of his power, and the beautiful woman, -conscious of hers. The atmosphere of the drabbily furnished room had -become electrical. Every one there felt it. Every man instinctively held -his breath, conscious of the quickening of his pulses, of the -accelerated, beating of his heart. - -Both the duellists appeared perfectly calm. Of the two, in truth, -Robespierre appeared the most moved. His staccato voice, the drumming of -his pointed fingers upon the arms of his chair, suggested that the -banter of the beautiful Theresia was getting on his nerves. It was like -the lashing of a puma's tail, the irritation of a temper unaccustomed to -being provoked. And Theresia was clever enough--above all, woman -enough--to note that, since the dictator was moved, he could not be -perfectly sure of his ground. He would not display this secret -irritation if by a word he could confound his beautiful adversary, and -openly threaten where now he only insinuated. - -"He saw Bertrand in the Rue St. Honoré," was the sum total of her quick -reasoning; "but does not know that he is here. I wonder what it is he -does want!" came as an afterthought. - -The one that really suffered throughout, and suffered acutely, was -Tallien. He would have given all that he possessed to know for a -certainty that Bertrand Moncrif was no longer in the house. Surely -Theresia would not be foolhardy enough to provoke the powerful dictator -into one of those paroxysms of spiteful fury for which he was -notorious--fury wherein he might be capable of anything--insulting his -hostess, setting his spies to search her apartments for a traitor if he -suspected one of lying hidden away somewhere. In truth, Tallien, -trembling for his beloved, was ready to swoon. How marvellous she was! -how serene! While men held their breath before the inexorable despot, -she went on teasing the tiger, even though he had already begun to -snarl. - -"I entreat you, citizen Robespierre," she said, with a pout, "to tell me -if Bertrand Moncrif has grown fat." - -"That I cannot tell you, citoyenne," Robespierre replied curtly. "Having -recognised my enemy, I no longer paid heed to him. My attention was -arrested by his rescuer----" - -"That elusive Scarlet Pimpernel," she broke in gaily. "Unrecognisable to -all save to citizen Robespierre, under the disguise of an asthmatic -gossoon. Ah, would I had been there!" - -"I would you had, citoyenne," he retorted. "You would have realised that -to refuse your help to unmask an abominable spy after such an episode is -tantamount to treason." - -Her gaiety dropped from her like a mantle. In a moment she was serious, -puzzled. A frown appeared between her brows. Her dark eyes flashed, -rapidly inquiring, suspicious, fearful, upon Robespierre. - -"To refuse my help?" she asked slowly. "My help in unmasking a spy? I do -not understand." - -She looked from one man to the other. Chauvelin was the only one who -would not meet her gaze. No, not the only one. Tallien, too, appeared -absorbed in contemplating his finger nails. - -"Citizen Tallien," she queried harshly. "What does this mean?" - -"It means just what I said," Robespierre intervened coldly. "That -abominable English spy has fooled us all. You said yourself that 'tis a -woman's wit that will bring that elusive adventurer to his knees one -day. Why not yours?" - -Theresia gave no immediate reply. She was meditating. Here, then, was -this other means to her hand, whereby she was to propitiate the -man-eating tiger, turn his snarl into a purr, obtain immunity for -herself and her future lord. But what a prospect! - -"I fear me, citizen Robespierre," she said after awhile, "that you -overestimate the keenness of my wits." - -"Impossible!" he retorted drily. - -And St. Just, ever the echo of his friend's unspoken words, added with a -great show of gallantry: - -"The citoyenne Cabarrus, even from her prison in Bordeaux, succeeded in -snaring our friend Tallien, and making him the slave of her beauty." - -"Then why not the Scarlet Pimpernel?" was Couthon's simple conclusion. - -"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" Theresia exclaimed with a shrug of her handsome -shoulders. "The Scarlet Pimpernel, forsooth! Why, meseems that no one -knows who he is! Just now you all affirmed that he was a coalheaver -named Rateau. I cannot make love to a coalheaver, can I?" - -"Citizen Chauvelin knows who the Scarlet Pimpernel is," Couthon went on -deliberately. "He will put you on the right track. All that we want is -that he should be at your feet. It is so easy for the citoyenne Cabarrus -to accomplish that." - -"But if you know who he is," she urged, "why do you need my help?" - -"Because," St. Just replied, "the moment that he lands in France he -sheds his identity, as a man would a coat. Here, there, everywhere--he -is more elusive than a ghost, for a ghost is always the same, whilst the -Scarlet Pimpernel is never twice alike. A coalheaver one day; a prince -of dandies the next. He has lodgings in every quarter of Paris and quits -them at a moment's notice. He has confederates everywhere; concierges, -cabaret-keepers, soldiers, vagabonds. He has been a public -letter-writer, a sergeant of the National Guard, a rogue, a thief! 'Tis -only in England that he is always the same, and citizen Chauvelin can -identify him there. 'Tis there that you can see him, citoyenne, there -that you can spread your nets for him; from thence that you can lure him -to France in your train, as you lured citizen Tallien to obey your every -whim in Bordeaux. Once a man hath fallen a victim to the charms of -beautiful Theresia Cabarrus," added the young demagogue gallantly, "she -need only to beckon and he will follow, as does citizen Tallien, as did -Bertrand Moncrif, as do so many others. Bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to -your feet, here in Paris, citoyenne, and we will do the rest." - -While his young devotee spoke thus vehemently, Robespierre had relapsed -into his usual pose of affected detachment. His head was bent, his arms -were folded across his chest. He appeared to be asleep. When St. Just -paused, Theresia waited awhile, her dark eyes fixed on the great man who -had conceived this monstrous project. Monstrous, because of the -treachery that it demanded. - -Theresia Cabarrus had in truth identified herself with the Revolutionary -government. She had promised to marry Tallien, who outwardly at least -was as bloodthirsty and ruthless as was Robespierre himself; but she was -a woman and not a demon. She had refused to sell Bertrand Moncrif in -order to pander to Tallien's fear of Robespierre. To entice a -man--whoever he was--into making love to her, and then to betray him to -his death, was in itself an abhorrent idea. What she might do if actual -danger of death threatened her, she did not know. No human soul can with -certainty say, "I would not do this or that, under any circumstances -whatever!" Circumstance and impulse are the only two forces that create -cowards or heroes. Principles, will-power, virtue, are really -subservient to those two. If they prove the stronger, everything in man -must yield to them. - -And Theresia Cabarrus had not yet been tried by force of circumstance or -driven by force of impulse. Self-preservation was her dominant law, and -she had not yet been in actual fear of death. - -This is not a justification on the part of this veracious chronicle of -Theresia's subsequent actions; it is an explanation. Faced with this -demand upon her on the part of the most powerful despot in France, she -hesitated, even though she did not altogether dare to refuse. Womanlike, -she tried to temporise. - -She appeared puzzled; frowned. Then asked vaguely: - -"Is it then that you wish me to go to England?" - -St. Just nodded. - -"But," she continued, in the same indeterminate manner, "meseems that -you talk very glibly of my--what shall I say?--my proposed dalliance -with the mysterious Englishman. Suppose he--he does not respond?" - -"Impossible!" Couthon broke in quickly. - -"Oh!" she protested. "Impossible? Englishmen are known to be -prudish--moral--what? And if the man is married--what then?" - -"The citoyenne Cabarrus underrates her powers," St. Just riposted -glibly. - -"Theresia, I entreat!" Tallien put in dolefully. - -He felt that the interview, from which he had hoped so much, was proving -a failure--nay, worse! For he realised that Robespierre, thwarted in -this desire, would bitterly resent Theresia's positive refusal to help -him. - -"Eh, what?" she riposted lightly. "And is it you, citizen Tallien, who -would push me into this erotic adventure? I' faith, your trust in me is -highly flattering! Have you not thought that in the process I might fall -in love with the Scarlet Pimpernel myself? He is young, they say; -handsome, adventurous; and I am to try and capture his fancy . . . the -butterfly is to dance around the flame . . . . No, no! I am too much -afraid that I may singe my wings!" - -"Does that mean," Robespierre put in coldly, "that you refuse us your -help, citoyenne Cabarrus. - -"Yes--I refuse," she replied calmly. "The project does not please me, I -confess----" - -"Not even if we guaranteed immunity to your lover, Bertrand Moncrif?" - -She gave a slight shudder. Her lips felt dry, and she passed her tongue -rapidly over them. - -"I have no lover, except citizen Tallien," she said steadily, and placed -her fingers, which had suddenly become ice-cold, upon the clasped hands -of her future lord. Then she rose, thereby giving the signal for the -breaking-up of the little party. - -In truth, she knew as well as did Tallien that the meeting had been a -failure. Tallien was looking sallow and terribly worried. Robespierre, -taciturn and sullen, gave her one threatening glance before he took his -leave. - -"You know, citoyenne," he said coldly, "that the nation has means at its -disposal for compelling its citizens to do their duty." - -"Ah, bah!" retorted the fair Spaniard, shrugging her shoulders. "I am -not a citizen of France. And even your unerring Public Prosecutor would -find it difficult to frame an accusation against me." - -Again she laughed, determined to appear gay and inconsequent through it -all. - -"Think how the accusation would sound, citizen Robespierre!" she went on -mockingly. "'The citoyenne Cabarrus, for refusing to make amorous -overtures to the mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, -and for refusing to administer a love-philtre to him as prepared by -Mother Théot at the bidding of citizen Robespierre!' Confess! Confess!" -she added, and her rippling laugh had a genuine note of merriment in it -at last, "that we none of us would survive such ridicule!" - -Theresia Cabarrus was a clever woman, and by speaking the word -"ridicule," she had touched the one weak chink in the tyrant's armour. -But it is not always safe to prod a tiger, even with a child's cane, or -even from behind protecting bars. Tallien knew this well enough. He was -on tenterhooks, longing to see the others depart so that he might throw -himself once again at Theresia's feet and implore her to obey the -despot's commands. - -But Theresia appeared unwilling to give him such another chance. She -professed intense fatigue, bade him "good night" with such obvious -finality, that he dared not outstay his welcome. A few moments later -they had all gone. Their gracious hostess accompanied them to the door, -since Pepita had by this time certainly gone to bed. The little -procession was formed, with St Just and Chauvelin supporting their -palsied comrade, Robespierre, detached and silent, and finally Tallien, -whose last appealing look to his beloved would have melted a heart of -stone. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -STRANGE HAPPENINGS - - -§1 - - -Now the dingy little apartment in the Rue Villedot was silent and dark. -The elegant little lamp with its rose-coloured shade was turned down in -the withdrawing-room, leaving only a tiny glimmer of light, which failed -to dispel the gloom around. The nocturnal visitors had departed more -than a quarter of an hour ago; nevertheless the beautiful hostess had -not yet gone to bed. In fact, she had hardly moved since she bade final -adieu to her timorous lover. The enforced gaiety of the last few moments -still sat like a mask upon her face. All that she had done was to sink -with a sigh of weariness upon the settee. - -And there she remained, with neck craned forward, listening, straining -every nerve to listen, even though the heavy, measured footsteps of the -five men had long since ceased to echo up and down the stone passages -and stairs. Her foot, in its quaint small sandal, beat now and then an -impatient tattoo upon the threadbare carpet. Her eyes at intervals cast -anxious looks upon the old-fashioned clock above the mantelpiece. - -It struck half-past two. Whereupon Theresia rose and went out into the -vestibule. Here a tallow candle flickered faintly in its pewter sconce -and emitted an evil-smelling smoke, which rose in spirals to the -blackened ceiling. - -Theresia paused, glanced inquiringly down the narrow passage which gave -access to the little kitchen beyond. Between the kitchen and the corner -of the vestibule where she was standing, two doors gave on the passage: -her bedroom, and that of her maid Pepita. Theresia was vividly conscious -of the strange silence which reigned in the whole apartment. The passage -was pitch dark save at its farthest end, where a tiny ray of light found -its way underneath the kitchen door. - -The silence was oppressive, almost terrifying. In a hoarse, anxious -voice, Theresia called: - -"Pepita!" - -But there came no answer. Pepita apparently had gone to bed, was fast -asleep by now. But what had become of Bertrand? - -Full of vague misgivings, her nerves tingling with a nameless fear, -Theresia picked up the candle and tip-toed down the passage. Outside -Pepita's door she paused and listened. Her large dark eyes looked weird -in their expression of puzzlement and of awe, the flickering light of -the candle throwing gleams of orange-coloured lights into the depths of -the widely dilated pupils. - -"Pepita!" she called; and somehow the sound of her own voice added to -her terror. Strange that she should be frightened like this in her own -familiar apartment, and with a faithful, sturdy maid sleeping the other -side of this thin partition wall! - -"Pepita!" Theresia's voice was shaking. She tried to open the door, but -it was locked. Why had Pepita, contrary to her habit, locked herself in? -Had she, too, been a prey to some unexplainable panic? Theresia knocked -against the door, rattled the handle in its socket, called more loudly -and more insistently, "Pepita!" and, receiving no reply, fell, -half-swooning with fear, against the partition wall, whilst the candle -slipped out of her trembling grasp and fell with a clatter to the -ground. - -She was now in complete darkness, with senses reeling and brain -paralyzed. How long she remained thus, in a state bordering on collapse, -she did not know; probably not more than a minute or so. Consciousness -returned quickly, and with it the cold sweat of an abject fear; for -through this returning consciousness she had perceived a groan issuing -from behind the locked door. But her knees were still shaking; she felt -unable to move. - -"Pepita!" she called again; and to her own ears her voice sounded hoarse -and muffled. Straining her ears and holding her breath, she once more -caught the sound of a smothered groan. - -Whereupon, driven into action by the obvious distress of her maid, -Theresia recovered a certain measure of self-control. Pulling herself -vigorously together, she began by groping for the candle which had -dropped out of her hand a while ago. Even as she stooped down for this -she contrived to say in a moderately clear and firm voice: - -"Courage, Pepita! I'll find the light and come back." Then she added: "Are -you able to unlock the door?" - -To this, however, she received no reply save another muffled groan. - -Theresia now was on her hands and knees, groping for the candlestick. -Then a strange thing happened. Her hands, as they wandered vaguely along -the flagged floor, encountered a small object, which proved to be a key. -In an instant she was on her feet again, her fingers running over the -door until they encountered the keyhole. Into this she succeeded, after -further groping, in inserting the key; it fitted, and turned the lock. -She pushed open the door, and remained paralyzed with surprise upon the -threshold. - -Pepita was reclining in an arm-chair, her hands tied behind her, a -woollen shawl wound loosely around her mouth. In a distant corner of the -room, a small oil-lamp, turned very low, cast a glimmer of light upon -the scene. For Theresia to ran to the pinioned woman and undo the bonds -that held her was but the work of a few seconds. - -"Pepita!" she cried. "What in heaven's name has happened?" - -The woman seemed not much the worse for her enforced duress. She -groaned, and even swore under her breath, and indeed appeared more dazed -than hurt Theresia, impatient and excited, had to shake her more than -once vigorously by the shoulder before she was able to gather her -scattered wits together. - -"Where is M. Bertrand?" Theresia asked repeatedly, ere she got a reply -from her bewildered maid. - -At last Pepita was able to speak. - -"In very truth, Madame," she said slowly. "I do not know." - -"How do you mean, you do not know?" Theresia queried, with a deepened -frown. - -"Just what I say, my pigeon," Pepita retorted with marked acerbity. "You -ask me what has happened, and I say I do not know. You want to know what -has become of M. Bertrand. Then go and look for yourself. When last I -saw him, he was in the kitchen, unfit to move, the poor cabbage!" - -"But, Pepita," Theresia insisted, and stamped her foot with impatience, -"you must know how you came to be sitting here, pinioned and muffled. -Who did it? Who has been here? God preserve the woman, will she never -speak!" - -Pepita by now had fully recovered her senses. She had struggled to her -feet, and went to take up the lamp, then led the way toward the door, -apparently intent on finding out for herself what had become of M. -Bertrand, and in no way sharing her mistress's unreasoning terror. She -halted on the threshold and turned to Theresia, who quite mechanically -started to follow her. - -"M. Bertrand was sitting in the arm-chair in the kitchen," she said -simply. "I was arranging a cushion for his head, to make him more -comfortable, when suddenly a shawl was flung over my head without the -slightest warning. I had seen nothing; I had not heard the merest sound. -And I had not the time to utter a scream before I was muffled up in -the shawl. Then I was lifted off the ground as if I were a sack of -feathers, and I just remember smelling something acrid which made my -head spin round and round. But I remember nothing more after that until -I heard voices in the vestibule when thy guests were going away. Then I -heard thy voice and tried to make thee hear mine. And that is all!" - -"When did that happen, Pepita?" - -"Soon after the last of thy guests had arrived. I remember I looked at -the clock. It must have been half an hour after midnight." - -While the woman spoke, Theresia had remained standing in the middle of -the room, looking in the gloom like an elfin apparition, with her -clinging, diaphanous draperies. A frown of deep puzzlement lay between -her brows and her lips were tightly pressed together as if in wrath; but -she said nothing more, and when Pepita, lamp in hand, went out of the -room, she followed. - - - - -§2 - - -When, the kitchen door being opened, that room was found to be empty, -Theresia was no longer surprised. Somehow she had expected this. She -knew that Bertrand would be gone. The windows of the kitchen gave on the -ubiquitous wrought-iron balcony, as did all the other windows of the -apartment. That those windows were unfastened, had only been pushed to -from the outside, appeared to her as a matter of course. It was not -Bertrand who had thrown the shawl over Pepita's head; therefore some one -had come in from the outside and had kidnapped Bertrand--some one who -was peculiarly bold and daring. He had not come in from the balcony and -through the window, because the latter had been fastened as usual by -Pepita much earlier in the evening. No! He had gone that way, taking -Bertrand with him; but he must have entered the place in some other -mysterious manner, like a disembodied sprite bent on mischief or -mystery. - -Whilst Pepita fumbled and grumbled, Theresia started on a tour of -inspection. Still deeply puzzled, she was no longer afraid. With Pepita -to speak to and the lamps all turned on, her habitual courage and -self-possession had quickly returned to her. She had no belief in the -supernatural. Her materialistic, entirely rational mind at once rejected -the supposition, hinted at by Pepita, that magical powers had been at -work to take Bertrand Moncrif to a place of safety. - -Something was going on in her brain, certain theories, guesses, -conjectures, which she was passionately eager to set at rest. Nor did it -take her long. Candle in hand, she had gone round to explore. No sooner -had she entered her own bedroom than the solution of the mystery lay -revealed before her, in a shutter, forced open from the outside, a -broken pane of glass which had allowed a hand to creep in and -surreptitiously turn the handle of the tall French window to allow of -easy ingress. It had been quickly and cleverly done; the splinters of -glass had made no noise as they fell upon the carpet. But for the -disappearance of Bertrand, the circumstances suggested a nimble -housebreaker rather than a benevolent agency for the rescue of young -rashlings in distress. - -The frown of puzzlement deepened on Theresia Cabarrus's brow, and her -mobile mouth with the perfectly arched if somewhat thin lips expressed a -kind of feline anger, whilst the hand that held the pewter candlestick -trembled perceptibly. - -Pepita's astonishment expressed itself by sundry exclamations: "Name of -a name!" and "Is it possible?" The explanation of the mystery had -loosened her tongue, and while she set stolidly to work to clear up the -debris of glass in her mistress's bedroom, she allowed free rein to her -indignation against the impudent marauder, who no doubt had only been -foiled in his attempt at wholesale robbery by some lucky circumstance -which would presently come to light. - -The worthy old peasant absolutely refused to connect the departure of M. -Bertrand with so obvious an attempt at housebreaking. - -"M. Bertrand was determined to go, the poor cabbage!" she said -decisively, "since thou didst make him understand that his staying here -was a danger to thee. He no doubt took an opportunity to slip out of the -front door whilst thou wast engaged in conversation with that pack of -murderers, whom may the good God punish one of these days!" - -From which remark we may gather that Pepita had not imbibed -revolutionary ideals with the air of her native Andalusia. - -Theresia Cabarrus, wearied beyond endurance by all the events of this -night, as well as by her old servant's incessant gabble, finally sent -her, still muttering and grumbling, to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -CHAUVELIN - - -§1 - - -Theresia had opposed a stern refusal to Pepita's request that she might -put her mistress to bed before she herself went to rest. She did not -want to go to bed; she wanted to think. And now that that peculiar air -of mystery, that silence and semi-darkness no longer held their gruesome -sway in her apartment, she did not feel afraid. - -Pepita went to bed. For awhile, Theresia could hear her moving about, -with ponderous, shuffling footsteps; then, presently everything was -still. The clock of old St. Roch struck three. Not much more than half -an hour had gone by since her guests had departed. To Theresia it seemed -like an infinity of time. The sense of a baffling mystery being at work -around her had roused her ire and killed all latent fear. - -But what was the mystery? - -And was there a mystery at all? Or was Pepita's rational explanation of -the occurrence of this night the right one after all? - -Citoyenne Cabarrus, unable to sit still, wandered up and down the -passage, in and out of the kitchen; in and out of her bedroom, and -thence into the vestibule. Then back again. At one moment, when standing -in the vestibule, she thought she heard some one moving on the landing -outside the front door. Her heart beat a little more rapidly, but she -was not afraid. She did not believe in housebreakers and she felt that -Pepita, who was a very light sleeper, was well within call. - -So she went to the front door and opened it. The quick cry which she -gave was one of surprise rather than of fear. In her belated visitor she -had recognised citizen Chauvelin; and somehow, by a vague process of -reasoning, his presence just at this moment seemed quite rational--in -keeping with the unsolved mystery that was so baffling to the fair -Theresia. - -"May I come in, citoyenne?" Chauvelin said in a whisper. "It is late, I -know; but there is urgency." - -He was standing on the threshold, and she, a few paces away from him in -the vestibule. The candle, which now burned low in its socket, was -behind her. Its light touched with a weird, flickering glow the pale -face of the once noted Terrorist, with its pale eyes and sharply hooked -nose, which gave him the air of a gaunt bird of prey. - -"It is late," she murmured vaguely. "What do you want?" - -"Something has happened," he replied, still speaking below his breath. -"Something which concerns you. And, before speaking of it to citizen -Robespierre----" - -At the dread name Theresia stepped farther back into the vestibule. - -"Enter!" she said curtly. - -He came in, and she closed the door carefully behind him. Then she led -the way into the withdrawing room and turned up the wick of the lamp -under its rosy shade. She sat down and motioned to him to do the same. - -"What is it?" she asked. - -Before replying, Chauvelin's finger and thumb--thin and pointed like the -talons of a vulture--went fumbling in the pocket of his waistcoat. From -it he extracted a small piece of neatly folded paper. - -"When we left your apartment, citoyenne--my friend St. Just and I -supporting poor palsied Couthon, and Robespierre following close behind -us--I spied this scrap of paper, which St. Just's careless foot had just -kicked to one side when he was stepping across the threshold. Some -unknown hand must have insinuated it underneath the door. Now, I never -despise stray bits of paper. I have had so many through my hands that -proved after examination to be of paramount importance. So, whilst the -others were busy with their own affairs I, unseen by them, had already -stooped and picked the paper up." - -He paused for a moment or two, then, satisfied that he held the -beautiful woman's undivided attention, he went on in his habitual, dry, -urbane monotone: - -"Now, though I was quite sure in my own mind, citoyenne, that this -billet-doux was intended for your fair hands, I felt that, as its -finder, I had some sort of lien upon it----" - -"To the point, citizen, I pray you!" Theresia broke in harshly, tried by -a show of impatience and of fatigue to hide the anxiety which had once -more taken possession of her heart. "You found a letter addressed to me; -you read it. As you have brought it here, I presume that you wish me to -know its contents. So get on, man, get on!" she added more vehemently. -"It is not at three in the morning that one cares for dalliance." - -By way of a reply, Chauvelin slowly unfolded the note and began to read: - -"'Bertrand Moncrif is a young fool, but he is too good to be the -plaything of a sleek black pantheress, however beautiful she might be. -So I am taking him away to England where, in the arms of his -long-suffering and loyal sweetheart, he will soon forget the brief -madness which so nearly landed him on the guillotine and made of him a -tool to serve the selfish whims of Theresia Cabarrus.'" - -Theresia had listened to the brief, enigmatic epistle without displaying -the slightest sign of emotion or surprise. Now, when Chauvelin had -finished reading, and with his strange, dry smile handed her the tiny -note, she took it and for awhile contemplated it in silence, her face -perfectly placid save for a curious and ominous contraction of the brows -and a screwing-up of the fine eyes, which gave her a curious, snake-like -expression. - -"You know, of course, citoyenne," Chauvelin said after awhile, "who the -writer of this--shall we say?--impudent epistle happens to be?" - -She nodded. - -"The man," he went on placidly, "who goes by the name of the Scarlet -Pimpernel. The impudent English adventurer whom citizen Robespierre has -asked _you_ citoyenne, to lure into the net which we may spread for -him." - -Still Theresia was silent. She did not look at Chauvelin, but kept her -eyes fixed upon the scrap of paper, which she had folded into a long, -narrow ribbon and was twining in and out between her fingers. - -"A while ago, citoyenne," Chauvelin continued, "in this very room, you -refused to lend us a helping hand." - -Still no reply from Theresia. She had just smoothed out the mysterious -epistle, carefully folded it into four, and was in the act of slipping -it into the bosom of her gown. Chauvelin waited quite patiently. He was -accustomed to waiting, and patience was an integral part of his stock in -trade. Opportunism was another. - -Theresia was sitting on her favourite settee, leaning forward with her -hands clasped between her knees. Her head was bent, and the tiny -rose-shaded lamp failed to throw its glimmer of light upon her face. The -clock on the mantelshelf behind her was ticking with insentient -monotony. Anon, a distant chime struck the quarter after three. -Whereupon Chauvelin rose. - -"I think we understand one another, citoyenne," he said quietly, and -with a sigh of complete satisfaction. "It is late now. At what hour may -I have the privilege of seeing you alone?" - -"At three in the afternoon?" she replied tonelessly, like one speaking -in a dream. "Citizen Tallien is always at the Convention then, and my -door will be denied to everybody else." - -"I'll be here at three o'clock," was Chauvelin's final word. - -Theresia had not moved. He made her a deep bow and went out of the room. -The next moment the opening and shutting of the outer door proclaimed -that he had gone. After that, Theresia Cabarrus went to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -THE FISHERMAN'S REST - - -§1 - - -And whilst the whole of Europe was in travail with the repercussion of -the gigantic upheaval that was shaking France to its historic -foundations, the last few years had seen but very little change in this -little corner of England. - -_The Fisherman's Rest_ stood where it had done for two centuries and -long before thrones had tottered and anointed heads fallen on the -scaffold. The oak rafters, black with age, the monumental hearth, the -tables and high-backed benches, seemed like mute testimonies to good -order and to tradition, just as the shiny pewter mugs, the foaming ale, -the brass that glittered like gold, bore witness to unimpaired -prosperity and an even, well-regulated life. - -Over in the kitchen yonder, Mistress Sally Waite, as she now was, still -ruled with a firm if somewhat hasty hand, the weight of which, so the -naughty gossips averred, even her husband, Master Harry Waite, had -experienced more than once. She still queened it over her father's -household, presided over his kitchen, and drove the young scullery -wenches to their task with her sharp tongue and an occasional slap. But -_The Fisherman's Rest_ could not have gone on without her. The copper -saucepans would in truth not have glittered so, nor would the -home-brewed ale have tasted half so luscious to Master Jellyband's -faithful customers, had not Mistress Sally's strong brown hands drawn it -for them, with just the right amount of creamy foam on the top and not a -bit too much. - -And so it was still many a "Ho, Sally! 'Ere Sally! 'Ow long'll you be -with that there beer!" or "Say, Sally! A cut of your cheese and -home-baked bread; and look sharp about it!" that resounded from end to -end of the long, low-raftered coffee-room of _The Fisherman's Rest_, on -this fine May day of the year of grace 1794. - -Sally Waite, her muslin cap set at a becoming angle, her kerchief primly -folded over her well-developed bosom, and her kirtle neatly raised above -a pair of exceedingly shapely ankles, was in and out of the room, in and -out of the kitchen, tripping it like a benevolent if somewhat -substantial fairy, bandying chaff here, administering rebuke there, hot, -panting and excited. - - - - -§2 - - -The while mine host, Master Jellyband--perhaps a shade more portly of -figure, a thought more bald of pate, these last two years--stood with -stubby legs firmly planted upon his own hearth, wherein, despite the -warmth of a glorious afternoon, a log fire blazed away merrily. He was -giving forth his views upon the political situation of Europe generally -with the self-satisfied assurance born of complete ignorance and true -British insular prejudice. - -Believe me, Mr. Jellyband was in no two minds about "them murderin' -furriners over yonder" who had done away with their King and Queen and -all their nobility and quality, and whom England had at last decided to -lick into shape. - -"And not a moment too soon, hark'ee, Mr. 'Empseed," he went on -sententiously. "And if I 'ad my way, we should 'ave punished 'em proper -long before this--blown their bloomin' Paris into smithereens, and -carried off the pore Queen afore those murderous villains 'ad 'er pretty -'ead off of 'er shoulders!" - -Mr. Hempseed, from his own privileged corner in the inglenook, was not -altogether prepared to admit that. - -"I am not for interfering with other folks' ways," he said, raising his -quaking treble so as to stem effectually the torrent of Master Jellyband's -eloquence. "As the Scriptures say----" - -"Keep your dirty fingers from off my waist!" came in decisive tones from -Mistress Sally Waite, whilst the shrill sound made by the violent -contact of a feminine hand against a manly cheek froze the Scriptural -quotation on Mr. Hempseed's lips. - -"Now then, now then, Sally!" Mr. Jellyband thought fit to say in stern -tones, not liking his customers to be thus summarily dealt with. - -"Now then, father," Sally retorted, with a toss of her brown curls, "you -just attend to your politics, and Mr. 'Empseed to 'is Scriptures, and -leave me to deal with them impudent jackanapes. You wait!" she added, -turning once more with a parting shot directed against the discomfited -offender. "If my 'Arry catches you at them tricks, you'll see what you -get--that's all!" - -"Sally!" Mr. Jellyband admonished more sternly this time. "You'll 'ave -my lord Hastings 'ere before 'is dinner is ready." - -Which suggestion so overawed Mistress Sally that she promptly forgot the -misdoings of the forward swain and failed to hear the sarcastic chuckle -which greeted the mention of her husband's name. With an excited little -cry, she ran quickly out of the room. - -Mr. Hempseed, loftily unaware of interruption, concluded his sententious -remark: - -"As the Scriptures say, Mr. Jellyband: 'Ave no fellowship with the -unfruitful work of darkness.' I don't 'old not with interfering. -Remember what the Scriptures say: 'E that committeth sin is of the -devil, and the devil sinneth from the beginning,'" he concluded with -sublime irrelevance, sagely nodding his head. - -But Mr. Jellyband was not thus lightly to be confounded in his -argument--no, not by any quotation, relevant or otherwise! - -"All very fine, Mr. 'Empseed," he said, "and good enough for -them 'oo, like yourself, are willin' to side with them murderin' -reprobates. . . ." - -"Like myself, Mr. Jellyband?" protested Mr. Hempseed, with as much -vigour as his shrill treble would allow. "Nay, but I'm not for them -children of darkness----" - -"You may be or you may not," Mr. Jellyband went on, nothing daunted. -"There be many as are, and 'oo'd say 'Let 'em murder,' even now. But I -say that them as 'oo talk that way are not true Englishmen; for 'tis we -Englishmen 'oo can teach the furriner just what 'e may do and what 'e -may not. And as we've got the ships and the men and the money, we can -just fight 'em as are not of our way o' thinkin'. And let me tell you, -Mr. 'Empseed, that I'm prepared to back my opinions 'gainst any man as -don't agree with me!" - -For the nonce Mr. Hempseed was silent. True, a Scriptural text did hover -on his thin, quivering lips; but as no one paid any heed to him for the -moment its appositeness will for ever remain doubtful. The honours of -victory rested with Mr. Jellyband. Such lofty patriotism, coupled with -so much sound knowledge of political affairs, could not fail to leave -its impress upon the more ignorant and the less fervent amongst the -frequenters of _The Fisherman's Rest._ - -Indeed, who was more qualified to pass an opinion on current events than -the host of that much-frequented resort, seeing that the ladies and -gentlemen of quality who came to England from over the water, so as to -escape all them murtherin' reprobates in their own country, did most -times halt at _The Fisherman's Rest_ on their way to London or to Bath? -And though Mr. Jellyband did not know a word of French--no furrin lingo -for him, thank 'ee!--he nevertheless had mixed with all that nobility -and gentry for over two years now, and had learned all that there was to -know about the life over there, and about Mr. Pitt's intentions to put -a stop to all those abominations. - - - - -§3 - - -Even now, hardly had mine host's conversation with his favoured -customers assumed a more domestic turn, than a loud clatter on the -cobblestones outside, a jingle and a rattle, shouts, laughter and -hustle, announced the arrival of guests who were privileged to make as -much noise as they pleased. - -Mr. Jellyband ran to the door, shouted for Sally at the top of his -voice, with a "Here's my lord Hastings!" to add spur to Sally's hustle. -Politics were forgotten for the nonce, arguments set aside, in the -excitement of welcoming the quality. - -Three young gallants in travelling clothes, smart of appearance and -debonair of mien, were ushering a party of strangers--three ladies and -two men--into the hospitable porch of _The Fisherman's Rest._ The little -party had walked across from the inner harbour, where the graceful masts -of an elegant schooner lately arrived in port were seen gently swaying -against the delicately coloured afternoon sky. Three or four sailors -from the schooner were carrying luggage, which they deposited in the -hall of the inn, then touched their forelocks in response to a pleasant -smile and nod from the young lords. - -"This way, my lord," Master Jellyband reiterated with jovial -obsequiousness. "Everything is ready. This way! Hey, Sallee!" he called -again; and Sally, hot, excited, blushing, came tripping over from the -kitchen, wiping her hot, plump palms against her apron in anticipation -of shaking hands with their lordships. - -"Since Mr. Waite isn't anywhere about," my lord Hastings said gaily, as -he put a bold arm round Mistress Sally's dainty waist, "I'll e'en have a -kiss, my pretty one." - -"And I, too, by gad, for old sake's sake!" Lord Tony asserted, and -planked a hearty kiss on Mistress Sally's dimpled cheek. - -"At your service, my lords, at your service!" Master Jellyband rejoined, -laughing. Then added more soberly: "Now then, Sally, show the ladies up -into the blue room, the while their lordships 'ave a first shake down in -the coffee-room. This way, gentlemen--your lordships--this way!" - -The strangers in the meanwhile had stood by, wide-eyed and somewhat -bewildered in face of this exuberant hilarity which was so unlike what -they had pictured to themselves of dull, fog-ridden England--so unlike, -too, the dreary moroseness which of late had replaced the erstwhile -light-hearted gaiety of their own countrymen. The porch and the narrow -hall of _The Fisherman's Rest_ appeared to them seething with vitality. -Every one was talking, nobody seemed to listen; every one was merry, and -every one knew everybody else and was pleased to meet them. Sonorous -laughter echoed from end to end along the solid beams, black and shiny -with age. It all seemed so homely, so happy. The deference paid to the -young gallants and to them as strangers by the sailors and the innkeeper -was so genuine and hearty, without the slightest sign of servility, that -those five people who had left behind them so much class-hatred, enmity -and cruelty in their own country, felt an unaccountable tightening of -the heart, a few hot tears rise to their eyes, partly of joy, but partly -too of regret. - - - - -§4 - - -Lord Hastings, the youngest and merriest of the English party, guided -the two Frenchmen toward the coffee-room, with many a jest in atrocious -French and kindly words of encouragement, all intended to put the -strangers at their ease. - -Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes--a trifle more serious and -earnest, yet equally happy and excited at the success of their perilous -adventure and at the prospect of reunion with their wives--lingered a -moment longer in the hall, in order to speak with the sailors who had -brought the luggage along. - -"Do you know aught of Sir Percy?" Lord Tony asked. - -"No, my lord," the sailor gave answer; "not since he went ashore early -this morning. 'Er Ladyship was waitin' for 'im on the pier. Sir Percy -just ran up the steps and then 'e shouted to us to get back quickly. -'Tell their lordships,' 'e says, 'I'll meet them at _The Rest._' And then -Sir Percy and 'er ladyship just walked off and we saw naun more of -them." - -"That was many hours ago," Sir Andrew Ffoulkes mused with an inward -smile. He too saw visions of meeting his pretty Suzanne very soon, and -walking away with her into the land of dreams. - -"'Twas just six o'clock when Sir Percy 'ad the boat lowered," the sailor -rejoined. "And we rowed quick back after we landed 'im. But the -_Day-Dream_, she 'ad to wait for the tide. We wurr a long while gettin' -into port." - -Sir Andrew nodded. - -"You don't know," he said, "if the skipper had any further orders?" - -"I don't know, sir," the man replied. "But we mun be in readiness -always. No one knows when Sir Percy may wish to set sail again." - -The two young men said nothing more, and presently the sailors touched -their forelocks and went away. Lord Tony and Sir Andrew exchanged -knowing smiles. They could easily picture to themselves their beloved -chief, indefatigable, like a boy let out from school, exhilarated by the -deadly danger through which he had once more passed unscathed, clasping -his adored wife in his arms and wandering off with her, heaven knew -whither, living his life of joy and love and happiness during the brief -hours which his own indomitable energy, his reckless courage, accorded -to the sentimental side of his complex nature. - -Far too impatient to wait until the tide allowed the _Day-Dream_ to get -into port, he had been rowed ashore in the early dawn, and his beautiful -Marguerite--punctual to the assignation conveyed to her by one of those -mysterious means of which Percy alone knew the secret--was there ready -to receive him, to forget in the shelter of his arms the days of racking -anxiety and of cruel terror for her beloved through which she had again -and again been forced to pass. - -Neither Lord Tony nor Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, the Scarlet Pimpernel's most -faithful and devoted lieutenants, begrudged their chief these extra -hours of bliss, the while they were left in charge of the party so -lately rescued from horrible death. They knew that within a day or -two--within a few hours, perhaps--Blakeney would tear himself away once -more from the clinging embrace of his exquisite wife, from the comfort -and luxury of an ideal home, from the adulation of friends, the -pleasures of wealth and of fashion, in order mayhap to grovel in the -squalor and filth of some outlandish corner of Paris, where he could be -in touch with the innocents who suffered--the poor, the terror-stricken -victims of the merciless revolution. Within a few hours, mayhap, he -would be risking his life again every moment of the day, in order to -save some poor hunted fellow-creature--man, woman or child--from death -that threatened them at the hands of inhuman monsters who knew neither -mercy nor compunction. - -As for the nineteen members of the League, they took it in turns to -follow their leader where danger was thickest. It was a privilege -eagerly sought, deserved by all, and accorded to those who were most -highly trusted. It was invariably followed by a period of rest in happy -England, with wife, friends, joy and luxury. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord -Anthony Dewhurst and my lord Hastings had been of the expedition which -brought Mme. de Serval with her three children and Bertrand Moncrif -safely to England, after adventures more perilous, more reckless of -danger, than most. Within a few hours they would be free to forget in -the embrace of clinging arms every peril and every adventure save the -eternal one of love, free to forswear everything outside that, save -their veneration for their chief and their loyalty to his cause. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -THE CASTAWAY - - -§1 - - -An excellent dinner served by Mistress Sally and her attendant little -wenches put everybody into rare good-humour. Madame de Serval--pale, -delicate, with gentle, plaintive voice and eyes that had acquired a -pathetically furtive look--even contrived to smile, her heart warmed by -the genuine welcome, the rare gaiety that irradiated this fortunate -corner of God's earth. Wars and rumours of war reached it only as an -echo of great things that went on in the vast outside world; and though -more than one of Dover's gallant sons had perished in one or the other -of the Duke of York's unfortunate incursions into Holland, or in one of -the numerous naval engagements off the Western shores of France, on the -whole, the war, intermittent and desultory, had not yet cast its heavy -gloom over the entire country. - -Joséphine and Jacques de Serval, whose enthusiasm for martyrdom had -received so severe a check in the course of the Fraternal Supper in the -Rue St. Honoré, had at first with the self-consciousness of youth -adopted an attitude of obstinate and irreclaimable sorrow, until the -antics of Master Harry Waite, pretty Sally's husband--jealous as a young -turkey-cock of every gallant who dared to ogle his buxom wife--brought -laughter to their lips. My lord Hastings' comical attempts at speaking -French, the droll mistakes he made, easily did the rest; and soon their -lively, high-pitched Latin voices mingled with unimpaired gaiety with -the more mellow sound of Anglo-Saxon tongues. - -Even Régine de Serval had smiled when my lord Hastings had asked her -with grave solemnity whether Mme. de Serval would wish "le fou de -descendre"--the lunatic to come downstairs--meaning all the while -whether she wanted the fire in the big hearth to be let down, seeing -that the atmosphere in the coffee-room was growing terribly hot. - -The only one who seemed quite unable to shake off his moroseness was -Bertrand Moncrif. He sat next to Régine, silent, somewhat sullen, a -look that seemed almost one of dull resentment lingering in his eyes. -From time to time, when he appeared peculiarly moody or when he refused -to eat, her little hand would steal out under the table and press his -with a gentle, motherly gesture. - - - - -§2 - - -It was when the merry meal was over and while Master Jellyband was going -the round with a fine bottle of smuggled brandy, which the young -gentlemen sipped with unmistakable relish, that a commotion arose -outside the inn; whereupon Master Harry Waite ran out of the coffee-room -in order to see what was amiss. - -Nothing very much apparently. Waite came back after a moment or two and -said that two sailors from the barque _Angela_ were outside with a young -French lad, who seemed more dead than alive, and whom it appears the -barque had picked up just outside French waters, in an open boat, half -perished with terror and inanition. As the lad spoke nothing but French, -the sailors had brought him along to _The Fisherman's Rest_, thinking -that maybe some of the quality would care to interrogate him. - -At once Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, my lord Tony and Lord Hastings were on the -qui vive. A lad in distress, coming from France, found alone in an open -boat, suggested one of those tragedies in which the League of the -Scarlet Pimpernel was wont to play a rôle. - -"Let the lad be taken into the parlour, Jellyband," Sir Andrew -commanded. "You've got a fire there, haven't you?" - -"Yes, yes, Sir Andrew! We always keep fires going here until past the -15th of May." - -"Well then, get him in there. Then give him some of your smuggled brandy -first, you old dog! then some wine and food. After that we'll find out -something more about him." - -He himself went along in order to see that his orders were carried out -Jellyband, as usual, had already deputed his daughter to do the -necessary, and in the hall there was Mistress Sally, capable and -compassionate, supporting, almost carrying, a youth who in truth -appeared scarce able to stand. - -She led him gently into the small private parlour, where a cheerful -log-fire was blazing, sat him down in an arm-chair beside the hearth, -after which Master Jellyband himself poured half a glass of brandy down -the poor lad's throat. This revived him a little, and he looked about -him with huge, scared eyes. - -"Sainte Mère de Dieu!" he murmured feebly. "Where am I?" - -"Never mind about that now, my lad," replied Sir Andrew, whose knowledge -of French was of a distinctly higher order than that of his comrades. -"You are among friends. That is enough. Have something to eat and drink -now. Later we'll talk." - -He was eyeing the boy keenly. Contact with suffering and misery over -there in France, under the leadership of the most selfless, most -understanding man of this or any time, had intensified his powers of -perception. Even the first glance had revealed to him the fact that here -was no ordinary waif. The lad spoke with a gentle, highly refined voice; -his skin was delicate, and his face exquisitely beautiful; his hands, -though covered with grime, and his feet, encased in huge, coarse boots, -were small and daintily shaped, like those of a woman. Already Sir -Andrew had made up his mind that if the oilskin cap which sat so -extraordinarily tightly on the boy's head were to be removed, a wealth -of long hair would certainly he revealed. - -However, all these facts, which threw over the young stranger a further -veil of mystery, could not in all humanity he investigated now. Sir -Andrew Ffoulkes, with the consummate tact born of kindliness, left the -lad alone as soon as he appeared able to sit up and eat, and himself -rejoined his friends in the coffee-room. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -THE NEST - - -§1 - - -No one, save a very few intimates, knew of the little nest wherein Sir -Percy Blakeney and his lady hid their happiness on those occasions when -the indefatigable Scarlet Pimpernel was only able to spend a few hours -in England, and when a journey to their beautiful home in Richmond could -not be thought of. The house--it was only a cottage, timbered and -creeper-clad--lay about a mile and half outside Dover off the main road, -perched up high on rising ground over a narrow lane. It had a small -garden round it, which in May was ablaze with daffodils and bluebells, -and in June with roses. Two faithful servants, a man and his wife, -looked after the place, kept the nest cosy and warm whenever her -ladyship wearied of fashion, or else, actually expecting Sir Percy, -would come down from London for a day or two in order to dream of that -elusive and transient happiness for which her soul hungered, even while -her indomitable spirit accepted the inevitable. - -A few days ago the weakly courier from France had brought her a line -from Sir Percy, together with the promise that she should rest in his -arms on the 1st of May. And Marguerite had come down to the -creeper-covered cottage knowing that, despite obstacles which might -prove insuperable to others, Percy would keep his word. - -She had stolen out at dawn to wait for him on the pier; and sure enough, -as soon as the May day sun, which had risen to-day in his glory as if to -crown her brief happiness with warmth and radiance, had dissipated the -morning mist, her yearning eyes had spied the smart white gig which had -put off from the _Day-Dream_, leaving the graceful ship to await the -turn of the tide before putting into port. - -Since then, every moment of the day had been one of rapture. The first -sight of her husband in his huge caped coat, which seemed to add further -inches to his great height, his call of triumph when he saw her, his -arms outstretched, there, far away in the small boat, with a gesture of -such infinite longing that for a second or two tears obscured -Marguerite's vision. Then the drawing up of the boat against the -landing-stage; Percy's spring ashore; his voice, his look; the strength -of his arms; the ardour of his embrace. Rapture, in truth, to which the -thought of its brief duration alone lent a touch of bitterness. - -But of parting again Marguerite would not think--not to-day, while the -birds were singing a deafening pæon of joy; not while the scent of -growing grass, of moist, travailing earth, was in her nostrils; not -while the sap was in the trees, and the gummy crimson buds of the -chestnuts were bursting into leaf. Not while she wandered up the narrow -lane between hedges of blackthorn in bloom, with Percy's arm around her, -his loved voice in her ear, his merry laughter echoing through the sweet -morning air. - -After that, breakfast in the low, raftered room--the hot, savoury milk, -the home-baked bread, the home-churned butter. Then the long, delicious, -intimate talk of love, and of yearnings, of duty and gallant deeds. -Blakeney kept nothing secret from his wife; and what he did not tell -her, that she easily guessed. But it was from the members of the League -that she learned all there was to know of heroism and selflessness in -the perilous adventures through which her husband passed with so -light-hearted a gaiety. - -"You should see me as an asthmatic reprobate, m'dear," he would say, -with his infectious laugh. "And hear that cough! Lud love you, but I am -mightily proud of that cough! Poor old Rateau does not do it better -himself; and he is genuinely asthmatic." - -He gave her an example of his prowess; but she would not allow him to go -on. The sound was too weird, and conjured up visions which to-day she -would fain forget. - -"Rateau was a real find," he went on more seriously; "because he is -three parts an imbecile and as obedient as a dog. When some of those -devils are on my track, lo! the real Rateau appears and yours truly -vanishes where no one can find him!" - -"Pray God," she murmured involuntarily, "they never may!" - -"They won't, m'dear, they won't!" he asserted with light-hearted -conviction. "They have become so confused now between Rateau the -coalheaver, the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, and the problematic -English milor, that all three of these personalities can appear before -their eyes and they will let 'em all escape! I assure you that the -confusion between the Scarlet Pimpernel who was in the antechamber of -Mother Théot on that fateful afternoon, and again at the Fraternal -Supper in the Rue St Honoré, and the real Rateau who was at Mother -Théot's while that same exciting supper party was going on, was so -great that not one of those murdering reprobates could trust his own -eyes and ears, and that we got away as easily as rabbits out of a torn -net." - -Thus did he explain and laugh over the perilous adventure where he had -faced a howling mob disguised as Rateau the coalheaver, and with almost -superhuman pluck and boldness had dragged Mme. de Serval and her -children into the derelict house which was one of the League's -headquarters. That is how he characterised the extraordinary feat of -audacity when, in order to give his gallant lieutenants time to smuggle -the unfortunates out of the house through a back and secret way, he -showed himself on the balcony above the multitude, and hurled dummy -figures into the brazier below. Then came the story of Bertrand Moncrif, -snatched half-unconscious out of the apartment of fair Theresia -Cabarrus, whilst Robespierre himself sat not half a dozen yards away, -with only the thickness of a wall between him and his arch-enemy. - -"How the woman must hate you!" Marguerite murmured, with a slight -shudder of acute anxiety which she did her best to conceal. "There are -things that a woman like the Cabarrus will never forgive. Whether she -cares for Bertrand Moncrif or no, her vanity will suffer intensely, and -she will never forgive you for taking him out of her clutches." - -He laughed. - -"Lud, m' dear!" he said lightly. "If we were to take heed of all the -people who hate us we should spend our lives pondering rather than -doing. And all I want to ponder over," he added, whilst his glance of -passionate earnestness seemed to envelop her like an exquisite, warm -mantle, "is your beauty, your eyes, the scent of your hair, the -delicious flavour of your kiss!" - - - - -§2 - - -It was some hours later on that same glorious day, when the shadows of -ash and chestnut lay right across the lane and the arms of evening -folded the cosy nest in their mysterious embrace, that Sir Percy and -Marguerite sat in the deep window-embrasure of the tiny living-room. He -had thrown open wide the casements, and hand resting in hand, they -watched the last ray of golden light lingering in the west and listened -to the twitterings which came like tender "good nights" from the -newly-built nests among the trees. - -It was one of those perfect spring evenings, rare enough in northern -climes, without a breath of wind, when every sound carries clear and -sharp through the stillness around. The air was soft and slightly moist, -with a tang in it of wakening life and of rising sap, and with the scent -of wild narcissus and of wood violets rising like intoxicating incense -to the nostrils. It was in truth one of those evenings when happiness -itself seems rudely out of place and nature--exquisite, but so cruelly -transient in her loveliness--demands the tribute of gentle melancholy. - -A thrush said something to its mate--something insistent and tender that -lulled them both to rest. After that, Nature became quite still, and -Marguerite, with a catch in her throat which she would have given much -to suppress, laid her head upon her husband's breast. - -Then it was that suddenly a man's voice, hoarse but distinct, broke in -upon the perfect peace around. What it said could not at first be -gathered. It took some time ere Marguerite became sufficiently conscious -of the disturbing noise to raise her head and listen. As for Sir Percy, -he was wrapped in the contemplation of the woman he worshipped, and -nothing short of an earthquake would have dragged him back to reality, -had not Marguerite raised herself on her knees and quickly whispered: - -"Listen!" - -The man's voice had been answered by a woman's, raised as if in defiance -that seemed both pitiful and futile. - -"You cannot harm me now. I am in England!" - -Marguerite leaned out of the window, tried to peer into the darkness -which was fast gathering over the lane. The voices had come from there: -first the man's, then the woman's, and now the man's again; both -speaking in French, the woman obviously terrified and pleading, the man -harsh and commanding. Now it was raised again, more incisive and -distinct than before, and Marguerite had in truth some difficulty in -repressing the cry that rose to her lips. She had recognized the man's -voice. - -"Chauvelin!" she murmured. - -"Aye, in England, citoyenne!" that ominous voice went on dryly. "But the -arm of justice is long. And remember that you are not the first who has -tried--unsuccessfully, let me tell you!--to evade punishment by flying -to the enemies of France. Wherever you may hide, I will know how to find -you. Have I not found you here, now?--and you but a few hours in Dover?" - -"But you cannot touch me!" the woman protested with the courage of one -in despair. - -The man laughed. - -"Are you really simple enough, citoyenne," he said, "to be convinced of -that?" - -This sarcastic retort was followed by a moment or two of silence, then -by a woman's cry; and in an instant Sir Percy was on his feet and out of -the house. Marguerite followed him as far as the porch, whence the -sloping ground, aided by flagged steps here and there, led down to the -gate and thence on to the lane. - -It was close beside the gate that a human-looking bundle lay huddled, -when Sir Percy came upon the scene, even whilst, some fifty yards away -at the sharp bend of the lane, a man could be seen walking rapidly away, -his pace wellnigh at a run. Sir Percy's instinct was for giving chase, -but the huddled-up figure put out a pair of arms and clung to him so -desperately, with smothered cries of: "For pity's sake, don't leave me!" -that it would have been inhuman to go. And so he bent down, raised the -human bundle from the ground, and carried it bodily up into the house. - -Here he deposited his burden upon the window seat, where but a few -moments ago he had been wrapped in the contemplation of Marguerite's -eyelashes, and with his habitual quaint good-humour, said: - -"I leave the rest to you, m'dear. My French is too atrocious for dealing -with the case." - -Marguerite understood the hint. Sir Percy, whose command of French was -nothing short of phenomenal, never used the language save when engaged -in his perilous undertakings. His perfect knowledge of every idiom would -have set any ill-intentioned eavesdropper thinking. - - - - -§3 - - -The human bundle looked very pathetic lying there upon the window seat, -propped up with cushions. It appeared to be a youth, dressed in rough -fisherman's clothes and with a cap that fitted tightly round the head; -but with hands delicate as a woman's and a face of exquisite beauty. - -Without another word, Marguerite quietly took hold of the cap and gently -removed it. A wealth of blue-black hair fell like a cascade over the -recumbent shoulders. "I thought as much!" Sir Percy remarked quietly, -even whilst the stranger, apparently terrified, jumped up and burst into -tears, moaning piteously: - -"Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Sainte Vierge, protégez-moi!" - -There was nothing to do but to wait; and anon the first paroxysm of -grief and terror passed. The stranger, with a wry little smile, took the -handkerchief which Lady Blakeney was holding out to her and proceeded to -dry her tears. Then she looked up at the kind Samaritans who had -befriended her. - -"I am an impostor, I know," she said, with lips that quivered like those -of a child in grief. "But if you only knew. . .!" - -She sat bolt upright now, squeezing and twirling the wet handkerchief -between her fingers. - -"Some kind English gentlemen were good to me, down in the town," she -went on more glibly. "They gave me food and shelter, and I was left -alone to rest. But I felt stifled in the narrow room. I could hear every -one talking and laughing, and the evening air was so beautiful. So I -ventured out. I only meant to breathe a little fresh air; but it was all -so lovely, so peaceful . . . here in England . . . so different -to . . ." - -She shuddered a little and looked as if she was going to cry again. But -Marguerite interposed gently: - -"So you prolonged your walk, and found this lane?" - -"Yes. I prolonged my walk," the woman replied. "I did not notice that -the road had become lonely. Then suddenly I realized that I was being -followed, and I ran. Mon Dieu, how I ran! Whither, I knew not! I just -felt that something horrible was at my heels!" - -Her eyes, dilated with terror, looked as black as sloes. They were fixed -upon Marguerite, never once raised on Sir Percy, who, standing some way -apart from the two women, was looking down on them, silent and -apparently unmoved. - -The stranger shuddered again; her face was almost grey in its expression -of fear, and her lips seemed quite bloodless. Marguerite gave her -trembling hands an encouraging pat. - -"It was lucky," she said gently, "that you found your way here." - -"I had seen the light," the woman continued more calmly. "And I believe -that at the back of my mind there was the instinct to run for shelter. -Then suddenly my foot knocked against a stone, and I fell. I tried to -raise myself quickly, but I had not the time, for the next moment I felt -a hand on my shoulder, and a voice--oh, a voice I dread, -citoyenne!--called to me by name." - -"The voice of citizen Chauvelin?" Marguerite asked simply. - -The woman looked up quickly. - -"You knew----?" she murmured. - -"I knew his voice." - -"But you know him?" the other insisted. - -"I know him--yes," Marguerite replied. "I am a compatriot of yours. -Before I married, I was Marguerite St. Just." - -"St. Just?" - -"We are cousins, my brother and I, of the young deputy, the friend of -Robespierre." - -"God help you!" the woman murmured. - -"He has done so already, by bringing us both to England. My brother is -married, and I am Lady Blakeney now. You too will feel happy and safe -now that you are here." - -"Happy?" the woman ejaculated, with a piteous sob. "And safe? Mon Dieu, -if only I could think it!" - -"But what have you to fear? Chauvelin may have retained some semblance -of power over in France. He has none over here." - -"He hates me!" the other murmured. "Oh, how he hates me!" - -"Why?" - -The stranger made no immediate reply. Her eyes, dark as the night, -glowing and searching, seemed to read the very soul behind Marguerite's -serene brow. Then after awhile she went on, with seeming irrelevance: - -"It all began so foolishly! . . . mon Dieu, how foolishly! And I really -meant nothing treacherous to my own country--nothing unpatriotic, quoi?" -She suddenly seized Marguerite's two hands and exclaimed with childlike -enthusiasm: "You have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel, have you not?" - -"Yes," Marguerite replied. "I have heard of him." - -"You know then that he is the finest, bravest, most wonderful man in all -the world?" - -"Yes, I know that," Marguerite assented with a smile. - -"Of course, in France they hate him. Naturally! He is the enemy of the -republic, quoi? He is against all those massacres, the persecution of -the innocent. He saves them and helps them when he can. So they hate -him. Naturally." - -"Naturally!" - -"But I have always admired him," the woman continued, enthusiasm glowing -in her dark eyes. "Always; always! Ever since I heard what he had done, -and how he saved the Comte de Tournai, and Juliette Marny, and Esther -Vincent, and--and countless others. Oh, I knew about them all! For I -knew Chauvelin well, and one or two of the men on the Committee of -Public Safety quite intimately, and I used to worm out of them all the -true facts about the Scarlet Pimpernel. Can you wonder that with my -whole soul I admired him? I worshipped him! I could have laid down my -life to help him! He has been the guiding star of my dreary life--my -hero and my king!" - -She paused, and those deep, dark eyes of hers were fixed straight out -before her, as if in truth she beheld the hero of her dreams. There was -a glow now in her cheeks, and her marvellous hair fell like a sable -mantle around her, framing the perfect oval of the face and enhancing by -vivid contrast the creamy whiteness of chin and throat and the rose-like -bloom that had spread over her face. Indeed, this was an exquisitely -beautiful creature, and Marguerite, herself one of the loveliest women -of her time, was carried away by genuine, whole-hearted admiration for -the stranger, as well as by her enthusiasm, which, in very truth, seeing -its object, was a perfectly natural feeling. - -"So now," the woman concluded, coming back to the painful realities of -life with a shudder, which extinguished the light in her eyes and took -all the glow out of her cheeks, "so now you understand perhaps why -Chauvelin hates me!" - -"You must have been rather indiscreet," Marguerite remarked with a -smile. - -"I was, I suppose. And Chauvelin is so vindictive. He hates the Scarlet -Pimpernel. Out of a few words, foolishly spoken perhaps, he has made out -a case against me. A friend gave me warning. My name was already in the -hands of Foucquier-Tinville. You know what that means! Perquisition! -Arrest! Judgment! Then the guillotine! Oh, mon Dieu! And I had done -nothing!--nothing! I fled out of Paris. An influential friend just -contrived to arrange this for me. A faithful servant accompanied me. We -reached Boulogne. How, I know not! I was so weak, so ill, so wretched, I -hardly lived. I just allowed François--that was my servant--to take me -whithersoever he wished. But we had no passports, no papers--nothing! -And Chauvelin was on our track. We had to hide--in barns . . . in -pig-styes . . . anywhere! But we reached Boulogne at last . . . I had -some money, fortunately. We bribed a fisherman to let us have his boat. -Only a small boat--imagine! A rowing boat! And François and I alone in -it! But it meant our lives if we didn't go; and perhaps it meant our -lives if we went! A rowing boat on the great, big sea! . . . Fortunately -the weather was fine, and François said that surely we would meet an -English vessel which would pick us up. I was more dead than alive. And -François lifted me into the boat. And I just remember seeing the coast -of France receding, receding, receding--farther and farther from me. I -was so tired. It is possible that I slept. Then suddenly something woke -me. I was wide awake. I had heard a cry. I knew I had heard a cry, and -then a splash--an awful splash! I was wet through. One oar hung in the -rowlock; the other had gone. And François was not there. I was all -alone." - -She spoke in hard, jerky sentences, as if every word hurt her physically -as she uttered it. For the most part she was looking down on her hands, -that twitched convulsively and twisted the tiny wet handkerchief into a -ball. But now and again she looked up, not at Marguerite always, rather -at Sir Percy. Her glowing, tear-wet eyes fastened themselves on him from -time to time with an appealing or a defiant gaze. He appeared silent and -sympathetic, and his glance rested on her the whole while that she -spoke, with an expression of detached if kindly interest, as if he did -not quite understand everything that she said. Marguerite as usual was -full of tenderness and compassion. - -"How terribly you must have suffered!" she said gently. "But what -happened after that?" - -"Oh, I don't know! I don't know!" the poor woman resumed. "I was too -numbed, too dazed with horror and fear, to suffer very much. The boat -drifted on, I suppose. It was a beautiful, calm night. And the moon was -lovely. You remember the moon last night?" - -Marguerite nodded. - -"But I remember nothing after . . . after that awful cry . . . and the -splash! I suppose my poor François fainted or fell asleep . . . and -that he fell into the water. I never saw him again. . . . And I remember -nothing until--until I found myself on board a ship with a lot of rough -sailors around me, who seemed very kind. . . . They brought me ashore -and took me to a nice warm place, where some English gentlemen took -compassion on me. And . . . and . . . I have already told you the rest." - -She leaned back against the cushions of the seat as if exhausted with -the prolonged effort. Her hands seemed quite cold now, almost blue, and -Marguerite rose and closed the window behind her. - -"How kind and thoughtful you are!" the stranger exclaimed, and after a -moment added with a weary sigh, "I must not trespass longer on your -kindness. It is late now, and . . . I must go." - -She struggled to her feet, rose with obvious reluctance. - -"The inn where I was," she said. "It is not far?" - -"But you cannot go out alone," Marguerite rejoined. "You do not even -know the way!" - -"Ah, no! But perhaps your servant could accompany me . . . only as far -as the town. . . . After that, I can ask the way . . . I should no -longer be frightened." - -"You speak English then, Madame?" - -"Oh, yes! My father was a diplomat. He was in England once for four -years. I learned a little English. I have not forgotten it." - -"One of the servants shall certainly go with you. The inn you speak of -must be _The Fisherman's Rest_, since you found English gentlemen -there." - -"If Madame will allow me?" Sir Percy broke in, for the first time since -the stranger had embarked upon her narrative. - -The stranger looked up at him with a half-shy, half-eager smile. - -"You, milor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! I would be ashamed----" - -She paused, and her cheeks became crimson whilst she looked down in -utter confusion on her extraordinary attire. - -"I had forgotten," she murmured tearfully. "François made me put on -these awful clothes when we left Paris." - -"Then I must lend you a cloak for to-night," Marguerite interposed with -a smile. "But you need not mind your clothes, Madame. On this coast our -people are used to seeing unfortunate fugitives landing in every sort of -guise. To-morrow we must find you something wherein to travel to -London." - -"To London?" the stranger said with some eagerness. "Yes! I would wish -to go to London." - -"It will be quite easy. Mme. de Serval, with her son and two daughters -and another friend, is travelling by the coach to-morrow. You could join -them, I am sure. Then you would not be alone. You have money, Madame?" -Marguerite concluded, with practical solicitude. - -"Oh, yes!" the other replied. "I have plenty for present needs . . . in -a wallet . . . under my clothes. I was able to collect a little--and I -have not lost it I am not dependent," she added, with a smile of -gratitude. "And as soon as I have found my husband----" - -"Your husband?" Marguerite exclaimed. - -"M. le Marquis de Fontenay," the other answered simply. "Perhaps you -know him. You have seen him . . . in London? . . . Not?" - -Marguerite shook her head. - -"Not to my knowledge." - -"He left me--two years ago . . . cruelly . . . emigrated to -England . . . and I was left all alone in the world. . . . He saved his -own life by running away from France; but I--I could not go just -then . . . and so . . ." - -She seemed on the verge of breaking down again, then recovered herself -and continued more quietly: - -"That was my idea, you see; to find my husband one day. Now a cruel Fate -has forced me to fly from France; so I thought I would go to London and -perhaps some kind friends will help me to find M. de Fontenay. I have -never ceased to love him, though he was so cruel. And I think that . . . -perhaps . . . he also has not quite forgotten me." - -"That were impossible," Marguerite rejoined gently. "But I have friends -in London who are in touch with most of the émigrés here. We will see -what can be done. It will not be difficult, methinks, to find M. de -Fontenay." - -"You are an angel, milady!" the stranger exclaimed; and with a gesture -that was perfect in its suggestion of gracious humility, she took -Marguerite's hand and raised it to her lips. Then she once more mopped -her eyes, picked up her cap and hastily hid the wealth of her hair -beneath it. After which, she turned to Sir Percy. - -"I am ready, milor," she said. "I have intruded far too long as it is -upon your privacy. . . . But I am not brave enough to refuse your -escort. Milady, forgive me! I will walk fast, very fast, so that milor -will return to you very soon!" - -She wrapped herself up in the cloak which, at Lady Blakeney's bidding, -one of the servants had brought her, and a moment or two later the -stranger and Sir Percy were out of the house, whilst Marguerite remained -for awhile in the porch, listening to their retreating footsteps. - -There was a frown of puzzlement between her brows, a look of troubled -anxiety in her eyes. Somehow, the brief sojourn of that strange and -beautiful woman in her house had filled her soul with a vague feeling of -dread, which she tried vainly to combat. There was no real suspicion -against the woman in her heart--how could there be?--but -she--Marguerite--who as a rule was so compassionate, so understanding of -those misfortunes, to alleviate which Sir Percy was devoting his entire -life, felt cold and unresponsive in this case--most unaccountably so. -Mme. de Fontenay's story differed but little in all its grim detail of -misery and humiliation from the thousand and one other similar tales -which had been poured for the past three years into her sympathetic ear. -She had always understood, had always been ready to comfort and to help. -But this time she felt very much as if she had come across a sick or -wounded reptile, something weak and dumb and helpless, and yet withal -unworthy of compassion. - -However, Marguerite Blakeney was surely not the woman to allow such -fancies to dry the well of her pity. The gallant Scarlet Pimpernel was -not wont to pause in his errands of mercy in order to reflect whether -the objects of his selfless immolation were worthy of it or no. So -Marguerite, with a determined little sigh, chided herself for her -disloyalty and cowardice, and having dried her tears she went within. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -A LOVER OF SPORT - - -§1 - - -For the first five minutes, Sir Percy Blakeney and Madame de Fontenay -walked side by side in silence. Then she spoke. - -"You are silent, milor?" she queried, speaking in perfect English. - -"I was thinking," he replied curtly. - -"What!" - -"That a remarkably fine actress is lost in the fashionable Theresia -Cabarrus." - -"Madame de Fontenay, I pray you, milor," she retorted dryly. - -"Theresia Cabarrus nevertheless. Madam Tallien probably to-morrow: for -Madame divorced that weak-kneed marquis as soon as the law 'contre les -émigrés' allowed her to regain her freedom." - -"You seem very well informed, milor." - -"Almost as well as Madame herself," he riposted with a pleasant laugh. - -"Then you do not believe my story?" - -"Not one word of it!" he replied. - -"Strange!" she mused. "For every word of it is true." - -"Demmed strange!" he assented. - -"Of course I did not tell all," she went on, with sudden vehemence. "I -could not. My lady would not understand. She has become--what shall I -say?--very English. Marguerite St. Just would understand . . . Lady -Blakeney--no?" - -"What would Lady Blakeney not understand!" - -"Eh bien! About Bertrand Moncrif." - -"Ah?" - -"You think I did harm to the boy . . . I know . . . you took him away -from me . . . You! The Scarlet Pimpernel! . . . You see, I know! I know -everything! Chauvelin told me . . ." - -"And guided you most dexterously to my door," he concluded with a -pleasant laugh. "There to enact a delicious comedy of gruff-voiced bully -and pathetic victim of a merciless persecution. It was all excellently -done! Allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations!" - -She said nothing for a moment or two, then queried abruptly: - -"You think that I am here in order to spy upon you!" - -"Oh!" he riposted lightly, "how could I be so presumptuous as to suppose -that the beautiful Cabarrus would bestow attention on so unworthy an -object as I?" - -"'Tis you now, milor," she rejoined drily, "who choose to play a rôle. -A truce on it, I pray you; and rather tell me what you mean to do." - -To this query he gave no reply, and his silence appeared to grate on -Theresia's nerves, for she went on harshly: - -"You will betray me to the police, of course. And as I am here without -papers----" - -He put up his hand with that gently deprecating gesture which was -habitual to him. - -"Oh!" he said, with his quiet little laugh, "why should you think I -would do anything so unchivalrous!" - -"Unchivalrous?" she retorted with a pathetic sigh of weariness. "I -suppose, here in England, it would be called an act of patriotism or -self-preservation . . . like fighting an enemy . . . or denouncing a -spy----" - -She paused for a moment or two, and as he once more took refuge in -silence, she resumed with sudden, moving passion: - -"So it is to be a betrayal after all! The selling of an unfortunate -woman to her bitterest enemy! Oh, what wrong have I ever done you, that -you should persecute me thus?" - -"Persecute you?" he exclaimed. "Pardi, Madame; but this is a subtle joke -which by your leave my dull wits are unable to fathom." - -"It is no joke, milor," she rejoined earnestly. "Will you let me -explain? For indeed it seems to me that we are at cross purposes, you -and I." - -She came to a halt, and he perforce had to do likewise. They had come -almost to the end of the little lane; a few yards farther on it -debouched on the main road. Beyond that, the lights of Dover Town and -the Harbour lights glinted in the still, starry night. Behind them the -lane, sunk between grassy slopes and overhung by old elms of fantastic -shapes, appeared dark and mysterious. But here, where they stood, the -moon shed its full radiance on the broad highway, the clump of copper -beeches over on the left, that tiny cottage with its thatched roof -nestling at the foot of the cliff; and far away, on the picturesque mass -of Dover Castle, the church and towers. Every bit of fencing, every tiny -twig in the hawthorn hedges, stood out clear cut, sharp like metal in -the cold, searching light. Theresia--divinely slender and divinely tall, -graceful despite the rough masculine clothes which she wore--stood -boldly in the full light; the tendrils of her jet black hair were gently -stirred by an imperceptible breeze, her eyes, dark and luminous, were -fixed upwards at the man whom she had set out to subjugate. - -"That boy," she went on quite gently, "Bertrand Moncrif, was just a -young fool. But I liked him, and I could see the abyss to which his -folly was tending. There was never anything but friendship between us; -but I knew that sooner or later he would run his head into a noose, and -then what good would his pasty-faced sweetheart have been to him? Whilst -I--I had friends, influence--quoi? And I liked the boy; I was sorry for -him. Then the catastrophe came . . . the other night. There was what -those ferocious beasts over in Paris were pleased to call a Fraternal -Supper. Bertrand Moncrif was there. Like a young fool, he started to -vilify Robespierre--Robespierre, who is the idol of France! There!--in -the very midst of the crowd! They would have torn him limb from limb, it -seems. I don't know just what happened, for I wasn't there; but he came -to my apartment--at midnight--dishevelled--his clothes torn--more dead -than alive. I gave him shelter; I tended him. Yes, I!--even whilst -Robespierre and his friends were in my house, and I risked my life every -moment that Bertrand was under my roof! Chauvelin suspected something -then. Oh, I knew it! Those awful pale, deep-set eyes of his seemed to be -searching my soul all the time! At which precise moment you came and -took Bertrand away, I know not. But Chauvelin knew. He saw--he saw, I -tell you! He had not been with us the whole time, but in and out of the -apartment on some pretext or other. Then, after the others had left, he -came back, accused me of having harboured not only Bertrand, but the -Scarlet Pimpernel himself!--swore that I was in league with the English -spies and had arranged with them to smuggle my lover out of my house. -Then he went away. He did not threaten. You know him as well as I do. -Threatening is not his way. But from his look I knew that I was doomed. -Luckily I had François. We packed up my few belongings then and there. -I left my woman Pepita in charge, and I fled. As for the rest, I swear -to you that it all happened just as I told it to milady. You say you do -not believe me. Very well! Will you then take me away from this -sheltered land, which I have reached after terrible sufferings? Will you -send me back to France, and drive me to the arms of a man who but waits -to throw me into the tumbril with the next batch of victims for the -guillotine? You have the power to do it, of course. You are in England; -you are rich, influential, a power in your own country; whilst I am an -alien, a political enemy, a refugee, penniless and friendless. You can -do with me what you will, of course. But if you do _that_, milor, my -blood will stain your hands for ever; and all the good you and your -League have ever done in the cause of humanity will be wiped out by this -execrable crime." - -She spoke very quietly and with soul-moving earnestness. She was also -exquisitely beautiful. Sir Percy Blakeney had been more than human if he -had been proof against such an appeal, made by such perfect lips. Nature -itself spoke up for Theresia: the softness and stillness of the night; -the starlit sky and the light of the moon; the scent of wood violets and -of wet earth, and the patter of tiny, mysterious feet in the hedgerows. -And the man whose whole life was consecrated to the relief of suffering -humanity and whose ears were for ever strained to hear the call of the -weak and of the innocent--he would far, far sooner have believed that -this beautiful woman was speaking the truth, rather than allow his -instinct of suspicion, his keen sense of what was untrustworthy and -dangerous, to steel his heart against her appeal. - -But whatever his thoughts might be, when she paused, wearied and shaken -with sobs which she vainly tried to suppress, he spoke to her quite -gently. - -"Believe me, dear lady," he said, "that I had no thought of wronging you -when I owned to disbelieving your story. I have seen so many strange -things in the course of my chequered career that, in verity, I ought to -know by now how unbelievable truth often appears." - -"Had you known me better, milor----" she began. - -"Ah, that is just it!" he rejoined quaintly. "I did not know you, -Madame. And now, meseems, that Fate has intervened, and that I shall -never have the chance of knowing you." - -"How is that?" she asked. - -But to this he gave no immediate answer, suggested irrelevantly: - -"Shall we walk on? It is getting late." - -She gave a little cry, as if startled out of a dream, then started to -walk by his side with her long, easy stride, so full of sinuous grace. -They went on in silence for awhile, down the main road now. Already they -had passed the first group of town houses, and _The Running Footman_, -which is the last inn outside the town. There was only the High Street -now to follow and the Old Place to cross, and _The Fisherman's Rest_ -would be in sight. - -"You have not answered my question, milor," Theresia said presently. - -"What question, Madame?" he asked. - -"I asked you how Fate could intervene in the matter of our meeting -again." - -"Oh!" he retorted simply. "You are staying in England, you tell me." - -"If you will deign to grant me leave," she said, with gentle submission. - -"It is not in my power to grant or to refuse." - -"You will not betray me--to the police?" - -"I have never betrayed a woman in my life." - -"Or to Lady Blakeney?" - -He made no answer. - -"Or to Lady Blakeney?" she insisted. - -Then, as he still gave no answer, she began to plead with passionate -earnestness. - -"What could she gain--or you--by her knowing that I am that unfortunate, -homeless waif, without kindred and without friends, Theresia -Cabarrus--the beautiful Cabarrus!--once the fiancée of the great Tallien, -now suspect of trafficking with her country's enemies in France . . . and -suspect of being a suborned spy in England! . . . My God, where -am I to go? What am I to do? Do not tell Lady Blakeney, milor! On -my knees I entreat you, do not tell her! She will hate me--fear -me--despise me! Oh, give me a chance to be happy! Give me--a chance--to -be happy!" - -Again she had paused and placed her hand on his arm. Once more she was -looking up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, her full red lips -quivering with emotion. And he returned her appealing, pathetic glance -for a moment or two in silence; then suddenly, without any warning, he -threw back his head and laughed. - -"By Gad!" he exclaimed. "But you are a clever woman!" - -"Milor!" she protested, indignant. - -"Nay: you need have no fear, fair one! I am a lover of sport. I'll not -betray you." - -She frowned, really puzzled this time. - -"I do not understand," she murmured. - -"Let us get back to _The Fisherman's Rest_," he retorted with -characteristic irrelevance. "Shall we?" - -"Milor," she insisted, "will you explain?" - -"There is nothing to explain, dear lady. You have asked me--nay! -challenged me--not to betray you to any one, not even to Lady Blakeney. -Very well! I accept your challenge. That is all." - -"You will not tell any one--any one, mind you!--that Mme. de Fontenay -and Theresia Cabarrus are one and the same?" - -"You have my word for that." - -She drew a scarce perceptible sigh of relief. - -"Very well then, milor," she rejoined. "Since I am allowed to go to -London, we shall meet there, I hope." - -"Scarcely, dear lady," he replied, "since I go to France to-morrow." - -This time she gave a little gasp, quickly suppressed--for she hoped -milor had not noticed. - -"You go to France to-morrow, milor?" she asked. - -"As I had the honour to tell you, I go to France to-morrow, and I leave -you a free hand to come and go as you please." - -She chose not to notice the taunt; but suddenly, as if moved by an -uncontrollable impulse, she said resolutely: - -"If you go, I shall go too." - -"I am sure you will, dear lady," he retorted with a smile. "So there -really is no reason why we should linger here. Our mutual friend M. -Chauvelin must be impatient to hear the result of this interview." - -She gave a cry of horror and indignation. - -"Oh! You--you still think that of _me?_" - -He stood there, smiling, looking down on her with that half-amused, lazy -glance of his. He did not actually say anything, but she felt that she -had her answer. With a moan of pain, like a child who has been badly -hurt, she turned abruptly, and burying her face in her hands, she sobbed -as if her heart would break. Sir Percy waited quietly for a moment or -two, until the first paroxysm of grief had quieted down, then he said -gently: - -"Madame, I entreat you to compose yourself and to dry your tears. If I -have wronged you in my thoughts, I humbly crave your pardon. I pray you -to understand that when a man holds human lives in his hands, when he is -responsible for the life and safety of those who trust in him, he must -be doubly cautious and in his turn trust no one. You have said yourself -that now at last in this game of life and death, which I and my friends -have played so successfully these last three years, I hold the losing -cards. Then must I watch every trick all the more closely, for a sound -player can win through the mistakes of his opponent, even if he hold a -losing hand." - -But she refused to be comforted. - -"You will never know, milor--never--how deeply you have wounded me," she -said through her tears. "And I, who for months past--ever since I -knew!--have dreamed of seeing the Scarlet Pimpernel one day! He was the -hero of my dreams, the man who stood alone in the mass of self-seeking, -vengeful, cowardly humanity as the personification of all that was fine -and chivalrous. I longed to see him--just once--to hold his hand--to -look into his eyes--and feel a better woman for the experience. Love? It -was not love I felt, but hero-worship, pure as one's love for a starlit -night or a spring morning, or a sunset over the hills. I dreamed of the -Scarlet Pimpernel, milor; and because of my dreams, which were too vital -for perfect discretion, I had to flee from home, suspected, vilified, -already condemned. Chance brings me face to face with the hero of my -dreams, and he looks on me as that vilest thing on earth: a spy!--a -woman who would lie to a man first and send him afterwards to his -death!" - -Her voice, though more passionate and intense, had nevertheless become -more steady. She had at last succeeded in controlling her tears. Sir -Percy had listened--quite quietly, as was his wont--to her strange -words. There was nothing that he could say to this beautiful woman who -was so ingenuously avowing her love for him. It was a curious situation, -and in truth he did not relish it--would have given quite a great deal -to see it end as speedily as possible. Theresia, fortunately, was -gradually gaining the mastery over her own feelings. She dried her eyes, -and after a moment or two, of her own accord, she started once more on -her way. - -Nor did they speak again with one another until they were under the -porch of _The Fisherman's Rest._ Then Theresia stopped, and with a -perfectly simple gesture she held out her hand to Sir Percy. - -"We may never meet again on this earth, milor," she said quietly. -"Indeed, I shall pray to le bon Dieu to keep me clear of your path." - -He laughed good-humouredly. - -"I very much doubt, dear lady," he said, "that you will be in earnest -when you utter that prayer!" - -"You choose to suspect me, milor; and I'll no longer try to combat your -mistrust. But to one more word you must listen: Remember the fable of -the lion and the mouse. The invincible Scarlet Pimpernel might one day -need the help of Theresia Cabarrus. I would wish you to believe that you -can always count on it." - -She extended her hand to him, and hie took it, the while his -inveterately mocking glance challenged her earnest one. After a moment -or two he stooped and kissed her finger-tips. - -"Let me rather put it differently, dear lady," he said. "One day the -exquisite Theresia Cabarrus--the Egeria of the Terrorists, the fiancee -of the Great Tallien--might need the help of the League of the Scarlet -Pimpernel." - -"I would sooner die than seek your help, milor," she protested -earnestly. - -"Here in Dover, perhaps . . . but in France? . . . And you said you were -going back to France, in spite of Chauvelin and his pale eyes, and his -suspicions of you." - -"Since you think so ill of me," she retorted, "why should you offer me -your help?" - -"Because," he replied lightly, "with the exception of my friend -Chauvelin, I have never had so amusing an enemy; and it would afford me -intense satisfaction to render you a signal service." - -"You mean, that you would risk your life to save mine?" - -"No. I should not risk my life, dear lady," he said with his puzzling -smile. "But I should--God help me!--do my best, if the need arose, to -save yours." - -After which, with another ceremonious bow, he took final leave of her, -and she was left standing there, looking after his tall, retreating -figure until the turn of the street hid him from view. - -Who could have fathomed her thoughts and feelings at that moment? No -one, in truth; not even herself. Theresia Cabarrus had met many men in -her day, subjugated and fooled not a few. But she had never met any one -like this before. At one moment she had thought she had him: he appeared -moved, serious, compassionate, gave her his word that he would not -betray her; and in that word, her unerring instinct--the instinct of the -adventuress, the woman who succeeds by her wits as well as by her -charm--told her that she could trust. Did he fear her, or did he not? -Did he suspect her? Theresia could not say. She had no experience of -such men. As for the word "sport," she hardly knew its meaning; and yet -he had talked of not betraying her because he was "a lover of sport!" It -was all very puzzling, very mysterious. - -For a long while she remained standing in the porch. From the square bay -window on her right came the sound of laughter and chatter, issuing from -the coffee-room, whilst one or two noisy groups of sailors and their -girls passed her by, singing and laughing, down the street. But in the -porch, where she stood, the noisy world appeared distant, as if she were -alone in one of her own creation. She could, just by closing her eyes -and ears to the life around her, imagine she could still hear the merry, -lazy, drawling voice of the man she had set out to punish. She could -still see his tall figure and humorous face, with those heavy eyes that -lit up now and again with a strange, mysterious light, and the firm lips -ever ready to break into a smile. She could still see the man who so -loved sport that he swore not to betray her, and risked the chance, in -his turn, of falling into a trap. - -Well! he had defied and insulted her. The letter, which he left for her -after he had smuggled Bertrand Moncrif out of her apartment, rankled and -stung her pride as nothing had ever done before. Therefore the man must -be punished, and in a manner that would leave no doubt in his mind as to -whence came the blow that struck him. But it was all going to be very -much more difficult than the beautiful Theresia Cabarrus had allowed -herself to believe. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -REUNION - - -§1 - - -It was a thoughtful Theresia who turned into the narrow hall of _The -Fisherman's Rest_ a few moments later. The inn, when she left it earlier -in the evening, had still been all animation and bustle consequent on -the arrival of their lordships with the party of ladies and gentlemen -over from France, and the excitement of making all these grand folk -comfortable for the night. Theresia Cabarrus, in her disguise as a young -stowaway, had only aroused passing interest--refugees of every condition -and degree were frequent enough in these parts--and when awhile ago she -had slipped out in order to enact the elaborate rôle devised by her and -Chauvelin, she had done so unperceived. Since then, no doubt there had -been one or two cursory questions about the mysterious stowaway, who had -been left to feed and rest in the tiny living-room; but equally no -doubt, interest in him waned quickly when it was discovered that he had -gone, without as much as thanking those who had befriended him. - -The travellers from France had long since retired to their rooms, broken -with fatigue after the many terrible experiences they had gone through. -The young English gallants had gone, either to friends in the -neighbourhood or--in the case of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony -Dewhurst--ridden away in the early part of the evening, so as to reach -Ashford mayhap or Maidstone before nightfall, and thus lessen the -distance which still separated them from the loved ones at home. - -A good deal of noise and laughter was still issuing from the -coffee-room. Through the glass door Theresia could see the habitues of -_The Fisherman's Rest_--yokels and fisherfolk--sitting over their ale, -some of them playing cards or throwing dice. Mine host was there too, -engaged as usual in animated discussion with some privileged guests who -sat in the ingle-nook. - -Theresia slipped noiselessly past the glass door. Straight in front of -her a second passage ran at right angles; two or three steps led up to -it She tip-toed up these, and then looked about her, trying to -reconstruct in her mind the disposition of the various rooms. On her -left a glass partition divided the passage from the small parlour -wherein she had found shelter on her arrival. On her right the passage -obviously led to the kitchen, for much noise of crockery and shrill -feminine voices and laughter came from there. - -For a moment Theresia hesitated. Her original intention had been to find -Mistress Waite and see if a bed for the night were still available; but -a slight noise or movement issuing from the parlour caused her to turn. -She peeped through the glass partition. The room was dimly lighted by a -small oil-lamp which hung from the ceiling. A fire still smouldered in -the hearth, and beside it, sitting on a low stool staring into the -embers, his hands held between his knees, was Bertrand Moncrif. - -Theresia Cabarrus had some difficulty in smothering the cry of surprise -which had risen to her throat. Indeed, for the moment she thought that -the dim light and her own imaginative fancy was playing her a fantastic -trick. The next, she had opened the door quite noiselessly and slipped -into the room. Bertrand had not moved. Apparently he had not heard; or -if he had cursorily glanced up, he had disdained to notice the roughly -clad fellow who was disturbing his solitude. Certain it is that he -appeared absorbed in gloomy meditations; whilst Theresia, practical and -deliberate, drew the curtains together that hung in front of the glass -partition, and thus made sure that intruding eyes could not catch her -unawares. Then she murmured softly: - -"Bertrand!" - -He woke as from a dream, looked up and saw her. He passed a shaking hand -once or twice across his forehead, then suddenly realised that she was -actually there, near him, in the flesh. A hoarse cry escaped him, and -the next moment he was down on his knees at her feet, his arms around -her, his face buried in the folds of her mantle. - -Everything--anxiety, sorrow, even surprise--was forgotten in the joy of -seeing her. He was crying like a child, and murmuring her name in the -intervals of covering her knees, her hands, her feet in their rough -boots with kisses. She stood there, quite still, looking down on him, -yielding her hands to his caresses. Around her full red lips there was -an undefinable smile; but the light in her eyes was certainly one of -triumph. - -After awhile he rose, and she allowed him to lead her to an arm-chair by -the hearth. She sat down, and he knelt at her feet with one arm around -her waist, and his head against her breast. He had never in his life -been quite so exquisitely happy. This was not the imperious Theresia, -impatient and disdainful, as she had been of late--cruel even -sometimes, as on that last evening when he thought he would never see -her again. It was the Theresia of the early days in Paris, when first -she came back from Bordeaux, with a reputation for idealism as well as -for beauty and wit, and with a gracious acceptance of his homage which -had completely subjugated him. - -She insisted on hearing every detail of his escape out of Paris and out -of France, under the protection of the League and of the Scarlet -Pimpernel. In truth, he did not know who his rescuer was. He remembered -but little of that awful night when, after the terrible doings at the -Fraternal Supper, he had sought refuge in her apartment, and then -realised that, like a criminal and selfish fool, he was compromising her -precious life by remaining under her roof. - -He had resolved to go as soon as he was able to stand--resolved if need -be to give himself up at the nearest Poste de Section, when in a -semi-conscious state he became aware that some one was in the room with -him. He had not the time or the power to rouse himself and to look -about, when a cloth was thrown over his face and he felt himself lifted -off the chair bodily and carried away by powerful arms, whither he knew -not. - -After that, a great deal had happened--it all seemed indeed like a -dream. At one time he was with Régine de Serval in a coach; at others -with her brother Jacques, in a hut at night, lying on straw, trying to -get some sleep, and tortured with thoughts of Theresia and fear for her -safety. There were halts and delays, and rushes through the night. He -himself was quite dazed, felt like a puppet that was dragged hither and -thither in complete unconsciousness. Régine was constantly with him. -She did her best to comfort him, would try to wile away the weary hours -in the coach or in various hiding-places by holding his hand and talking -of the future--the happy future in England, when they would have a home -of their own, secure from the terrors of the past two years, peaceful in -complete oblivion of the cruel past. Happy and peaceful! My God! As if -there could be any happiness or peace for him, away from the woman he -worshipped! - -Theresia listened to the tale, for the most part in silence. From time -to time she would stroke his hair and forehead with her cool, gentle -hand. She did ask one or two questions, but these chiefly on the subject -of his rescuer: Had he seen him? Had he seen any of the English -gentlemen who effected his escape? - -Oh, yes! Bertrand saw a good deal of the three or four young gallants -who accompanied him and the party all the way from Paris. He only saw -the last of them here, in this inn, a few hours ago. One of them gave -him some money to enable him to reach London in comfort. They were very -kind, entirely unselfish. Mme. de Serval, Régine, and the others were -overwhelmed with gratitude, and oh, so happy! Joséphine and Jacques had -forgotten all about their duty to their country in their joy at finding -themselves united and safe in this new land. - -But the Scarlet Pimpernel himself, Theresia insisted, trying to conceal -her impatience under a veneer of tender solicitude--had Bertrand seen -him? - -"No!" Bertrand replied. "I never once set eyes on him, though it was he -undoubtedly who dragged me helpless out of your apartment. The others -spoke of him--always as 'the chief.' They seem to reverence him. He must -be fine and brave. Régine and her mother and the two young ones have -learned to worship him. Small wonder! seeing what he did for them at -that awful Fraternal Supper." - -"What did he do?" Theresia queried. - -And the story had to be told by Bertrand, just as he had had it straight -from Régine. The asthmatic coal-heaver--the quarrel--Robespierre's -arrival on the scene--the shouts--the mob. The terror of that awful -giant who had dragged them into the empty house, and there left them in -the care of others scarce less brave than himself. Then the -disguises--the wanderings through the streets--the deathly anxiety at -the gates of the city--the final escape in a laundry cart. Miracles of -self-abnegation! Wonders of ingenuity and of daring! What wonder that -the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel was one to be revered! - -"On my knees will I pay homage to him," Bertrand concluded fervently; -"since he brought you to my arms!" - -She had him by the shoulders, held him from her at arm's length, whilst -she looked--inquiring, slightly mocking--into his eyes. - -"Brought me to your arms, Bertrand?" she said slowly. "What do you -mean?" - -"You are here, Theresia," he riposted. "Safe in England . . . through -the agency of the Scarlet Pimpernel." - -She gave a hard, mirthless laugh. - -"Aye!" she said dryly; "through his agency. But not as you imagine, -Bertrand." - -"What do you mean?" - -"The Scarlet Pimpernel, my friend, after he had dragged you away from -the shelter which you had found under my roof, sent an anonymous -denunciation of me to the nearest Poste de Section, as having harboured -the traitor Moncrif and conspiring with him to assassinate Robespierre -whilst the latter was in my apartment." - -Bertrand uttered a cry of horror. - -"Impossible!" he exclaimed. - -"The chief Commissary of the Section," she went on glibly, -earnestly--never taking her eyes off his, "at risk of his life, gave me -warning. Aided by him and a faithful servant, I contrived to escape--out -of Paris first, then across country in the midst of unspeakable misery, -and finally out of the country in an open boat, until I was picked up by -a chance vessel and brought to this inn more dead than alive." - -She fell back against the cushion of the chair, her sinuous body shaken -with sobs. Bertrand, speechless with horror, could but try and soothe -his beloved as she had soothed him a while ago, when past terrors and -past bitter experiences had unmanned him. After a while she became more -calm, contrived to smile through her tears. - -"You see, Bertrand, that your gallant Scarlet Pimpernel is as merciless -in hate as he is selfless in love." - -"But why?" the young man ejaculated vehemently. "Why?" - -"Why he should hate me?" she rejoined with a pathetic little sigh and a -shrug of the shoulders. "Chien sabe, my friend! Of course, he does not -know that of late--ever since I have gained the regard of citizen -Tallien--my life has been devoted to intervening on behalf of the -innocent victims of our revolution. I suppose he takes me for the friend -and companion of all those ruthless Terrorists whom he abhors. He has -forgotten what I did in Bordeaux, and how I risked my life there, and -did so daily in Paris for the sake of those whom he himself befriends. -It may all be a question of misunderstanding," she added, with gentle -resignation, "but 'tis one that wellnigh did cost me my life." - -Bertrand folded her in his arms, held her against him, as if to shield -her with his body against every danger. It was his turn now to comfort -and to console, and she rested her head against his shoulder--a perfect -woman rather than an unapproachable divinity, giving him through her -weakness more exquisite bliss than he had ever dreamed of before. The -minutes sped on, winged with happiness, and time was forgotten in the -infinity of joy. - - - - -§2 - - -Theresia was the first to rouse herself from this dream of happiness and -oblivion. She glanced up at the clock. It was close upon ten. Confused, -adorable, she jumped to her feet. - -"You will ruin my reputation, Bertrand," she said with a smile, "thus -early in a strange land!" - -She would arrange with the landlord's daughter, she said, about a bed -for herself, as she was very tired. What did he mean to do? - -"Spend the night in this room," he replied, "if mine host will let me. I -could have such happy dreams here! These four walls will reflect your -exquisite image, and 'tis your dear face will smile down on me ere I -close mine eyes in sleep." - -She had some difficulty in escaping from his clinging arms, and 'twas -only the definite promise that she gave him to come back in a few -minutes and let him know what she had arranged, that ultimately enabled -him to let her go. Even so, he felt inexpressibly sad when she went, -watched her retreating figure, so supple and so quaint in the rough, -masculine clothes and the heavy mantle, as she walked resolutely down -the passage in the direction of the kitchen. From the coffee-room there -still came the sound of bustle and of merriment; but this little room -seemed so peaceful, so remote--a shrine, now that his goddess had -hallowed it by her presence. - -Bertrand drew a deep sigh, partly of happiness, partly of utter -weariness. He was more tired than he knew. She had promised to come back -and say good night . . . in a few minutes. . . . But the minutes seemed -leaden-footed now . . . and he was half-dead with fatigue. He threw -himself down on the hard, uncomfortable horsehair sofa, whereon he hoped -to pass the night if the landlord would let him, and glanced up at the -clock. Only three minutes since she had gone . . . of course she would -not be long . . . only a few more minutes ... a very few. . . . He -closed his eyes, for the lids felt heavy . . . of a surety he would hear -her come. . . - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -NIGHT AND MORNING - - -§1 - - -Theresia waited for a moment or two at the turn of the passage, until -her keen ear had told her that Bertrand was no longer on the watch and -had closed the door behind him. Then she retraced her steps--on tiptoe, -lest he should hear. - -She found her way to the front door; it was still on the latch. She -opened it and peered out into the night. The little porch was deserted, -but out there on the quay a few passers-by still livened the evening -with chatter or song. Theresia was on the point of stepping out of the -porch, when a familiar voice hailed her softly by name: - -"Citoyenne Cabarrus!" - -A man, dressed in dark clothes, with high boots and sugar-loaf hat, came -out from the dark angle behind the porch. - -"Not here!" Theresia whispered eagerly. "Out on the quay. Wait for me -there, my little Chauvelin. I'll be with you anon. I have so much to -tell you!" - -Silently, he did as she desired. She waited for a moment in the porch, -watching the meagre figure in the dark cloak making its way across to -the quay, then walking rapidly in the direction of the Pent. The moon -was dazzlingly brilliant. The harbour and the distant sea glistened like -diamond-studded sheets of silver. From afar there came the sound of the -castle clock striking ten. The groups of passers-by had dwindled down to -an occasional amorous couple strolling homewards, whispering soft -nothings and gazing enraptured at the moon; or half-a-dozen sailors -lolling down the quays arm in arm, on their way back to their ship, -obstructing the road, yelling and singing the refrain of the newest -ribald song; or perhaps a belated pedlar, weary of an unprofitable beat, -wending his way dejectedly home. - -One of these poor wretches--a cripple with a wooden leg and bent nearly -double with the heavy load on his back--paused for a moment beside the -porch, held out a grimy hand to Theresia, with a pitiable cry. - -"Of your charity, kind sir! Buy a little something from the pore ole -man, to buy a bit of bread!" - -He looked utterly woebegone, with lank grey hair blown about by the -breeze and a colourless face covered with sweat, that shone like painted -metal in the moonlight. - -"Buy a little something, kind sir!" he went on, in a shrill, throaty -voice. "I've a sick wife at 'ome, and pore little gran'childer!" - -Theresia--a little frightened, and not at all charitably inclined at -this hour--turned hastily away and went back into the house, whither the -cripple's vigorous curses followed her. - -"May Satan and all his armies----" - -She shut the door on him and hastened up the passage. That cadaverous -old reprobate had caused her to shudder as with the presentiment of -coming evil. - - - - -§2 - - -With infinite precaution, Theresia peeped into the room where she had -left Bertrand. She saw him lying on the sofa, fast asleep. - -On the table in the middle of the room there was an old ink-horn, a pen, -and a few loose sheets of paper. Noiseless as a mouse, Theresia slipped -into the room, sat at the table, and hurriedly wrote a few lines. -Bertrand had not moved. Having written her missive, Theresia folded it -carefully, and still on tiptoe, more stealthily even than before, she -slipped the paper between the young man's loosely clasped fingers. Then, -as soundlessly as she had come, she glided out of the room, ran down the -passage, and was out in the porch once more, breathless but relieved. - -Bertrand had not moved; and no one had seen her. Theresia only paused in -the porch long enough to recover her breath, then, without hesitation -and with rapid strides, she crossed over to the water's edge and walked -along in the direction of the Pent. - -Whereupon, the figure of the old cripple emerged from out the shadows. -He gazed after the fast retreating figure of Theresia for a moment or -two, then threw down his load, straightened out his back, and stretched -out his arms from the shoulders with a sigh of content After which -amazing proceedings he gave a soft, inward chuckle, unstrapped his -wooden leg, slung it with his discarded load across his broad shoulders, -and turning his back upon harbour and sea, turned up the High Street and -strode rapidly away. - - - - -§3 - - -When Bertrand Moncrif woke, the dawn was peeping in through the -uncurtained window. He felt cold and stiff. It took him some time to -realise where he was, to collect his scattered senses. He had been -dreaming . . . here in this room . . . Theresia had been here . . . and -she had laid her head against his breast and allowed him to soothe and -comfort her. Then she said that she would come back . . . and he . . . -like a fool . . . had fallen asleep. - -He jumped up, fully awake now; and as he did so a folded scrap of paper -fell out of his hand. He had not known that it was there when first he -woke, and somehow it appeared to be a part of his dream. As it lay there -on the sanded floor at his feet, it looked strangely ghostlike, ominous; -and it was with a trembling hand that, presently, he picked it up. - -Every minute now brought fuller daylight into the room; a grey, cold -light, for the window faced the south-west, showing a wide stretch of -the tidal harbour and the open sea beyond. The sun, not fully risen, had -not yet shed warmth over the landscape, and to Bertrand this colourless -dawn, the mysterious stillness which earth assumes just before it wakens -to the sun's kiss, seemed inexpressibly dreary and desolate. - -He went to the window and threw open the casement. Down below a kitchen -wench was busy scrubbing the flagged steps of the porch; over in the -inner harbour, one or two fishing vessels were preparing to put out to -sea; and from the tidal harbour, the graceful yacht which yesterday had -brought him--Bertrand--and his friends safely to this land of refuge, -was majestically gliding out, like a beautiful swan with gleaming wings -outspread. - -Controlling his apprehension, his nervousness, Bertrand at last -contrived to unfold the mysterious epistle. He read the few lines that -were traced with a delicate, feminine hand, and with a sigh of infinite -longing and of ardent passion, he pressed the paper to his lips. -Theresia had sent him a message. Finding him asleep, she had slipped it -into his hand. The marvel was that he did not wake when she stooped over -him, and perhaps even touched his forehead with her lips. - -"A kind soul," so the message ran, "hath taken compassion on me. There -was no room for me at the inn, and she has offered me a bed in her -cottage, somewhere close by. I do not know where it is. I have arranged -with the landlord that you shall be left undisturbed in the small room -where we found one another, and where the four walls will whisper to you -of me. Good night, my beloved! To-morrow you will go to London with the -de Servals. I will follow later. It is better so. In London you will -find me at the house of Mme. de Neufchateau, a friend of my father's who -lives at No. 54 in Soho Square, and who offered me hospitality in the -days when I thought I might visit London for pleasure. She will receive -me now that I am poor and an exile. Come to me there. Until then my -heart will feed on the memory of your kiss." - -The letter was signed "Theresia." - -Bertrand pressed it time and again to his lips. Never in his wildest -dreams had he hoped for this; never even in those early days of rapture -had he tasted such perfect bliss. The letter he hid against his breast. -He was immeasurably happy, felt as if he were treading on air. The sea, -the landscape, no longer looked grey and dreary. This was England, the -land of the free, the land wherein he had regained his beloved. Ah, the -mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, while seeking ignoble vengeance against -her, for sins which she never had committed, did in truth render him and -her a priceless service. Theresia, courted, adulated, over in Paris, had -been as far removed from Bertrand Moncrif as the stars; but here, where -she was poor and lonely, a homeless refugee like himself, she turned -instinctively to the faithful lover, who would gladly die to ensure her -happiness. - -With that letter in his possession, Bertrand felt that he could not -remain indoors. He was pining for open spaces, the sea, the mountains, -God's pure air--the air which she too was breathing even now. He -snatched up his hat and made his way out of the little building. The -kitchen wench paused in her scrubbing and looked up smiling as he ran -past her, singing and shouting for joy. For Régine--the tender, loving -heart that pined for him and for his love--he had not a thought She was -the past, the dull, drabby past wherein he had dwelt before he knew how -glorious a thing life could be, how golden the future, how rosy that -horizon far away. - -By the time he reached the harbour, the sun had risen in all its glory. -Way out against the translucent sky, the graceful silhouette of the -schooner swayed gently in the morning breeze, her outspread sails -gleaming like wings that are tinged with gold. Bertrand watched her for -awhile. He thought of the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel and the hideous -vengeance which he had wrought against his beloved. And the rage which -possessed his soul at the thought obscured for a moment the beauty of -the morning and the glory of the sky. With a gesture characteristic of -his blood and of his race, he raised his fist and shook it in the -direction of the distant ship. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -A RENCONTRE - - -§1 - - -For Marguerite, that wonderful May-day, like so many others equally -happy and equally wonderful, came to an end all too soon. To dwell on -those winged hours were but to record sorrow, anxiety, a passionate -resentment coupled with an equally passionate acceptance of the -inevitable. Her intimate friends often marvelled how Marguerite Blakeney -bore the strain of these constantly recurring farewells. Every time that -in the early dawn she twined her loving arms round the neck of the man -she worshipped, feeling that mayhap she was looking into those dear, -lazy, laughing eyes for the last time on earth--every time, it seemed to -her as if earth could not hold greater misery. - -Then after that came that terrible half-hour, whilst she stood on the -landing-stage--his kisses still hot upon her lips, her eyes, her -throat--and watched and watched that tiny speck, the fast-sailing ship -that bore him away on his errand of mercy and self-sacrifice, leaving -her lonely and infinitely desolate. And then the days and hours, when he -was away and it was her task to smile and laugh, to appear to know -nothing of her husband save that he was a society butterfly, the pet of -the salons, an exquisite, something of a fool, whose frequent absences -were accounted for by deer-stalking in Scotland or fishing in the Tweed, -or hunting in the shires--anything and everything that would throw dust -in the eyes of the fashionable crowd, of whom she and he formed an -integral part. - -"Sir Percy not with you to-night, dear Lady Blakeney?" - -"With me? Lud love you, no! I have not seen him these three weeks past." - -"The dog!" - -People would talk and ask questions, throw out suggestions and -innuendoes. Society a few months ago had been greatly agitated because -the beautiful Lady Blakeney, the most fashionable woman about town, had -taken a mad fancy for--you'll never believe it, my dear!--for her own -husband. She had him by her side at routs and river-parties, in her -opera-box and on the Mall. It was positively indecent! Sir Percy was the -pet of Society, his sallies, his inane laugh, his lazy, delicious, -impertinent ways and his exquisite clothes, made the success of every -salon in which he chose to appear. His Royal Highness was never so -good-tempered as when Sir Percy was by his side. Then, for his own wife -to monopolise him was preposterous, abnormal, extravagant! Some people -put it down to foreign eccentricity; others to Lady Blakeney's -shrewdness in thus throwing dust in the eyes of her none-too-clever -lord, in order to mask some intrigue or secret amour, of which Society -had not as yet the key. - -Fortunately for the feelings of the fashionable world, this phase of -conjugal affection did not last long. It had been at its height last -year, and had waned perceptibly since. Of late, so it was averred, Sir -Percy was hardly ever at home, and his appearances at Blakeney -Manor--his beautiful house at Richmond--were both infrequent and brief. -He had evidently tired of playing second fiddle to his exquisite wife, -or been irritated by her caustic wit, which she was wont to sharpen at -his expense; and the menage of these two leaders of fashion had, in the -opinion of those in the know, once more resumed a more normal aspect. - -When Lady Blakeney was in Richmond, London or Bath, Sir Percy was -shooting or fishing or yachting--which was just as it should be. And -when he appeared in society, smiling, elegant, always an exquisite, Lady -Blakeney would scarce notice him, save for making him a butt for her -lively tongue. - - - - -§2 - - -What it cost Marguerite to keep up this rôle, none but a very few ever -knew. The identity of one of the greatest heroes of this or any time was -known to his most bitter enemy--not to his friends. So Marguerite went -on smiling, joking, flirting, while her heart ached and her brain was at -times wellnigh numb with anxiety. His intimates rallied round her, of -course: the splendid little band of heroes who formed the League of the -Scarlet Pimpernel--Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and his pretty wife; Lord Anthony -Dewhurst and his lady, whose great dark eyes still wore the impress of -the tragedy which had darkened the first month of her happy wedded life. -Then there was my lord Hastings; and Sir Evan Cruche, the young Squire -of Holt, and all the others. - -As for the Prince of Wales, it is more than surmised by those competent -to judge that His Royal Highness did indeed guess at the identity of the -Scarlet Pimpernel, even if he had not actually been apprised of it. -Certain it is that his tact and discretion did on more than one occasion -save a situation which might have proved embarrassing for Marguerite. - -In all these friends then--in their conversation, their happy laughter, -their splendid pluck and equally splendid gaiety, the echo of the chief -whom they adored--Marguerite found just the solace that she needed. With -Lady Ffoulkes and Lady Anthony Dewhurst she had everything in common. -With those members of the League who happened to be in England, she -could talk over and in her mind trace the various stages of the perilous -adventure on which her beloved and the others were even then engaged. - -And there were always the memories of those all too brief days at Dover -or in Richmond, when her loving heart tasted such perfect happiness as -is granted only to the elect: the happiness that comes from perfect -love, perfect altruism, a complete understanding and measureless -sympathy. On those memories her hungering soul could subsist in the -intervals, and with them as her unalienable property, she could even hid -the grim spectre of unhappiness begone. - - - - -§3 - - -Of Madame de Fontenay--for as such Marguerite still knew her--she saw -but little. Whether the beautiful Theresia had gone to London or no, -whether she had succeeded in finding her truant husband, Marguerite did -not know and cared less. The unaccountable antipathy which she had felt -on that first night of her acquaintance with the lovely Spaniard still -caused her to hold herself aloof. Sir Percy, true to his word, had not -betrayed the actual identity of Theresia Cabarrus to his wife; but in -his light, insouciant manner had dropped a word or two of warning, which -had sharpened Marguerite's suspicions and strengthened her determination -to avoid Mme. de Fontenay as far as possible. And since monetary or -other material help was apparently not required, she had no reason to -resume an intercourse which, in point of fact, was not courted by -Theresia either. - -But one day, walking alone in Richmond Park, she came face to face with -Theresia. It was a beautiful late afternoon in July, the end of a day -which had been a comparatively happy one for Marguerite--the day when a -courier had come from France with news of Sir Percy; a letter from him, -telling her that he was well and hinting at the possibility of another -of those glorious days together at Dover. - -With that message from her beloved just to hand, Marguerite had felt -utterly unable to fulfil her social engagements in London. There was -nothing of any importance that claimed her presence. His Royal Highness -was at Brighton; the opera and the rout at Lady Portarles' could well -get on without her. The evening promised to be more than ordinarily -beautiful, with a radiant sunset and the soft, sweet-scented air of a -midsummer's evening. - -After dinner, Marguerite had felt tempted to stroll out alone. She threw -a shawl over her head and stepped out on to the terrace. The vista of -velvet lawns, of shady paths and rose borders in full bloom, stretched -out into the dim distance before her; and beyond these, the boundary -wall, ivy-clad, overhung with stately limes, and broken into by the -finely wrought-iron gates that gave straight into the Park. - -The shades of evening were beginning to draw in, and the garden was -assuming that subtle veil of mysterious melancholy which perfect beauty -always lends. In the stately elms far away, a blackbird was whistling -his evensong. The night was full of sweet odours--roses and heliotrope, -lime and mignonette--whilst just below the terrace a bed of white -tobacco swung ghost-like its perfumed censer into the air. Just an -evening to lure a lonely soul into the open, away from the indifferent, -the casual, into the heart of nature, always potent enough to soothe and -to console. - - - - -§4 - - -Marguerite strolled through the grounds with a light foot, and anon -reached the monumental gates, through which the exquisite peace and -leafy solitude of the Park seemed to beckon insistently to her. The gate -was on the latch; she slipped through and struck down a woodland path -bordered by tangled undergrowth and tall bracken, and thus reached the -pond, when suddenly she perceived Mme. de Fontenay. - -Theresia was dressed in a clinging gown of diaphanous black silk, which -gave value to the exquisite creamy whiteness of her skin and to the -vivid crimson of her lips. She wore a transparent shawl round her -shoulders, which with the new-modish, high-waisted effect of her gown, -suited her sinuous grace to perfection. But she wore no jewellery, no -ornaments of any kind: only a magnificent red rose at her breast. - -The sight of her at this place and at this hour was so unexpected that, -to Marguerite's super-sensitive intuition, the appearance of this -beautiful woman, strolling listless and alone beside the water's edge, -seemed like a presage of evil. Her first instinct had been to run away -before Mme. de Fontenay was aware of her presence; but the next moment -she chided herself for this childish cowardice, and stood her ground, -waiting for the other woman to draw near. - -A minute or two later, Theresia had looked up and in her turn had -perceived Marguerite. She did not seem surprised, rather came forward -with a glad little cry, and her two hands outstretched. - -"Milady!" she exclaimed. "Ah, I see you at last! I have oft wondered why -we never met." - -Marguerite took her hands, greeted her as warmly as she could. Indeed -she did her best to appear interested and sympathetic. - -Mme. de Fontenay had not much to relate. She had found refuge in the -French convent of the Assumption at Twickenham, where the Mother -Superior had been an intimate friend of her mother's in the happy olden -days. She went out very little, and never in society. But she was fond -of strolling in this beautiful Park. The sisters had told her that Lady -Blakeney's beautiful house was quite near. She would have liked to -call--but never dared--hoping for a chance rencontre which hitherto had -never come. - -She asked kindly after milor, and seemed to have heard a rumour that he -was at Brighton, in attendance on his royal friend. Of her husband, Mme. -de Fontenay had as yet found no trace. He must be living under an -assumed name, she thought--no doubt in dire poverty--Theresia feared it, -but did not know--would give worlds to find out. - -Then she asked Lady Blakeney whether she knew aught of the de Servals. - -"I was so interested in them," she said, "because I had heard something -of them while I was in Paris, and seeing that we arrived in England the -same day, though under such different circumstances. But we could not -journey to London together, as you, milady, so kindly suggested, because -I was very ill the next day. . . . Ah, can you wonder? . . . A kind -friend in Dover took care of me. But I remember their name, and have oft -marvelled if we should ever meet." - -Yes; Marguerite did see the de Servals from time to time. They rented a -small cottage not very far from here--just outside the town. One of the -daughters, Régine, was employed all day at a fashionable dressmaker's -in Richmond. The younger girl, Joséphine, was a pupil-teacher at a -young ladies' finishing school, and the boy, Jacques, was doing work in -a notary's office. It was all very dreary for them, but their courage -was marvellous; and though the children did not earn much, it was -sufficient for their wants. - -Madame de Fontenay was vastly interested. She hoped that Régine's -marriage with the man of her choice would bring a ray of real happiness -into the household. - -"I hope so too," Lady Blakeney assented. - -"Milady has seen the young man--Régine's fiancée?" - -"Oh, yes! Once or twice. But he is engaged in business all day, it -seems. He is inclined to be morbid and none too full of ardour. It is a -pity; for Régine is a sweet girl and deserves happiness." - -Whereupon Madame de Fontenay sighed again, and expressed the hope that -one day Fate would bring her together with the de Servals. - -"We have so much sorrow in common," she said with a pathetic smile. "So -many misfortunes. We ought to be friends." - -Then she gave a little shiver. - -"The weather is extraordinarily cold for July," she said. "Ah, how one -misses the glorious sunshine of France!" - -She wrapped her thin, transparent shawl closer round her shoulders. She -was delicate, she explained. Always had been. She was a child of the -South, and fully expected the English climate would kill her. In any -case, it was foolish of her to stand thus talking, when it was so cold. - -After which she took her leave, with a gracious inclination of the head -and a cordial au revoir. Then she turned off into a small path under the -trees, cut through the growing bracken; and Marguerite watched the -graceful figure thoughtfully, until the leafy undergrowth hid her from -view. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -DEPARTURE - - -§1 - - -The next morning's sun rose more radiant than before. Marguerite greeted -it with a sigh that was entirely a happy one. Another round of the clock -had brought her a little nearer to the time when she would see her -beloved. The next courier might indeed bring a message naming the very -day when she could rest once more in his arms for a few brief hours, -which were so like the foretaste of heaven. - -Soon after breakfast she ordered her coach, intending to go to London in -order to visit Lady Ffoulkes and give Sir Andrew the message which was -contained for him in Percy's last letter. Whilst waiting for the coach, -she strolled out into the garden, which was gay with roses and blue -larkspur, sweet william and heliotrope, alive with a deafening chorus of -blackbirds and thrushes, the twittering of sparrows and the last call of -the cuckoo. It was a garden brimful of memories, filled in rich -abundance with the image of the man she worshipped. Every bird-song -seemed to speak his name, the soughing of the breeze amidst the trees -seemed to hold the echo of his voice; the perfume of thyme and -mignonette to bring back the savour of his kiss. - -Then suddenly she became aware of hurrying footsteps on the gravelled -path close by. She turned, and saw a young man whom at first she did not -recognise running with breathless haste towards her. He was hatless, his -linen crumpled, his coat-collar awry. At sight of her he gave a queer -cry of excitement and relief. - -"Lady Blakeney! Thank God! Thank God!" - -Then she recognised him. It was Bertrand Moncrif. - -He fell on his knees and seized her gown. He appeared entirely -overwrought, imbalanced, and Marguerite tried in vain at first to get a -coherent word out of him. All that he kept on repeating was: - -"Will you help me? Will you help us all?" - -"Indeed I will, if I can, M. Moncrif," Marguerite said gently. "Do try -and compose yourself and tell me what is amiss." - -She persuaded him to rise, and presently to follow her to a garden seat, -where she sat down. He remained standing in front of her. His eyes still -looked wild and scared, and he passed a shaking hand once or twice -through his unruly hair. But he was obviously making an effort to -compose himself, and after a little while, during which Marguerite -waited with utmost patience, he began more coherently: - -"Your servants said, milady," he began more quietly, "that you were in -the garden. I could not wait until they called you; so I ran to find -you. Will you try and forgive me? I ought not to have intruded." - -"Of course I will forgive you," Marguerite rejoined with a smile, "if -you will only tell me what is amiss." - -He paused a moment, then cried abruptly: - -"Régine has gone!" - -Marguerite frowned, puzzled, and murmured slowly, not understanding: - -"Gone? Whither?" - -"To Dover," he replied, "with Jacques." - -"Jacques?" she reiterated, still uncomprehending. - -"Her brother," he rejoined. "You know the boy?" Marguerite nodded. - -"Hot-headed, impulsive," Moncrif went on, trying to speak calmly. "He -and the girl Joséphine always had it in their minds that they were -destined to liberate France from her present state of anarchy and -bloodshed." - -"Like you yourself, M. Moncrif!" Marguerite put in with a smile. - -"Oh, I became sobered, reasonable, when I realised how futile it all -was. We all owe our lives to that noble Scarlet Pimpernel. They were no -longer ours to throw away. At least, that was my theory, and Régine's. -I have been engaged in business; and she works hard. . . . Oh, but you -know!" he exclaimed impulsively. - -"Yes, I know all your circumstances. But to the point, I pray you!" - -"Jacques of late has been very excited, feverish. We did not know what -was amiss. Régine and I oft spoke of him. And Mme. de Serval has been -distraught with anxiety. She worships the boy. He is her only son. But -Jacques would not say what was amiss. He spoke to no one. Went to his -work every day as usual. Last night he did not come home. A message came -for Mme. de Serval to say that a friend in London had persuaded him to -go to the play and spend the night with him. Mme. de Serval thought -nothing of that. She was pleased to think that Jacques had some -amusement to distract him from his brooding thoughts. But Régine, it -seems, was not satisfied. After her mother had gone to bed, she went -into Jacques' room; found some papers, it seems . . . letters . . . I -know not . . . proof in fact that the boy was even then on his way to -Dover, having made arrangements to take ship for France." - -"Mon Dieu!" Marguerite exclaimed involuntarily. "What senseless folly!" - -"Ah! but that is not the worst. Folly, you say! But there is worse folly -still!" - -With the same febrile movements that characterised his whole attitude, -he drew a stained and crumpled letter from his pocket. - -"She sent me this, this morning," he said. "That is why I came to you." - -"You mean Régine?" Marguerite asked, and took the letter which he was -handing to her. - -"Yes! She must have brought it round herself . . . to my lodgings . . . -in the early dawn. I did not know what to do . . . whom to -consult. . . . A blind instinct brought me here . . . I have no other -friend . . ." - -In the meanwhile Marguerite was deciphering the letter, turning a deaf -ear to his ramblings. - -"My Bertrand," so the letter ran, "Jacques is going to France. Nothing -will keep him back. He says it is his duty. I think that he is mad, and -I know that it will kill maman. So I go with him. Perhaps at the -last--at Dover--my tears and entreaties might yet prevail. If not, and -he puts this senseless project in execution, I can watch over him there, -and perhaps save him from too glaring a folly. We go by the coach to -Dover, which starts in an hour's time. Farewell, my beloved, and forgive -me for causing you this anxiety; but I feel that Jacques has more need -of me than you." - -Below the signature "Régine de Serval" there were a few more lines, -written as if with an afterthought: - -"I have told maman that my employer is sending me down into the country -about some dresses for an important customer, and that as Jacques can -get a few days' leave from his work, I am taking him with me, for I feel -the country air would do him good. - -"Maman will be astonished and no doubt hurt that Jacques did not send -her a word of farewell, but it is best that she should not learn the -truth too suddenly. If we do not return from Dover within the week, you -will have to break the news as gently as you can." - -Whilst Marguerite read the letter, Bertrand had sunk upon the seat and -buried his head in his hands. He looked utterly dejected and forlorn, -and she felt a twinge of remorse at thought how she had been wronging -him all this while by doubting his love for Régine. She placed a kindly -hand on the young man's shoulder. - -"What was your idea," she asked, "in coming to me? What can I do?" - -"Give me advice, milady!" he implored. "I am so helpless, so friendless. -When I had the letter, I could think of nothing at first. You see, -Régine and Jacques started early this morning, by the coach from -London, long before I had it. I thought you could tell me what to do, -how to overtake them. Régine loves me--oh, she loves me! If I knelt at -her feet I could bring her back. But they are marked people, those two. -The moment they attempt to enter Paris, they will be recognised, -arrested. Oh, my God! have mercy on us all!" - -"You think you can persuade Régine, M. Moncrif?" - -"I am sure," he asserted firmly. "And you, milady! Régine thinks the -whole world of you!" - -"But there is the boy--Jacques!" - -"He is just a child--he acted on impulse--and I always had great -authority over him. And you, milady! The whole family worship you! . . . -They know what they owe to you. Jacques has not thought of his mother; -but if he did----" - -Marguerite rose without another word. - -"Very well," she said simply. "Well go together and see what we can do -with those two obstinate young folk." - -Bertrand gave a gasp of surprise and of hope. His whole face lighted up -and he gazed upon the beautiful woman before him as a worshipper would -on his divinity. - -"You, milady?" he murmured. "You would . . . really . . . help me . . . -like that?" - -Marguerite smiled. - -"I really would help you like that," she said. "My coach is ordered; we -can start at once. We'll get relays at Maidstone and at Ashford, and -easily reach Dover to-night, before the arrival of the public coach. In -any case, I know every one of any importance in Dover. We could not fail -to find the runaways." - -"But you are an angel, milady!" Bertrand contrived to stammer, although -obviously he was overwhelmed with gratitude. - -"You are ready to start?" Marguerite retorted, gently checking any -further display of emotion. - -He certainly was hatless, and his clothes were in an untidy condition; -but such trifles mattered nothing at a moment like this. Marguerite's -household, on the other hand, were accustomed to these sudden vagaries -and departures of their mistress, either for Dover, Bath, or any known -and unknown destination, often at a few minutes' notice. - -In this case the coach was actually at the gates. The maids packed the -necessary valise; her ladyship changed her smart gown for a dark -travelling one, and less than half an hour after Bertrand Moncrif's -first arrival at the Manor, he was seated beside Lady Blakeney in her -coach. The coachman cracked his whip, the postilion swung himself into -the saddle, and the servants stood at attention as the vehicle slowly -swung out of the gates; and presently, the horses putting on the pace, -disappeared along the road, followed by a cloud of dust. - - - - -§2 - - -Bertrand Moncrif, brooding, absorbed in thoughts, said little or nothing -while the coach swung along at a very brisk pace. Marguerite, who always -had plenty to think about, did not feel in the mood to try and make -conversation. She was very sorry for the young man, who in very truth -must have suffered also from remorse. His lack of ardour--obviously only -an outward lack--toward his fiancée and the members of her family, must -to a certain extent have helped to precipitate the present catastrophe. -Coolness and moroseness on his part gave rise to want of confidence on -the other. Régine, heartsick at her lover's seeming indifference, was -no doubt all the more ready to lavish love and self-sacrifice upon the -young brother. Marguerite was sorry enough for the latter--a young fool, -with the exalté Latin temperament, brimming over with desires for -self-immolation as futile as they were senseless--but her generous heart -went out to Régine de Serval, a girl who appeared predestined to sorrow -and disappointments, endowed with an exceptionally warm nature and -cursed with the inability to draw whole-hearted affection to herself. -She worshipped Bertrand Moncrif; she idolised her mother, her brother, -her sister. But though they, one and all, relied on her, brought her the -confidences of their troubles and their difficulties, it never occurred -to any one of them to give up something--a distraction, a fancy, an -ideal--for the sake of silent, thoughtful Régine. - -Marguerite allowed her thoughts thus to dwell on these people, whom her -husband's splendid sacrifice on their behalf had rendered dear. Indeed, -she loved them as she loved so many others, because of the dangers which -he had braved for their sakes. Their lives had become valuable because -of his precious one, daily risked because of them. And at the back of -her mind there was also the certainty that if these two young fools did -put their mad project in execution and endeavoured to return to Paris, -it would again be the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel who would jeopardise his -life to save them from the consequences of their own folly. - - - - -§3 - - -Luncheon and a brief halt was taken at Farningham and Maidstone reached -by three o'clock in the afternoon. Here Lady Blakeney's own servants -took leave of her, and post-horses were engaged to take her ladyship on -to Ashford. Two hours later, at Ashford, fresh relays were obtained. The -public coach at this hour was only some nine or ten miles ahead, it -seems, and there was now every chance that Dover would be reached by -nightfall and the young runaways met by their pursuers on arrival. - -All was then for the best. Bertrand, after the coach had rattled out of -Ashford, appeared to find comfort and courage. He began to talk, long -and earnestly--of himself, his plans and projects, his love for Régine, -to which he always found it so difficult to give expression; of Régine -herself and the de Servals, mother, son and daughters. His voice was -toneless and very even. The monotony of his diction acted after awhile -as a soporific on Marguerite's nerves. The rumble of the coach, the -closeness of this long afternoon in July, the rocking of the springs, -made her feel drowsy. After a while too, a curious scent pervaded the -interior of the coach--a sweet, heady scent that appeared to weigh her -eyelids down and gave her a feeling of delicious and lazy beatitude. -Bertrand Moncrif droned on, and his voice came to her fast-fading senses -as through a thick pulpy veil. She closed her eyes. That sweet, -intoxicating scent came, more marked, more insistent, to her nostrils. -She laid her head against the cushions, and still she heard the dreary -monotone of Bertrand's voice, quite inarticulate now, like the hum of a -swarm of bees. . . . - -Then, all of a sudden she was fully conscious; only just in time to feel -the weight of an iron hand against her mouth and to see Bertrand's face, -ghastly of hue, eyes distorted more with fear than rage, quite close to -her own. She had not the time to scream, and her limbs felt as heavy as -lead, so that she could not struggle. The next moment a thick woollen -scarf was wound quickly and tightly round her head, covering her mouth -and eyes, only barely giving her room to breathe, and her hands and arms -were tied together with cords. - -This brutal assault had been so quick and sudden that at first it seemed -to Marguerite like part of a hideous dream. She was not fully conscious, -and was half suffocated by the thick folds of the scarf and that -persistent odour, which by its sickening sweetness caused her wellnigh -to swoon. - -Through this semi-consciousness, however, she was constantly aware of -her enemy, Bertrand Moncrif--the black-hearted traitor who had carried -out this execrable outrage: why and for what purpose, Marguerite was too -dazed to attempt to guess. He was there, that she knew. She was -conscious of his hands making sure of the cords round her wrists, -tightening the scarf around her mouth; then presently she felt him -leaning across her body and throwing down the window, and she heard him -shouting to the driver: "Her ladyship has fainted. Drive as fast as ever -you can till you come to that white house yonder on the right, the one -with the green shutters and the tall yew at the gate!" - -The driver's reply she could not hear, nor the crack of his whip. -Certain it is that, though the coach had rattled on at a great pace -before, the horses, as if in response to Bertrand's commands, now burned -the ground under their hoofs. A few minutes went by--an eternity. Then -that terrible cloying perfume was again held close to her nostrils; an -awful dizziness and nausea seized her; after which she remembered -nothing more. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -MEMORIES - - -§1 - - -When Marguerite Blakeney finally recovered consciousness, the sun was -low down in the west. She was in a coach--not her own--which was being -whisked along the road at terrific speed. She was alone, her mouth -gagged, her wrists and her ankles tied with cords, so that she could -neither speak nor move--a helpless log, being taken . . . whither? . . . -and by whom? - -Bertrand was not there. Through the front window of the coach she could -perceive the vague outline of two men sitting on the driver's seat, -whilst another was riding the off-leader. Four horses were harnessed to -the light coach. It flew along in a south-easterly direction, the while -the shades of evening were fast drawing in. - -Marguerite had seen too much of the cruelties and barbarities of this -world, too much of the hatred that existed between enemy countries and -too much of the bitter rancour felt by certain men against her husband, -and indirectly against herself, not to realise at once whence the blow -had come that had struck her. Something too in the shape of that back -which she perceived through the window in front of her, something in the -cut of the threadbare coat, the set of the black bow at the nape of the -neck, was too familiar to leave her even for a moment in doubt. Here was -no ordinary foot-pad, no daring abduction with a view to reward or -ransom. This was the work of her husband's enemies, who, through her, -were once more striving to get at him. - -Bertrand Moncrif had been the decoy. Whence had come the hatred which -prompted him to raise his hand against the very man to whom he owed his -life. Marguerite was still too dazed to conjecture. He had gone, and -taken his secret of rancour with him, mayhap for ever. Lying pinioned -and helpless as she was, Marguerite had but the one thought: in what way -would those fiends who had her a prisoner use her as a leverage against -the life and the honour of the Scarlet Pimpernel? They had held her once -before--not so very long ago--in Boulogne, and he had emerged unscathed, -victorious over them all. - -Marguerite, helpless and pinioned, forced her thoughts to dwell on that -time, when his enemies had filled to the brim the cup of humiliation and -of dread which was destined to reach him through her hands, and his -ingenuity and his daring dashed the cup to the ground ere it reached her -lips. In truth, her plight then, at Boulogne, was in no way less -terrible, less seemingly hopeless than now. She was a prisoner then, -just as she was now; in the power of men whose whole life and entire -range of thought had for the past two years been devoted to the undoing -and annihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And there was a certain grim -satisfaction for the pinioned, helpless woman in recalling the many -instances where the daring adventurer had so completely outwitted his -enemies, as well as in the memory of those days at Boulogne when the -life of countless innocents was to be the price of her own. - - - - -§2 - - -The embarkation took place somewhere on the coast around Birchington. -When, at dead of night the coach came to a halt, and the tang of sea air -and salt spray reached Marguerite's burning cheeks and parched lips, she -tried with all her might to guess at her exact position. But that was -impossible. - -She was lifted out of the coach, and at once a shawl was thrown over her -face, so that she could not see. It was more instinct than anything else -that guided her perceptions. Even in the coach she had been vaguely -conscious of the direction in which she had been travelling. All that -part of the country was entirely familiar to her. So often had she -driven down with Sir Percy, either to Dover or more often to some lonely -part of the coast, where he took ship for unknown destinations, that in -her mind she could, even blinded with tears and half conscious as she -was, trace in her mind the various turnings and side-roads along which -she was being borne at unabating speed. - -Birchington--one of the favourite haunts of the smuggling fraternity, -with its numberless caves and retreats dug by the sea in the chalk -cliffs, as if for the express benefit of ne'er-do-wells--seemed the -natural objective of the miscreants who had her in their power. In fact, -at one moment she was quite sure that the square tower of old Minster -church flitted past her vision through the window of the coach, and that -the horses immediately after that sprinted the hill between Minster and -Acoll. - -Be that as it may, there was no doubt that the coach came to a halt at a -desolate spot. The day which had begun in radiance and sunshine, had -turned to an evening of squall and drizzle. A thin rain soon wetted -Marguerite's clothes and the shawl on her head through and through, -greatly adding to her misery and discomfort. Though she saw nothing, she -could trace every landmark of the calvary to the summit of which she was -being borne like an insentient log. - -For a while she lay at the bottom of a small boat, aching in body as -well as in mind, her eyes closed, her limbs cramped by the cords which -owing to the damp were cutting into her flesh, faint with cold and want -of food, wet to the skin yet with eyes and head and hands burning hot, -and her ears filled with the dreary, monotonous sound of the oars -creaking in the rowlocks and the boom of the water against the sides of -the boat. - -She was lifted out of the boat and carried, as she judged, by two men up -a companion ladder, then down some steps and finally deposited on some -hard boards; after which the wet shawl was removed from her face. She -was in the dark. Only a tiny streak of light found its way through a -chink somewhere close to the floor. A smell of tar and of stale food -gave her a wretched sense of nausea. But she had by now reached a stage -of physical and mental prostration wherein even acute bodily suffering -counts as nothing, and is endurable because it is no longer felt. - -After a while the familiar motion, the well-known sound of a ship -weighing anchor, gave another blow to her few lingering hopes. Every -movement of the ship now bore her farther and farther from England and -home, and rendered her position more utterly miserable and hopeless. - -Far be it from me to suggest even for a moment that Marguerite Blakeney -lost either spirit or courage during this terrible ordeal. But she was -so completely helpless that instinct forced her to remain motionless and -quiescent, and not to engage in a fight against overwhelming odds. In -mid-Channel, surrounded by miscreants who had her in their power, she -could obviously do nothing except safeguard what dignity she could by -silence and seeming acquiescence. - - - - -§3 - - -She was taken ashore in the early dawn, at a spot not very far from -Boulogne. Precautions were no longer taken against her possible calls -for help; even the cords had been removed from her wrists and ankles as -soon as she was lowered into the boat that brought her to shore. Cramped -and stiff though she was, she disdained the help of an arm which was -held out to her to enable her to step out of the boat. - -All the faces around her were unfamiliar. There were four or five men, -surly and silent, who piloted her over the rocks and cliffs and then -along the sands, to the little hamlet of Wimereux, which she knew well. -The coast at this hour was still deserted; only at one time did the -little party meet with a group of buxom young women, trudging along -barefooted with their shrimping nets over their shoulders. They stared -wide-eyed but otherwise indifferent, at the unfortunate woman in torn, -damp clothes, and with golden hair all dishevelled, who was bravely -striving not to fall whilst urged on by five rough fellows in ragged -jerseys, tattered breeches, and barekneed. - -Just for one moment--a mere flash--Marguerite at sight of these girls -had the wild notion to run to them, implore their assistance in the name -of their sweethearts, their husbands, their sons; to throw herself at -their feet and beg them to help her, seeing that they were women and -could not be without heart or pity. But it was a mere flash, the wild -vagary of an over-excited brain, the drifting straw that mocks the -drowning man. The next moment the girls had gone by, laughing and -chattering. One of them intoned the "Ça ira!" and Marguerite, -fortunately for her own dignity, was not seriously tempted to essay so -futile, so senseless an appeal. - -Later on, in a squalid little hovel on the outskirts of Wimereux, she -was at last given some food which, though of the poorest and roughest -description, was nevertheless welcome, for it revived her spirit and -strengthened her courage, of which she had sore need. - -The rest of the journey was uneventful. Within the first hour of making -a fresh start, she had realised that she was being taken to Paris. A few -words dropped casually by the men who had charge of her apprised her of -that fact. Otherwise they were very reticent--not altogether rough or -unkind. - -The coach in which she travelled during this stage of the journey was -roomy and not uncomfortable, although the cushions were ragged and the -leatherwork mildewed. Above all, she had the supreme comfort of privacy. -She was alone in the coach, alone during the halts at way-side -hostelries when she was allowed food and rest, alone throughout those -two interminable nights when, with brief intervals whilst relays of -horses were put into the shafts or the men took it in turns to get food -or drink in some house unseen in the darkness, she vainly tried to get a -snatch or two of sleep and a few moments of forgetfulness; alone -throughout that next long day, whilst frequent summer showers sent heavy -raindrops beating against the window-panes of the coach and familiar -landmarks on the way to Paris flitted like threatening ghouls past her -aching eyes. - -Paris was reached at dawn of the third day. Seventy-two hours had crept -along leaden-footed, since the moment when she had, stepped into her own -coach outside her beautiful home in Richmond, surrounded by her own -servants, and with that traitor Moncrif by her side. Since then, what a -load of sorrow, of anxiety, of physical and mental suffering had she -borne! And yet, even that sorrow, even those sufferings and that -anxiety, seemed as nothing beside the heartrending thoughts of her -beloved, as yet ignorant of her terrible fate and of the schemes which -those fiends who had so shamefully trapped her were even now concocting -for the realisation of their vengeance against him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -WAITING - - -§1 - - -The house to which Marguerite was ultimately driven, and where she -presently found herself ushered up the stairs into a small, -well-furnished apartment, appeared to be situated somewhere in an -outlying quarter of Paris. - -The apartment consisted of three rooms--a bedroom, a sitting-room, and -small cabinet de toilette--all plainly but nicely furnished. The bed -looked clean and comfortable, there was a carpet on the floor, one or -two pictures on the wall, an arm-chair or two, even a few books in an -armoire. An old woman, dour of mien but otherwise willing and attentive, -did all she could to minister to the poor, wearied woman's wants. She -brought up some warm milk and home-baked bread. Butter, she explained, -was not obtainable these days, and the household had not seen sugar for -weeks. - -Marguerite, tired out and hungry, readily ate some breakfast; but what -she longed for most and needed most was rest. So presently, at the gruff -invitation of the old woman, she undressed and stretched her weary limbs -between the sheets, with a sigh of content. Anxiety, for the moment, had -to yield to the sense of well-being, and with the name of her beloved on -her lips Marguerite went to sleep like a child. - -When she woke, it was late afternoon. On a chair close by her bedside -was some clean linen laid out, a change of stockings, clean shoes, and a -gown--a perfect luxury, which made this silent and lonely house appear -more like the enchanted abode of ogres or fairies than before. -Marguerite rose and dressed. The linen was fine, obviously the property -of a woman of refinement, whilst everything in the tiny dressing-room--a -comb, hand-mirror, soap, and scented water--suggested that the delicate -hand of a cultured woman had seen to their disposal. A while later, the -dour attendant brought her some soup and a dish of cooked vegetables. - -Every phase of the situation became more and more puzzling as time went -on. Marguerite, with the sense of well-being further accentuated by the -feel of warm, dry clothes and of wholesome food, had her mind free -enough to think and to ponder. She had thrown open the window, and -peeping out, noted that it obviously gave on the back of the house and -that the view consisted of rough, uncultivated land, broken up here and -there by workshops, warehouses, and timber-yards. Marguerite also noted -that she was gazing out in the direction of the north-west, that the -apartment wherein she found herself was on the top floor of a detached -house which, judging by certain landmarks vaguely familiar, was situated -somewhere outside the barrier of St. Antoine, and not very far from the -Bastille and from the Arsenal. - -Again she pondered. Where was she? Why was she being treated with a -kindness and consideration altogether at variance with the tactics -usually adopted by the enemies of the Scarlet Pimpernel? She was not in -prison. She was not being starved, or threatened, or humiliated. The day -wore on, and she was not confronted with one or other of those fiends -who were so obviously using her as a decoy for her husband. - -But though Marguerite Blakeney was not in prison, she was a prisoner. -This she had ascertained five minutes after she was alone in the -apartment. She could wander at will from room to room; but only in them, -not out of them. The door of communication between the rooms was wide -open; those that obviously gave on a landing outside were securely -locked; and when a while ago the old woman had entered with the tray of -food, Marguerite had caught sight of a group of men in the well-known -tattered uniform of the National Guard, standing at attention in a wide, -long antechamber. - -Yes; she was a prisoner! She could open the windows of her apartment and -inhale the soft moist air which came across the wide tract of barren -land; but these windows were thirty feet above the ground, and there was -no projection in the outside wall of the house anywhere near that would -afford a foothold to anything human. - -Thus for twenty-four hours was she left to meditate, thrown upon her own -resources, with no other company save that of her own thoughts, and they -were anything but cheerful. The uncertainty of the situation soon began -to prey upon her nerves. She had been calm in the morning; but as the -day wore on the loneliness, the mystery, the silence, began to tell upon -her courage. Soon she got to look upon the woman who waited on her as -upon her jailer, and when she was alone she was for ever straining her -ears to hear what the men who were guarding her door might be saying -among themselves. - -The next night she hardly slept. - - - - -§2 - - -Twenty-four hours later she had a visit from citizen Chauvelin. - -She had been expecting that visit all along, or else a message from him. -When he came she had need of all her pluck and all her determination, -not to let him see the emotion which his presence caused her. Dread! -Loathing! These were her predominant sensations. But dread above all; -because he looked perfectly urbane and self-possessed; because he was -dressed with scrupulous care and affected the manners and graces of a -society which had long since cast him out. It was not the rough, -out-at-elbows Terrorist who stood before her, the revolutionary -demagogue who hits out right and left against a caste that has always -spurned him and held itself aloof; it was the broken-down gentleman at -war with fortune, who strives by his wits to be revenged against the -buffetings of Fate and the arrogance which ostracised him as soon as he -was down. - -He began by asking solicitously after her well-being; hoped the journey -had not over-fatigued her; humbly begged her pardon for the discomfort -which a higher power compelled him to put upon her. He talked platitudes -in an even, unctuous voice until Marguerite, exasperated, and her nerves -on edge, curtly bade him to come to the point. - -"I have come to the point, dear lady," he retorted suavely. "The point -is that you should be comfortable and have no cause to complain whilst -you are under this roof." - -"And how long am I to remain a prisoner under it?" she asked. - -"Until Sir Percy has in his turn honoured this house with his presence," -he replied. - -To this she made no answer for a time, but sat quite still looking at -him, as if detached and indifferent. He waited for her to speak, his -pale eyes, slightly mocking, fixed upon her. Then she said simply: - -"I understand." - -"I was quite sure you would, dear lady," he rejoined blandly. "You see, -the phase of heroics is past. I will confess to you that it proved of no -avail when measured against the lofty coolness of that peerless -exquisite. So we over here have shed our ardour like a mantle. We, too, -now are quite calm, quite unperturbed, quite content to wait. The -beautiful Lady Blakeney is a guest under this roof. Well, sooner or -later that most gallant of husbands will desire to approach his lady. -Sooner or later he will learn that she is no longer in England. Then he -will set his incomparable wits to work to find out where she is. Again, -I may say that sooner or later, perhaps, even aided by us, he will know -that she is here. Then he will come. Am I not right?" - -Of course he was right. Sooner or later Percy would learn where she was; -and then he would come. He would come to her, despite every trap set for -his undoing, despite every net laid to catch him, despite danger of -death that waited for him if he came. - -Chauvelin said little more. In truth, the era of heroics was at an end. -At an end those ominous "either--ors" that he was wont to mete out with -a voice quavering with rage and lust of revenge. Now there was no -alternative, no deep-laid plot save one: to wait for the Scarlet -Pimpernel until he came. - -In the meanwhile she, Marguerite, must remain helpless and a prisoner; -she must eat and drink and sleep. She, the decoy!--who would never know -when the crushing blow would fall that would mean a hundred deaths to -her if it involved that of the husband whom she worshipped. - -After a while, Chauvelin went away. In fact, she never knew actually -when he did go. A while ago he had sat there on that upright chair, -quiet, well groomed, suave of speech and bland of manner. - -"Then he will come," he had said quite urbanely. "Am I not right?" - -When Marguerite closed her eyes she could still see him, his mocking -gaze fixed upon her, his thin, white hands folded complacently before -him. And presently, as the day wore on and the shades of evening blurred -one object in the room after another, the straight-backed chair, still -left in its place, assumed a fantastic human shape--the shape of a -meagre figure with narrow shoulders and thin, carefully be-stockinged -legs. And all the faint noises around her--the occasional creaking of -the furniture, the movement of the men outside her door, the soughing of -the evening breeze in the foliage of the elm trees--all were merged into -a thin, bland human voice, that went on repeating in a kind of thin, -dreary monotone: - -"Then he will come. Am I not right?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -MICE AND MEN - - -§1 - - -It was on her return from England that Theresia Cabarrus took to -consulting the old witch in the Rue de la Planchette, driven thereto by -ambition, and also no doubt by remorse. There was nothing of the -hardened criminal about the fair Spaniard; she was just a spoilt woman -who had been mocked and thwarted, and desired to be revenged. The -Scarlet Pimpernel had appeared before her as one utterly impervious to -her charms; and, egged on by Chauvelin, who used her for his own ends, -she entered into a callous conspiracy, the aim of which was the -destruction of that gang of English spies who were the enemies of -France, and the first stage of which was the heartless abduction of Lady -Blakeney and her incarceration as a decoy for the ultimate capture of -her own husband. - -A cruel, abominable act! Theresia, who had plunged headlong into this -shameful crime, would a few days later have given much to undo the harm -she had wrought. But she had yet to learn that, once used as a tool by -the Committee of Public Safety and by Chauvelin, its most unscrupulous -agent, no man or woman could hope to become free again until the work -demanded had been accomplished to the end. There was no freedom from -that taskmaster save in death; and Theresia's fit of compunction did not -carry her to the lengths of self-sacrifice. Marguerite Blakeney was her -prisoner, the decoy which would bring the English milor inevitably to -the spot where his wife was incarcerated; and Theresia, who had helped -to bring this state of things about, did her best to smother remorse, -and having done Chauvelin's dirty work for him she set to see what -personal advantage she could derive from it. - -Firstly, the satisfaction of her petty revenge: the Scarlet Pimpernel -caught in a trap, would surely regret his interference in Theresia's -love affairs. Theresia cared less than nothing about Bertrand Moncrif, -and would have been quite grateful to the English milor for having -spirited that embarrassing lover of hers away but for that letter which -had wounded the beautiful Spaniard's vanity to the quick, and still -rankled sufficiently to ease her conscience on the score of her -subsequent actions. That the letter was a bogus one, concocted and -written by Chauvelin himself in order to spur her on to a mean revenge, -Theresia did not know. - -But far stronger than thoughts of revenge were Theresia's schemes for -her own future. She had begun to dream of Robespierre's gratitude, of -her triumph over all those who had striven for over two years to bring -that gang of English spies to book. She saw her name writ largely on the -roll of fame; she even saw in her mind, the tyrant himself as her -willing slave . . . and something more than that. - -For her tool Bertrand she had no further use. By way of a reward for the -abominable abduction of Lady Blakeney, he had been allowed to follow the -woman he worshipped like a lacquey attached to her train. Dejected, -already spurned, he returned to Paris with her, here to resume the life -of humiliation and of despised ardour which had broken his spirit and -warped his nature, before his gallant rescuer had snatched him out of -the toils of the beautiful Spaniard. - -Within an hour of setting his foot on French soil, Bertrand had realised -that he had been nothing in Theresia's sight but a lump of malleable -wax, which she had moulded to her own design and now threw aside as -cumbersome and useless. He had realised that her ambition soared far -above linking her fate to an obscure and penniless lover, when the -coming man of the hour--citizen Tallien--was already at her feet. - - - - -§2 - - -Thus Theresia had attained one of her great desires: the Scarlet -Pimpernel was as good as captured, and when he finally succumbed he -could not fail to know whence came the blow that struck him. - -With regard to her future, matters were more doubtful. She had not yet -subjugated Robespierre sufficiently to cause him to give up his more -humble love and to lay his power and popularity at her feet; whilst the -man who had offered her his hand and name--citizen Tallien--was for ever -putting a check upon her ambition and his own advancement by his -pusillanimity and lack of enterprise. - -Whilst she was aching to push him into decisive action, into seizing the -supreme power before Robespierre and his friends had irrevocably -established theirs, Tallien was for temporising, fearing that in trying -to snatch a dictatorship he and his beloved with him would lose their -heads. - -"While Robespierre lives," Theresia would argue passionately, "no man's -head is safe. Every rival, sooner or later, becomes a victim. St. Just -and Couthon aim at a dictatorship for him. Sooner or later they will -succeed; then death to every man who has ever dared oppose them." - -"Therefore 'tis wiser not to oppose," the prudent Tallien would retort. -"The time will come----" - -"Never!" she riposted hotly. "While you plot, and argue and ponder, -Robespierre acts or signs your death-warrant." - -"Robespierre is the idol of the people; he sways the Convention with a -word. His eloquence would drag an army of enemies to the guillotine." - -"Robespierre!" Theresia retorted with sublime contempt. "Ah, when you -have said that, you think you have said everything! France, humanity, -the people, sovereign power!--all that, you assert, is embodied in that -one man. But, my friend, listen to me!" she went on earnestly. "Listen, -when I assert that Robespierre is only a name, a fetish, a manikin set -up on a pedestal! By whom? By you, and the Convention; by the Clubs and -the Committees. And the pedestal is composed of that elusive entity -which you call the people and which will disintegrate from beneath his -feet as soon as the people have realised that those feet are less than -clay. One touch of a firm finger against that manikin, I tell you, and -he will fall as dust before you; and you can rise upon that same elusive -pedestal--popularity, to the heights which he hath so easily attained." - -But, though Tallien was at times carried away by her vehemence, he would -always shake his head and counsel prudence, and assure her that the time -was not yet. Theresia, impatient and dictatorial, had more than once -hinted at rupture. - -"I could not love a weakling," she would aver; and at the back of her -mind there would rise schemes, which aimed at transferring her favours -to the other man, who she felt would be more worthy of her. - -"Robespierre would not fail me, as this coward does!" she mused, even -while Tallien, blind and obedient, was bidding her farewell at the very -door of the charlatan to whom Theresia had turned in her ambition and -her difficulties. - - - - -§3 - - -Something of the glamour which had originally surrounded Mother Théot's -incantations had vanished since sixty-two of her devotees had been sent -to the guillotine on a charge of conspiring for the overthrow of the -Republic. Robespierre's enemies, too cowardly to attack him in the -Convention or in the Clubs, had seized upon the mystery which hung over -the séances in the Rue de la Planchette in order to undermine his -popularity in the one and his power in the other. - -Spies were introduced into the witch's lair. The names of its chief -frequenters became known, and soon wholesale arrests were made, which -were followed by the inevitable condemnations. Robespierre had not -actually been named; but the identity of the sycophants who had -proclaimed him the Messenger of the Most High, the Morning Star, or the -Regenerator of Mankind, were hurled across from the tribune of the -Convention, like poisoned arrows aimed at the tyrant himself. - -But Robespierre had been too wary to allow himself to be dragged into -the affair. His enemies tried to goad him into defending his -worshippers, thus admitting his association with the gang; but he -remained prudently silent, and with callous ruthlessness he sacrificed -them to his own safety. He never raised his voice nor yet one finger to -save them from death, and whilst he--the bloodthirsty autocrat--remained -firmly installed upon his self-constituted throne, those who had -acclaimed him as second only to God, perished upon the scaffold. - -Mother Théot, for some inexplicable reason, escaped this wholesale -slaughter; but her séances were henceforth shorn of their splendour. -Robespierre no longer dared frequent them even in disguise. The house in -the Rue de la Planchette became a marked one to the agents of the -Committee of Public Safety, and the witch herself was reduced to -innumerable shifts to eke out a precarious livelihood and to keep -herself in the good graces of those agents, by rendering them various -unavowable services. - -To those, however, who chose to defy public opinion and to disregard the -dangers which attended the frequentation of Mother Théot's sorceries, -these latter had lost little or nothing of their pristine solemnity. -There was the closely curtained room; the scented, heavy atmosphere; the -chants, the coloured flames, the ghost-like neophytes. Draped in her -grey veils, the old witch still wove her spells and called on the powers -of light and of darkness to aid her in foretelling the future. The -neophytes chanted and twisted their bodies in quaint contortions; alone, -the small blackamoor grinned at what experience had taught him was -nothing but quackery and charlatanism. - -Theresia, sitting on the dais, with the heady fumes of Oriental scents -blurring her sight and the clearness of her intellect, was drinking in -the honeyed words and flattering prophecies of the old witch. - -"Thy name will be the greatest in the land! Before thee will bow the -mightiest thrones! At thy words heads will fall and diadems will -totter!" Mother Théot announced in sepulchral tones, whilst gazing into -the crystal before her. - -"As the wife of citizen Tallien?" Theresia queried in an awed whisper. - -"That the spirits do not say," the old witch replied. "What is a name to -them? I see a crown of glory, and thy head surrounded by a golden light; -and at thy feet lies something which once was scarlet, and now is -crimson and crushed." - -"What does it mean?" Theresia murmured. - -"That is for thee to know," the sybil replied sternly. "Commune with the -spirits; lose thyself in their embrace; learn from them the great -truths, and the future will be made clear to thee." - -With which cryptic utterance she gathered her veils around her, and with -weird murmurs of, "Evohe! Evohe! Sammael! Zamiel! Evohe!" glided out of -the room, mysterious and inscrutable, presumably in order to allow her -bewildered client to meditate on the enigmatical prophecy in solitude. - -But directly she had closed the door behind her, Mother Théot's manner -underwent a change. Here the broad light of day appeared to divest her -of all her sybilline attributes. She became just an ugly old woman, -wrinkled and hook-nosed, dressed in shabby draperies that were grey with -age and dirt, and with claw-like hands that looked like the talons of a -bird of prey. - -As she entered the room, a man who had been standing at the window -opposite, staring out into the dismal street below, turned quickly to -her. - -"Art satisfied?" she asked at once. - -"From what I could hear, yes!" he replied, "though I could have wished -thy pronouncements had been more clear." - -The hag shrugged her lean shoulders and nodded in the direction of her -lair. - -"Oh!" she said. "The Spaniard understands well enough. She never -consults me or invokes the spirits but they speak to her of that which -is scarlet. She knows what it means. You need not fear, citizen -Chauvelin, that in the pursuit of her vaulting ambition, she will forget -that her primary duty is to you!" - -"No," Chauvelin asserted calmly, "she'll not forget that. The Cabarrus -is no fool. She knows well enough that when citizens of the State have -been employed to work on its behalf, they are no longer free agents -afterwards. The work must be carried through to the end." - -"You need not fear the Cabarrus, citizen," the sybil rejoined dryly. -"She'll not fail you. Her vanity is immense. She believes that the -Englishman insulted her by writing that flippant letter, and she'll not -leave him alone till she has had her revenge." - -"No!" Chauvelin assented. "She'll not fail me. Nor thou either, -citoyenne." - -The old hag shrugged her shoulders. - -"I?" she exclaimed, with a quiet laugh. "Is that likely? You promised me -ten thousand livres the day the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured!" - -"And the guillotine," Chauvelin broke in grimly, "if thou shouldst allow -the woman upstairs to escape." - -"I know that," the old woman rejoined dryly. "If she escapes 'twill not -be through my connivance." - -"In the service of the State," Chauvelin riposted, "even carelessness -becomes a crime." - -Catherine Théot was silent for a moment or two, pressed her thin lips -together; then rejoined quite quietly: - -"She'll not escape. Have no fear, citizen Chauvelin." - -"That's brave! And now, tell me what has become of the coalheaver -Rateau?" - -"Oh, he comes and goes. You told me to encourage him." - -"Yes" - -"So I give him potions for his cough. He has one foot in the grave." - -"Would that he had both!" Chauvelin broke in savagely. "That man is a -perpetual menace to my plans. It would have been so much better if we -could have sent him last April to the guillotine." - -"It was in your hands," Mother Théot retorted. "The Committee reported -against him. His measure was full enough. Aiding that execrable Scarlet -Pimpernel to escape . . .! Name of a name! it should have been enough!" - -"It was not proved that he did aid the English spies," Chauvelin -retorted moodily. "And Foucquier-Tinville would not arraign him. He -vowed it would anger the people--the rabble--of which Rateau himself -forms an integral part. We cannot afford to anger the rabble these days, -it seems." - -"And so Rateau, the asthmatic coalheaver, walked out of prison a free -man, whilst my neophytes were dragged up to the guillotine, and I was -left without means of earning an honest livelihood!" Mother Théot -concluded with a doleful sigh. - -"Honest?" Chauvelin exclaimed, with a sarcastic chuckle. Then, seeing -that the old witch was ready to lose her temper, he quickly added: "Tell -me more about Rateau. Does he often come here?" - -"Yes; very often. He must be in my anteroom now. He came directly he was -let out of prison, and has haunted this place ever since. He thinks I -can cure him of his asthma, and as he pays me well----" - -"Pays you well?" Chauvelin broke in quickly. "That starveling?" - -"Rateau is no starveling," the old woman asserted. "Many an English gold -piece hath he given me." - -"But not of late?" - -"Not later than yesterday." - -Chauvelin swore viciously. - -"Then he is still in touch with that cursed Englishman!" - -Mother Théot shrugged her shoulders. - -"Does one ever know which is the Englishman and which the asthmatic -Rateau?" she queried, with a dry laugh. - -Whereupon a strange thing happened--so strange indeed that Chauvelin's -next words turned to savage curses, and that Mother Théot, white to the -lips, her knees shaking under her, tiny beads of perspiration rising -beneath her scanty locks, had to hold on to the table to save herself -from falling. - -"Name of a name of a dog!" Chauvelin muttered hoarsely, whilst the old -woman, shaken by that superstitious dread which she liked to arouse in -her clients, could only stare at him and mutely shake her head. - -And yet nothing very alarming had occurred. Only a man had laughed, -light-heartedly and long; and the sound of that laughter had come from -somewhere near--the next room probably, or the landing beyond Mother -Théot's anteroom. It had come low and distinct, slightly muffled by the -intervening wall. Nothing in truth to frighten the most nervous child! - -A man had laughed. One of Mother Théot's clients probably, who in the -company of a friend chose to wile away the weary hour of waiting on the -sybil by hilarious conversation. Of course, that was it! Chauvelin, -cursing himself now for his cowardice, passed a still shaking hand -across his brow, and a wry smile distorted momentarily his thin, set -lips. - -"One of your clients is of good cheer," he said with well-assumed -indifference. - -"There is no one in the anteroom at this hour," the old hag murmured -under her breath. "Only Rateau . . . and he is too scant of breath to -laugh . . . he . . ." - -But Chauvelin no longer heard what she had to say. With an exclamation -which no one who heard it could have defined, he turned on his heel and -almost ran out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -BY ORDER OF THE STATE - - -§1 - - -The antechamber, wide and long, ran the whole length of Mother Théot's -apartment. Her witch's lair and the room where she had just had her -interview with Chauvelin gave directly on it on the one side, and two -other living rooms on the other. At one end of the antechamber there -were two windows, usually kept closely shuttered; and at the other was -the main entrance door, which led to landing and staircase. - -The antechamber was empty. It appeared to mock Chauvelin's excitement, -with its grey-washed walls streaked with grime, its worm-eaten benches -and tarnished chandelier. Mother Théot, voluble and quaking with fear, -was close at his heels. Curtly he ordered her to be gone; her mutterings -irritated him, her obvious fear of something unknown grated unpleasantly -on his nerves. He cursed himself for his cowardice, and cursed the one -man who alone in this world had the power to unnerve him. - -"I was dreaming, of course," he muttered aloud to himself between his -teeth. "I have that arch-devil, his laugh, his voice, his affectations, -on the brain!" - -He was on the point of going to the main door, in order to peer out on -the landing or down the stairs, when he heard his name called -immediately behind him. Theresia Cabarrus was standing under the lintel -of the door which gave on the sybil's sanctum, her delicate hand holding -back the portière. - -"Citizen Chauvelin," she said, "I was waiting for you." - -"And I, citoyenne," he retorted gruffly, "had in truth forgotten you." - -"Mother Théot left me alone for a while, to commune with the spirits," -she explained. - -"Ah!" he riposted, slightly sarcastic. "With what result?" - -"To help you further, citizen Chauvelin," she replied; "if you have need -of me." - -"Ah!" he exclaimed with a savage curse. "In truth, I have need of every -willing hand that will raise itself against mine enemy. I have need of -you, citizeness; of that old witch; of Rateau, the coalheaver; of every -patriot who will sit and watch this house, to which we have brought the -one bait that will lure the goldfish to our net." - -"Have I not proved my willingness, citizen?" she retorted, with a smile. -"Think you 'tis pleasant to give up my life, my salon, my easy, -contented existence, and become a mere drudge in your service?" - -"A drudge," he broke in with a chuckle, "who will soon be greater than a -Queen." - -"Ah, if I thought that! . . ." she exclaimed. - -"I am as sure of it as that I am alive," he replied firmly. "You will -never do anything with citizen Tallien, citoyenne. He is too mean, too -cowardly. But bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees at the chariot -wheel of Robespierre, and even the crown of the Bourbons would be yours -for the asking!" - -"I know that, citizen," she rejoined dryly; "else I were not here." - -"We hold all the winning cards," he went on eagerly. "Lady Blakeney is -in our hands. So long as we hold her, we have the certainty that sooner -or later the English spy will establish communication with her. -Catherine Théot is a good gaoler, and Captain Boyer upstairs has a -number of men under his command--veritable sleuthhounds, whose -efficiency I can guarantee and whose eagerness is stimulated by the -promise of a magnificent reward. But experience has taught me that -accursed Scarlet Pimpernel is never so dangerous as when we think we -hold him. His extraordinary histrionic powers have been our undoing -hitherto. No man's eyes are keen enough to pierce his disguises. That is -why, citoyenne, I dragged you to England; that is why I placed you face -to face with him, and said to you, 'that is the man.' Since then, with -your help, we hold the decoy. Now you are my coadjutor and my help. In -your eyes I place my trust; in your wits, your instinct. In whatever -guise the Scarlet Pimpernel presents himself before you--and he _will_ -present himself before you, or he is no longer the impudent and reckless -adventurer I know him to be!--I feel that you at least will recognise -him." - -"Yes; I think I should recognise him," she mused. - -"Think you that I do not appreciate the sacrifice you make--the anxiety, -the watchfulness to which you so nobly subject yourself? But 'tis you -above all who are the lure which must inevitably attract the Scarlet -Pimpernel into my hands." - -"Soon, I hope," she sighed wearily. - -"Soon," he asserted firmly. "I dare swear it! Until then, citizeness, in -the name of your own future, and in the name of France, I adjure you to -watch. Watch and listen! Oh, think of the stakes for which we are -playing, you and I! Bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees, citoyenne, -and Robespierre will be as much your slave as he is now the prey to a -strange dread of that one man. Robespierre fears the Scarlet Pimpernel. -A superstitious conviction has seized hold of him that the English spy -will bring about his downfall. We have all seen of late how aloof he -holds himself. He no longer attends the Committees. He no longer goes to -the Clubs; he shuns his friends; and his furtive glance is for ever -trying to pierce some imaginary disguise, under which he alternately -fears and hopes to discover his arch-enemy. He dreads assassination, -anonymous attacks. In every obscure member of the Convention who walks -up the steps of the tribune, he fears to find the Scarlet Pimpernel -under a new, impenetrable mask. Ah, citoyenne! what influence you would -have over him if through your agency all those fears could be drowned in -the blood of that abominable Englishman!" - -"Now, who would have thought that?" a mocking voice broke in suddenly, -with a quiet chuckle. "I vow, my dear M. Chambertin, you are waxing more -eloquent than ever before!" - -Like the laughter of a while ago, the voice seemed to come from nowhere. -It was in the air, muffled by the clouds of Mother Théot's perfumes, or -by the thickness of doors and tapestries. Weird, yet human. - -"By Satan, this is intolerable!" Chauvelin exclaimed, and paying no heed -to Theresia's faint cry of terror, he ran to the main door. It was on -the latch. He tore it open and dashed out upon the landing. - - - - -§2 - - -From here a narrow stone staircase, dank and sombre, led downwards as -well as upwards, in a spiral. The house had only the two stories, -perched above some disused and dilapidated storage-rooms, to which a -double outside door and wicket gave access from the street. - -The staircase received its only light from a small window high up in the -roof, the panes of which were coated with grime, so that the well of the -stairs, especially past the first-floor landing, was almost in complete -gloom. For an instant Chauvelin hesitated. Never a coward physically, he -yet had no mind to precipitate himself down a dark staircase when mayhap -his enemy was lying in wait for him down below. - -Only for an instant however. The very next second had brought forth the -positive reflection: "Bah! Assassination, and in the dark, are not the -Englishman's ways." - -Scarce a few yards from where he stood, the other side of the door, was -the dry moat which ran round the Arsenal. From there, at a call from -him, a dozen men and more would surge from the ground--sleuthhounds, as -he had told Theresia a moment ago, who were there on the watch and whom -he could trust to do his work swiftly and securely--if only he could -reach the door and call for help. Elusive as that accursed Pimpernel -was, successful chase might even now be given to him. - -Chauvelin ran down half a dozen steps, peered down the shaft of the -staircase, and spied a tiny light, which moved swiftly to and fro. Then -presently, below the light a bit of tallow candle, then a grimy hand -holding the candle, an arm, the top of a shaggy head crowned by a greasy -red cap, a broad back under a tattered blue jersey. He heard the thump -of heavy soles upon the stone flooring below, and a moment or two later -the weird, sepulchral sound of a churchyard cough. Then the light -disappeared. For a second or two the darkness appeared more impenetrably -dense; then one or two narrow streaks of daylight showed the position of -the outside door. Something prompted him to call: - -"Is that you, citizen Rateau?" - -It was foolish, of course. And the very next moment he had his answer. A -voice--the mocking voice he knew so well--called up to him in reply: - -"At your service, dear M. Chambertin! Can I do anything for you?" - -Chauvelin swore, threw all prudence to the winds, and ran down the -stairs as fast as his shaking knees would allow him. Some three steps -from the bottom he paused for the space of a second, like one turned to -stone by what he saw. Yet it was simple enough: just the same tiny -light, the grimy hand holding the tallow candle, the shaggy head with -the greasy red cap. . . . The figure in the gloom looked preternaturally -large, and the flickering light threw fantastic shadows on the face and -neck of the colossus, distorting the nose to a grotesque length and the -chin to weird proportions. - -The next instant Chauvelin gave a cry like an enraged bull and hurled -his meagre person upon the giant, who, shaken at the moment by a tearing -fit of coughing, was taken unawares and fell backwards, overborne by the -impact, dropping the light as he fell and still wheezing pitiably whilst -trying to give vent to his feelings by vigorous curses. - -Chauvelin, vaguely surprised at his own strength or the weakness of his -opponent, pressed his knee against the latter's chest, gripped him by -the throat, smothering his curses and wheezes, turning the funereal -cough into agonised gasps. - -"At my service, in truth, my gallant Pimpernel!" he murmured hoarsely, -feeling his small reserve of strength oozing away by the strenuous -effort. "What you can do for me? Wait here, until I have you bound and -gagged, safe against further mischief!" - -His victim had in fact given a last convulsive gasp, lay now at full -length upon the stone floor, with arms outstretched, motionless. -Chauvelin relaxed his grip. His strength was spent, he was bathed in -sweat, his body shook from head to foot. But he was triumphant! His -mocking enemy, carried away by his own histrionics, had overtaxed his -colossal strength. The carefully simulated fit of coughing had taken -away his breath at the critical moment; the surprise attack had done the -rest; and Chauvelin--meagre, feeble, usually the merest human insect -beside the powerful Englishman--had conquered by sheer pluck and -resource. - -There lay the Scarlet Pimpernel, who had assumed the guise of asthmatic -Rateau once too often, helpless and broken beneath the weight of the man -whom he had hoodwinked and derided. And now at last all the intrigues, -the humiliations, the schemes and the disappointments, were at an end. -He--Chauvelin--free and honoured: Robespierre his grateful servant. - -A wave of dizziness passed over his brain--the dizziness of coming -glory. His senses reeled. When he staggered to his feet he could -scarcely stand. The darkness was thick around him; only two streaks of -daylight at right angles to one another came through the chinks of the -outside door and vaguely illumined the interior of the dilapidated -store-room, the last step or two of the winding stairway, the row of -empty barrels on one side, the pile of rubbish on the other, and on the -stone floor the huge figure in grimy and tattered rags, lying prone and -motionless. Guided by those streaks of light, Chauvelin lurched up to -the door, fumbled for the latch of the wicket-gate, and finding it -pulled the gate open and almost fell out into the open. - - - - -§3 - - -The Rue de la Planchette was as usual lonely and deserted. It was a -second or two before Chauvelin spied a passer-by. That minute he spent -in calling for help with all his might. The passer-by he quickly -dispatched across to the Arsenal for assistance. - -"In the name of the Republic!" he said solemnly. - -But already his cries had attracted the attention of the sentries. -Within two or three minutes, half a dozen men of the National Guard were -speeding down the street. Soon they had reached the house, the door -where Chauvelin, still breathless but with his habitual official manner -that brooked of no argument, gave them hasty instructions. - -"The man lying on the ground in there," he commanded. "Seize him and -raise him. Then one of you find some cord and bind him securely." - -The men flung the double doors wide open. A flood of light illumined the -store-room. There lay the huge figure on the floor, no longer -motionless, but trying to scramble to its feet, once more torn by a fit -of coughing. The men ran up to him; one of them laughed. - -"Why, if it isn't old Rateau!" - -They lifted him up by his arms. He was helpless as a child, and his face -was of a dull purple colour. - -"He will die!" another man said, with an indifferent shrug of the -shoulders. - -But, in a way, they were sorry for him. He was one of themselves. -Nothing of the aristo about asthmatic old Rateau! - -"Hast thou been playing again at being an English milor, poor old -Rateau?" another man asked compassionately. - -They had succeeded in propping him up and sitting him down upon a barrel -His fit of coughing was subsiding. He had breath enough now to swear. He -raised his head and encountered the pale eyes of citizen Chauvelin fixed -as if sightlessly upon him. - -"Name of a dog!" he began; but got no farther. Giddiness seized him, for -he was weak from coughing and from that strangling grip round his -throat, after he had been attacked in the darkness and thrown violently -to the ground. - -The men around him recoiled at sight of citizen Chauvelin. His -appearance was almost death-like. His cheeks and lips were livid; his -hair dishevelled; his eyes of an unearthly paleness. One hand, claw-like -and shaking, he held out before him, as if to ward off some horrible -apparition. - -This trance-like state made up of a ghastly fear and a sense of the most -hideous, most unearthly impotence, lasted for several seconds. The men -themselves were frightened. Unable to understand what had happened, they -thought that citizen Chauvelin, whom they all knew by sight, had -suddenly lost his reason or was possessed of a devil. For in truth there -was nothing about poor old Rateau to frighten a child! - -Fortunately the tension was over before real panic had seized on any of -them. The next moment Chauvelin had pulled himself together with one of -those mighty efforts of will of which strong natures are always capable. -With an impatient gesture he passed his hand across his brow, then -backwards and forwards in front of his face, as if to chase away the -demon of terror that obsessed him. He gazed on Rateau for a moment or -two, his eyes travelling over the uncouth, semi-conscious figure of the -coalheaver with a searching, undefinable glance. Then, as if suddenly -struck with an idea, he spoke to the man nearest him: - -"Sergeant Chazot? Is he at the Arsenal?" - -"Yes, citizen," the man replied. - -"Run across quickly then," Chauvelin continued; "and bring him hither at -once." - -The soldier obeyed, and a few more minutes--ten, perhaps--went by in -silence. Rateau, weary, cursing, not altogether in full possession of -his faculties, sat huddled upon the barrel, his bleary eyes following -every movement of citizen Chauvelin with an anxious, furtive gaze. The -latter was pacing up and down the stone floor, like a caged, impatient -animal. From time to time he paused, either to peer out into the open in -the direction of the Arsenal, or to search the dark angles of the -store-room, kicking the piles of rubbish about with his foot. - - - - -§4 - - -Anon he uttered a sigh of satisfaction. The soldier had returned, was -even now in the doorway with a comrade--a short, thick-set, -powerful-looking fellow--beside him. - -"Sergeant Chazot!" Chauvelin said abruptly. - -"At your commands, citizen!" the sergeant replied, and at a sign from -the other followed him to the most distant corner of the room. - -"Bend your ear and listen," Chauvelin murmured peremptorily. "I don't -want those fools to hear." And, having assured himself that he and -Chazot could speak without being overheard, he pointed to Rateau, then -went on rapidly: "You will take this lout over to the cavalry barracks. -See the veterinary. Tell him----" - -He paused, as if unable to proceed. His lips were trembling, his face, -ashen-white, looked spectral in the gloom. Chazot, not understanding, -waited patiently. - -"That lout," Chauvelin resumed more steadily after a while, "is in -collusion with a gang of dangerous English spies. One Englishman -especially--tall, and a master of histrionics--uses this man as a kind -of double. Perhaps you heard . . .?" - -Chazot nodded. - -"I know, citizen," he said sagely. "The Fraternal Supper in the Rue St. -Honoré. Comrades have told me that no one could tell who was Rateau the -coalheaver and who the English milor." - -"Exactly!" Chauvelin rejoined dryly, quite firmly now. "Therefore, I -want to make sure. The veterinary, you understand? He brands the horses -for the cavalry. I want a brand on this lout's arm. Just a letter . . . -a distinguishing mark . . ." - -Chazot gave an involuntary gasp. - -"But, citizen----!" he exclaimed. - -"Eh? What?" the other retorted sharply. "In the service of the Republic -there is no 'but,' sergeant Chazot." - -"I know that, citizen," Chazot, abashed, murmured humbly. "I only meant -. . . it seems so strange . . ." - -"Stranger things than that occur every day in Paris, my friend," -Chauvelin said dryly. "We brand horses that are the property of the -State; why not a man? Time may come," he added with a vicious snarl, -"when the Republic may demand that every loyal citizen carry--indelibly -branded in his flesh and by order of the State--the sign of his own -allegiance." - -"'Tis not for me to argue, citizen," Chazot rejoined, with a careless -shrug of the shoulders. "If you tell me to take citizen Rateau over to -the veterinary at the cavalry barracks and have him branded like cattle, -why . . ." - -"Not like cattle, citizen," Chauvelin broke in blandly. "You shall -commence proceedings by administering to citizen Rateau a whole bottle -of excellent eau de vie, at the Government's expense. Then, when he is -thoroughly and irretrievably drunk, the veterinary will put the brand -upon his left forearm . . . just one letter. . . . Why, the drunken -reprobate will never feel it!" - -"As you command, citizen," Chazot assented with perfect indifference. "I -am not responsible. I do as I'm told." - -"Like the fine soldier that you are, citizen Chazot!" Chauvelin -concluded. "And I know that I can trust to your discretion." - -"Oh, as to that----!" - -"It would not serve you to be otherwise; that's understood. So now, my -friend, get you gone with the lout; and take these few words of -instruction with you, for the citizen veterinary." - -He took tablet and point from his pocket and scribbled a few words; -signed it "Chauvelin" with that elegant flourish which can be traced to -this day on so many secret orders that emanated from the Committee of -Public Safety during the two years of its existence. - -Chazot took the written order and slipped it into his pocket. Then he -turned on his heel and briefly gave the necessary orders to the men. -Once more they hoisted the helpless giant up on his feet. Rateau was -willing enough to go. He was willing to do anything so long as they took -him away from here, away from the presence of that small devil with the -haggard face and the pale, piercing eyes. He allowed himself to be -conducted out of the building without a murmur. - -Chauvelin watched the little party--the six men, the asthmatic -coalheaver and lastly the sergeant--file out of the place, then cross -the Rue de la Planchette and take the turning opposite, the one that led -through the Porte and the Rue St. Antoine to the cavalry barracks in the -Quartier Bastille. After which, he carefully closed the double outside -doors and, guided by instinct since the place down here was in darkness -once more, he groped his way to the foot of the stairs and slowly -mounted to the floor above. - - - - -§5 - - -He reached the first-floor landing. The door which led into Mother -Théot's apartments was on the latch, and Chauvelin had just stretched -out his hand with a view to pushing it open, when the door swung out on -its hinges, as if moved by an invisible hand, and a pleasant, mocking -voice immediately behind him said, with grave politeness: - -"Allow me, my dear M. Chambertin!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -FOUR DAYS - - -§1 - - -What occurred during the next few seconds Chauvelin himself would have -been least able to say. Whether he stepped of his own accord into the -antechamber of Catherine Théot's apartment, or whether an unseen hand -pushed him in, he could not have told you. Certain it is that, when he -returned to the full realisation of things, he was sitting on one of the -benches, his back against the wall, whilst immediately in front of him, -looking down on him through half-closed, lazy eyes, débonnair, well -groomed, unperturbed, stood his arch-enemy, Sir Percy Blakeney. - -The antechamber was gloomy in the extreme. Some one in the interval had -lighted the tallow candles in the centre chandelier, and these shed a -feeble, flickering light on the dank, bare walls, the carpetless floor, -the shuttered windows; whilst a thin spiral of evil-smelling smoke wound -its way to the blackened ceiling above. - -Of Theresia Cabarrus there was not a sign. Chauvelin looked about him, -feeling like a goaded animal shut up in a narrow space with its -tormentor. He was making desperate efforts to regain his composure, -above all he made appeal to that courage which was wont never to desert -him. In truth, Chauvelin had never been a physical coward, nor was he -afraid of death or outrage at the hands of the man whom he had so deeply -wronged, and whom he had pursued with a veritable lust of hate. No! he -did not fear death at the hands of the Scarlet Pimpernel. What he feared -was ridicule, humiliation, those schemes--bold, adventurous, seemingly -impossible--which he knew were already seething behind the smooth, -unruffled brow of his arch-enemy, behind those lazy, supercilious eyes, -which had the power to irritate his nerves to the verge of dementia. - -This impudent adventurer--no better than a spy, despite his aristocratic -mien and air of lofty scorn--this meddlesome English brigand, was the -one man in the world who had, when he measured his prowess against him, -invariably brought him to ignominy and derision, made him a -laughing-stock before those whom he had been wont to dominate; and at -this moment, when once again he was being forced to look into those -strangely provoking eyes, he appraised their glance as he would the -sword of a proved adversary, and felt as he did so just that same -unaccountable dread of them which had so often paralysed his limbs and -atrophied his brain whenever mischance flung him into the presence of -his enemy. - -He could not understand why Theresia Cabarrus had deserted him. Even a -woman, if she happened to be a friend, would by her presence have -afforded him moral support. - -"You are looking for Mme. de Fontenay, I believe, dear M. Chambertin," -Sir Percy said lightly, as if divining his thoughts. "The ladies--ah, -the ladies! They add charm, piquancy, eh? to the driest conversations. -Alas!" he went on with mock affectation, "that Mme. de Fontenay should -have fled at first sound of my voice! Now she hath sought refuge in the -old witch's lair, there to consult the spirits as to how best she can -get out again, seeing that the door is now locked. . . . Demmed awkward, -a locked door, when a pretty woman wants to be on the other side. What -think you, M. Chambertin?" - -"I only think, Sir Percy," Chauvelin contrived to retort, calling all -his wits and all his courage to aid him in his humiliating position, "I -only think of another pretty woman, who is in the room just above our -heads, and who would also be mightily glad to find herself the other -side of a locked door." - -"Your thoughts," Sir Percy retorted with a light laugh, "are always so -ingenuous, my dear M. Chambertin. Strangely enough, mine just at this -moment run on the possibility--not a very unlikely one, you will -admit--of shaking the breath out of your ugly little body, as I would -that of a rat." - -"Shake, my dear Sir Percy, shake!" Chauvelin riposted with -well-simulated calm. "I grant you that I am a puny rat and you the most -magnificent of lions; but even if I lie mangled and breathless on this -stone floor at your feet, Lady Blakeney will still be a prisoner in our -hands." - -"And you will still be wearing the worst-cut pair of breeches it has -ever been my bad fortune to behold," Sir Percy retorted, quite -unruffled. "Lud love you, man! Have you guillotined all the good tailors -in Paris?" - -"You choose to be flippant, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. "But, -though you have chosen for the past few years to play the rôle of a -brainless nincompoop, I have cause to know that behind your affectations -there lurks an amount of sound common sense." - -"Lud, how you flatter me, my dear sir!" quoth Sir Percy airily. "I vow -you had not so high an opinion of me the last time I had the honour of -conversing with you. It was at Nantes; do you remember?" - -"There, as elsewhere, you succeeded in circumventing me. Sir Percy." - -"No, no!" he protested. "Not in circumventing you. Only in making you -look a demmed fool!" - -"Call it that, if you like, sir," Chauvelin admitted with an indifferent -shrug of the shoulders. "Luck has favoured you many a time. As I had the -honour to tell you, you have had the laugh of us in the past, and no -doubt you are under the impression that you will have it again this -time." - -"I am such a believer in impressions, my dear sir. The impression now -that I have of your charming personality is indelibly graven upon my -memory." - -"Sir Percy Blakeney counts a good memory as one of his many -accomplishments. Another is his adventurous spirit, and the gallantry -which must inevitably bring him into the net which we have been at pains -to spread for him. Lady Blakeney----" - -"Name her not, man!" Sir Percy broke in with affected deliberation; "or -I verily believe that within sixty seconds you would be a dead man!" - -"I am not worthy to speak her name, c'est entendu," Chauvelin retorted -with mock humility. "Nevertheless, Sir Percy, it is around the person of -that gracious lady that the Fates will spin their web during the next -few days. You may kill me. Of course, I am at this moment entirely at -your mercy. But before you embark on such a perilous undertaking, will -you allow me to place the position a little more clearly before you?" - -"Lud, man!" quoth Sir Percy with a quaint laugh. "That's what I'm here -for! Think you that I have sought your agreeable company for the mere -pleasure of gazing at your amiable countenance?" - -"I only desired to explain to you, Sir Percy, the dangers to which you -expose Lady Blakeney, if you laid violent hands; upon ma 'Tis you, -remember, who sought this interview--not I." - -"You are right, my dear sir, always right; and I'll not interrupt again. -I pray you to proceed." - -"Allow me then to make my point clear. There are at this moment a score -of men of the National Guard in the room above your head. Every one of -them goes to the guillotine if they allow their prisoner to escape; -every one of them receives a reward of ten thousand livres the day they -capture the Scarlet Pimpernel. A good spur for vigilance, what? But that -is not all," Chauvelin went on quite steadily, seeing that Sir Percy had -apparently become thoughtful and absorbed. "The men are under the -command of Captain Boyer, and he understands that every day at a certain -hour--seven in the evening, to be precise--I will be with him and -interrogate him as to the welfare of the prisoner. If--mark me, Sir -Percy!--if on any one day I do not appear before him at that hour, his -orders are to shoot the prisoner on sight. . . ." - -The word was scarce out of his mouth; it broke in a hoarse spasm. Sir -Percy had him by the throat, shook him indeed as he would a rat. - -"You cur!" he said in an ominous whisper, his face quite close now to -that of his enemy, his jaw set, his eyes no longer good-humoured and -mildly scornful, but burning with the fire of a mighty, unbridled wrath. -"You damned--insolent--miserable cur! As there is a Heaven above us----" - -Then suddenly his grip relaxed, the whole face changed as if an unseen -hand had swept away the fierce lines of anger and of hate. The eyes -softened beneath their heavy lids, the set lips broke into a mocking -smile. He let go his hold of the Terrorist's throat; and the unfortunate -man, panting and breathless, fell heavily against the wall. He tried to -steady himself as best he could, but his knees were shaking, and faint -and helpless, he finally collapsed upon the nearest bench, the while Sir -Percy straightened out his tall figure, with unruffled composure rubbed -his slender hands one against the other, as if to free them from dust, -and said, with gentle, good-humoured sarcasm: - -"Do put your cravat straight, man! You look a disgusting object!" - -He dragged the corner of a bench forward, sat astride upon it, and -waited with perfect sang-froid, spy-glass in hand, while Chauvelin -mechanically readjusted the set of his clothes. - -"That's better," he said approvingly. "Just the bow at the back of your -neck . . . a little more to the right . . . now your cuffs. . . . Ah, -you look quite tidy again! . . . a perfect picture, I vow, my dear M. -Chambertin, of elegance and of a well-regulated mind!" - -"Sir Percy----!" Chauvelin broke in with a vicious snarl. - -"I entreat you to accept my apologies," the other rejoined with utmost -courtesy. "I was on the verge of losing my temper, which we in England -would call demmed bad form. I'll not transgress again. I pray you, -proceed with what you were saying. So interesting--demmed interesting! -You were talking about murdering a woman in cold blood, I think----" - -"In hot blood, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined more firmly. "Blood fired -by thoughts of a just revenge." - -"Pardon! My mistake! As you were saying----" - -"'Tis you who attack us. You--the meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, with -your accursed gang! . . . We defend ourselves as best we can, using what -weapons lie closest to our hand----" - -"Such as murder, outrage, abduction . . . and wearing breeches the cut -of which would provoke a saint to indignation!" - -"Murder, abduction, outrage, as you will, Sir Percy," Chauvelin -retorted, as cool now as his opponent. "Had you ceased to interfere in -the affairs of France when first you escaped punishment for your -machinations, you would not now be in the sorry plight in which your own -intrigues have at last landed you. Had you left us alone, we should by -now have forgotten you." - -"Which would have been such a pity, my dear M. Chambertin," Blakeney -rejoined gravely. "I should not like you to forget me. Believe me, I -have enjoyed life so much these past two years,'I would not give up -those pleasures even for that of seeing you and your friends have a bath -or wear tidy buckles on your shoes." - -"You will have cause to indulge in those pleasures within the next few -days, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. - -"What?" Sir Percy exclaimed. "The Committee of Public Safety going to -have a bath? Or the Revolutionary Tribunal? Which?" - -But Chauvelin was determined not to lose his temper again. Indeed, he -abhorred this man so deeply that he felt no anger against him, no -resentment; only a cold, calculating hate. - -"The pleasure of pitting your wits against the inevitable," he riposted -dryly. - -"Ah?" quoth Sir Percy airily. "The inevitable has always been such a -good friend to me." - -"Not this time, I fear, Sir Percy." - -"Ah? You really mean this time to----?" and he made a significant -gesture across his own neck. - -"In as few days as possible." - -Whereupon Sir Percy rose, and said solemnly: - -"You are right there, my friend, quite right. Delays are always -dangerous. If you mean to have my head, why--have it quickly. As for me, -delays always bore me to tears." - -He yawned and stretched his long limbs. - -"I am getting so demmed fatigued," he said. "Do you not think this -conversation has lasted quite long enough?" - -"It was none of my seeking, Sir Percy." - -"Mine, I grant you; mine, absolutely! But, hang it, man! I had to tell -you that your breeches were badly cut." - -"And I, that we are at your service, to end the business as soon as may -be." - -"To----?" And once more Sir Percy passed his firm hand across his -throat. Then he gave a shudder. - -"B-r-r-r!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea you were in such a demmed -hurry." - -"We await your pleasure, Sir Percy. Lady Blakeney must not be kept in -suspense too long. Shall we say that in three days . . .?" - -"Make it four, my dear M. Chambertin, and I am eternally your debtor." - -"In four days then, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined with pronounced -sarcasm. "You see how ready I am to meet you in a spirit of -conciliation! Four days, you say? Very well then; for four days more we -keep our prisoner in those rooms upstairs. . . . After that----" - -He paused, awed mayhap, in spite of himself, by the diabolical thought -which had suddenly come into his mind--a sudden inspiration which in -truth must have emanated from some unclean spirit with which he held -converse. He looked the Scarlet Pimpernel--his enemy--squarely in the -face. Conscious of his power, he was no longer afraid. What he longed -for most at this moment was to see the least suspicion of a shadow dim -the mocking light that danced in those lazy, supercilious eyes, or the -merest tremor pass over the slender hand framed in priceless Mechlin -lace. - -For a while complete silence reigned in the bare, dank room--a silence -broken only by the stertorous, rapid breathing of the one man who -appeared moved. That man was not Sir Percy Blakeney. He indeed had -remained quite still, spy-glass in hand, the good-humoured smile still -dancing round his lips. Somewhere in the far distance a church clock -struck the hour. Then only did Chauvelin put his full fiendish project -into words. - -"For four days," he reiterated with slow deliberation, "We keep our -prisoner in the room upstairs. . . . After that, Captain Boyer has -orders to shoot her." - -Again there was silence--only for a second perhaps; whilst down by the -Stygian creek, where Time never was, the elfish ghouls and impish demons -set up a howl of delight at the hellish knavery of man. - -Just one second, whilst Chauvelin waited for his enemy's answer to this -monstrous pronouncement, and the very walls of the drabby apartment -appeared to listen, expectant. Overhead, could be dimly heard the -measured tramp of heavy feet upon the uncarpeted floor. And suddenly -through the bare apartment there rang the sound of a quaint, -light-hearted laugh. - -"You really are the worst-dressed man I have ever come across, my good -M. Chambertin," Sir Percy said with rare good-humour. "You must allow me -to give you the address of a good little tailor I came across in the -Latin quarter the other day. No decent man would be seen walking up the -guillotine in such a waistcoat as you are wearing. As for your -boots----" He yawned again. "You really must excuse me! I came home late -from the theatre last night, and have not had my usual hours of sleep. -So, by your leave----" - -"By all means, Sir Percy!" Chauvelin replied complacently. "At this -moment you are a free man, because I happen to be alone and unarmed, and -because this house is solidly built and my voice would not carry to the -floor above. Also because you are so nimble that no doubt you could give -me the slip long before Captain Boyer and his men came to my rescue. -Yes, Sir Percy; for the moment you are a free man! Free to walk out of -this house unharmed. But even now, you are not as free as you would wish -to be, eh? You are free to despise me, to overwhelm me with lofty scorn, -to sharpen your wits at my expense; but you are not free to indulge your -desire to squeeze the life out of me, to shake me as you would a rat And -shall I tell you why? Because you know now that if at a certain hour of -the day I do not pay my daily visit to Captain Boyer upstairs, he will -shoot his prisoner without the least compunction." - -Whereupon Blakeney threw up his head and laughed heartily. - -"You are absolutely priceless, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said gaily. -"But you really must put your cravat straight. It has once again become -disarranged . . . in the heat of your oratory, no doubt . . . Allow me -to offer you a pin." - -And with inimitable affectation, he took a pin out of his own cravat and -presented it to Chauvelin, who, unable to control his wrath, jumped to -his feet. - -"Sir Percy----!" he snarled. - -But Blakeney placed a gentle, Arm hand upon his shoulder, forcing him to -sit down again. - -"Easy, easy, my friend," he said. "Do not, I pray you, lose that -composure for which you are so justly famous. There! Allow me to arrange -your cravat for you. A gentle tug here," he added, suiting the action to -the word, "a delicate flick there, and you are the most perfectly -cravatted man in France!" - -"Your insults leave me unmoved, Sir Percy," Chauvelin broke in savagely, -and tried to free himself from the touch of those slender, strong hands -that wandered so uncomfortably in the vicinity of his throat. - -"No doubt," Blakeney riposted lightly, "that they are as futile as your -threats. One does not insult a cur, any more than one threatens Sir -Percy Blakeney--what?" - -"You are right there, Sir Percy. The time for threats has gone by. And -since you appear so vastly entertained----" - -"I _am_ vastly entertained, my dear M. Chambertin! How can I help it, -when I see before me a miserable shred of humanity who does not even -know how to keep his tie or his hair smooth, calmly--or almost -calmly--talking of----Let me see, what were you talking of, my amiable -friend?" - -"Of the hostage, Sir Percy, which we hold until the happy day when the -gallant Scarlet Pimpernel is a prisoner in our hands." - -"'M, yes! He was that once before, was he not, my good sir? Then, too, -you laid down mighty schemes for his capture." - -"And we succeeded." - -"By your usual amiable methods--lies, deceit, forgery. The latter has -been useful to you this time too, eh?" - -"What do you mean, Sir Percy?" - -"You had need of the assistance of a fair lady for your schemes. She -appeared disinclined to help you. So when her inconvenient lover, -Bertrand Moncrif, was happily dragged away from her path, you forged a -letter, which the lady rightly looked upon as an insult. Because of that -letter, she nourished a comfortable amount of spite against me, and lent -you her aid in the fiendish outrage for which you are about to receive -punishment." He had raised his voice slightly while he spoke, and -Chauvelin cast an apprehensive glance in the direction of the door -behind which he guessed that Theresia Cabarrus must be straining her -ears to listen. - -"A pretty story, Sir Percy," he said with affected coolness. "And one -that does infinite credit to your imagination. It is mere surmise on -your part." - -"What, my friend? What is surmise? That you gave a letter to Madame de -Fontenay which you had concocted, and which I had never written? Why, -man," he added with a laugh, "I saw you do it!" - -"You? Impossible!" - -"More impossible things than that will happen within the next few days, -my good sir. I was outside the window of Madame de Fontenay's apartment -during the whole of your interview with her. And the shutters were not -as closely fastened as you would have wished. But why argue about it, my -dear M. Chambertin, when you know quite well that I have given you a -perfectly accurate exposé of the means which you employed to make a -pretty and spoilt woman help you in your nefarious work?" - -"Why argue, indeed?" Chauvelin retorted dryly. "The past is past. I'll -answer to my country which you outrage by your machinations, for the -methods which I employ to circumvent them. Your concern and mine, my -gallant friend, is solely with the future--with the next four days, in -fact. . . . After which, either the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our hands, -or Lady Blakeney will be put against the wall upstairs and summarily -shot." - -Then only did something of his habitual lazy nonchalance go out of -Blakeney's attitude. Just for the space of a few seconds he drew himself -up to his full magnificent height, and from the summit of his splendid -audacity and the consciousness of his own power he looked down at the -mean cringing figure of the enemy who had hurled this threat of death -against the woman he worshipped. Chauvelin vainly tried to keep up some -semblance of dignity; he tried to meet the glance which no longer -mocked, and to close his ears to the voice which, sonorous and -commanding, now threatened in its turn. - -"And you really believe," Sir Percy Blakeney said slowly and -deliberately, "that you have the power to carry through your infamous -schemes? That I--yes, I!--would allow you! to come within measurable -distance of their execution? Bah! my dear friend. You have learned -nothing by past experience--not even this: that when you dared to lay -your filthy hands upon Lady Blakeney, you and the whole pack of -assassins who have terrorized this beautiful country far too long, -struck the knell of your ultimate doom. You have dared to measure your -strength against mine by perpetrating an outrage so monstrous in my -sight that, to punish you, I--even I!--will sweep you off the face of -the earth and send you to join the pack of unclean ghouls who have aided -you in your crimes. After which--thank the lord!--the earth, being -purged of your presence, will begin to smell sweetly again." - -Chauvelin made a vain effort to laugh, to shrug his shoulders, to put on -those airs of insolence which came so naturally to his opponent. No -doubt the strain of this long interview with his enemy had told upon his -nerves. Certain it is that at this moment, though he was conscious -enough to rail inwardly at his own cowardice, he was utterly unable to -move or to retort. His limbs felt heavy as lead, an icy shudder was -coursing down his spine. It seemed in truth as if some uncanny ghoul had -entered the dreary, dank apartment and with gaunt, invisible hand was -tolling a silent passing bell--the death-knell of all his ambitions and -of all his hopes. He closed his eyes, for he felt giddy and sick. When -he opened his eyes again he was alone. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -A DREAM - - -§1 - - -Chauvelin had not yet regained full possession of his faculties, when a -few seconds later he saw Theresia Cabarrus glide swiftly across the -antechamber. She appeared to him like a ghost--a pixie who had found her -way through a keyhole. But she threw him a glance of contempt that was -very human, very feminine indeed, and the next moment she was gone. - -Outside on the landing she paused. Straining her ears, she caught the -sound of a firm footfall slowly descending the stairs. She ran down a -few steps, then called softly: - -"Milor!" - -The footsteps paused, and a pleasant voice gave quiet reply: - -"At your service, fair lady!" - -Theresia, shrewd as well as brave, continued to descend. She was not in -the least afraid. Instinct had told her before now that no woman need -ever have the slightest fear of that elegant milor with the quaint laugh -and gently mocking mien, whom she had learned to know over in England. - -Midway down the stairs she came face to face with him, and when she -paused, panting, a little breathless with excitement, he said with -perfect courtesy: - -"You did me the honour to call me, Madame?" - -"Yes, milor," she replied in a quick, eager whisper. "I heard every word -that passed between you and citizen Chauvelin." - -"Of course you did, dear lady," he rejoined with a smile. "If a woman -once resisted the temptation of putting a shell-like ear to a keyhole, -the world would lose many a cause for entertainment." - -"That letter, milor----" she broke in impatiently. - -"Which letter, Madame?" - -"That insulting letter to me . . . when you took Moncrif away. . . . You -never wrote it?" - -"Did you really think that I did?" he retorted. - -"No. I ought to have guessed . . . the moment that I saw you in -England. . . ." - -"And realised that I was not a cad--what?" - -"Oh, milor!" she protested. "But why--why did you not tell me before?" - -"It had escaped my memory. And if I remember rightly, you spent most of -the time when I had the honour of walking with you, in giving me -elaborate and interesting accounts of your difficulties, and I, in -listening to them." - -"Oh!" she exclaimed vehemently. "I hate that man! I hate him!" - -"In truth, he is not a lovable personality. But, by your leave, I -presume that you did not desire to speak with me so that we might -discuss our friend Chauvelin's amiable qualities." - -"No, no, milor!" she rejoined quickly. "I called to you because----" - -Then she paused for a moment or two, as if to collect her thoughts. Her -eager eyes strove to pierce the bloom that enveloped the figure of the -bold adventurer. She could only see the dim outline of his powerful -figure, the light from above striking on his smooth hair, the elegantly -tied bow at the nape of his neck, the exquisite filmy lace at his throat -and wrists. His head was slightly bent, one arm in a curve supported his -chapeau-bras, his whole attitude was one befitting a salon rather than -this dank hovel, where death was even now at his elbow; it was as cool -and unperturbed as it had been on that May-day evening, in the -hawthorn-scented lanes of Kent. - -"Milor," she said abruptly, "you told me once--you remember?--that you -were what you English call a sportsman. Is that so?" - -"I hope always to remain that, dear lady," he replied with a smile. - -"Does that mean," she queried, with a pretty air of deference and -hesitation, "does that mean a man who would under no circumstances harm -a woman?" - -"I think so." - -"Not even if she--if she has sinned--transgressed against him?" - -"I don't quite understand, Madame," he rejoined simply. "And, time being -short---- Are you perchance speaking of yourself?" - -"Yes. I have done you an injury, milor." - -"A very great one indeed," he assented gravely. - -"Could you," she pleaded, raising earnest, tear-filled eyes to his, -"could you bring yourself to believe that I have been nothing but a -miserable, innocent tool?" - -"So was the lady upstairs innocent, Madame," he broke in quietly. - -"I know," she retorted with a sigh. "I know. I would never dare to -plead, as you must hate me so." - -He shrugged his shoulders with an air of carelessness. - -"Oh!" he said. "Does a man ever hate a pretty woman?" - -"He forgives her, milor," she entreated, "if he is a true sportsman." - -"Indeed? You astonish me, dear lady. But in verity you all in this -unhappy country are full of surprises for a plain, blunt-headed -Britisher. Now what, I wonder," he added, with a light, good-humoured -laugh, "would my forgiveness be worth to you?" - -"Everything!" she replied earnestly. "I was deceived by that abominable -liar, who knew how to play upon a woman's pique. I am ashamed, -wretched. . . . Oh, cannot you believe me? And I would give worlds to -atone!" - -He laughed in his quiet, gently ironical way. - -"You do not happen to possess worlds, dear lady. All that you have is -youth and beauty and ambition, and life. You would forfeit all those -treasures if you really tried to atone." - -"But----" - -"Lady Blakeney is a prisoner. . . . You are her jailer. . . . Her -precious life is the hostage for yours." - -"Milor----" she murmured. - -"From my heart, I wish you well, fair one," he broke in lightly. -"Believe me, the pagan gods that fashioned you did not design you for -tragedy. . . . And if you ran counter to your friend Chauvelin's -desires, I fear me that pretty neck of yours would suffer. A thing -to be avoided at all costs! And now," he added, "have I your permission -to go? My position here is somewhat precarious, and for the next four -days I cannot afford the luxury of entertaining so fair a lady, by -running my head into a noose." - -He was on the point of going when she placed a restraining hand upon his -arm. - -"Milor!" she pleaded. - -"At your service, dear lady!" - -"Is there naught I can do for you?" - -He looked at her for a moment or two, and even through the gloom she -caught his quizzical look and the mocking lines around his firm lips. - -"You can ask Lady Blakeney to forgive you," he said, with a thought more -seriousness than was habitual to him, "She is an angel; she might do -it." - -"And if she does?" - -"She will know what to do, to convey her thoughts to me." - -"Nay! but I'll do more than that, milor," Theresia continued excitedly. -"I will tell her that I shall pray night and day for your deliverance -and hers. I will tell her that I have seen you, and that you are well." - -"Ah, if you did that----!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily. - -"You would forgive me, too?" she pleaded. - -"I would do more than that, fair one. I would make you Queen of France, -in all but name." - -"What do you mean?" she murmured. - -"That I would then redeem the promise which I made to you that evening, -in the lane--outside Dover. Do you remember?" - -She made no reply, closed her eyes; and her vivid fancy, rendered doubly -keen by the mystery which seemed to encompass him as with a supernal -mantle, conjured up the vision of that unforgettable evening: the -moonlight, the scent of the hawthorn, the call of the thrush. She saw -him stooping before her, and kissing her finger-tips, even whilst her -ears recalled every word he had spoken and every inflexion of his -mocking voice: - -"Let me rather put it differently, dear lady," he had said then. "One -day the exquisite Theresia Cabarrus, the Egeria of the Terrorists, the -fiancée of the great Tallien, might need the help of the Scarlet -Pimpernel." - -And she, angered, piqued by his coolness, thirsting for revenge for the -insult which she believed he had put upon her, had then protested -earnestly: - -"I would sooner die," she had boldly asserted, "than seek your help, -milor!" - -And now, at this hour, here in this house where Death lurked in every -corner, she could still hear his retort: "Here in Dover, perhaps. . . . -But in France?" - -How right he had been! . . . How right! She--who had thought herself so -strong, so powerful--what was she indeed but a miserable tool in the -hands of men who would break her without scruple if she ran counter to -their will? Remorse was not for her--atonement too great a luxury for a -tool of Chauvelin to indulge in. The black, hideous taint, the sin of -having dragged this splendid man and that innocent woman to their death -must rest upon her soul for ever. Even now she was jeopardizing his -life, every moment that she kept him talking in this house. And yet the -impulse to speak with him, to hear him say a word of forgiveness, had -been unconquerable. One moment she longed for him to go; the next she -would have sacrificed much to keep him by her side. When he wished to -go, she held him back. Now that, with his wonted careless disregard of -danger, he appeared willing to linger, she sought for the right words -wherewith to bid him go. - -He seemed to divine her thoughts, remained quite still while she stood -there with eyes closed, in one brief second reviewing the past. All! All! -It all came back to her: her challenge to him, his laughing retort. - -"You mean," she had said at parting, "that you would risk your life to -save mine?" - -"I should not risk my life, dear lady," he had said, with his puzzling -smile. "But I should--God help me!--do my best, if the need arose, to -save yours." - -Then he had gone, and she had stood under the porch of the quaint old -English inn and watched his splendid figure as it disappeared down the -street. She had watched, puzzled, uncomprehending, her heart already -stirred by that sweet, sad ache which at this hour brought tears to her -eyes--the aching sorrow of that which could never, never be. Ah! if it -had been her good fortune to have come across such a man, to have -aroused in him that admiration for herself which she so scorned in -others, how different, how very different would life have been! And she -fell to envying the poor prisoner upstairs, who owned the most precious -treasure life can offer to any woman: the love of a fine man. Two hot -tears came slowly through her closed eyes, coursing down her cheeks. - -"Why so sad, dear lady?" he asked gently. - -She could not speak for the moment, only murmured vaguely: - -"Four days----" - -"Four days," he retorted gaily, "as you say! In four days, either I or a -pack of assassins will be dead." - -"Oh, what will become of me?" she sighed. - -"Whatever you choose." - -"You are bold, milor," she rejoined more calmly. "And you are brave. -Alas! what can you do, when the most powerful hands in France are -against you?" - -"Smite them, dear lady," he replied airily. "Smite them! Then turn my -back upon this fair land. It will no longer have need of me." Then he -made her a courteous bow. "May I have the honour of escorting you -upstairs? Your friend M. Chauvelin will be awaiting you." - -The name of her taskmaster brought Theresia back to the realities of -life. Gone was the dream of a while ago, when subconsciously her mind -had dwelt upon a sweet might-have-been. The man was nothing to her--less -than nothing; a common spy, so her friends averred. Even if he had not -presumed to write her an insulting letter, he was still the enemy--the -foe whose hand was raised against her own country and against those with -whose fortunes she had thrown in her lot. Even now, she ought to be -calling loudly for help, rouse the house with her cries, so that this -spy, this enemy, might be brought down before her eyes. Instead of -which, she felt her heart beating with apprehension lest his quiet, even -voice be heard on the floor above, and he be caught in the snare which -those who feared and hated him had laid for him. - -Indeed, she appeared far more conscious of danger than he was; and while -she chided herself for her folly in having called to him, he was -standing before her as if he were in a drawing-room, holding out his arm -to escort her in to dinner. His foot was on the step, ready to ascend, -even whilst Theresia's straining ears caught the sound of other -footsteps up above: footsteps of men--real men, those!--who were set up -there to watch for the coming of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and whose -vigilance had been spurred by promise of reward and by threat of death. -She pushed his arm aside almost roughly. - -"You are mad, milor!" she said, in a choked murmur. "Such foolhardiness, -when your life is in deadly jeopardy, becomes criminal folly----" - -"The best of life," he said airily, "is folly. I would not miss this -moment for a kingdom!" - -She felt like a creature under a spell. He took her hand and drew it -through his arm. She went up the steps beside him. - -Every moment she thought that one or more of the soldiers would be -coming down, or that Chauvelin, impatient at her absence, might step out -upon the landing. The dank, murky air seemed alive with ominous -whisperings, of stealthy treads upon the stone. Theresia dared not look -behind her, fearful lest the grim presence of Death itself be suddenly -made manifest before her. - -On the landing he took leave of her, stooped and kissed her hand. - -"Why, how cold it is!" he remarked with a smile. - -His was perfectly steady and warm. The very feel of it seemed to give -her strength. She raised her eyes to his. - -"Milor," she entreated, "on my knees I beg of you not to toy with your -life any longer." - -"Toy with my life," he retorted gaily. "Nothing is further from my -thoughts." - -"You must know that every second which you spend in this house is -fraught with the greatest possible danger." - -"Danger? Ne'er a bit, dear lady! I am no longer in danger, now that you -are my friend." - -The next moment he was gone. For awhile, Theresia's straining ears still -caught the sound of his firm footfall upon the stone steps. Then all was -still; and she was left wondering if, in very truth, the last few -minutes on the dark stairs had not all been part of a dream. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -TERROR OR AMBITION - - -§1 - - -Chauvelin had sufficiently recovered from the emotions of the past -half-hour to speak coolly and naturally to Theresia. Whether he knew -that she had waylaid Sir Percy Blakeney on the stairs or no, she could -not conjecture. He made no reference to his interview with the Scarlet -Pimpernel, nor did he question her directly as to whether she had -overheard what passed between them. - -Certainly his attitude was a more dictatorial one than it had been -before. Some of his first words to her contained a veiled menace. -Whether the sense of coming triumph gave him a fresh measure of that -arrogance which past failures had never wholly subdued, or whether -terror for the future caused him to bluster and to threaten, it were -impossible to say. - -"Vigilance!" he said to Theresia, after a curt greeting. "Incessant -vigilance, night and day, is what your country demands of you now, -citizeness! All our lives now depend upon our vigilance." - -"Yours perhaps, citizen," she rejoined coolly. "You seem to forget that -I am not bound----" - -"You? Not bound?" he broke in roughly, and with a strident laugh. "Not -bound to aid in bringing the most bitter enemy of your country to his -knees? Not bound, now that success is in sight?" - -"You only obtained my help by a subterfuge," she retorted; "by a forged -letter and a villainous lie----" - -"Bah! Are you going to tell me, citizeness, that all means are not -justifiable when dealing with those whose hands are raised against -France? Forgery?" he went on, with passionate earnestness. "Why not? -Outrage? Murder? I would commit every crime in order to serve the -country which I love and hound her enemies to death. The only crime that -is unjustifiable, citoyenne, is indifference. You? Not bound? Wait! -Wait, I say! And if by your indifference or your apathy we fail once -more to bring that elusive enemy to book, wait then until you stand at -the bar of the people's tribunal, and in the face of France, who called -to you for help, of France, who, beset by a hundred foes, stretched -appealing arms to you, her daughter, you turned a deaf ear to her -entreaties, and, shrugging your fair shoulders, calmly pleaded, 'Bah! I -was not bound!'" - -He paused, carried away by his own enthusiasm, feeling perhaps that he -had gone too far, or else had said enough to enforce the obedience which -he exacted. After awhile, since Theresia remained silent too, he added -more quietly: - -"If we capture the Scarlet Pimpernel this time, citizeness, Robespierre -shall know from my lips that it is to you and to you alone that he owes -his triumph over the enemy whom he fears above all. Without you, I could -not have set the trap out of which he cannot now escape." - -"He can escape! He can!" she retorted defiantly. "The Scarlet Pimpernel -is too clever, too astute, too audacious, to fall into your trap." - -"Take care, citoyenne, take care! Your admiration for that elusive hero -carries you beyond the bounds of prudence." - -"Bah! If he escapes, 'tis you who will be blamed-----" - -"And 'tis you who will suffer, citoyenne," he riposted blandly. With -which parting shaft he left her, certain that she would ponder over his -threats as well as over his bold promise of a rich reward. - -Terror and ambition! Death, or the gratitude of Robespierre! How well -did Chauvelin gauge the indecision, the shallowness of a fickle woman's -heart! Theresia, left to herself, had only those two alternatives over -which to ponder. Robespierre's gratitude, which meant that the -admiration which already he felt for her would turn to stronger passion. -He was still heart-whole, that she knew. The regard which he was -supposed to feel for the humble cabinet-maker's daughter could only be a -passing fancy. The dictator of France must choose a mate worthy of his -power and of his ambition; his friends would see to that. Robespierre's -gratitude! What a vista of triumphs and of glory did that eventuality -open up before her, what dizzy heights of satisfied ambition! And what a -contrast if Chauvelin's scheme failed in the end! - -"Wait," he had cried, "until you stand at the bar of the people's -tribunal and plead indifference!" - -Theresia shuddered. Despite the close atmosphere of the apartment, she -was shivering with cold. Her loneliness, her isolation, here in this -house, where an appalling and grim tragedy was even now in preparation, -filled her with sickening dread. Overhead she could hear the soldiers -moving about, and in one of the rooms close by her sensitive ear caught -the sound of Mother Théot's shuffling tread. - -But the sound that was most insistent, that hammered away at her heart -until she could have screamed with the pain, was the echo of a lazy, -somewhat inane laugh and of a gently mocking voice that said lightly: - -"The best of life is folly, dear lady. I would not miss this moment for -a kingdom." - -Her hand went up to her throat to smother the sobs that would rise up -against her will. Then she called all her self-control, all her ambition -to her aid. This present mood was sentimental nonsense, an abyss created -by an over-sensitive heart, into which she might be falling headlong. -What was this Englishman to her that thought of his death should prove -such mental agony? As for him, he only laughed at her; despised her -still, probably; hated her for the injury she had done to that woman -upstairs whom he loved. - -Impatient to get away from this atmosphere of tragedy and of mysticism -which was preying on her nerves, Theresia called peremptorily to Mother -Théot, and when the old woman came shuffling out of her room, demanded -her cloak and hood. - -"Have you seen aught of citizen Moncrif?" she asked, just before going -away. - -"I caught sight of him over the way," Catherine Théot replied, -"watching this house, as he always does when you, citoyenne, are in it." - -"Ah!" the imperious beauty retorted, with a thought of spite in her -mellow voice. "Would you could give him a potion, Mother, to cure him of -his infatuation for me!" - -"Despise no man's love, citoyenne," the witch retorted sententiously. -"Even that poor vagabond's blind passion may yet prove thy salvation." - -A moment or two later Theresia was once more on the dark stairs where -she had dreamed of the handsome milor. She sighed as she ran swiftly -down--sighed, and looked half-fearfully about her. She still felt his -presence through the gloom; and in the ghostly light that feebly -illumined the corner whereon he had stood, she still vaguely saw in -spirit his tall straight figure, stooping whilst he kissed her hand. At -one moment she was quite sure that she heard his voice and the echo of -his pleasant laugh. - -Down below, Bertrand Moncrif was waiting for her, silent, humble, with -the look of a faithful watch-dog upon his pale, wan face. - -"You make yourself ill, my poor Bertrand," Theresia said, not unkindly, -seeing that he stood aside to let her pass, fearful of a rebuff if he -dared speak to her. "I am in no danger, I assure you; and this constant -dogging of my footsteps can do no good to you or to me." - -"But it can do no harm," he pleaded earnestly. "Something tells me, -Theresia, that danger does threaten you, unbeknown to you, from a -quarter least expected." - -"Bah!" she retorted lightly. "And if it did, you could not avert it." - -He made a desperate effort to check the words of passionate -protestations which rose to his lips. He longed to tell her how gladly -he would make of his body a shield to protect her from harm, how happy -he would be if he might die for her. But obviously he dared not say what -lay nearest to his heart. All he could do now was to walk silently by -her side as far as her lodgings in the Rue Villedot, grateful for this -small privilege, uncomplaining and almost happy because she tolerated -his presence, and because while she walked the ends of her long scarf -stirred by the breeze would now and again flutter against his cheek. - -Miserable Bertrand! He had laden his soul with an abominable crime for -this woman's sake; and he had not even the satisfaction of feeling that -she gave him an infinitesimal measure of gratitude. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -IN THE MEANWHILE - - -§1 - - -Chauvelin, who, despite his many failures, was still one of the most -conspicuous--since he was one of the most unscrupulous--members of the -Committee of Public Safety, had not attended its sittings for some days. -He had been too deeply absorbed in his own schemes to trouble about -those of his colleagues. In truth, the coup which he was preparing was -so stupendous, and if it succeeded his triumph would be so magnificent, -that he could well afford to hold himself aloof. Those who were still -inclined to scorn and to scoff at him to-day would be his most cringing -sycophants on the morrow. - -He know well enough--none better--that during this time the political -atmosphere in the Committees and the Clubs was nothing short of -electrical. He felt, as every one did, that something catastrophic was -in the air, that death, more self-evident than ever before, lurked at -every man's elbow, and stalked round the corner of every street. - -Robespierre, the tyrant, the autocrat whose mere word swayed the -multitude, remained silent and impenetrable, absent from every -gathering. He only made brief appearances at the Convention, and there -sat moody and self-absorbed. Every one knew that this man, dictator in -all but name, was meditating a Titanic attack upon his enemies. His -veiled threats, uttered during his rare appearances at the speaker's -tribune, embraced even the most popular, the most prominent, amongst the -Representatives of the people. Every one, in fact, who was likely to -stand in his way when he was ready to snatch the supreme power. His -intimates--Couthon, St. Just, and the others--openly accused of planning -a dictatorship for their chief, hardly took the trouble to deny the -impeachment, even whilst Tallien and his friends, feeling that the -tyrant had already decreed their doom, went about like ghostly shadows, -not daring to raise their voices in the Convention lest the first word -they uttered brought down the sword of his lustful wrath upon their -heads. - -The Committee of Public Safely--now renamed the Revolutionary -Committee--strove on the other hand by a recrudescence of cruelty to -ingratiate itself with the potential dictator and to pose before the -people as alone pure and incorruptible, blind in justice, inexorable -where the safety of the Republic was concerned. Thus an abominable -emulation of vengeance and of persecution went on between the Committee -and Robespierre's party, wherein neither side could afford to give in, -for fear of being accused of apathy and of moderation. - -Chauvelin, for the most part, had kept out of the turmoil. He felt that -in his hands lay the destiny of either party. His one thought was of the -Scarlet Pimpernel and of his imminent capture, knowing that, with the -most inveterate opponent of revolutionary excesses in his hands, he -would within an hour be in a position to link his triumph with one or -the other of the parties--either with Robespierre and his herd of -butchers, or with Tallien and the Moderates. - -He was the mysterious and invisible deus ex machina, who anon, when it -suited his purpose, would reveal himself in his full glory as the man -who had tracked down and brought to the guillotine the most dangerous -enemy of the revolutionary government. And, so easily is a multitude -swayed, that one fact would bring him popularity, transcending that -of every other man in France. He, Chauvelin, the despised, the derided, -whose name had become synonymous with Failure, would then with a word -sweep those aside who had mocked him, hurl his enemies from their -pedestals, and name at will the rulers of France. All within four days! - -And of these, two had gone by. - - - - -§2 - - -These days in mid-July had been more than usually sultry. It seemed -almost as if Nature had linked herself with the passions of men, and -hand in hand with Vengeance, Lust and Cruelty, had rendered the air hot -and heavy with the presage of on-coming storm. - -For Marguerite Blakeney these days had gone by like a nightmare. Cut off -from all knowledge of the outside world, without news from her husband -for the past forty-eight hours, she was enduring mental agony such as -would have broken a weaker or less trusting spirit. - -Two days ago she had received a message, a few lines hastily scribbled -by an unknown hand, and brought to her by the old woman who waited upon -her. - -"I have seen him," the message said. "He is well and full of hope. I -pray God for your deliverance and his, but help can only come by a -miracle." - -The message was written in a feminine hand, with no clue as to the -writer. - -Since then, nothing. - -Marguerite had not seen Chauvelin again, for which indeed she thanked -Heaven on her knees. But every day at a given hour she was conscious of -his presence outside her door. She heard his voice in the vestibule: -there would be a word or two of command, the grounding of arms, then -some whispered talking; and presently Chauvelin's stealthy footstep -would slink up to her door. And Marguerite would remain still as a mouse -that scents the presence of a cat, holding her breath, life almost at a -standstill in this agony of expectation. - -The remainder of the day time hung with a leaden weight on her hands. -She was given no books to read, not a needle wherewith to busy herself. -She had no one to speak to save old Mother Théot, who waited on her and -brought her meals, nearly always in silence, and with a dour mien -which checked any attempt at conversation. - -For company, the unfortunate woman had nothing but her own thoughts, her -fears which grew in intensity, and her hopes which were rapidly -dwindling, as hour followed hour and day succeeded day in dreary -monotony. No sound around her save the incessant tramp, tramp of -sentries at her door, and every two hours the changing of the guard in -the vestibule outside; then the whispered colloquies, the soldiers -playing at cards or throwing dice, the bibulous songs, the ribald -laughter, the obscene words flung aloud like bits of filthy rag; the -life, in fact, that revolved around her jailers and seemed at a -standstill within her prison walls. - -In the late afternoons the air would become insufferably hot, and -Marguerite would throw open the window and sit beside it, her gaze fixed -upon the horizon far away, her hands lying limp and moist upon her lap. - -Then she would fall to dreaming. Her thoughts, swifter than flight of -swallows, would cross the sea and go roaming across country to her -stately home in Richmond, where at this hour the moist, cool air was -fragrant with the scent of late roses and of lime blossom, and the -murmur of the river lapping the mossy bank whispered of love and of -peace. In her dream she would see the tall figure of her beloved coming -toward her. The sunset was playing upon his smooth hair and upon his -strong, slender hands, always outstretched toward the innocent and the -weak. She would hear his dear voice calling her name, feel his arms -around her, and her senses swooning in the ecstasy of that perfect -moment which comes just before a kiss. - -She would dream . . . only to wake up the next moment to hear the church -clock of St. Antoine striking seven, and a minute or two later that -ominous shuffling footstep outside her door, those whisperings, the -grounding of arms, a burst of cruel laughter, which brought her from the -dizzy heights of illusive happiness back to the hideous reality of her -own horrible position, and of the deadly danger which lay in wait for -her beloved. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -THE CLOSE OF THE SECOND DAY - - -§1 - - -Soon after seven o'clock that evening the storm which had threatened all -day burst in its full fury. A raging gale tore at the dilapidated roofs -of this squalid corner of the great city, and lashed the mud of the -streets into miniature cascades. Soon the rain fell in torrents; one -clap of thunder followed on another with appalling rapidity, and the -dull, leaden sky was rent with vivid flashes of lightning. - -Chauvelin, who had paid his daily visit to the Captain in charge of the -prisoner in the Rue de la Planchette, was unable to proceed homewards. -For the moment the street appeared impassable. Wrapped in his cloak, he -decided to wait in the disused storage-room below until it became -possible for an unfortunate pedestrian to sally forth into the open. - -There seems no doubt that at this time the man's very soul was on the -rack. His nerves were stretched to breaking point, not only by incessant -vigilance, the obsession of the one idea, the one aim, but also by -multifarious incidents which his overwrought imagination magnified into -attempts to rob him of his prey. - -He trusted no one--not Mother Théot, not the men upstairs, not -Theresia: least of all Theresia. And his tortured brain invented and -elaborated schemes whereby he set one set of spies to watch another, one -set of sleuthhounds to run after another, in a kind of vicious and -demoniac circle of mistrust and denunciation. Nor did he trust himself -any longer: neither his instinct, nor his eyes, nor his ears. His -intimates--and he had a very few of these--said of him at that time -that, if he had his way, he would have had every tatterdemalion in the -city branded, like Rateau, lest they were bribed or tempted into -changing identities with the Scarlet Pimpernel. - -Whilst waiting for a lull in the storm, he was pacing up and down the -dank and murky storage house, striving by febrile movements to calm his -nerves. Shivering, despite the closeness of the atmosphere, he kept the -folds of his mantle closely wrapped around his shoulders. - -It was impossible to keep the outer doors open, because the rain beat in -wildly on that side, and the place would have been in utter darkness but -for an old grimy lantern which some prudent hand had set up on a barrel -in the centre of the vast space, and which shed a feeble circle of light -around. The latch of the wicket appeared to be broken, for the small -door, driven by the wind, flapped backwards and forwards with irritating -ceaselessness. At one time Chauvelin tried to improvise some means of -fastening it, for the noise helped to exacerbate his nerves and, leaning -out into the street in order to seize hold of the door, he saw the -figure of a man, bent nearly double in the teeth of the gale, shuffling -across the street from the direction of the Porte St. Antoine. - -It was then nearly eight o'clock, and the light treacherous, but despite -the veil of torrential rain which intervened between him and that -shuffling figure, something in the gait, the stature, the stoop of the -wide, bony shoulders, appeared unpleasantly familiar. The man's head and -shoulders were wrapped in a tattered piece of sacking, which he held -close to his chest. His arms were bare, as were his shins, and on his -feet he had a pair of sabots stuffed with straw. - -Midway across the street he paused, and a tearing fit of coughing seemed -to render him momentarily helpless. Chauvelin's first instinct prompted -him to run to the stairs and to call for assistance from Captain Boyer. -Indeed, he was half-way up to the first-floor when, looking down, he saw -that the man had entered the place through the wicket-door. Still -coughing and spluttering, he had divested himself of his piece of -sacking and was crouching down against the barrel in the centre of the -room and trying to warm his hands by holding them against the glass -sides of the old lantern. - -From where he stood, Chauvelin could see the dim outline of the man's -profile, the chin ornamented with a three-days' growth of beard, the -lank hair plastered above the pallid forehead, the huge bones, coated -with grime, that protruded through the rags that did duty for a shirt. -The sleeves of this tattered garment hung away from the arm, displaying -a fiery, inflamed weal, shaped like the letter "M," that had recently -been burned into the flesh with a branding iron. - -The sight of that mark upon the vagabond's arm caused Chauvelin to pause -a moment, then to come down the stairs again. - -"Citizen Rateau!" he called. - -The man jumped as if he had been struck with a whip, tried to struggle -to his feet, but collapsed on the floor, while a terrible fit of -coughing took his breath away. Chauvelin, standing beside the barrel, -looked down with a grim smile on this miserable wreckage of humanity -whom he had so judiciously put out of the way of further mischief. The -dim flicker of the lantern illumined the gaunt, bony arm, so that the -charred flesh stood out like a crimson, fiery string against à coating -of grime. - -Rateau appeared terrified, scared by the sudden apparition of the man -who had inflicted the shameful punishment upon him. Chauvelin's face, -lighted from below by the lantern, did indeed appear grim and -forbidding. Some few seconds elapsed before the coalheaver had recovered -sufficiently to stand on his feet. - -"I seem to have scared you, my friend," Chauvelin remarked dryly. - -"I--I did not know," Rateau stammered with a painful wheeze, "that any -one was here . . . I came for shelter. . . ." - -"I am here for shelter, too," Chauvelin rejoined, "and did not see you -enter." - -"Mother Théot allows me to sleep here," Rateau went on mildly. "I have -had no work for two days . . . not since . . ." And he looked down -ruefully upon his arm. "People think I am an escaped felon," he -explained with snivelling timidity. "And as I have always lived just -from hand to mouth . . ." - -He paused, and cast an obsequious glance on the Terrorist, who retorted -dryly: - -"Better men than you, my friend, live from hand to mouth these days. -Poverty," he continued with grim sarcasm, "exalts a man in this glorious -revolution of ours. 'Tis riches that shame him." - -Rateau's branded arm went up to his lanky hair and he scratched his head -dubiously. - -"Aye," he nodded, obviously uncomprehending, "perhaps! But I'd like to -taste some of that shame!" - -Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel. The thunder -sounded a little more distant and the rain less violent for the moment, -and he strode toward the door. - -"The children run after me now," Rateau continued dolefully. "In my -quartier, the concierge turned me out of my lodging. They keep asking me -what I have done to be branded like a convict." - -Chauvelin laughed. - -"Tell them you've been punished for serving the English spy," he said. - -"The Englishman paid me well, and I am very poor," Rateau retorted -meekly. "I could serve the State now . . . if it would pay me well." - -"Indeed? How?" - -"By telling you something, citizen, which you would like to know." - -"What is it?" - -At once the instinct of the informer, of the sleuthhound, was on the -_qui vive._ The coalheaver's words, the expression of cunning on his -ugly face, the cringing obsequiousness of his attitude, all suggested -the spirit of intrigue, of underhand dealing, of lies and denunciations, -which were as the breath of life to this master-spy. He retraced his -steps, came and sat upon a pile of rubbish beside the barrel, and when -Rateau, terrified apparently at what he had said, made a motion as if to -slink away, Chauvelin called him back peremptorily. - -"What is it, citizen Rateau," he said curtly, "that you could tell me, -and that I would like to know?" - -Rateau was cowering in the darkness, trying to efface his huge bulk and -to smother his rasping cough. - -"You have said too much already," Chauvelin went on harshly, "to hold -your tongue. And you have nothing to fear . . . everything to gain. What -is it?" - -For a moment Rateau leaned forward, struck the ground with his fist. - -"Am I to be paid this time?" he asked. - -"If you speak the truth--yes." - -"How much?" - -"That depends on what you tell me. And now, if you hold your tongue, I -shall call to the citizen Captain upstairs and send you to jail." - -The coalheaver appeared to crouch yet further into himself. He looked -like a huge, shapeless mass in the gloom. His huge yellow teeth could be -heard chattering. - -"Citizen Tallien will send me to the guillotine," he murmured. - -"What has citizen Tallien to do with it?" - -"He pays great attention to the citoyenne Cabarrus." - -"And it is about her?" - -Rateau nodded. - -"What is it?" Chauvelin reiterated harshly. - -"She is playing you false, citizen," Rateau murmured in a hoarse breath, -and crawled like a long, bulky worm a little closer to the Terrorist. - -"How?" - -"She is in league with the Englishman." - -"How do you know? - -"I saw her here . . . two days ago. . . . You remember, citizen . . . -after you . . ." - -"Yes, yes!" Chauvelin cried impatiently. - -"Sergeant Chazot took me to the cavalry barracks. . . . They gave me to -drink . . . and I don't remember much what happened. But when I was -myself again, I know that my arm was very sore, and when I looked down I -saw this awful mark on it. . . . I was just outside the Arsenal -then. . . . How I got there I don't know. . . . I suppose Sergeant -Chazot brought me back. . . . He says I was howling for Mother -Théot. . . . She has marvellous salves, you know, citizen." - -"Yes, yes!" - -"I came in here. . . . My head still felt very strange . . . and my arm -felt like living fire. Then I heard voices . . . they came from the -stairs. . . . I looked about me, and saw them standing there. . . ." - -Rateau, leaning upon one arm, stretched out the other and pointed to the -stairs. Chauvelin, with a violent gesture, seized him by the wrist. - -"Who?" he queried harshly. "Who was standing there?" - -His glance followed the direction in which the coalheaver was pointing, -then instinctively wandered back and fastened on that fiery letter "M" -which had been seared into the vagabond's flesh. - -"The Englishman and citoyenne Cabarrus," Rateau replied feebly, for he -had winced with pain under the excited grip of the Terrorist. - -"You are certain?" - -"I heard them talking----" - -"What did they say?" - -"I do not know. . . . But I saw the Englishman kiss the citoyenne's hand -before they parted." - -"And what happened after that?" - -"The citoyenne went to Mother Théot's apartment and the Englishman came -down the stairs. I had just time to hide behind that pile of rubbish. He -did not see me." - -Chauvelin uttered a savage curse of disappointment. - -"Is that all?" he exclaimed. - -"The State will pay me?" Rateau murmured vaguely. - -"Not a sou!" Chauvelin retorted roughly. "And if citizen Tallien hears -this pretty tale . . ." - -"I can swear to it!" - -"Bah! Citoyenne Cabarrus will swear that you lied. 'Twill be her word -against that of a mudlark!" - -"Nay!" Rateau retorted. "'Twill be more than that." - -"What then?" - -"Will you swear to protect me, citizen, if citizen Tallien--" - -"Yes, yes! I'll protect you. . . . And the guillotine has no time to -trouble about such muck-worms as you!" - -"Well, then, citizen," Rateau went on in a hoarse murmur, "if you will -go to the citoyenne's lodgings in the Rue Villedot, I can show you where -the Englishman hides the clothes wherewith he disguises himself . . . -and the letters which he writes to the citoyenne when . . ." - -He paused, obviously terrified at the awesome expression of the other -man's face. Chauvelin had allowed the coalheaver's wrist to drop out of -his grasp. He was sitting quite still, silent and grim, his thin, -claw-like hands closely clasped together and held between his knees. The -flickering light of the lantern distorted his narrow face, lengthened -the shadows beneath the nose and chin, threw a high light just below the -brows, so that the pale eyes appeared to gleam with an unnatural flame. -Rateau hardly dared to move. He lay like a huge bundle of rags in the -inky blackness beyond the circle of light protected by the lantern; his -breath came and went with a dragging, hissing sound, now and then broken -by a painful cough. - -For a moment or two there was silence in the great disused store-room--a -silence broken only by the thunder, dull and distant now, and the -ceaseless, monotonous patter of the rain. Then Chauvelin murmured -between his teeth: - -"If I thought that she . . ." But he did not complete the sentence, -jumped to his feet and approached the big mass of rags and humanity that -cowered in the gloom. "Get up, citizen Rateau!" he commanded. - -The asthmatic giant struggled to his knees. His wooden shoes had slipped -off his feet. He groped for them, and with trembling hands contrived to -put them on again. - -"Get up!" Chauvelin reiterated, with a snarl like an angry tiger. - -He took a small tablet and a leaden point from his pocket, and stooping -toward the light he scribbled a few words, and then handed the tablet to -Rateau. - -"Take this over to the Commissary of the Section in the Place du -Carrousel. Half a dozen men and a captain will be detailed to go with -you to the lodgings of the citoyenne Cabarrus in the Rue Villedot. You -will find me there. Go!" - -Rateau's hand trembled visibly as he took the tablets. He was obviously -terrified at what he had done. But Chauvelin paid no further heed to -him. He had given him his orders, knowing well that they would be -obeyed. The man had gone too far to draw back. It never entered -Chauvelin's head that the coalheaver might have lied. He had no cause -for spite against the citoyenne Cabarrus, and the fair Spaniard stood on -too high a pinnacle of influence for false denunciations to touch her. -The Terrorist waited until Rateau had quietly slunk out by the wicket -door; then he turned on heel and quickly went up the stairs. - - - - -§2 - - -In the vestibule on the top floor he called to Capitaine Boyer. - -"Citizen Captain," he said at the top of his voice. "You remember that -to-morrow eve is the end of the third day?" - -"Pardi!" the Captain retorted gruffly. "Is anything changed?" - -"No." - -"Then, unless by the eve of the fourth day that cursed Englishman is not -in our hands, my orders are the same." - -"Your orders are," Chauvelin rejoined loudly, and pointed with grim -intention at the door behind which he felt Marguerite Blakeney to be -listening for every sound, "unless the English spy is in our hands on -the evening of the fourth day to shoot your prisoner." - -"It shall be done, citizen!" Captain Boyer gave reply. - -Then he grinned maliciously, because from behind the closed door there -had come a sound like a quickly smothered cry. - -After which, Chauvelin nodded to the Captain and once more descended the -stairs. A few seconds later he went out of the house into the stormy -night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -WHEN THE STORM BURST - - -§1 - - -Fortunately the storm only broke after the bulk of the audience was -inside the theatre. The performance was timed to commence at seven, and -a quarter of an hour before that time the citizens of Paris who had come -to applaud citoyenne Vestris, citoyen Talma, and their colleagues, in -Chénier's tragedy, _Henri VIII_, were in their seats. - -The theatre in the Rue de Richelieu was crowded. Talma and Vestris had -always been great favourites with the public, and more so perhaps since -their secession from the old and reactionary Comédie Française. -Citizen Chénier's tragedy was in truth of a very poor order; but the -audience was not disposed to be critical, and there was quite an excited -hush in the house when citoyenne Vestris, in the part of "Anne de -Boulen," rolled off the meretricious verses: - - -"Trop longtemps j'ai gardé le silence; -Le poids qui m'accablait tombe avec violence." - - -But little was heard of the storm which raged outside; only at times the -patter of the rain on the domed roof became unpleasantly apparent as an -inharmonious accompaniment to the declamation of the actors. - -It was a brilliant evening, not only because citoyenne Vestris was in -magnificent form, but also because of the number of well-known people -who sat in the various boxes and in the parterre and who thronged the -foyer during the entr'actes. - -It seemed as if the members of the Convention and those who sat upon the -Revolutionary Committees, as well as the more prominent speakers in the -various clubs, had made a point of showing themselves to the public, -gay, unconcerned, interested in the stage and in the audience, at this -moment when every man's head was insecure upon his shoulders and no man -knew whether on reaching home he would not find a posse of the National -Guard waiting to convey him to the nearest prison. - -Death indeed lurked everywhere. - -The evening before, at a supper party given in the house of deputy -Barrère, a paper was said to have dropped out of Robespierre's coat -pocket, and been found by one of the guests. The paper contained nothing -but just forty names. What those names were the general public did not -know, nor for what purpose the dictator carried the list about in his -pocket; but during the representation of _Henri VIII_, the more obscure -citizens of Paris--happy in their own insignificance--noted that in the -foyer during the entr'actes, citizen Tallien and his friends appeared -obsequious, whilst those who fawned upon Robespierre were more than -usually arrogant. - - - - -§2 - - -In one of the proscenium boxes, citizeness Cabarrus attracted a great -deal of attention. Indeed, her beauty to-night was in the opinion of -most men positively dazzling. Dressed with almost ostentatious -simplicity, she drew all eyes upon her by her merry, ringing laughter, -the ripple of conversation which flowed almost incessantly from her -lips, and the graceful, provocative gestures of her bare hands and arms -as she toyed with a miniature fan. - -Indeed, Theresia Cabarrus was unusually light-hearted to-night. Sitting -during the first two acts of the tragedy in her box, in the company of -citizen Tallien, she became the cynosure of all eyes, proud and happy -when, during the third interval, she received the visit of Robespierre. - -He only stayed with her a few moments, and kept himself concealed for -the most part at the back of the box; but he had been seen to enter, and -Theresia's exclamation, "Ah, citizen Robespierre! What a pleasant -surprise! 'Tis not often you grace the theatre with your presence!" had -been heard all over the house. - -Indeed, with the exception of Eleonore Duplay, whose passionate -admiration he rather accepted than reciprocated, the incorruptible and -feline tyrant had never been known to pay attention to any woman. Great -therefore was Theresia's triumph. Visions of that grandeur which she had -always coveted and to which she had always felt herself predestined, -danced before her eyes; and remembering Chauvelin's prophecies and -Mother Théot's incantations, she allowed the dream-picture of the -magnificent English milor to fade slowly from her ken, bidding it a -reluctant adieu. - -Though in her heart she still prayed for his deliverance--and did it -with a passionate earnestness--some impish demon would hover at her -elbow and repeat in her unwilling ear Chauvelin's inspired words: "Bring -the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees at the chariot-wheel of Robespierre, -and the crown of the Bourbons will be yours for the asking." And if, -when she thought of that splendid head falling under the guillotine, a -pang of remorse and regret shot through her heart, she turned with a -seductive smile to the only man who could place that crown at her feet -His popularity was still at its zenith. To-night, whenever the audience -caught sight of him in the Cabarrus' box, a wild cheer rang out from -gallery to pit of the house. Then Theresia would lean over to him and -whisper insinuatingly: - -"You can do anything with that crowd, citizen! You hold the people by -the magnetism of your presence and of your voice. There is no height to -which you cannot aspire." - -"The greater the height," he murmured moodily, "the dizzier the -fall. . . ." - -"'Tis on the summit you should gaze," she retorted; "not on the abyss -below." - -"I prefer to gaze into the loveliest eyes in Paris," he replied with a -clumsy attempt at gallantry; "and remain blind to the summits as well as -to the depths." - -She tapped her daintily shod foot against the ground and gave an -impatient little sigh. It seemed as if at every turn of fortune she was -confronted with pusillanimity and indecision. Tallien fawning on -Robespierre; Robespierre afraid of Tallien; Chauvelin a prey to nerves. -How different to them all was that cool, self-possessed Englishman with -the easy good-humour and splendid self-assurance! - -"I would make you Queen of France in all but name!" He said this as -easily, as unconcernedly as if he were promising an invitation to a -rout. - -When, a moment or two later, Robespierre took leave of her and she was -left for a while alone with her thoughts, Theresia no longer tried to -brush away from her mental vision the picture on which her mind loved to -dwell. The tall magnificent figure; the lazy, laughing eyes; the slender -hand that looked so firm and strong amidst the billows of exquisite -lace. - -Ah, well! The dream was over! It would never come again. He himself had -wakened her; he himself had cast the die which must end his splendid -life, even at the hour when love and fortune smiled at him through the -lips and eyes of beautiful Cabarrus. - -Fate, in the guise of the one man she could have loved, was throwing -Theresia into the arms of Robespierre. - - - - -§3 - - -The next moment she was rudely awakened from her dreams. The door of her -box was torn open by a violent hand, and turning, she saw Bertrand -Moncrif, hatless, with hair dishevelled, clothes dripping and -mud-stained, and linen soaked through. She was only just in time to -arrest with a peremptory gesture the cry which was obviously hovering on -his lips. - -"Hush--sh--sh!" came at once from every portion of the audience, angered -by this disturbing noise. - -Tallien jumped to his feet - -"What is it?" he demanded in a quick whisper. - -"A perquisition," Moncrif replied hurriedly, "in the house of the -citoyenne!" - -"Impossible!" she broke in harshly. - -"Hush! . . . Silence!" the audience muttered audibly. - -"I come from there," Moncrif murmured. "I have seen . . . heard . . ." - -"Come outside," Theresia interjected. "We cannot talk here." - -She led the way out, and Tallien and Moncrif followed. - -The corridor fortunately was deserted. Only a couple of ouvreuses stood -gossiping in a corner. Theresia, white to the lips--but more from anger -than fear--dragged Moncrif with her to the foyer. Here there was no one. - -"Now, tell me!" she commanded. - -Bertrand passed his trembling hand through his soaking hair. His clothes -were wet through. He was shaking from head to foot and appeared to have -run till now he could scarcely stand. - -"Tell me!" Theresia reiterated impatiently. - -Tallien stood by, half-paralyzed with terror. He did not question the -younger man, but gazed on him with compelling, horror-filled eyes, as if -he would wrench the words out of him before they reached his throat. - -"I was in the Rue Villedot," Moncrif stammered breathlessly at last, -"when the storm broke. I sought shelter under the portico of a house -opposite the citoyenne's lodgings. . . . I was there a long time. Then -the storm subsided. . . . Men in uniform came along. . . . They were -soldiers of the National Guard . . . I could see that, though the street -was pitch dark. . . . They passed quite close to me. . . . They were -talking of the citoyenne. . . . Then they crossed over to her lodgings. -. . . I saw them enter the house. . . . I saw citizen Chauvelin in the -doorway. . . . He chided them for being late. . . . There was a captain -and there were six soldiers, and that asthmatic coalheaver was with -them." - -"What!" Theresia exclaimed. "Rateau?" - -"What in Satan's name does it all mean?" Tallien exclaimed with a savage -curse. - -"They went into the house," Moncrif went on, his voice rasping through -his parched throat. "I followed at a little distance, to make quite sure -before I came to warn you. Fortunately I knew where you were . . . -fortunately I always know . . ." - -"You are sure they went up to my rooms?" Theresia broke in quickly. - -"Yes. Two minutes later I saw a light in your apartment." She turned -abruptly to Tallien. - -"My cloak!" she commanded. "I left it in the box." - -He tried to protest. - -"I am going," she rejoined firmly. "This is some ghastly mistake, for -which that fiend Chauvelin shall answer with his life. My cloak!" - -It was Bertrand who went back for the cloak and wrapped her in it. He -knew--none better--that if his divinity desired to go, no power on earth -would keep her back. She did not appear in the least afraid, but her -wrath was terrible to see, and boded ill to those who dared provoke it. -Indeed, Theresia, flushed with her recent triumph and with Robespierre's -rare if clumsy gallantries still ringing in her ear, felt ready to dare -anything, to brave any one--even Chauvelin and his threats. She even -succeeded in reassuring Tallien, ordered him to remain in the theatre, -and to show himself to the public as utterly unconcerned. - -"In case a rumour of this outrage penetrates to the audience," she said, -"you must appear to make light of it. . . . Nay! you must at once -threaten reprisals against its perpetrators." - -Then she wrapped her cloak about her, and taking Bertrand's arm, she -hurried out of the theatre. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -OUR LADY OF PITY - - -§1 - - -It was like an outraged divinity in the face of sacrilege that Theresia -Cabarrus appeared in the antechamber of her apartment, ten minutes -later. - -Her rooms were full of men; sentries were at the door; the furniture was -overturned; the upholstery ripped up, cupboard doors swung open; even -her bed and bedding lay in a tangled heap upon the floor. The lights in -the rooms were dim, one single lamp shedding its feeble rays from the -antechamber into the living-room, whilst another flickered on a -wall-bracket in the passage. In the bedroom the maid Pepita, guarded by -a soldier, was loudly lamenting and cursing in voluble Spanish. - -Citizen Chauvelin was standing in the centre of the living-room, intent -on examining some papers. In a corner of the antechamber cowered the -ungainly figure of Rateau the coalheaver. - -Theresia took in the whole tragic picture at a glance; then with a -proud, defiant toss of the head she swept past the soldiers in the -antechamber and confronted Chauvelin, before he had time to notice her -approach. - -"Something has turned your brain, citizen Chauvelin," she said coolly. -"What is it?" - -He looked up, encountered her furious glance, and at once made her a -profound, ironical bow. - -"How wise was our young friend there to tell you of our visit, -citoyenne!" he said suavely. - -And he looked with mild approval in the direction where Bertrand Moncrif -stood between two soldiers, who had quickly barred his progress and were -holding him tightly by the wrists. - -"I came," Theresia retorted harshly, "as the forerunner of those who -will know how to punish this outrage, citizen Chauvelin." - -Once more he bowed, smiling blandly. - -"I shall be as ready to receive them," he said quietly, "as I am -gratified to see the citoyenne Cabarrus. When they come, shall I direct -them to call and see their beautiful Egeria at the Conciergerie, whither -we shall have the honour to convey her immediately?" - -Theresia threw back her head and laughed; but her voice sounded hard and -forced. - -"At the Conciergerie?" she exclaimed. "I?" - -"Even you, citoyenne," Chauvelin replied. - -"On what charge, I pray you?" she demanded, with biting sarcasm. - -"Of trafficking with the enemies of the Republic." - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -"You are mad, citizen Chauvelin!" she riposted with perfect sang-froid. -"I pray you, order your men to re-establish order in my apartment; and -remember that I will hold you responsible for any damage that has been -done." - -"Shall I also," Chauvelin rejoined with equally perfect equanimity, -"replace these letters and other interesting objects, there where we -found them?" - -"Letters?" she retorted, frowning. "What letters?" - -"These, citoyenne," he replied, and held up to her gaze the papers which -he had in his hand. - -"What are they? I have never seen them before." - -"Nevertheless, we found them in that bureau." And Chauvelin pointed to a -small piece of furniture which stood against the wall, and the drawers -of which had obviously been forcibly torn open. Then as Theresia -remained silent, apparently ununderstanding, he went on suavely: "They -are letters written at different times to Mme. de Fontenay, née -Cabarrus--_Our Lady of Pity_, as she was called by grateful Bordeaux." - -"By whom?" she asked. - -"By the interesting hero of romance who is known to the world as the -Scarlet Pimpernel." - -"It is false!" she retorted firmly. "I have never received a letter from -him in my life!" - -"His handwriting is all too familiar to me, citoyenne; and the letters -are addressed to you." - -"It is false!" she reiterated with unabated firmness. "This is some -devilish trick you have devised in order to ruin me. But take care, -citizen Chauvelin, take care! If this is a trial of strength 'twixt you -and me, the next few hours will show who will gain the day." - -"If it were a trial of strength 'twixt you and me, citoyenne," he -rejoined blandly, "I would already be a vanquished man. But it is France -this time who has challenged a traitor. That traitor is Theresia -Fontenay, née Cabarrus. The trial of strength is between her and -France." - -"You are mad, citizen Chauvelin! If there were letters writ by the -Scarlet Pimpernel found in my rooms, 'tis you who put them there!" - -"That statement you will be at liberty to substantiate to-morrow, -citoyenne," he retorted coldly, "at the bar of the revolutionary -tribunal. There, no doubt, you can explain away how citizen Rateau knew -of the existence of those letters, and led me straight to their -discovery. I have an officer of the National Guard, the commissary of -the section, and half a dozen men to prove the truth of what I say, and -to add that in a wall-cupboard in your antechamber we also found this -interesting collection, the use of which you, citoyenne, will no doubt -be able to explain." - -He stepped aside and pointed to a curious heap which littered the -floor--rags for the most part: a tattered shirt, frayed breeches, a -grimy cap, a wig made up of lank, colourless hair, the counterpart of -that which adorned the head of the coalheaver Rateau. - -Theresia looked on those rags for a moment in a kind of horrified -puzzlement. Her cheeks and lips became the colour of ashes. She put her -hand up to her forehead, as if to chase a hideous, ghoulish vision away, -and smothered a cry of horror. Puzzlement had given place to a kind of -superstitious dread. The room, the rags, the faces of the soldiers began -to whirl around her--impish shapes to dance a wild saraband before her -eyes. And in the midst of this witch's cauldron the figure of Chauvelin, -like a weird hobgoblin, was executing elf-like contortions and -brandishing a packet of letters writ upon scarlet paper. - -She tried to laugh, to speak defiant words; but her throat felt as if it -were held in a vice, and losing momentary consciousness she tottered, -and only saved herself from measuring her length upon the floor by -clinging with both hands to a table immediately behind her. - -As to what happened after that, she only had a blurred impression. -Chauvelin gave a curt word of command, and a couple of soldiers came and -stood to right and left of her. Then a piercing cry rang through the -narrow rooms, and she saw Bertrand Moncrif for one moment between -herself and the soldiers, fighting desperately, shielding her with his -body, tearing and raging like a wild animal defending its young. The -whole room appeared full of a deafening noise: cries and more -cries--words of command--calls of rage and of entreaty. Then suddenly -the word "Fire!" and the detonation of a pistol at close range, and the -body of Bertrand Moncrif sliding down limp and impotent to the floor. - -After that, everything became dark around her. Theresia felt as if she -were looking down an immeasurable abyss of inky blackness, and that she -was falling, falling. . . . - -A thin, dry laugh brought her back to her senses, her pride to the fore, -her vanity up in arms. She drew her statuesque figure up to its full -height and once more confronted Chauvelin like an august and outraged -divinity. - -"And at whose word," she demanded, "is this monstrous charge to be -brought against me?" - -"At the word of a free citizen of the State," Chauvelin replied coldly. - -"Bring him before me." - -Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently, like one who is -ready to humour a wayward child. - -"Citizen Rateau!" he called. - -From the anteroom there came the sound of much shuffling, spluttering, -and wheezing; then the dull clatter of wooden shoes upon the carpeted -floor; and presently the ungainly, grime-covered figure of the -coalheaver appeared in the doorway. - -Theresia looked on him for a few seconds in silence, then she gave a -ringing laugh and with exquisite bare arm outstretched she pointed to -the scrubby apparition. - -"That man's word against mine!" she called, with well-assumed mockery. -"Rateau the caitiff against Theresia Cabarrus, the intimate friend of -citizen Robespierre! What a subject for a lampoon!" - -Then her laughter broke. She turned once more on Chauvelin like an angry -goddess. - -"That vermin!" she exclaimed, her voice hoarse with indignation. "That -sorry knave with a felon's brand! In truth, citizen Chauvelin, your -spite must be hard put to it to bring up such a witness against me!" - -Then suddenly her glance fell upon the lifeless body of Bertrand -Moncrif, and on the horrible crimson stain which discoloured his coat. -She gave a shudder of horror, and for a moment her eyes closed and her -head fell back, as if she were about to swoon. But she quickly recovered -herself. Her will-power at this moment was unconquerable. She looked -with unutterable contempt on Chauvelin; then she raised her cloak, which -had slipped down from her shoulders, and wrapped it with a queen-like -gesture around her, and without another word led the way out of the -apartment. - -Chauvelin remained standing in the middle of the room, his face quite -expressionless, his claw-like hands still fingering the fateful letters. -Two soldiers remained with him beside the body of Bertrand Moncrif. The -maid Pepita, still shrieking and gesticulating violently, had to be -dragged away in the wake of her mistress. - -In the doorway between the living-room and the antechamber, Rateau, -humble, snivelling, more than a little frightened, stood aside in order -to allow the guard and their imperious prisoner to pass. Theresia did -not condescend to look at him again; and he, shuffling and stumbling in -his clumsy wooden shoes, followed the soldiers down the stairs. - - - - -§2 - - -It was still raining hard. The captain who was in charge of Theresia -told her that he had a chaise ready for her. It was waiting out in the -street. Theresia ordered him to send for it; she would not, she said, -offer herself as a spectacle to the riff-raff who happened to be passing -by. The captain had probably received orders to humour the prisoner as -far as was compatible with safety. Certain it is that he sent one of his -men to fetch the coach and to order the concierge to throw open the -porte-cochère. - -Theresia remained standing in the narrow vestibule at the foot of the -stairs. Two soldiers stood on guard over the maid, whilst another stood -beside Theresia. The captain, muttering with impatience, paced up and -down the stone-paved floor. Rateau had paused on the stairs, a step or -two just above where Theresia was standing. On the wall opposite, -supported by an iron bracket, a smoky oil-lamp shed a feeble, yellowish -flicker around. - -A few minutes went by; then a loud clatter woke the echoes of the dreary -old house, and a coach drawn by two ancient, half-starved nags, lumbered -into the courtyard and came to a halt in front of the open doorway. The -captain gave a sigh of relief, and called out: "Now then, citoyenne!" -whilst the soldier who had gone to fetch the coach jumped down from the -box-seat and, with his comrades, stood at attention. The maid was -summarily bundled into the coach, and Theresia was ready to follow. - -Just then the draught through the open door blew her velvet cloak -against the filthy rags of the miserable ruffian behind her. An -unexplainable impulse caused her to look up, and she encountered his -eyes fixed upon her. A dull cry rose to her throat, and instinctively -she put up her hand to her mouth, striving to smother the sound. Horror -dilated her eyes, and through her lips one word escaped like a hoarse -murmur: - -"You!" - -He put a grimy finger to his lips. But already she had recovered -herself. Here then was the explanation of the mystery which surrounded -this monstrous denunciation. The English milor had planned it as a -revenge for the injury done to his wife. - -"Captain!" she cried out shrilly. "Beware! The English spy is at your -heels!" - -But apparently the captain's complaisance did not go to the length of -listening to the ravings of his fair prisoner. He was impatient to get -this unpleasant business over. - -"Now then, citoyenne!" was his gruff retort. "En voiture!" - -"You fool!" she cried, bracing herself against the grip of the soldiers -who were on the point of seizing her. "'Tis the Scarlet Pimpernel! If -you let him escape----" - -"The Scarlet Pimpernel?" the Captain retorted with a laugh. "Where?" - -"The coalheaver! Rateau! 'Tis he, I tell you!" And Theresia's cries -became more frantic as she felt herself unceremoniously lifted off the -ground. "You fool! You fool! You are letting him escape!" - -"Rateau, the coalheaver!" the captain exclaimed. "We have heard that -pretty story before. Here, citizen Rateau!" he went on, and shouted at -the top of his voice. "Go and report yourself to citizen Chauvelin. Tell -him you are the Scarlet Pimpernel! As for you, citoyenne, enough of this -shouting--what? My orders are to take you to the Conciergerie, and not -to run after spies--English, German, or Dutch. Now then, citizen -soldiers! . . ." - -Theresia, throwing her dignity to the winds, did indeed raise a shout -that brought the other lodgers of the house to their door. But her -screams had become inarticulate, as the soldiers, in obedience to the -captain's impatient orders, had wrapped her cloak about her head. Thus -the inhabitants of the dreary old house in the Rue Villedot could only -ascertain that the citoyenne Cabarrus who lodged on the third floor had -been taken to prison, screaming and fighting, in a manner that no -self-respecting aristo had ever done. - -Theresia Cabarrus was ignominiously lifted into the coach and deposited -by the side of equally noisy Pepita. Through the folds of the cloak her -reiterated cry could still faintly be heard: - -"You fool! You traitor! You cursed, miserable fool!" - -One of the lodgers on the second floor--a young woman who was on good -terms with every male creature that wore uniform--leaned over the -balustrade of the balcony and shouted gaily down: - -"Hey, citizen captain! Why is the aristo screaming so?" - -One of the soldiers looked up, and shouted back: - -"She has hold of the story that citizen Rateau is an English milor in -disguise, and she wants to run after him!" - -Loud laughter greeted this tale, and a lusty cheer was set up as the -coach swung clumsily out of the courtyard. - -A moment or two later, Chauvelin, followed by the two soldiers, came -quickly down the stairs. The noise from below had at last reached his -ears. At first he too thought that it was only the proud Spaniard who -was throwing her dignity to the winds. Then a word or two sounded -clearly above the din: - -"The Scarlet Pimpernel! The English spy!" - -The words acted like a sorcerer's charm--a call from the vasty deep. In -an instant the rest of the world ceased to have any importance in his -sight. One thing and one alone mattered; his enemy. - -Calling to the soldiers to follow him, he was out of the apartment and -down in the vestibule below in a trice. The coach at that moment was -turning out of the porte-cochère. The courtyard, wrapped in gloom, was -alive with chattering and laughter which proceeded from the windows and -balconies around. It was raining fast, and from the balconies the water -was pouring down in torrents. - -Chauvelin stood in the doorway and sent one of the soldiers to ascertain -what the disturbance had all been about. The man returned with an -account of how the aristo had screamed and raved like a mad-woman, and -tried to escape by sending the citizen captain on a fool's errand, -vowing that poor old Rateau was an English spy in disguise. - -Chauvelin gave a sigh of relief. He certainly need not rack his nerves -or break his head over that! He had good cause to know that Rateau, with -the branded arm, could not possibly be the Scarlet Pimpernel! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -GREY DAWN - - -§1 - - -Ten minutes later the courtyard and approach of the old house in the Rue -Villedot were once more wrapped in silence and in darkness. Chauvelin -had with his own hands affixed the official seals on the doors which led -to the apartments of citoyenne Cabarrus. In the living-room, the body of -the unfortunate Moncrif still lay uncovered and unwatched, awaiting what -hasty burial the commissary of the section would be pleased to order for -it. Chauvelin dismissed the soldiers at the door, and himself went his -way. - -The storm was gradually dying away. By the time that the audience filed -out of the theatre, it was scarcely raining. Only from afar, dull -rumblings of thunder could still faintly be heard. Citizen Tallien -hurried along on foot to the Rue Villedot. The last hour had been -positive torture for him. Although his reason told him that no man would -be fool enough to trump up an accusation against Theresia Cabarrus, who -was the friend, the Egeria of every influential man in the Convention or -the Clubs, and that she herself had always been far too prudent to allow -herself to be compromised in any way--although he knew all that, his -overwrought fancy conjured up visions which made him sick with dread. -His Theresia in the hands of rough soldiery--dragged to prison--he -himself unable to ascertain what had become of her--until he saw her at -the bar of that awful tribunal, from which there was no issue save the -guillotine! - -And with this dread came unendurable, gnawing remorse. He himself was -one of the men who had helped to set up the machinery of wild -accusations, monstrous tribunals and wholesale condemnations which had -been set in motion now by an unknown hand against the woman he loved. -He--Tallien--the ardent lover, the future husband of Theresia, had aided -in the constitution of that abominable Revolutionary Committee, which -could strike at the innocent as readily and as ruthlessly as at the -guilty. - -Indeed at this hour, this man, who long since had forgotten how to pray, -when he heard the tower-clock of a neighbouring church striking the -hour, turned his eyes that were blurred with tears toward the sacred -edifice which he had helped to desecrate, and found in his heart a -half-remembered prayer which he murmured to the Fount of all Mercy and -of Pardon. - - - - -§2 - - -Citizen Tallien turned into the Rue Villedot, the street where lodged -his beloved. A minute or so later, he was making his way up the back -staircase of the dingy house where his divinity had dwelt until now. On -the second-floor landing two women stood gossiping. One of them -recognised the influential Representative. - -"It is citizen Tallien," she said. - -And the other woman at once volunteered the information: - -"They have arrested the citoyenne Cabarrus," she said: "and the soldiers -did not know whither they were taking her." - -Tallien did not wait to listen further. He stumbled up the stairs to the -third-floor, to the door which he knew so well. His trembling fingers -wandered over the painted panels. They encountered the official seals, -which told their own mute tale. - -The whole thing, then, was not a dream. Those assassins had taken his -Theresia and dragged her to prison, would drag her on the morrow to an -outrageous mockery of a tribunal first, and then to death! Who shall say -what wild thoughts of retrospection and of remorse coursed through the -brain of this man--himself one of the makers of a bloody revolution? -What visions of past ideals, good intentions, of honest purpose and -incessant labour, passed before his mind? That glorious revolution, -which was to mark the regeneration of mankind, which was to have given -liberty to the oppressed, equality to the meek, fraternity in one vast -human family! And what did it lead to but to oppression far more cruel -than all that had gone before, to fratricide and to arrogance on the one -side, servility on the other, to constant terror of death, to -discouragement and sloth? - -For hours citizen Tallien sat in the dark, on the staircase outside -Theresia's door, his head buried in his hands. The grey dawn, livid and -chill, which came peeping in through the skylight overhead found him -still sitting there stiff and numb with cold. - -Whether what happened after that was part of a dream he never knew. -Certain it is that presently something extraneous appeared to rouse him. -He sat up and listened, leaned his back against the wall, for he was -very tired. Then he heard--or thought he heard--firm, swift steps on the -stairs, and soon after saw the figures of two men coming up the stairs. -Both the men were very tall, one of them unusually so, and the ghostly -light of dawn made him appear unreal and mysterious. He was dressed with -marvellous elegance; his smooth, fair hair was tied at the nape of the -neck with a satin bow; soft, billowy lace gleamed at his wrists and -throat, and his hands were exquisitely white and slender. Both the men -wore huge coats of fine cloth, adorned with many capes, and boots of -fine leather, perfectly cut. - -They paused on the vestibule outside the door of Theresia's apartment, -and appeared to be studying the official seals affixed upon the door. -Then one of them--the taller of the two--took a knife out of his pocket -and cut through the tapes which held the seals together. Then together -they stepped coolly into the apartment. - -Tallien had watched them, dazed and fascinated. He was so numb and weary -that his tongue--just as it does in dreams--refused him service when he -tried to call. But now he struggled to his feet and followed in the wake -of the two mysterious strangers. With him, the instinct of the official, -the respect due to regulations and laws framed by his colleagues and -himself, had been too strong to allow him to tamper with the seals, and -there was something mysterious and awesome about that tall figure of a -man, dressed with supreme elegance, whose slender, firm hands had so -unconcernedly committed this flagrant breach of the law. It did not -occur to Tallien to call for help. Somehow, the whole incident--the two -men--were so ghostlike, that he felt that at a word they would vanish -into thin air. - -He stepped cautiously into the familiar little antechamber. The -strangers had gone through to the living-room. One of them was kneeling -on the floor. Tallien, who knew nothing of the tragedy which had been -enacted inside the apartment of his beloved, marvelled what the men were -doing. He crept stealthily forward and craned his neck to see. The -window at the end of the room had been left unfastened. A weird grey -streak of light came peeping in and illumined the awesome scene: the -overturned furniture, the torn hangings; and on the ground, the body of -a man, with the stranger kneeling beside it. - -Tallien, weary and dazed, always of a delicate constitution, felt nigh -to swooning. His knees were shaking, a cold dread of the supernatural -held his heart with an icy grip and caused his hair to tingle at the -roots. His tongue felt huge and as if paralysed, his teeth were -chattering together. It was as much as he could do not to measure his -length on the ground; and the vague desire to remain unobserved kept him -crouching in the gloom. - -He just could flee the tall stranger pass his hands over the body on the -floor, and could hear the other ask him a question in English. - -A few moments went by. The strangers conversed in a low tone of voice. -From one or two words which came clearly to his ear, Tallien gathered -that they spoke in English--a language with which he himself was -familiar. The taller man of the two appeared to be giving his friend -some orders, which the latter promised to obey. Then, with utmost -precaution, he took the body in his arms and lifted it from the floor. - -"Let me help you, Blakeney," the other said in a whisper. - -"No, no!" the mysterious stranger replied quickly. "The poor worm is as -light as a feather! 'Tis better he died as he did. His unfortunate -infatuation was killing him." - -"Poor little Régine!" the younger man sighed. - -"It is better so," his friend rejoined. "We'll be able to tell her that -he died nobly, and that we've given him Christian burial." - -No wonder that Tallien thought that he was dreaming! These English were -strange folk indeed! Heaven alone knew what they risked by coming here, -at this hour, and into this house, in order to fetch away the body of -their friend. They certainly were wholly unconscious of danger. - -Tallien held his breath. He saw the splendid figure of the mysterious -adventurer step across the threshold, bearing the lifeless body in his -arms with as much ease as if he were carrying a child. The pale grey -light of morning was behind him, and his fine head with its smooth fair -hair was silhouetted against the neutral-tinted background. His friend -came immediately behind him. - -In the dark antechamber he paused and called abruptly: - -"Citizen Tallien!" - -A cry rose to Tallien's throat. He had thought himself entirely -unobserved, and the stranger a mere vision which he was watching in a -dream. Now he felt that compelling eyes were gazing straight at him, -piercing the darkness for a clearer sight of his face. - -But the spell was still on him, and he only moved in order to straighten -himself out and to force his trembling knees to be still. - -"They have taken the citoyenne Cabarrus to the Conciergerie," the -stranger went on simply. "To-morrow she will be charged before the -Revolutionary Tribunal. . . . You know what is the inevitable end----" - -It seemed as if some subtle magic was in the man's voice, in his very -presence, in the glance wherewith he challenged that of the unfortunate -Tallien. The latter felt a wave of shame sweep over him. There was -something so splendid in these two men--exquisitely dressed, and -perfectly deliberate and cool in all their movements--who were braving -and daring death in order to give Christian burial to their friend; -whilst he, in face of the outrage put upon his beloved, had only sat on -her desecrated doorstep like a dumb animal pining for its master. He -felt a hot flush rush to his cheeks. With quick, nervy movements he -readjusted the set of his coat, passed his thin hands over his rumpled -hair; whilst the stranger reiterated with solemn significance: - -"You know what is the inevitable end. . . . The citoyenne Cabarrus will -be condemned. . . ." - -Tallien this time met the stranger's eyes fearlessly. It was the magic -of strength and of courage that flowed into him from them. He drew up -his meagre stature to its full height and his head with an air of -defiance and of conscious power. - -"Not while I live!" he said firmly. - -"Theresia Cabarrus will be condemned to-morrow," the stranger went on -calmly. "Then the next day, the guillotine----" - -"Never!" - -"Inevitably! . . . Unless----" - -"Unless what?" Tallien queried, and hung breathless on the man's lips as -he would on those of an oracle. - -"Theresia Cabarrus, or Robespierre and his herd of assassins. Which -shall it be, citizen Tallien?" - -"By Heaven!----" Tallien exclaimed forcefully. - -But he got no further. The stranger, bearing his burden, had already -gone out of the room, closely followed by his friend. - -Tallien was alone in the deserted apartment, where every broken piece of -furniture, every torn curtain, cried out for vengeance in the name of -his beloved. He said nothing. He neither protested nor swore. But he -tip-toed into the apartment and knelt down upon the floor close beside -the small sofa on which she was wont to sit. Here he remained quite -still for a minute or two, his eyes closed, his hands tightly clasped -together. Then he stooped very low and pressed his lips against the spot -where her pretty, sandalled foot was wont to rest. - -After that he rose, strode with a firm step out of the apartment, -carefully closing the doors behind him. - -The strangers had vanished into the night; and citizen Tallien went -quietly back to his own lodgings. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -THE CATACLYSM - - -§1 - - -Forty names! Found on a list in the pocket of Robespierre's coat! - -Forty names! And every one of these that of a known opponent of -Robespierre's schemes of dictatorship: Tallien, Barrère, Vadier, -Cambon, and the rest. Men powerful to-day, prominent Members of the -Convention, leaders of the people, too--but opponents! - -The inference was obvious, the panic general. That night--it was the 8th -Thermidor, July the 26th of the old calendar--men talked of flight, of -abject surrender, of appeal--save the mark!--to friendship, camaraderie, -humanity! Friendship, camaraderie, humanity? An appeal to a heart of -stone! They talked of everything, in fact, save of defying the tyrant; -for such talk would have been folly. - -Defying the tyrant? Ye gods! When with a word he could sway the -Convention, the Committees, the multitude, bend them to his will, bring -them to heel like any tamer of beasts when he cracks his whip? - -So men talked and trembled. All night they talked and trembled; for they -did not sleep, those forty whose names were on Robespierre's list. But -Tallien, their chief, was nowhere to be found. 'Twas known that his -fiancée, the beautiful Theresia Cabarrus, had been summarily arrested. -Since then he had disappeared; and they--the others--were leaderless. -But, even so, he was no loss. Tallien was ever pusillanimous, a -temporiser--what? - -And now the hour for temporising is past. Robespierre then is to be -dictator of France. He will be dictator of France, in spite of any -opposition led by those forty whose names are on his list! He will be -dictator of France! He has not said it; but his friends have shouted it -from the house-tops, and have murmured under their breath that those who -oppose Robespierre's dictatorship are traitors to the land. Death then -must be their fate. - -What then, ye gods? What then? - - - - -§2 - - -And so the day broke--smiling, mark you! It was a beautiful warm July -morning. It broke on what is perhaps the most stupendous cataclysm--save -one--the world has ever known. - -Behold the picture! A medley. A confusion. A whirl of everything that is -passionate and cruel, defiant and desperate. Heavens, how desperate! Men -who have thrown lives away as if lives were in truth grains of sand; men -who have juggled with death, dealt it and tossed it about like cards -upon a gaming table. They are desperate now, because their own lives are -at stake; and they find now that life can be very dear. - -So, having greeted their leader, the forty draw together, watching the -moment when humility will be most opportune. - -Robespierre mounts the tribune. The hour has struck. His speech is one -long, impassioned, involved tirade, full at first, of vague accusations -against the enemies of the Republic and the people, and is full of -protestations of his own patriotism and selflessness. Then he warms to -his own oratory; his words are prophetic of death, his voice becomes -harsh--like a screech owl's, so we're told. His accusations are no -longer vague. He begins to strike. - -Corruption! Backsliding! Treachery! Moderatism!--oh, moderatism above -all! Moderatism is treachery to the glorious revolution. Every victim -spared from the guillotine is a traitor let loose against the people! A -traitor, he who robs the guillotine of her prey! Robespierre stands -alone incorruptible, true, faithful unto death! - -And for all that treachery, what remedy is there? Why, death of course! -Death! The guillotine! New power to the sovereign guillotine! Death to -all the traitors! - -And seven hundred faces become paler still with dread, and the sweat of -terror rises on seven hundred brows. There were only forty names on that -list . . . but there might be others somewhere else! - -And still the voice of Robespierre thunders on. His words fall on seven -hundred pairs of ears like on a sounding-board; his friends, his -sycophants, echo them; they applaud, rise in wild enthusiasm. 'Tis the -applause that is thundering now! - -One of the tyrant's most abject slaves has put forward the motion that -the great speech just delivered shall forthwith be printed, and -distributed to every township, every village, throughout France, as a -monument to the lofty patriotism of her greatest citizen. - -The motion at one moment looks as if it would be carried with -acclamations; after which, Robespierre's triumph would have risen to the -height of deification. Then suddenly the note of dissension; the hush; -the silence. The great Assembly is like a sounding-board that has ceased -to respond. Something has turned the acclamations to mutterings, and -then to silence. The sounding-board has given forth a dissonance. -Citizen Tallien has demanded "delay in printing that speech," and asked -pertinently: - -"What has become of the Liberty of Opinion in this Convention?" - -His face is the colour of ashes, and his eyes, ringed with purple, gleam -with an unnatural fire. The coward has become bold; the sheep has donned -the lion's skin. - -There is a flutter in the Convention, a moment's hesitation. But the -question is put to the vote, and the speech is _not_ to be printed. A -small matter, in truth--printing or not printing. . . . Does the -Destiny of France hang on so small a peg? - -It is a small matter; and yet how full of portent! Like the breath of -mutiny blowing across a ship. But nothing more occurs just then. -Robespierre, lofty in his scorn, puts the notes of his speech into his -pocket. He does not condescend to argue. He, the master of France, will -not deign to bandy words with his slaves. And he stalks out of the Hall -surrounded by his friends. - -There _has_ been a breath of mutiny; but his is still the iron heel, -powerful enough to crush a raging revolt. His withdrawal--proud, silent, -menacing--is in keeping with his character and with the pose which he -has assumed of late. But he is still the Chosen of the People; and the -multitude is there, thronging the streets of Paris--there, to avenge -the insult put upon their idol by a pack of slinking wolves. - - - - -§3 - - -And now the picture becomes still more poignant. It is painted in -colours more vivid, more glowing than before. The morning breaks on the -9th Thermidor, and again the Hall of the Convention is crowded to the -roof, with Tallien and his friends, in a close phalanx, early at their -post! - -Tallien is there, pale, resolute, the fire of his hatred kept up by -anxiety for his beloved. The night before, at the corner of a dark -street, a surreptitious hand slipped a scrap of paper into the pocket of -his coat. It was a message written by Theresia in prison, and written -with her own blood. How it ever came into his pocket Tallien never knew; -but the few impassioned, agonised words seared his very soul and whipped -up his courage: - -"The Commissary of Police has just left me," Theresia wrote. "He came to -tell me that to-morrow I must appear before the tribunal. This means the -guillotine. And I, who thought that you were a _man_ . . .!" - -Not only is his own head in peril, not only that of his friends; but the -life of the woman whom he worships hangs now upon the thread of his own -audacity and of his courage. - -St. Just on this occasion is the first to mount the tribune; and -Robespierre, the very incarnation of lustful and deadly Vengeance, -stands silently by. He has spent the afternoon and evening with his -friends at the Jacobins Club, where deafening applause greeted his every -word, and wild fury raged against his enemies. - -It is then to be a fight to the finish! To your tents, O Israel! - -To the guillotine all those who have dared to say one word against the -Chosen of the People! St. Just shall thunder Vengeance from the tribune -at the Convention, whilst Henriot, the drunken and dissolute Commandant -of the Municipal Guard, shall, by the might of sword and fire, proclaim -the sovereignty of Robespierre through the streets of Paris. That is the -picture as it has been painted in the minds of the tyrant and of his -sycophants: a picture of death paramount, and of Robespierre rising like -a new Phoenix from out the fire of calumny and revolt, greater, more -unassailable than before. - -And lo! One sweep of the brush, and the picture is changed. - -Ten minutes . . . less . . . and the whole course of the world's history -is altered. No sooner has St. Just mounted the tribune than Tallien -jumps to his feet. His voice, usually meek and cultured, rises in a -harsh crescendo, until it drowns that of the younger orator. - -"Citizens," he exclaims, "I ask for truth! Let us tear aside the curtain -behind which lurk concealed the real conspirators and the traitors!" - -"Yes, yes! Truth! Let us have the truth!" One hundred voices--not -forty--have raised the echo. - -The mutiny is on the verge of becoming open revolt, is that already, -perhaps. It is like a spark fallen--who knows where?--into a powder -magazine. Robespierre feels it, sees the spark. He knows that one -movement, one word, one plunge into that magazine, foredoomed though it -be to destruction, one stamp with a sure foot, may yet quench the spark, -may yet smother the mutiny. He rushes to the tribune, tries to mount. -But Tallien has forestalled him, elbows him out of the way, and turns to -the seven hundred, with a cry that rings far beyond the Hall, out into -the streets. - -"Citizens!" he thunders in his turn. "I begged of you just now to tear -aside the curtains behind which lurk the traitors. Well, the curtain is -already rent. And if you dare not strike at the tyrant now, then 'tis I -who will dare!" And from beneath his coat he draws a dagger and raises -it above his head. "And I will plunge this into his heart," he cries, -"if you have not the courage to smite!" - -His words, that gleaming bit of steel, fan the spark into a flame. -Within a few seconds, seven hundred voices are shouting, "Down with the -tyrant!" Arms are waving, hands gesticulate wildly, excitedly. Only a -very few shout, "Behold the dagger of Brutus!" All the others retort -with "Tyranny!" and "Conspiracy!" and with cries of "Vive la Liberté!" - -At this hour all is confusion and deafening uproar. In vain Robespierre -tries to speak. He demands to speak. He hurls insults, anathema, upon -the President, who relentlessly refuses him speech and jingles his bell -against him. - -"President of Assassins," the falling tyrant cries, "I demand speech of -thee!" - -But the bell goes jingling on, and Robespierre, choked with rage and -terror, "turns blue" we are told, and his hand goes up to his throat. - -"The blood of Danton chokes thee!" cries one man. And these words seem -like the last blow dealt to the fallen foe. The next moment the voice of -an obscure Deputy is raised, in order to speak the words that have been -hovering on every lip: - -"I demand a decree of accusation against Robespierre!" - -"Accusation!" comes from seven hundred throats. "The decree of -accusation!" - -The President jingles his bell, puts the question, and the motion is -passed unanimously. - -Maximilien Robespierre--erstwhile master of France--is decreed -_accused._ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -THE WHIRLWIND - - -§1 - - -It was then noon. Five minutes later, the Chosen of the People, the -fallen idol, is hustled out of the Hall into one of the Committee rooms -close by, and with his friends--St. Just, Couthon, Lebas, his brother -Augustin, and the others--all decreed accused and the order of arrest -launched against them. As for the rest, 'tis the work of the Public -Prosecutor--and of the guillotine. - -At five o'clock the Convention adjourns. The deputies have earned food -and rest. They rush to their homes, there to relate what has happened; -Tallien to the Conciergerie, to get a sight of Theresia. This is denied -him. He is not dictator yet; and Robespierre, though apparently -vanquished, still dominates--and lives. - -But from every church steeple the tocsin bursts; and a prolonged roll of -drums ushers in the momentous evening. - -In the city all is hopeless confusion. Men are running in every -direction, shouting, brandishing pistols and swords. Henriot, Commandant -of the Municipal Guard, rides through the streets at the head of his -gendarmes like one possessed, bent on delivering Robespierre. Women and -children fly screaming in every direction; the churches, so long -deserted, are packed with people who, terror-stricken, are trying to -remember long-forgotten prayers. - -Proclamations are read at street corners; there are rumours of a general -massacre of all the prisoners. At one moment--the usual hour--the -familiar tumbril with its load of victims for the guillotine rattles -along the cobblestones of the Rue St. Antoine. The populace, vaguely -conscious of something stupendous in the air--even though the decree of -accusation against Robespierre has not yet transpired--loudly demand the -release of the victims. They surround the tumbrils, crying, "Let them be -free!" - -But Henriot at the head of his gendarmes comes riding down the street, -and while the populace shouts, "It shall not be! Let them be free!" he -threatens with pistols and sabre, and retorts, bellowing: "It shall be! -To the guillotine!" And the tumbrils, which for a moment had halted, -lumber on, on their way. - - - - -§2 - - -Up in the attic of the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette, -Marguerite Blakeney heard but a mere faint echo of the confusion and of -the uproar. - -During the previous long, sultry afternoon, it had seemed to her as if -her jailers had been unwontedly agitated. There was much more moving to -and fro on the landing outside her door than there had been in the last -three days. Men talked, mostly in whispers; but at times a word, a -phrase here and there, a voice raised above the others, reached her -straining ears. She glued her ear to the keyhole and listened; but what -she heard was all confusion, sentences that conveyed but little meaning -to her. She distinguished the voice of the Captain of the Guard. He -appeared impatient about something, and talked about "missing all the -fun." The other soldiers seemed to agree with him. Obviously they were -all drinking heavily, for their voices sounded hoarse and thick, and -often would break into bibulous song. From time to time, too, she would -hear the patter of wooden shoes, together with a wheezy cough, as from a -man troubled with asthma. - -But it was all very vague, for her nerves by this time were on the rack. -She had lost count of time, of place; she knew nothing. She was unable -even to think. All her instincts were merged in the dread of that silent -evening hour, when Chauvelin's furtive footsteps would once more resound -upon the stone floor outside her door, when she would hear the quick -word of command that heralded his approach, the grounding of arms, the -sharp query and quick answer, and when she would feel again the presence -of the relentless enemy who lay in wait to trap her beloved. - -At one moment that evening he had raised his voice, obviously so that -she might hear. - -"To-morrow is the fourth day, citizen Captain," she had heard him say. -"I may not be able to come." - -"Then," the voice of the Captain had said in reply, "if the Englishman -is not here by seven o'clock----" - -Chauvelin had given a harsh, dry laugh, and retorted: - -"Your orders are as they were, citizen. But I think that the Englishman -will come." - -What it all meant Marguerite could not fail to conjecture. It meant -death to her or to her husband--to both, in fact. And all to-day she had -sat by the open window, her hands clasped in silent, constant prayer, -her eyes fixed upon the horizon far away, longing with all her might for -one last sight of her beloved, fighting against despair, striving for -trust in him and for hope. - - - - -§3 - - -At this hour, the centre of interest is the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, -where Robespierre and his friends sit entrenched and--for the -moment--safe. The prisons have refused one by one to close their gates -upon the Chosen of the People; governors and jailers alike have quaked -in the face of so monstrous a sacrilege. And the same gendarmes who have -been told off to escort the fallen tyrant to his penultimate resting -place, have had a touch of the same kind of scruple--or dread--and at -his command have conveyed him to the Hôtel de Ville. - -In vain does the Convention hastily reassemble. In -vain--apparently--does Tallien demand that the traitor Robespierre and -his friends be put outside the pale of the law. They are for the moment -safe, redacting proclamations, sending out messengers in every -direction; whilst Henriot and his gendarmes, having struck terror in the -hearts of all peaceable citizens, hold the place outside the Town Hall -and proclaim Robespierre dictator of France. - -The sun sinks towards the West behind a veil of mist. Ferment and -confusion are at their height. All around the City there is an invisible -barrier that seems to confine agitation within its walls. Outside this -barrier, no one knows what is happening. Only a vague dread has -filtrated through and gripped every heart. The guard at the several -gates appear slack and undisciplined. Sentries are accosted by -passers-by, eager for news. And, from time to time, from every -direction, troops of the Municipal gendarmes ride furiously by, with -shouts of "Robespierre! Robespierre! Death to the traitors! Long live -Robespierre!" - -They raise a cloud of dust around them, trample unheedingly over every -obstacle, human or otherwise, that happens to be in their way. They -threaten peaceable citizens with their pistols and strike at women and -children with the flat of their sabres. - -As soon as they have gone by, excited groups close up in their wake. - -"Name of a name, what is happening?" every one queries in affright. - -And gossip, conjectures, rumours, hold undisputed sway. - -"Robespierre is dictator of France!" - -"He has ordered the arrest of all the Members of the Convention." - -"And the massacre of all the prisoners." - -"Pardi, a wise decree! As for me, I am sick of the eternal tumbrils and -the guillotine!" - -"Better finish with the lot, say I!" - -"Robespierre! Robespierre!" comes as a far-off echo, to the -accompaniment of thundering hoofs upon the cobblestones. - -And so, from mouth to mouth! The meek and the peace-loving magnify these -rumours into approaching cataclysm; the opportunists hold their tongue, -ready to fall in with this party or that; the cowards lie in hiding and -shout "Robespierre!" with Henriot's horde or "Tallien!" in the -neighbourhood of the Tuileries. - -Here the Convention has reassembled, and here they are threatened -presently by Henriot and his artillery. The members of the great -Assembly remain at their post. The President has harangued them. - -"Citizen deputies!" he calls aloud. "The moment has come to die at our -posts!" - -And they sit waiting for Henriot's cannonade, and calmly decree all the -rebels "outside the pale of the law." - -Tallien, moved by a spirit of lofty courage, goes, followed by a few -intimates, to meet Henriot's gunners boldly face to face. - -"Citizen soldiers!" he calls aloud, and his voice has the resonance of -undaunted courage. "After covering yourselves with glory on the fields -of honour, are you going to disgrace your country?" He points a scornful -finger at Henriot who, bloated, purple in the face, grunting and -spluttering like an old seal, is reeling in his saddle. "Look at him, -citizen soldiers!" Tallien commands. "He is drunk and besotted! What man -is there who, being sober, would dare to order fire against the -representatives of the people?" - -The gunners are moved, frightened too by the decree which has placed -them "outside the pale of the law." Henriot, fearing mutiny if he -persisted in the monstrous order to fire, withdraws his troops, back to -the Hôtel de Ville. - -Some follow him; some do not. And Tallien goes back to the Hall of the -Convention covered with glory. - -Citizen Barras is promoted Commandant of the National Guard and of all -forces at the disposal of the Convention, and order to recruit loyal -troops that will stand up to the traitor Henriot and his ruffianly -gendarmes. The latter are in open revolt against the Government; but, -name of a name! Citizen Barras, with a few hundred patriots, will soon -put reason--and a few charges of gunpowder--into them! - - - - -§4 - - -So, at five o'clock in the afternoon, whilst Henriot has once more -collected his gendarmes and the remnants of his artillery outside the -Hôtel de Ville, citizen Barras, accompanied by two aides-de-camp, goes -forth on his recruiting mission. He makes the round of the city gates, -wishing to find out what loyal soldiers amongst the National Guard the -Convention can rely upon. - -Chauvelin, on his way to the Rue de la Planchette, meets Barras at the -Porte St. Antoine; and Barras is full of the news. - -"Why were you not at your place at the Assembly, citizen Chauvelin?" he -asks of his colleague. "It was the grandest moment I have ever -witnessed! Tallien was superb, and Robespierre ignoble! And if we -succeed in crushing that bloodthirsty monster once and for all, it will -be a new era of civilisation and liberty!" - -He halts, and continues with a fretful sigh: - -"But we want soldiers--loyal soldiers! All the troops that we can get! -Henriot has the whole of the Municipal Gendarmerie at his command, with -muskets and guns; and Robespierre can always sway that rabble with a -word. We want men! . . . Men! . . ." - -But Chauvelin is in no mood to listen. Robespierre's fall or his -triumph, what are they to him at this hour, when the curtain is about to -fall on the final act of his own stupendous drama of revenge? Whatever -happens, whoever remains in power, vengeance is his! The English spy in -any event is sure of the guillotine. He is not the enemy of a party, but -of the people of France. And the sovereignty of the people is not in -question yet. Then, what matters if the wild beasts in the Convention -are at one another's throat? - -So Chauvelin listens unmoved to Barras' passionate tirades, and when the -latter, puzzled at his colleague's indifference, reiterates frowning: - -"I must have all the troops I can get. You have some capable soldiers at -your command always, citizen Chauvelin. Where are they now?" - -Chauvelin retorts drily: - -"At work. On business at least as important as taking sides in a quarrel -between Robespierre and Tallien." - -"Pardi! . . ." Barras protests hotly. - -But Chauvelin pays no further attention to him. A neighbouring church -clock has just struck six. Within the hour his arch-enemy will be in his -hands! Never for a moment does he doubt that the bold adventurer will -come to the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette. Even hating the -Englishman as he does, he knows that the latter would not endanger his -wife's safety by securing his own. - -So Chauvelin turns on his heel, leaving Barras to fume and to threaten. -At the angle of the Porte St. Antoine, he stumbles against and nearly -knocks over a man who sits on the ground, with his back to the wall, -munching a straw, his knees drawn up to his nose, a crimson cap pulled -over his eyes, and his two long arms encircling his shins. - -Chauvelin swore impatiently. His nerves were on the rack, and he was in -no pleasant mood. The man, taken unawares, had uttered an oath, which -died away in a racking fit of coughing. Chauvelin looked down, and saw -the one long arm branded with the letter "M," the flesh still swollen -and purple with the fire of the searing iron. - -"Rateau!" he ejaculated roughly. "What are you doing here?" - -Meek and servile, Rateau struggled with some difficulty to his feet. - -"I have finished my work at Mother Théot's, citizen," he said humbly. -"I was resting." - -Chauvelin kicked at him with the toe of his boot. - -"Then go and rest elsewhere," he muttered. "The gates of the city are -not refuges for vagabonds." - -After which act of unnecessary brutality, his temper momentarily -soothed, he turned on his heel and walked rapidly through the gate. - -Barras had stood by during this brief interlude, vaguely interested in -the little scene. But now, when the coalheaver lurched past him, one of -his aides-de-camp remarked audibly: - -"An unpleasant customer, citizen Chauvelin! Eh, friend?" - -"I believe you!" Rateau replied readily enough. Then, with the mulish -persistence of a gaby who is smarting under a wrong, he thrust out his -branded arm, right under citizen Barras' nose. "See what he has done to -me!" - -Barras frowned. - -"A convict, what? Then, how is it you are at large?" - -"I am not a convict," Rateau protested with sullen emphasis. "I am an -innocent man, and a free citizen of the Republic. But I got in citizen -Chauvelin's way, what? He is always full of schemes----" - -"You are right there!" Barras retorted grimly. But the subject was not -sufficiently interesting to engross his attention further. He had so -many and such momentous things to do. Already he had nodded to his men -and turned his back on the grimy coalheaver, who, shaken by a fit of -coughing, unable to speak for the moment, had put out his grimy hand and -gripped the deputy firmly by the sleeve. - -"What is it now?" Barras ejaculated roughly. - -"If you will but listen, citizen," Rateau wheezed painfully, "I can tell -you----" - -"What?" - -"You were asking citizen Chauvelin where you could find some soldiers of -the Republic to do you service." - -"Yes; I did." - -"Well," Rateau rejoined, and an expression of malicious cunning -distorted his ugly face. "I can tell you." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I lodge in an empty warehouse over yonder," Rateau went on eagerly, and -pointed in the direction where Chauvelin's spare figure had disappeared -awhile ago. "The floor above is inhabited by Mother Théot, the witch. -You know her, citizen?" - -"Yes, yes! I thought she had been sent to the guillotine along with----" - -"She was let out of prison, and has been doing some of citizen -Chauvelin's spying for him." - -Barras frowned. This was none of his business, and the dirty coalheaver -inspired him with an unpleasant sense of loathing. - -"To the point, citizen!" he said curtly. - -"Citizen Chauvelin has a dozen or more soldiers under his command, in -that house," Rateau went on with a leer. "They are trained troops of the -National Guard----" - -"How do you know?" Barras broke in harshly. - -"Pardi!" was the coalheaver's dry reply. "I clean their boots for them." - -"Where is the house?" - -"In the Rue de la Planchette. But there is an entrance into the -warehouse at the back of it." - -"Allons!" was Barras' curt word of command, to the two men who -accompanied him. - -He strode up the street toward the gate, not caring whether Rateau came -along or no. But the coalheaver followed in the wake of the three men. -He had buried his grimy fists once more in the pocket of his tattered -breeches; but not before he had shaken them, each in turn, in the -direction of the Rue de la Planchette. - - - - -§5 - - -Chauvelin in the meanwhile had turned into Mother Théot's house, and -without speaking to the old charlatan, who was watching for him in the -vestibule, he mounted to the top floor. Here he called peremptorily to -Captain Boyer. - -"There is half an hour yet," the latter murmured gruffly; "and I am sick -of all this waiting! Let me finish with that cursed aristo in there. My -comrades and I want to see what is going on in the city, and join in the -fun, if there is any." - -"Half an hour, citizen," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. "You'll lose little -of the fun, and you'll certainly lose your share of the ten thousand -livres if you shoot the woman and fail to capture the Scarlet -Pimpernel." - -"Bah! He'll not come now," Boyer riposted. "It is too late. He is -looking after his own skin, pardi!" - -"He will come, I swear!" Chauvelin said firmly, as if in answer to his -own thoughts. - -Inside the room, Marguerite has heard every word of this colloquy. Its -meaning is clear enough. Clear, and horrible! Death awaits her -at the hands of those abominable ruffians--here--within half an -hour--unless . . . Her thoughts are becoming confused; she cannot -concentrate. Frightened? No, she is not frightened. She has looked death -in the face before now. That time in Boulogne. And there are worse things -than death. . . . There is, for instance, the fear that she might never see -her husband again . . . in this life . . . There is only half an hour or -less than that . . . and . . . and he might not come. . . . She prays -that he might not come. But, if he does, then what chance has he? My -God, what chance? - -And her tortured mind conjures up visions of his courage, his coolness, -his amazing audacity and luck. . . . She thinks and thinks . . . if he -does not come . . . and if he does. . . . - -A distant church clock strikes the half-hour . . . a short half-hour -now . . . - -The evening is sultry. Another storm is threatening, and the sun has -tinged the heat-mist with red. The air smells foul, as in the midst of a -huge, perspiring crowd. And through the heat, the lull, above the -hideous sounds of those ruffians outside her door, there is a rumbling -noise as of distant, unceasing thunder. The city is in travail. - -Then suddenly Boyer, the Captain of the ruffians, exclaims loudly: - -"Let me finish with the aristo, citizen Chauvelin! I want to join in the -fun." - -And the door of her room is torn open by a savage, violent hand. - -The window behind Marguerite is open, and she, facing the door, clings -with both hands to the sill. Her cheeks bloodless, her eyes glowing, her -head erect, she waits, praying with all her might for courage . . . only -courage. - -The ruffianly captain in his tattered, mud-stained uniform, stands in -the doorway--for one moment only. The next, Chauvelin has elbowed him -out of the way, and in his turn faces the prisoner--the innocent woman -whom he has pursued with such relentless hatred. Marguerite prays with -all her might, and does not flinch. Not for one second. Death stands -there before her in the guise of this man's vengeful lust, which gleams -in his pale eyes. Death is there waiting for her, under the guise of -those ignoble soldiers in the scrubby rags, with their muskets held in -stained, filthy hands. - -Courage--only courage! The power to die as _he_ would wish her to . . . -could be but know! - -Chauvelin speaks to her; she does not hear. There is a mighty buzzing in -her ears as of men shouting--shouting what, she does not know, for she -is still praying for courage. Chauvelin has ceased talking. Then it must -be the end. Thank God! she has had the courage not to speak and not to -flinch. Now she closes her eyes, for there is a red mist before her and -she feels that she might fall into it--straight into that mist. - - - - -§6 - - -With closed eyes, Marguerite suddenly seems able to hear. She hears -shouts which come from below--quite close, and coming nearer every -moment. Shouts, and the tramp, the scurry of many feet; and now and then -that wheezing, asthmatic cough, that strange, strange cough, and the -click of wooden shoes. Then a voice, harsh and peremptory: - -"Citizen soldiers, your country needs you! Rebels have defied her laws. -To arms! Every man who hangs back is a deserter and a traitor!" - -After this, Chauvelin's sharp, dictatorial voice raised in protest: - -"In the name of the Republic, citizen Barras!----" - -But the other breaks in more peremptorily still: - -"Ah, ça, citizen Chauvelin! Do you presume to stand between me and my -duty? By order of the Convention now assembled, every soldier must -report at once at his section. Are you perchance on the side of the -rebels?" - -At this point, Marguerite opens her eyes. Through the widely open door -she sees the small, sable-clad figure of Chauvelin, his pale face -distorted with rage to which he obviously dare not give rein; and beside -him a short, stoutish man in cloth coat and cord breeches, and with the -tricolour scarf around his waist. His round face appears crimson with -choler and in his right hand he grasps a heavy malacca stick, with a -grip that proclaims the desire to strike. The two men appear to be -defying one another; and all around them are the vague forms of the -soldiers silhouetted against a distant window, through which the crimson -afternoon glow comes peeping in on a cloud of flickering dust. - -"Now then, citizen soldiers!" Barras resumes, and incontinently turns -his back on Chauvelin who, white to the lips, raises a final and -menacing word of warning. - -"I warn you, citizen Barras," he says firmly, "that, by taking these men -away from their post, you place yourself in league with the enemy of -your country, and will have to answer to her for this crime." - -His accent is so convinced, so firm, and fraught with such dire menace, -that for one instant Barras hesitates. - -"Eh bien!" he exclaims. "I will humour you thus far, citizen Chauvelin. -I will leave you a couple of men to wait on your pleasure until sundown. -But, after that. . . ." - -For a second or two there is silence. Chauvelin stands there, with his -thin lips pressed tightly together. Then Barras adds, with a shrug of -his wide shoulders: - -"I am contravening my duty in doing even so much; and the responsibility -must rest with you, citizen Chauvelin. Allons, my men!" he says once -more; and without another glance on his discomfited colleague, he -strides down the stairs, followed by captain Boyer and the soldiers. - -For a while the house is still filled with confusion and sounds: men -tramping down the stone stairs, words of command, click of sabres and -muskets, opening and slamming of doors. Then the sounds slowly die away, -out in the street in the direction of the Porte St. Antoine. After -which, there is silence. - -Chauvelin stands in the doorway with his back to the room and to -Marguerite, his claw-like hands intertwined convulsively behind him. The -silhouettes of the two remaining soldiers are still visible; they stand -silently and at attention with their muskets in their hands. Between -them and Chauvelin hovers the tall, ungainly figure of a man, clothed in -rags and covered in soot and coal-dust. His feet are thrust into wooden -shoes, his grimy hands are stretched out each side of him; and on his -left arm, just above the wrist, there is an ugly mark like the brand -seared into the flesh of a convict. - -Just now he looks terribly distressed with a tearing fit of coughing. -Chauvelin curtly bids him stand aside; and at the same moment the church -clock of St. Louis, close by, strikes seven. - -"Now then, citizen soldiers!" Chauvelin commands. - -The soldiers grasp their muskets more firmly, and Chauvelin raises his -hand. The next instant he is thrust violently back into the room, loses -his balance, and falls backward against a table, whilst the door is -slammed to between him and the soldiers. From the other side of the door -there comes the sound of a short, sharp scuffle. Then silence. - -Marguerite, holding her breath, hardly realised that she lived. A second -ago she was facing death; and now. . . . - -Chauvelin struggled painfully to his feet. With a mighty effort and a -hoarse cry of rage, he threw himself against the door. The impetus -carried him further than he intended, no doubt; for at that same moment -the door was opened, and he fell up against the massive form of the -grimy coalheaver, whose long arms closed round him, lifted him off the -floor, and carried him like a bundle of straw to the nearest chair. - -"There, my dear M. Chambertin!" the coalheaver said, in exceedingly -light and pleasant tones. "Let me make you quite comfortable!" - -Marguerite watched--dumb and fascinated--the dexterous hands that twined -a length of rope round the arms and legs of her helpless enemy, and -wound his own tricolour scarf around that snarling mouth. - -She scarcely dared trust her eyes and ears. - -There was the hideous, dust-covered mudlark with bare feet thrust into -sabots, with ragged breeches and tattered shirt; there was the cruel, -mud-stained face, the purple lips, the toothless mouth; and those huge, -muscular arms, one of them branded like the arm of a convict, the flesh -still swollen with the searing of the iron. - -"I must indeed crave your ladyship's forgiveness. In very truth, I am a -disgusting object!" - -Ah, there was the voice!--the dear, dear, merry voice! A little weary -perhaps, but oh! so full of laughter and of boyish shame-facedness! To -Marguerite it seemed as if God's own angels had opened to her the gates -of Paradise. She did not speak; she scarce could move. All that she -could do was to put out her arms. - -He did not approach her, for in truth he looked a dusty object; but he -dragged his ugly cap off his head, then slowly, and keeping his eyes -fixed upon her, he put one knee to the ground. - -"You did not doubt, m'dear, that I would come?" he asked quaintly. - -She shook her head. The last days were like a nightmare now; and in -truth she ought never to have been afraid. - -"Will you ever forgive me?" he continued. - -"Forgive? What?" she murmured. - -"These last few days. I could not come before. You were safe for the -time being. . . . That fiend was waiting for me. . . ." - -She gave a shudder and closed her eyes. - -"Where is he?" - -He laughed his gay, irresponsible laugh, and with a slender hand, still -covered with coal-dust, he pointed to the helpless figure of Chauvelin. - -"Look at him!" he said. "Doth he not look a picture?" - -Marguerite ventured to look. Even at sight of her enemy bound tightly -with ropes to a chair, his own tricolour scarf wound loosely round his -mouth, she could not altogether suppress a cry of horror. - -"What is to become of him?" - -He shrugged his broad shoulders. - -"I wonder!" he said lightly. - -Then he rose to his feet, and went on with quaint bashfulness: - -"I wonder," he said, "how I dare stand thus before your ladyship!" - -And in a moment she was in his arms, laughing, crying, covered herself -now with coal-dust and with grime. - -"My beloved!" she exclaimed with a shudder of horror. "What you must -have gone through!" - -He only laughed like a schoolboy who has come through some impish -adventure without much harm. - -"Very little, I swear!" he asserted gaily. "But for thoughts of you, I -have never enjoyed anything so much as this last phase of a glorious -adventure. After our clever friend here ordered the real Rateau to be -branded, so that he might know him again wherever he saw him, I had to -bribe the veterinary who had done the deed, to do the same thing for me. -It was not difficult. For a thousand livres the man would have branded -his own mother on the nose; and I appeared before him as a man of -science, eager for an experiment He asked no questions. And, since then, -I whenever Chauvelin gazed contentedly on my arm, I could have screamed -for joy! - -"For the love of Heaven, my lady!" he added quickly, for he felt her -soft, warm lips against his branded flesh; "don't shame me over such a -trifle! I shall always love that scar, for the exciting time it recalls -and because it happens to be the initial of your dear name." - -He stooped down to the ground and kissed the hem of her gown. - -After which he had to tell her as quickly and as briefly as he could, -all that had happened in the past few days. - -"It was only by risking the fair Theresia's life," he said, "that I -could save your own. No other spur would have goaded Tallien into open -revolt." - -He turned and looked down for a moment on his enemy, who lay pinioned -and helpless, with hatred and baffled revenge writ plainly on the -contorted face and pale, rolling eyes. - -And Sir Percy Blakeney sighed, a quaint sigh of regret. - -"I only regret one thing, my dear M. Chambertin," he said after a while. -"And that is, that you and I will never measure wits again after this. -Your damnable revolution is dead . . . your unsavoury occupation -gone. . . . I am glad I was never tempted to kill you. I might have -succumbed, and in very truth robbed the guillotine of an interesting prey. -Without any doubt, they will guillotine the lot of you, my good M. -Chambertin. Robespierre to-morrow; then his friends, his sycophants, his -imitators--you amongst the rest. . . . 'Tis a pity! You have so often -amused me. Especially after you had put a brand on Rateau's arm, and -thought you would always know him after that. Think it all out, my dear -sir! Remember our happy conversation in the warehouse down below, and my -denunciation of citoyenne Cabarrus. . . . You gazed upon my branded arm -then and were quite satisfied. My denunciation was a false one, of -course! 'Tis I who put the letters and the rags in the beautiful -Theresia's apartments. But she will bear me no malice, I dare swear; for -I shall have redeemed my promise. To-morrow, after Robespierre's head -has fallen, Tallien will be the greatest man in France and his Theresia -a virtual queen. Think it all out, my dear Monsieur Chambertin! You have -plenty of time. Some one is sure to drift up here presently, and will -free you and the two soldiers, whom I left out on the landing. But no -one will free you from the guillotine when the time comes, unless I -myself. . . ." - -He did not finish; the rest of the sentence was merged in a merry laugh. - -"A pleasant conceit--what?" he said lightly. "I'll think on it, I -promise you!" - - - - -§7 - - -And the next day Paris went crazy with joy. Never had the streets looked -more gay, more crowded. The windows were filled with spectators; the -very roofs were crowded with an eager, shouting throng. - -The seventeen hours of agony were ended. The tyrant was a fallen, broken -man, maimed, dumb, bullied and insulted. Aye! He, who yesterday was the -Chosen of the People, the Messenger of the Most High, now sat, or rather -lay, in the tumbril, with broken jaw, eyes closed, spirit already -wandering on the shores of the Styx; insulted, railed at, cursed--aye, -cursed!--by every woman, reviled by every child. - -The end came at four in the afternoon, in the midst of acclamations from -a populace drunk with gladness--acclamations which found their echo in -the whole of France, and have never ceased to re-echo to this day. - -But of all that tumult, Marguerite and her husband heard but little. -They lay snugly concealed the whole of that day in the quiet lodgings in -the Rue de l'Anier, which Sir Percy had occupied during these terribly -anxious times. Here they were waited on by that asthmatic reprobate -Rateau and his mother, both of whom were now rich for the rest of their -days. - -When the shades of evening gathered in over the jubilant city, whilst -the church bells were ringing and the cannons booming, a market -gardener's cart, driven by a worthy farmer and his wife, rattled out of -the Porte St. Antoine. It created no excitement, and suspicion was far -from everybody's mind. The passports appeared in order; but even if they -were not, who cared, on this day of all days, when tyranny was crushed -and men dared to be men again? - - - - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIUMPH OF THE SCARLET -PIMPERNEL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Emmuska Orczy</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 25, 2021 [eBook #65695]<br /> -[Most recently updated: August 18, 2021]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIUMPH OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/triumph_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h2>THE TRIUMPH<br /> -OF THE<br /> -SCARLET PIMPERNEL</h2> - - -<h5>BY</h5> - -<h3>BARONESS ORCZY</h3> - -<h4><i>Author of "Nicolette," "The First Sir Percy"<br /> -"Flower 'o the Lily," "The Scarlet<br /> -Pimpernel," etc.</i></h4> - - - - -<h4>NEW YORK</h4> - -<h4>GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</h4> - - - - -<h5>COPYRIGHT, 1922,</h5> - -<h5>BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</h5> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - -<p class="noindent">CHAPTER<br /> -<br /> -I. <a href="#chap01">"The Everlasting Stars Look Down"</a><br /> -II. <a href="#chap02">Feet of Clay</a><br /> -III. <a href="#chap03">The Fellowship of Grief</a><br /> -IV. <a href="#chap04">One Dram of Joy Must Have a Pound of Care</a><br /> -V. <a href="#chap05">Rascality Rejoices</a><br /> -VI. <a href="#chap06">One Crowded Hour of Glorious Life</a><br /> -VII. <a href="#chap07">Two Interludes</a><br /> -VIII. <a href="#chap08">The Beautiful Spaniard</a><br /> -IX. <a href="#chap09">A Hideous, Fearful Hour</a><br /> -X. <a href="#chap10">The Grim Idol that the World Adores</a><br /> -XI. <a href="#chap11">Strange Happenings</a><br /> -XII. <a href="#chap12">Chauvelin</a><br /> -XIII. <a href="#chap13">The Fisherman's Rest</a><br /> -XIV. <a href="#chap14">The Castaway</a><br /> -XV. <a href="#chap15">The Nest</a><br /> -XVI. <a href="#chap16">A Lover of Sport</a><br /> -XVII. <a href="#chap17">Reunion</a><br /> -XVIII. <a href="#chap18">Night and Morning</a><br /> -XIX. <a href="#chap19">A Rencontre</a><br /> -XX. <a href="#chap20">Departure</a><br /> -XXI. <a href="#chap21">Memories</a><br /> -XXII. <a href="#chap22">Waiting</a><br /> -XXIII. <a href="#chap23">Mice and Men</a><br /> -XXIV. <a href="#chap24">By Order of the State</a><br /> -XXV. <a href="#chap25">Four Days</a><br /> -XXVI. <a href="#chap26">A Dream</a><br /> -XXVII. <a href="#chap27">Terror or Ambition</a><br /> -XXVIII. <a href="#chap28">In the Meanwhile</a><br /> -XXIX. <a href="#chap29">The Close of the Second Day</a><br /> -XXX. <a href="#chap30">When the Storm Burst</a><br /> -XXXI. <a href="#chap31">Our Lady of Pity</a><br /> -XXXII. <a href="#chap32">Grey Dawn</a><br /> -XXXIII. <a href="#chap33">The Cataclysm</a><br /> -XXXIV. <a href="#chap34">The Whirlwind</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4>THE TRIUMPH OF<br /> -<br /> -THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL</h4> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4><a id="chap01"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER I -<br /><br /> -"THE EVERLASTING STARS LOOK DOWN, LIKE<br /> -GLISTENING EYES BRIGHT WITH IMMORTAL PITT, OVER THE LOT OF<br /> -MAN."</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Nearly five years have gone by! -</p> - -<p> -Five years, since the charred ruins of grim Bastille—stone image of -Absolutism and of Autocracy—set the seal of victory upon the -expression of a people's will and marked the beginning of that marvellous -era of Liberty and of Fraternity which has led us step by step from the -dethronement of a King, through the martyrdom of countless innocents, to -the tyranny of an oligarchy more arbitrary, more relentless, above all -more cruel, than any that the dictators of Rome or Stamboul ever dreamed -of in their wildest thirst for power. An era that sees a populace always -clamouring for the Millennium, which ranting demagogues have never -ceased to promise: a Millennium to be achieved alternatively through the -extermination of Aristocracy, of Titles, of Riches, and the abrogation -of Priesthood: through dethroned royalty and desecrated altars, through -an army without leadership, or an Assembly without power. -</p> - -<p> -They have never ceased to prate, these frothy rhetoricians! And the -people went on, vaguely believing that one day, soon, that Millennium -would surely come, after seas of blood had purged the soil of France -from the last vestige of bygone oppression, and after her sons and -daughters had been massacred in their thousands and their tens of -thousands, until their headless bodies had built up a veritable scaling -ladder for the tottering feet of lustful climbers, and these in their -turn had perished to make way for other ranters, other speech-makers, a -new Demosthenes or long-tongued Cicero. -</p> - -<p> -Inevitably these too perished, one by one, irrespective of their virtues -or their vices, their errors or their ideals: Vergniaud, the enthusiast, -and Desmoulins, the irresponsible; Barnave, the just, and Chaumette, the -blasphemer; Hébert, the carrion, and Danton, the power. All, all have -perished, one after the other: victims of their greed and of their -crimes—they and their adherents and their enemies. They slew and were -slain in their turn. They struck blindly, like raging beasts, most of -them for fear lest they too should be struck by beasts more furious than -they. All have perished; but not before their iniquities have for ever -sullied what might have been the most glorious page in the history of -France—her fight for Liberty. Because of these monsters—and of -a truth there were only a few—the fight, itself sublime in its -ideals, noble in its conception, has become abhorrent to the rest of -mankind. -</p> - -<p> -But they, arraigned at the bar of history, what have they to say, what -to show as evidence of their patriotism, the purity of their intentions? -</p> - -<p> -On this day of April, 1794, year II of the New Calendar, eight thousand -men, women, and not a few children, are crowding the prisons of Paris to -overflowing. Four thousand heads have fallen under the guillotine in the -past three months. All the great names of France, her noblesse, her -magistracy, her clergy, members of past Parliaments, shining lights in -the sciences, the arts, the Universities, men of substance, poets, -brain-workers, have been torn from their homes, their churches or their -places of refuge, dragged before a travesty of justice, judged, -condemned and slaughtered; not singly, not individually, but in -batches—whole families, complete hierarchies, entire households; one -lot for the crime of being rich, another for being nobly born; some -because of their religion, others because of professed free-thought. One -man for devotion to his friend, another for perfidy; one for having -spoken, another for having held his tongue, and another for no crime at -all—just because of his family connexions, his profession or his -ancestry. -</p> - -<p> -For months it had been the innocents; but since then it has also been -the assassins. And the populace, still awaiting the Millennium, clamour -for more victims and for more—for the aristocrat and for the -sans-culotte, and howl with execration impartially at both. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -But through this mad orgy of murder and of hatred, one man survives, -stands apart indeed, wielding a power which the whole pack of infuriated -wolves thirsting for his blood are too cowardly to challenge. The -Girondists and the Extremists have fallen. Hébert, the idol of the mob, -Danton, its hero and its mouthpiece, have been hurled from their throne, -sent to the scaffold along with ci-devant nobles, aristocrats, royalists -and traitors. But this one man remains, calm in the midst of every -storm, absolute in his will, indigent where others have grasped riches -with both hands, adored, almost deified, by a few, dreaded by all, -sphinx-like, invulnerable, sinister—Robespierre! -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre at this time was at the height of his popularity and of his -power. The two great Committees of Public Safety and of General Security -were swayed by his desires, the Clubs worshipped him, the Convention was -packed with obedient slaves to his every word. The Dantonists, cowed -into submission by the bold coup which had sent their leader, their -hero, their idol, to the guillotine, were like a tree that has been -struck at the root. Without Danton, the giant of the Revolution, the -colossus of crime, the maker of the Terror, the thunderbolt of the -Convention, the party was atrophied, robbed of its strength and its -vitality, its last few members hanging, servile and timorous, upon the -great man's lips. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre was in truth absolute master of France. The man who had -dared to drag his only rival down to the scaffold was beyond the reach -of any attack. By this final act of unparalleled despotism he had -revealed the secrets of his soul, shown himself to be rapacious as well -as self-seeking. Something of his aloofness, of his incorruptibility, -had vanished, yielding to that ever-present and towering ambition which -hitherto none had dared to suspect. But ambition is the one vice to -which the generality of mankind will always accord homage, and -Robespierre, by gaining the victory over his one rival, had virtually -begun to rule, whilst his colleagues in the Convention, in the Clubs and -in the Committees, had tacitly agreed to obey. The tyrant out of his -vaulting ambition had brought forth the slaves. -</p> - -<p> -Faint hearted and servile, they brooded over their wrongs, gazed with -smouldering wrath on Danton's vacant seat in the Convention, which no -one cared to fill. But they did not murmur, hardly dared to plot, and -gave assent to every decree, every measure, every suggestion promulgated -by the dictator who held their lives in the hollow of his thin white -hand; who with a word, a gesture, could send his enemy, his detractor, a -mere critic of his actions, to the guillotine. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap02"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER II -<br /><br /> -FEET OF CLAY</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -On this 26th day of April, 1794, which in the newly constituted calendar -is the 7th Floreal, year II of the Republic, three women and one man -were assembled in a small, closely curtained room on the top floor of a -house in the Rue de la Planchette, which is situated in a remote and -dreary quarter of Paris. The man sat upon a chair which was raised on a -dais. He was neatly, indeed, immaculately dressed, in dark cloth coat -and tan breeches, with clean linen at throat and wrists, white stockings -and buckled shoes. His own hair was concealed under a mouse-coloured -wig. He sat quite still, with one leg crossed over the other, and his -thin, bony hands were clasped in front of him. -</p> - -<p> -Behind the dais there was a heavy curtain which stretched right across -the room, and in front of it, at opposite corners, two young girls, clad -in grey, clinging draperies, sat upon their heels, with the palms of -their hands resting flat upon their thighs. Their hair hung loose down -their backs, their chins were uplifted, their eyes fixed, their bodies -rigid in an attitude of contemplation. In the centre of the room a woman -stood, gazing upwards at the ceiling, her arms folded across her breast. -Her grey hair, lank and unruly, was partially hidden by an ample -floating veil of an indefinite shade of grey, and from her meagre -shoulders and arms, her garment—it was hardly a gown—descended -in straight, heavy, shapeless folds. In front of her was a small table, on -it a large crystal globe, which rested on a stand of black wood, -exquisitely carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and beside it a -small metal box. -</p> - -<p> -Immediately above the old woman's head an oil lamp, the flame of which -was screened by a piece of crimson silk, shed a feeble and lurid light -upon the scene. Against the wall half a dozen chairs, on the floor a -threadbare carpet, and in one corner a broken-down chiffonier -represented the sum total of the furniture in the stuffy little room. -The curtains in front of the window, as well as the portières which -masked both the doors, were heavy and thick, excluding all light and -most of the outside air. -</p> - -<p> -The old woman, with eyes fixed upon the ceiling, spoke in a dull, even -monotone. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Robespierre, who is the Chosen of the Most High, hath deigned -to enter the humble abode of his servant," she said. "What is his -pleasure to-day?" -</p> - -<p> -"The shade of Danton pursues me," Robespierre replied, and his voice too -sounded toneless, as if muffled by the heavily weighted atmosphere. "Can -you not lay him to rest?" -</p> - -<p> -The woman stretched out her arms. The folds of her woollen draperies -hung straight from shoulder to wrist down to the ground, so that she -looked like a shapeless, bodiless, grey ghost in the dim, red light. -</p> - -<p> -"Blood!" she exclaimed in a weird, cadaverous wail. "Blood around thee -and blood at thy feet! But not upon thy head, O Chosen of the Almighty! -Thy decrees are those of the Most High! Thy hand wields His avenging -Sword! I see thee walking upon a sea of blood, yet thy feet are as white -as lilies and thy garments are spotless as the driven: snow. Avaunt," -she cried in sepulchral tones, "ye spirits of evil! Avaunt, ye vampires -and ghouls! and venture not with your noxious breath to disturb the -serenity of our Morning Star!" -</p> - -<p> -The girls in front of the dais raised their arms above their heads and -echoed the old soothsayer's wails. -</p> - -<p> -"Avaunt!" they cried solemnly. "Avaunt!" -</p> - -<p> -Now from a distant corner of the room, a small figure detached itself -out of the murky shadows. It was the figure of a young negro, clad in -white from head to foot. In the semi-darkness the draperies which he -wore were alone visible, and the whites of his eyes. Thus he seemed to -be walking without any feet, to have eyes without any face, and to be -carrying a heavy vessel without using any hands. His appearance indeed -was so startling and so unearthly that the man upon the dais could not -suppress an exclamation of terror. Whereupon a wide row of dazzling -white teeth showed somewhere between the folds of the spectral -draperies, and further enhanced the spook-like appearance of the -blackamoor. He carried a deep bowl fashioned of chased copper, which he -placed upon the table in front of the old woman, immediately behind the -crystal globe and the small metal box. The seer then opened the box, -took out a pinch of something brown and powdery, and holding it between -finger and thumb, she said solemnly: -</p> - -<p> -"From out the heart of France rises the incense of faith, of hope, and -of love!" and she dropped the powder into the bowl. "May it prove -acceptable to him who is her chosen Lord!" -</p> - -<p> -A bluish flame shot up from out the depth of the vessel, shed for the -space of a second or two its ghostly light upon the gaunt features of -the old hag, the squat and grinning face of the negro, and toyed with -will-o'-the-wisp-like fitfulness with the surrounding gloom. A -sweet-scented smoke rose upwards to the ceiling. Then the flame died -down again, making the crimson darkness around appear by contrast more -lurid and more mysterious than before. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre had not moved. His boundless vanity, his insatiable -ambition, blinded him to the effrontery, the ridicule of this mysticism. -He accepted the tangible incense, took a deep breath, as if to fill his -entire being with its heady fumes, just as he was always ready to accept -the fulsome adulation of his devotees and of his sycophants. -</p> - -<p> -The old charlatan then repeated her incantations. Once more she took -powder from the box, threw some of it into the vessel, and spoke in a -sepulchral voice: -</p> - -<p> -"From out the heart of those who worship thee rises the incense of their -praise!" -</p> - -<p> -A delicate white flame rose immediately out of the vessel. It shed a -momentary, unearthly brightness around, then as speedily vanished again. -And for the third time the witch spoke the mystic words: -</p> - -<p> -"From out the heart of an entire nation rises the incense of perfect joy -in thy triumph over thine enemies!" -</p> - -<p> -This time, however, the magic powder did not act quite so rapidly as it -had done on the two previous occasions. For a few seconds the vessel -remained dark and unresponsive; nothing came to dispel the surrounding -gloom. Even the light of the oil lamp overhead appeared suddenly to grow -dim. At any rate, so it seemed to the autocrat who, with nerves on edge, -sat upon his throne-like seat, his bony hands, so like the talons of a -bird of prey, clutching the arms of his chair, his narrow eyes fixed -upon the sybil, who in her turn was gazing on the metal vessel as if she -would extort some cabalistic mystery from its depth. -</p> - -<p> -All at once a bright red flame shot out of the bowl. Everything in the -room became suffused with a crimson glow. The old witch bending over her -cauldron looked as if she were smeared with blood, her eyes appeared -bloodshot, her long hooked nose cast a huge black shadow over her mouth, -distorting the face into a hideous, cadaverous grin. From her throat -issued strange sounds like those of an animal in the throes of pain. -</p> - -<p> -"Red! Red!" she lamented, and gradually as the flame subsided and -finally flickered out altogether, her words became more distinct. She -raised the crystal globe and gazed fixedly into it. "Always red," she -went on slowly. "Thrice yesterday did I cast the spell in the name of -Our Chosen . . . thrice did the spirits cloak their identity in a -blood-red flame . . . red . . . always red . . . not only blood . . . -but danger . . . danger of death through that which is red. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre had risen from his seat, his thin lips were murmuring hasty -imprecations. The kneeling figurants looked scared, and strange wailing -sounds came from their mouths. The young blackamoor alone looked -self-possessed. He stood by, evidently enjoying the scene, his white -teeth gleaming in a huge, broad grin. -</p> - -<p> -"A truce on riddles, Mother!" Robespierre exclaimed at last impatiently, -and descended hastily from the dais. He approached the old necromancer, -seized her by the arm, thrust his head in front of hers in an endeavour -to see something which apparently was revealed to her in the crystal -globe. "What is it you see in there?" he queried harshly. -</p> - -<p> -But she pushed him aside, gazed with rapt intentness into the globe. -</p> - -<p> -"Red!" she murmured. "Scarlet . . . aye, scarlet! And now it takes -shape . . . Scarlet . . . and it obscures the Chosen One . . . the shape -becomes more clear . . . the Chosen One appears more dim. . . ." Then -she gave a piercing shriek. -</p> - -<p> -"Beware! . . . beware! . . . that which is Scarlet is shaped like a -flower . . . five petals, I see them distinctly . . . and the Chosen One -I see no more. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Malediction!" the man exclaimed. "What foolery is this?" -</p> - -<p> -"No foolery," the old charlatan resumed in a dull monotone. "Thou didst -consult the oracle, oh thou, who art the Chosen of the people of France! -and the oracle has spoken. Beware of a scarlet flower! From that which -is scarlet comes danger of death for thee!" -</p> - -<p> -Whereat Robespierre tried to laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Some one has filled thy head, Mother," he said in a voice which he -vainly tried to steady, "with tales of the mysterious Englishman who -goes by the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel——" -</p> - -<p> -"Thy mortal enemy, O Messenger of the Most High!" the old blasphemer -broke in solemnly. "In far-off fog-bound England he hath sworn thy -death. Beware——" -</p> - -<p> -"If that is the only danger which threatens me——" the other -began, striving to speak carelessly. -</p> - -<p> -"The only one, and the greatest one," the hag went on insistently. -"Despise it not because it seems small and remote." -</p> - -<p> -"I do not despise it; neither do I magnify it. A gnat is a nuisance, but -not a danger." -</p> - -<p> -"A gnat may wield a poisoned dart. The spirits have spoken. Heed their -warning, O Chosen of the People! Destroy the Englishman ere he destroy -thee!" -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi!" Robespierre retorted, and despite the stuffiness of the room he -gave a shiver as if he felt cold. "Since thou dost commune with the -spirits, find out from them how I can accomplish that." -</p> - -<p> -The woman once more raised the crystal globe to the level of her breast. -With her elbows stretched out and her draperies falling straight all -around her, she gazed into it for a while in silence. Then she began to -murmur. -</p> - -<p> -"I see the Scarlet Flower quite plainly . . . a small Scarlet -Flower. . . . And I see the great Light which is like an aureole, the -Light of the Chosen One. It is of dazzling brightness—but over it the -Scarlet Flower casts a Stygian shadow." -</p> - -<p> -"Ask them," Robespierre broke in peremptorily, "ask thy spirits how best -I can overcome mine enemy." -</p> - -<p> -"I see something," the witch went on in an even monotone, still gazing -into the crystal globe, "white and rose and tender . . . is it a -woman . . .?" -</p> - -<p> -"A woman?" -</p> - -<p> -"She is tall, and she is beautiful . . . a stranger in the land . . . -with eyes dark as the night and tresses black as the raven's wing. . . . -Yes, it is a woman. . . . She stands between the Light and that -blood-red flower. She takes the flower in her hand . . . she fondles it, -raises it to her lips. . . . Ah!" and the old seer gave a loud cry of -triumph. "She tosses it mangled and bleeding into the consuming -Light. . . . And now it lies faded, torn, crushed, and the Light grows in -radiance and in brilliancy, and there is none now to dim its pristine -glory——" -</p> - -<p> -"But the woman? Who is she?" the man broke in impatiently. "What is her -name?" -</p> - -<p> -"The spirits speak no names," the seer replied. "Any woman would gladly -be thy handmaid, O Elect of France! The spirits have spoken," she -concluded solemnly. "Salvation will come to thee by the hand of a -woman." -</p> - -<p> -"And mine enemy?" he insisted. "Which of us two is in danger of death -now—now that I am warned—which of us two?—mine English -enemy, or I?" -</p> - -<p> -Nothing loth, the old hag was ready to continue her sortilege. -Robespierre hung breathless upon her lips. His whole personality seemed -transformed. He appeared eager, fearful, credulous—a different man to -the cold, calculating despot who sent thousands to their death with his -measured oratory, the mere power of his presence. Indeed, history has -sought in vain for the probable motive which drove this cynical tyrant -into consulting this pitiable charlatan. That Catherine Théot had -certain psychic powers has never been gainsaid, and since the -philosophers of the eighteenth century had undermined the religious -superstitions of the Middle Ages, it was only to be expected that in the -great upheaval of this awful Revolution, men and women should turn to -the mystic and the supernatural as to a solace and respite from the -fathomless misery of their daily lives. -</p> - -<p> -In this world of ours, the more stupendous the events, the more abysmal -the catastrophes, the more do men realize their own impotence and the -more eagerly do they look for the Hidden Hand that is powerful enough to -bring about such events and to hurl upon them such devastating -cataclysms. Indeed, never since the dawn of history had so many -theosophies, demonologies, occult arts, spiritualism, exorcism of all -sorts, flourished as they did now: the Theists, the Rosicrucians, the -Illuminati, Swedenborg, the Count of Saint Germain, Weishaupt, and -scores of others, avowed charlatans or earnest believers, had their -neophytes, their devotees, and their cults. -</p> - -<p> -Catherine Théot was one of many: for the nonce, one of the most -noteworthy in Paris. She believed herself to be endowed with the gift of -prophecy, and her fetish was Robespierre. In this at least she was -genuine. She believed him to be a new Messiah, the Elect of God. Nay! -she loudly proclaimed him as such, and one of her earliest neophytes, an -ex-Carthusian monk named Gerle, who sat in the Convention next to the -great man, had whispered in the latter's ear the insidious flattery -which had gradually led his footsteps to the witch's lair. -</p> - -<p> -Whether his own vanity—which was without limit and probably without -parallel—caused him to believe in his own heaven-sent mission, or -whether he only desired to strengthen his own popularity by endowing it -with supernatural prestige, is a matter of conjecture. Certain it is -that he did lend himself to Catherine Théot's cabalistic practices and -that he allowed himself to be flattered and worshipped by the numerous -neophytes who flocked to this new temple of magic, either from mystical -fervour or merely to serve their own ends by fawning on the most dreaded -man in France. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Catherine Théot had remained rigidly still, in rapt contemplation. It -seemed as if she pondered over the Chosen One's last peremptory demand. -</p> - -<p> -"Which of us two," he had queried, in a dry, hard voice, "is in danger -of death now—now that I am warned—mine English enemy, or I?" -</p> - -<p> -The next moment, as if moved by inspiration, she took another pinch of -powder out of the metal box. The nigger's bright black eyes followed her -every movement, as did the dictator's half-contemptuous gaze. The girls -had begun to intone a monotonous chant. As the seer dropped the powder -into the metal bowl, a highly scented smoke shot upwards and the -interior of the vessel was suffused with a golden glow. The smoke rose -in spirals. Its fumes spread through the airless room, rendering the -atmosphere insufferably heavy. -</p> - -<p> -The dictator of France felt a strange exultation running through him, as -with deep breaths he inhaled the potent fumes. It seemed to him as if -his body had suddenly become etherealised, as if he were in truth the -Chosen of the Most High as well as the idol of France. Thus disembodied, -he felt in himself boundless strength: the power to rise triumphant over -all his enemies, whoever they might be. There was a mighty buzzing in -his ears like the reverberation of thousands of trumpets and drums -ringing and beating in unison to his exaltation and to his might. His -eyes appeared to see the whole of the people of France, clad in white -robes, with ropes round their necks, and bowing as slaves to the ground -before him. He was riding on a cloud. His throne was of gold. In his -hand he had a sceptre of flame, and beneath his feet lay, crushed and -mangled, a huge scarlet flower. The sybil's voice reached his ears as if -through a supernal trumpet: -</p> - -<p> -"Thus lie for ever crushed at the feet of the Chosen One, those who have -dared to defy his power!" -</p> - -<p> -Greater and greater became his exultation. He felt himself uplifted -high, high above the clouds, until he could see the world as a mere -crystal ball at his feet. His head had touched the portals of heaven; -his eyes gazed upon his own majesty, which was second only to that of -God. An eternity went by. He was immortal. -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly, through all the mystic music, the clarion sounds and -songs of praise, there came a sound, so strange and yet so human, that -the almighty dictator's wandering spirit was in an instant hurled back -to earth, brought down with a mighty jerk which left him giddy, sick, -with throat dry and burning eyes. He could not stand on his feet, indeed -would have fallen but that the negro lad hastily pulled a chair forward, -into which he sank, swooning with unaccountable horror. -</p> - -<p> -And yet that sound had been harmless enough: just a peal of laughter, -merry and inane—nothing more. It came faintly echoing from beyond the -heavy portière. Yet it had unnerved the most ruthless despot in France. -He looked about him, scared and mystified. Nothing had been changed -since he had gone wandering into Elysian fields. He was still in a -stuffy, curtained room; there was the dais on which he had sat; the two -women still chanted their weird lament; and there was the old -necromancer in her shapeless, colourless robe, coolly setting down the -crystal globe upon its carved stand. There was the blackamoor, grinning -and mischievous, the metal vessel, the oil lamp, the threadbare carpet. -What of all this had been a dream? The clouds and the trumpets, or that -peal of human laughter with the quaint, inane catch in it? No one looked -scared: the girls chanted, the old hag mumbled vague directions to her -black attendant, who tried to look solemn, since he was paid to keep his -impish mirth in check. -</p> - -<p> -"What was that?" Robespierre murmured at last. -</p> - -<p> -The old woman looked up. -</p> - -<p> -"What was what, O Chosen One?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"I heard a sound——" he mumbled. "A laugh. . . . Is any one else -in the room?" -</p> - -<p> -She shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"People are waiting in the antechamber," she replied carelessly, "until -it is the pleasure of the Chosen One to go. As a rule they wait -patiently, and in silence. But one of them may have laughed." Then, as -he made no further comment but still stood there silent, as if -irresolute, she queried with a great show of deference: "What is thy -next pleasure, O thou who art beloved of the people of France?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing . . . nothing!" he murmured. "I’ll go now." -</p> - -<p> -She turned straight to him and made him an elaborate obeisance, waving -her arms about her. The two girls struck the ground with their -foreheads. The Chosen One, in his innermost heart vaguely conscious of -ridicule, frowned impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not," he said peremptorily, "let any one know that I have been -here." -</p> - -<p> -"Only those who idolise thee——" she began. -</p> - -<p> -"I know—I know," he broke in more gently, for the fulsome adulation -soothed his exacerbated nerves. "But I have many enemies . . . and thou -too art watched with malevolent eyes. . . . Let not our enemies make -capital of our intercourse." -</p> - -<p> -"I swear to thee, O Mighty Lord, that thy servant obeys thy behests in -all things." -</p> - -<p> -"That is well," he retorted drily. "But thy adepts are wont to talk too -much. I'll not have my name bandied about for the glorification of thy -necromancy." -</p> - -<p> -"Thy name is sacred to thy servants," she insisted with ponderous -solemnity. "As sacred as is thy person. Thou art the regenerator of the -true faith, the Elect of the First Cause, the high priest of a new -religion. We are but thy servants, thy handmaids, thy worshippers." -</p> - -<p> -All this charlatanism was precious incense to the limitless vanity of -the despot. His impatience vanished, as did his momentary terror. He -became kind, urbane, condescending. At the last, the old hag almost -prostrated herself before him, and clasping her wrinkled hands together, -she said in tones of reverential entreaty: -</p> - -<p> -"In the name of thyself, of France, of the entire world, I adjure thee -to lend ear to what the spirits have revealed this day. Beware the -danger that comes to thee from the scarlet flower. Set thy almighty mind -to compass its destruction. Do not disdain a woman's help, since the -spirits have proclaimed that through a woman thou shalt be saved. -Remember! Remember!" she adjured him with ever-growing earnestness. -"Once before, the world was saved through a woman. A woman crushed the -serpent beneath her foot. Let a woman now crush that scarlet flower -beneath hers. Remember!" -</p> - -<p> -She actually kissed his feet; and he, blinded by self-conceit to the -folly of this fetishism and the ridicule of his own acceptance of it, -raised his hand above her head as if in the act of pronouncing a -benediction. -</p> - -<p> -Then without another word he turned to go. The young negro brought him -his hat and cloak. The latter he wrapped closely round his shoulders, -his hat he pulled down well over his eyes. Thus muffled and, he hoped, -unrecognisable, he passed with a firm tread out of the room. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -For awhile the old witch waited, straining her ears to catch the last -sound of those retreating footsteps; then, with a curt word and an -impatient clapping of her hands, she dismissed her attendants, the negro -as well as her neophytes. These young women at her word lost quickly -enough their air of rapt mysticism, became very human indeed, stretched -out their limbs, yawned lustily, and with none too graceful movements -uncurled themselves and struggled to their feet. Chattering and laughing -like so many magpies let out of a cage, they soon disappeared through -the door in the rear. -</p> - -<p> -Again the old woman waited silent and motionless until that merry sound -too gradually subsided. Then she went across the room to the dais, and -drew aside the curtain which hung behind it. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Chauvelin!" she called peremptorily. -</p> - -<p> -A small figure of a man stepped out from the gloom. He was dressed in -black, his hair, of a nondescript blonde shade and his crumpled linen -alone told light in the general sombreness of his appearance. -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" he retorted drily. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you satisfied?" the old woman went on with eager impatience. "You -heard what I said?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I heard," he replied. "Think you he will act on it?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am certain of it." -</p> - -<p> -"But why not have named Theresia Cabarrus? Then, at least, I would have -been sure——" -</p> - -<p> -"He might have recoiled at an actual name," the woman replied, -"suspected me of connivance. The Chosen of the people of France is -shrewd as well as distrustful. And I have my reputation to consider. -But, remember what I said: 'tall, dark, beautiful, a stranger in this -land!' So, if indeed you require the help of the Spaniard——" -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed I do!" he rejoined earnestly. And, as if speaking to his own -inward self, "Theresia Cabarrus is the only woman I know who can really -help me." -</p> - -<p> -"But you cannot force her consent, citizen Chauvelin," the sybil -insisted. -</p> - -<p> -The eyes of citizen Chauvelin lit up suddenly with a flash of that old -fire of long ago, when he was powerful enough to compel the consent or -the co-operation of any man, woman or child on whom he had deigned to -cast an appraising glance. But the flash was only momentary. The next -second he had once more resumed his unobtrusive, even humble, attitude. -</p> - -<p> -"My friends, who are few," he said, with a quick sigh of impatience; -"and mine enemies, who are without number, will readily share your -conviction, Mother, that citizen Chauvelin can compel no one to do his -bidding these days. Least of all the affianced wife of powerful -Tallien." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, then," the sybil argued, "how think you that——" -</p> - -<p> -"I only hope, Mother," Chauvelin broke in suavely, "that after your -séance to-day, citizen Robespierre himself will see to it that Theresia -Cabarrus gives me the help I need." -</p> - -<p> -Catherine Théot shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she said drily, "the Cabarrus knows no law save that of her -caprice. And as Tallien's fiancée she is almost immune." -</p> - -<p> -"Almost, but not quite! Tallien is powerful, but so was Danton." -</p> - -<p> -"But Tallien is prudent, which Danton was not." -</p> - -<p> -"Tallien is also a coward; and easily led like a lamb, with a halter. He -came back from Bordeaux tied to the apron-strings of the fair Spaniard. -He should have spread fire and terror in the region; but at her bidding -he dispensed justice and even mercy instead. A little more airing of his -moderate views, a few more acts of unpatriotic clemency, and powerful -Tallien himself may become 'suspect.'" -</p> - -<p> -"And you think that, when he is," the old woman rejoined with grim -sarcasm, "you will hold his fair betrothed in the hollow of your hand?" -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly!" he assented, and with an acid smile fell to contemplating -his thin, talon-like palms. "Since Robespierre, counselled by Mother -Théot, will himself have placed her there." -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon Catherine Théot ceased to argue, since the other appeared so -sure of himself. Once more she shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, then, if you are satisfied . . ." she said. -</p> - -<p> -"I am. Quite," he replied and at once plunged his hand in the -breast-pocket of his coat. He had caught the look of avarice and of -greed which had glittered in the old hag's eyes. From his pocket he drew -a bundle of notes, for which Catherine immediately stretched out a -grasping hand. But before giving her the money, he added a stern -warning. -</p> - -<p> -"Silence, remember! And, above all, discretion!" -</p> - -<p> -"You may rely on me, citizen," the sybil riposted quietly. "I am not -likely to blab." -</p> - -<p> -He did not place the notes in her hand, but threw them down on the table -with a gesture of contempt, without deigning to count. But Catherine -Théot cared nothing for his contempt. She coolly picked up the notes -and hid them in the folds of her voluminous draperies. Then as -Chauvelin, without another word, had turned unceremoniously to go, she -placed a bony hand upon his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"And I can rely on you, citizen," she insisted firmly, "that when the -Scarlet Pimpernel is duly captured . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"There will be ten thousand livres for you," he broke in impatiently, -"if my scheme with Theresia Cabarrus is successful. I never go back on -my word." -</p> - -<p> -"And I'll not go back on mine," she concluded drily. "We are dependent -on one another, citizen Chauvelin. You want to capture the English spy, -and I want ten thousand livres, so that I may retire from active life -and quietly cultivate a plot of cabbages somewhere in the sunshine. So -you may leave the matter to me, my friend. I'll not allow the great -Robespierre to rest till he has compelled Theresia Cabarrus to do your -bidding. Then you may use her as you think best. That gang of English -spies must be found, and crushed. We cannot have the Chosen of the Most -High threatened by such vermin. Ten thousand livres, you say?" the sybil -went on, and once again, as in the presence of the dictator, a mystic -exultation appeared to possess her soul. Gone was the glitter of avarice -from her eyes; her wizened face seemed transfigured, her shrunken form -to gain in stature. "Hay! I would serve you on my knees and accord you -worship, if you avert the scarlet danger that hovers over the head of -the Beloved of France!" -</p> - -<p> -But Chauvelin was obviously in no mood to listen to the old hag's -jeremiads, and while with arms uplifted she once more worked herself up -to a hysterical burst of enthusiasm for the bloodthirsty monster whom -she worshipped, he shook himself free from her grasp and finally slipped -out of the room, without further wasting his breath. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap03"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER III -<br /><br /> -THE FELLOWSHIP OF GRIEF</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -In the antechamber of Catherine Théot's abode of mysteries some two -hours later, half a dozen persons were sitting. The room was long, -narrow and bare, its walls dank and colourless, and save for the rough -wooden benches on which these persons sat, was void of any furniture. -The benches were ranged against the walls; the one window at the end was -shuttered so as to exclude all daylight, and from the ceiling there hung -a broken-down wrought-iron chandelier, wherein a couple of lighted -tallow candles were set, the smoke from which rose in irregular spirals -upwards to the low and blackened ceiling. -</p> - -<p> -These persons who sat or sprawled upon the benches did not speak to one -another. They appeared to be waiting. One or two of them were seemingly -asleep; others, from time to time, would rouse themselves from their -apathy, look with dim, inquiring eyes in the direction of a heavy -portière which hung in front of a door near the far end of the room, -and would strain their ears to listen. This occurred every time that a -cry, or a moan, or a sob came from behind the portière. When this -subsided again all those in the bare waiting-room resumed their patient, -lethargic attitude, and a silence—weird and absolute—reigned -once more over them all. Now and then somebody would sigh, and at one time -one of the sleepers snored. -</p> - -<p> -Far away a church clock struck six. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -A few minutes later, the portière was lifted, and a girl came into the -room. She held a shawl, very much the worse for wear, tightly wrapped -around her meagre shoulders, and from beneath her rough woollen skirt -her small feet appeared clad in well-worn shoes and darned worsted -stockings. Her hair, which was fair and soft, was partially hidden under -a white muslin cap, and as she walked with a brisk step across the room, -she looked neither to right nor left, appeared to move as in a dream. -And her large grey eyes were brimming over with tears. -</p> - -<p> -Neither her rapid passage across the room nor her exit through a door -immediately opposite the window created the slightest stir amongst those -who were waiting. Only one of the men, a huge, ungainly giant, whose -long limbs appeared to stretch half-across the bare wooden floor, looked -up lazily as she passed. -</p> - -<p> -After the girl had gone, silence once more fell on the small assembly. -Not a sound came from behind the portière; but from beyond the other -door the faint patter of the girl's feet could be heard gradually fading -away as she went slowly down the stone stairs. -</p> - -<p> -A few more minutes went by, then the door behind the portière was -opened and a cadaverous voice spoke the word, "Enter!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a faint stir among those who waited. A woman rose from her -seat, said dully: "My turn, I think?" and, gliding across the room like -some bodiless spectre, she presently vanished behind the portière. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you going to the Fraternal Supper to-night, citizen Langlois?" the -giant said, after the woman had gone. His tone was rasping and harsh and -his voice came with a wheeze and an obviously painful effort from his -broad, doubled-up chest. -</p> - -<p> -"Not I!" Langlois replied. "I must speak with Mother Théot. My wife -made me promise. She is too ill to come herself, and the poor -unfortunate believes in the Théot's incantations." -</p> - -<p> -"Come out and get some fresh air, then," the other rejoined. "It is -stifling in here!" -</p> - -<p> -It was indeed stuffy in the dark, smoke-laden room. The man put his bony -hand up to his chest, as if to quell a spasm of pain. A horrible, -rasping cough shook his big body and brought a sweat to his brow. -Langlois, a wizened little figure of a man, who looked himself as if he -had one foot in the grave, waited patiently until the spasm was over, -then, with the indifference peculiar to these turbulent times, he said -lightly: -</p> - -<p> -"I would just as soon sit here as wear out shoe-leather on the -cobblestones of this God-forsaken hole. And I don't want to miss my turn -with Mother Théot." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll have another four hours mayhap to wait in this filthy -atmosphere." -</p> - -<p> -"What an aristo you are, citizen Rateau!" the other retorted drily. -"Always talking about atmosphere!" -</p> - -<p> -"So would you, if you had only one lung wherewith to inhale this filth," -growled the giant through a wheeze. -</p> - -<p> -"Then don't wait for me, my friend," Langlois concluded with a careless -shrug of his narrow shoulders. "And, if you don't mind missing your -turn. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I do not," was Rateau's curt reply. "I would as soon be last as not. -But I'll come back presently. I am the third from now. If I'm not back -you can have my turn, and I'll follow you in. But I can't——" -</p> - -<p> -His next words were smothered in a terrible fit of coughing, as he -struggled to his feet. Langlois swore at him for making such a noise, -and the women, roused from their somnolence, sighed with impatience or -resignation. But all those who remained seated on the benches watched -with a kind of dull curiosity, the ungainly figure of the asthmatic -giant as he made his way across the room and anon went out through the -door. -</p> - -<p> -His heavy footsteps were heard descending the stone stairs with a -shuffling sound, and the clatter of his wooden shoes. The women once -more settled themselves against the dank walls, with feet stretched out -before them and arms folded over their breasts, and in that highly -uncomfortable position prepared once more to go to sleep. -</p> - -<p> -Langlois buried his hands in the pockets of his breeches, spat -contentedly upon the floor, and continued to wait. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -In the meanwhile, the girl who, with tear-filled eyes, had come out of -the inner mysterious room in Mother Théot's apartments, had, after a -slow descent down the interminable stone stairs, at last reached the -open air. -</p> - -<p> -The Rue de la Planchette is only a street in name, for the houses in it -are few and far between. One side of it is taken up for the major -portion of its length by the dry moat which at this point forms the -boundary of the Arsenal and of the military ground around the Bastille. -The house wherein lodged Mother Théot is one of a small group situated -behind the Bastille, the grim ruins of which can be distinctly seen from -the upper windows. Immediately facing those houses is the Porte St. -Antoine, through which the wayfarer in this remote quarter of Paris has -to pass in order to reach the more populous parts of the great city. -This is just a lonely and squalid backwater, broken up by undeveloped -land and timber yards. One end of the street abuts on the river, the -other becomes merged in the equally remote suburb of Popincourt. -</p> - -<p> -But, for the girl who had just come out of the heavy, fetid atmosphere -of Mother Théot's lodgings, the air which reached her nostrils as she -came out of the wicket-gate, was positive manna to her lungs. She stood -for awhile quite still, drinking in the balmy spring air, almost dizzy -with the sensation of purity and of freedom which came to her from over -the vast stretch of open ground occupied by the Arsenal. For a minute or -two she stood there, then walked deliberately in the direction of the -Porte St. Antoine. -</p> - -<p> -She was very tired, for she had come to the Rue de la Planchette on foot -all the way from the small apartment in the St. Germain quarter, where -she lodged with her mother and sister and a young brother; she had -become weary and jaded by sitting for hours on a hard wooden bench, -waiting her turn to speak with Mother Théot, and then standing for what -seemed an eternity of time in the presence of the soothsayer, who had -further harassed her nerves by weird prophecies and mystic incantations. -</p> - -<p> -But for the nonce weariness was forgotten. Régine de Serval was going -to meet the man she loved, at a trysting-place which they had marked as -their own; the porch of the church of Petit St. Antoine, a secluded spot -where neither prying eyes could see them nor ears listen to what they -had to say. A spot which to poor little Régine was the very threshold -of Paradise, for here she had Bertrand all to herself, undisturbed by -the prattle of Joséphine or Jacques or the querulous complaints of -maman, cooped up in that miserable apartment in the old St. Germain -quarter of the city. -</p> - -<p> -So she walked briskly and without hesitation. Bertrand had agreed to -meet her at five o'clock. It was now close on half-past six. It was -still daylight, and a brilliant April sunset tinged the cupola of Ste. -Marie with gold and drew long fantastic shadows across the wide Rue St. -Antoine. -</p> - -<p> -Régine had crossed the Rue des Balais, and the church porch of Petit -St. Antoine was but a few paces farther on, when she became conscious of -heavy, dragging footsteps some little way behind her. Immediately -afterwards, the distressing sound of a racking cough reached her ears, -followed by heartrending groans as of a human creature in grievous -bodily pain. The girl, not in the least frightened, instinctively turned -to look, and was moved to pity on seeing a man leaning against the wall -of a house, in a state bordering on collapse, his hands convulsively -grasping his chest, which appeared literally torn by a violent fit of -coughing. Forgetting her own troubles, as well as the joy which awaited -her so close at hand, Régine unhesitatingly recrossed the road, -approached the sufferer, and in a gentle voice asked him if she could be -of any assistance to him in his distress. -</p> - -<p> -"A little water," he gasped, "for mercy's sake!" -</p> - -<p> -Just for a second or two she looked about her, doubtful as to what to -do, hoping perhaps to catch sight of Bertrand, if he had not given up -all hope of meeting her. The next, she had stepped boldly through the -wicket-gate of the nearest porte-cochère, and finding her way to the -lodge of the concierge, she asked for a drop of water for a passer-by -who was in pain. A jug of water was at once handed to her by a -sympathetic concierge, and with it she went back to complete her simple -act of mercy. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment she was puzzled not seeing the poor vagabond there, where -she had left him, half-swooning against the wall. But soon she spied -him, in the very act of turning under the little church porch of Petit -St. Antoine, the hallowed spot of her frequent meetings with Bertrand. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -He seemed to have crawled there for shelter, and there he collapsed upon -the wooden bench, in the most remote angle of the porch. Of Bertrand -there was not a sign. -</p> - -<p> -Régine was soon by the side of the unfortunate. She held up the jug of -water to his quaking lips, and he drank eagerly. After that he felt -better, muttered vague words of thanks. But he seemed so weak, despite -his stature, which appeared immense in this narrow enclosure, that she -did not like to leave him. She sat down beside him, suddenly conscious -of fatigue. He seemed harmless enough, and after awhile began to tell -her of his trouble. This awful asthma, which he had contracted in the -campaign against the English in Holland, where he and his comrades had -to march in snow and ice, often shoeless and with nothing but bass mats -around their shoulders. He had but lately been discharged out of the -army as totally unfit, and as he had no money wherewith to pay a doctor, -he would no doubt have been dead by now but that a comrade had spoken to -him of Mother Théot, a marvellous sorceress, who knew the art of drugs -and simples, and could cure all ailments of the body by the mere laying -on of hands. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, yes," the girl sighed involuntarily, "of the body!" -</p> - -<p> -Through the very act of sitting still, a deadly lassitude had crept into -her limbs. She was thankful not to move, to say little, and to listen -with half an ear to the vagabond's jeremiads. Anyhow, she was sure that -Bertrand would no longer be waiting. He was ever impatient if he thought -that she failed him in anything, and it was she who had appointed five -o'clock for their meeting. Even now the church clock way above the porch -was striking half-past six. And the asthmatic giant went glibly on. He -had partially recovered his breath. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye!" he was saying, in response to her lament, "and of the mind, too. -I had a comrade whose sweetheart was false to him while he was fighting -for his country. Mother Théot gave him a potion which he administered -to the faithless one, and she returned to him as full of ardour as ever -before." -</p> - -<p> -"I have no faith in potions," the girl said, and shook her head sadly -the while tears once more gathered in her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"No more have I," the giant assented carelessly. "But if my sweetheart -was false to me I know what I would do." -</p> - -<p> -This he said in so droll a fashion, and the whole idea of this ugly, -ungainly creature having a sweetheart was so comical, that despite her -will, the ghost of a smile crept round the young girl's sensitive mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"What would you do, citizen?" she queried gently. -</p> - -<p> -"Just take her away, out of the reach of temptation," he replied -sententiously. "I should say, 'This must stop,' and 'You come away with -me, ma mie!'" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" she retorted impulsively, "it is easy to talk. A man can do so -much. What can a woman do?" -</p> - -<p> -She checked herself abruptly, ashamed of having said so much. What was -this miserable caitiff to her that she should as much as hint at her -troubles in his hearing? In these days of countless spies, of -innumerable confidence tricks set to catch the unwary, it was more than -foolhardy to speak of one's private affairs to any stranger, let alone -to an out-at-elbows vagabond who was just the sort of refuse of humanity -who would earn a precarious livelihood by the sale of information, true -or false, wormed out of some innocent fellow-creature. Hardly, then, -were the words out of her mouth than the girl repented of her folly, -turned quick, frightened eyes on the abject creature beside her. -</p> - -<p> -But he appeared not to have heard. A wheezy cough came out of his bony -chest. Nor did he meet her terrified gaze. -</p> - -<p> -"What did you say, citoyenne?" he muttered fretfully. "Are you -dreaming? . . . or what? . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—yes!" she murmured vaguely, her heart still beating with that -sudden fright. "I must have been dreaming. . . . But you . . . you are -better——?" -</p> - -<p> -"Better? Perhaps," he replied, with a hoarse laugh. "I might even be -able to crawl home." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you live very far?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"No. Just by the Rue de l'Anier." -</p> - -<p> -He made no attempt to thank her for her gentle ministration, and she -thought how ungainly he looked—almost repellent—sprawling right -across the porch, with his long legs stretched out before him and his hands -buried in the pockets of his breeches. Nevertheless, he looked so -helpless and so pitiable that the girl's kind heart was again stirred -with compassion, and when presently he struggled with difficulty to his -feet, she said impulsively: -</p> - -<p> -"The Rue de l'Anier is on my way. If you will wait, I'll return the jug -to the kind concierge who let me have it and I'll walk with you. You -really ought not to be about the street alone." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I am better now," he muttered, in the same ungracious way. "You had -best leave me alone. I am not a suitable gallant for a pretty wench like -you." -</p> - -<p> -But already the girl had tripped away with the jug, and returned two -minutes later to find that the curious creature had already started on -his way and was fifty yards and more farther up the street by now. She -shrugged her shoulders, feeling mortified at his ingratitude, and not a -little ashamed that she had forced her compassion where it was so -obviously unwelcome. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap04"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER IV -<br /><br /> -ONE DRAM OF JOY MUST HAVE A POUND OF CARE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -She stood for a moment, gazing mechanically on the retreating figure of -the asthmatic giant. The next moment she heard her name spoken, and -turned quickly with a little cry of joy. -</p> - -<p> -"Régine!" -</p> - -<p> -A young man was hurrying towards her, was soon by her side and took her -hand. -</p> - -<p> -"I have been waiting," he said reproachfully, "for more than an hour." -</p> - -<p> -In the twilight his face appeared pinched and pale, with dark, -deep-sunken eyes that told of a troubled soul and a consuming, inward -fire. He wore cloth clothes that were very much the worse for wear, and -boots that were down at heel. A battered tricorne hat was pushed back -from his high forehead, exposing the veined temples with the line of -brown hair, and the arched, intellectual brows that proclaimed the -enthusiast rather than the man of action. -</p> - -<p> -"I am sorry, Bertrand," the girl said simply. "But I had to wait such a -long time at Mother Théot's, and——" -</p> - -<p> -"But what were you doing now?" he queried with an impatient frown. "I -saw you from a distance. You came out of yonder house, and then stood -here like one bewildered. You did not hear when first I called." -</p> - -<p> -"I have had quite a funny adventure," Régine explained; "and I am very -tired. Sit down with me, Bertrand, for a moment I'll tell you all about -it." -</p> - -<p> -A flat refusal hovered palpably on his lips. -</p> - -<p> -"It is too late——" he began, and the frown of impatience -deepened upon his brow. He tried to protest, but Régine did look very -tired. Already, without waiting for his consent, she had turned into the -little porch, and Bertrand perforce had to follow her. -</p> - -<p> -The shades of evening now were fast gathering in, and the lengthened -shadows stretched out away, right across the street. The last rays of -the sinking sun still tinged the roofs and chimney pots opposite with a -crimson hue. But here, in the hallowed little trysting-place, the -kingdom of night had already established its sway. The darkness lent an -air of solitude and of security to this tiny refuge, and Régine drew a -happy little sigh as she walked deliberately to its farthermost recess -and sat down on the wooden bench in its extreme and darkest angle. -</p> - -<p> -Behind her, the heavy oaken door of the church was closed. The church -itself, owing to the contumaciousness of its parish priest, had been -desecrated by the ruthless hands of the Terrorists and left derelict, to -fall into decay. The stone walls themselves appeared cut off from the -world, as if ostracised. But between them Régine felt safe, and when -Bertrand Moncrif somewhat reluctantly sat down beside her, she also felt -almost happy. -</p> - -<p> -"It is very late," he murmured once more, ungraciously. -</p> - -<p> -She was leaning her head against the wall, looked so pale, with eyes -closed and bloodless lips, that the young man's heart was suddenly -filled with compunction. -</p> - -<p> -"You are not ill, Régine?" he asked, more gently. -</p> - -<p> -"No" she replied, and smiled bravely up at him. "Only very tired and a -little dizzy. The atmosphere in Catherine Théot's rooms was stifling, -and then when I came out——" -</p> - -<p> -He took her hand, obviously making an effort to be patient and to be -kind; and she, not noticing the effort or his absorption, began to tell -him about her little adventure with the asthmatic giant. -</p> - -<p> -"Such a droll creature," she explained. "He would have frightened me but -for that awful, churchyard cough." -</p> - -<p> -But the matter did not seem to interest Bertrand very much; and -presently he took advantage of a pause in her narrative to ask abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -"And Mother Théot, what had she to say?" -</p> - -<p> -Régine gave a shudder. -</p> - -<p> -"She foretells danger for us all," she said. -</p> - -<p> -"The old charlatan!" he retorted with a shrug of the shoulders. "As if -every one was not in danger these days!" -</p> - -<p> -"She gave me a powder," Régine went on simply, "which she thinks will -calm Joséphine's nerves." -</p> - -<p> -"And that is folly," he broke in harshly. "We do not want Joséphine's -nerves to be calmed." -</p> - -<p> -But at his words, which in truth sounded almost cruel, Régine roused -herself with a sudden air of authority. -</p> - -<p> -"Bertrand," she said firmly, "you are doing a great wrong by dragging -the child into your schemes. Joséphine is too young to be used as a -tool by a pack of thoughtless enthusiasts." -</p> - -<p> -A bitter, scornful laugh from Bertrand broke in on her vehemence. -</p> - -<p> -"Thoughtless enthusiasts!" he exclaimed roughly. "Is that how you call -us, Régine? My God! where is your loyalty, your devotion? Have you no -faith, no aspirations? Do you no longer worship God or reverence your -King?" -</p> - -<p> -"In heaven's name, Bertrand, take care!" she whispered hoarsely, looked -about her as if the stone walls of the porch had ears and eyes fixed -upon the man she loved. -</p> - -<p> -"Take care!" he rejoined bitterly. "Yes! that is your creed now. -Caution! Circumspection! You fear——" -</p> - -<p> -"For you," she broke in reproachfully; "for Joséphine; for maman; for -Jacques—not for myself, God knows!" -</p> - -<p> -"We must all take risks, Régine," he retorted more composedly. "We must -all risk our miserable lives in order to end this awful, revolting -tyranny. We must have a wider outlook, think not only of ourselves, of -those immediately round us, but of France, of humanity, of the entire -world. The despotism of a bloodthirsty autocrat has made of the people -of France a people of slaves, cringing, fearful, abject—swayed by his -word, too cowardly now to rebel." -</p> - -<p> -"And what are you? My God!" she cried passionately. "You and your -friends, my poor young sister, my foolish little brother? What are you, -that you think you can stem the torrent of this stupendous Revolution? -How think you that your feeble voices will be heard above the roar of a -whole nation in the throes of misery and of shame?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is the still small voice," Bertrand replied, in the tone of a -visionary, who sees mysteries and who dreams dreams, "that is heard by -its persistence even above the fury of thousands in full cry. Do we not -call our organisation 'the Fatalists'? Our aim is to take every -opportunity by quick, short speeches, by mixing with the crowd and -putting in a word here and there, to make propaganda against the fiend -Robespierre. The populace are like sheep; they'll follow a lead. One -day, one of us—it may be the humblest, the weakest, the youngest; it -may be Joséphine or Jacques; I pray God it may be me—but one of us -will find the word and speak it at the right time, and the people will -follow us and turn against that execrable monster and hurl him from his -throne, down into Gehenna." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke below his breath, in a hoarse whisper which even she had to -strain her ears to hear. -</p> - -<p> -"I know, I know, Bertrand," she rejoined, and her tiny hand stole out in -a pathetic endeavour to capture his. "Your aims are splendid. You are -wonderful, all of you. Who am I, that I should even with a word or a -prayer, try to dissuade you from doing what you think is right? But -Joséphine is so young, so hot-headed! What help can she give you? She -is only seventeen. And Jacques! He is just an irresponsible boy! Think, -Bertrand, think! If anything were to happen to these children, it would -kill maman!" -</p> - -<p> -He gave a shrug of the shoulders and smothered a weary sigh. Fortunately -she did not see the one or hear the other. She had succeeded in -capturing his hand, clung to it with the strength of a passionate -appeal. -</p> - -<p> -"You and I will never understand one another, Régine," he began; then -added quickly, "over these matters," because, following on his cruel -words he had heard the tiny cry of pain, so like that of a wounded bird, -which much against her will had escaped her lips. "You do not -understand," he went on, more quietly, "that in a great cause the -sufferings of individuals are nought beside the glorious achievement -that is in view." -</p> - -<p> -"The sufferings of individuals," she murmured, with a pathetic little -sigh. "In truth 'tis but little heed you pay, Bertrand, to my sufferings -these days." She paused awhile, then added under her breath: "Since -first you met Theresia Cabarrus, three months ago, you have eyes and -ears only for her." -</p> - -<p> -He smothered an angry exclamation. -</p> - -<p> -"It is useless, Régine——" he began. -</p> - -<p> -"I know," she broke in quietly. "Theresia Cabarrus is beautiful; she has -charm, wit, power—all things which I do not possess." -</p> - -<p> -"She has fearlessness and a heart of gold," Bertrand rejoined and, -probably despite himself, a sudden warmth crept into his voice. "Do you -not know of the marvellous influence which she exercised over that fiend -Tallien, down in Bordeaux? He went there filled with a veritable tiger’s -fury, ready for a wholesale butchery of all the royalists, the aristocrats, -the bourgeois, over there—all those, in fact whom he chose -to believe were conspiring against this hideous Revolution. Well! under -Theresia's influence he actually modified his views and became so -lenient that he was recalled. You know, or should know, Régine," the -young man added in a tone of bitter reproach, "that Theresia is as good -as she is beautiful." -</p> - -<p> -"I do know that, Bertrand," the girl rejoined with an effort -"Only——" -</p> - -<p> -"Only what?" he queried roughly. -</p> - -<p> -"I do not trust her . . . that is all." Then, as he made no attempt at -concealing his scorn and his impatience, she went on in a tone which was -much harsher, more uncompromising than the one she had adopted hitherto: -"Your infatuation blinds you, Bertrand, or you—an enthusiastic -royalist, an ardent loyalist—would not place your trust in an avowed -Republican. Theresia Cabarrus may be kind-hearted—I don't deny it. -She may have done and she may be all that you say; but she stands for the -negation of every one of your ideals, for the destruction of what you -exalt, the glorification of the principles of this execrable -Revolution." -</p> - -<p> -"Jealousy blinds you, Régine," he retorted moodily. -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -"No, it is not jealousy, Bertrand—not common, vulgar -jealousy—that prompts me to warn you, before it is too late. -Remember," she added solemnly, "that you have not only yourself to think -of, but that you are accountable to God and to me for the innocent lives -of Joséphine and of Jacques. By confiding in that Spanish -woman——" -</p> - -<p> -"Now you are insulting her," he broke in mercilessly. "Making her out to -be a spy." -</p> - -<p> -"What else is she?" the girl riposted vehemently. "You know that she is -affianced to Tallien, whose influence and whose cruelty are second only -to those of Robespierre. You know it, Bertrand!" she insisted, seeing -that at last she had silenced him and that he sat beside her, sullen and -obstinate. "You know it, even though you choose to close your eyes and -ears to what is common knowledge." -</p> - -<p> -There was silence after that for a while in the narrow porch, where two -hearts once united were filled now with bitterness, one against the -other. Even out in the street it had become quite dark, the darkness of -a spring night, full of mysterious lights and grey, indeterminate -shadows. The girl shivered as with cold and drew her tattered shawl more -closely around her shoulders. She was vainly trying to swallow her -tears. Goaded into saying more than she had ever meant to, she felt the -finality of what she had said. Something had finally snapped just now; -something that could never in after years be put together again. The boy -and girl love which had survived the past two years of trouble and of -stress, lay wounded unto death, bleeding at the foot of the shrine of a -man's infatuation and a woman's vanity. How impossible this would have -seemed but a brief while ago! -</p> - -<p> -Through the darkness, swift visions of past happy times came fleeting -before the girl's tear-dimmed gaze: visions of walks in the woods round -Auteuil, of drifting down-stream in a boat on the Seine on hot August -days—aye! even of danger shared and perilous moments passed together, -hand in hand, with bated breath, in darkened rooms, with curtains drawn -and ears straining to hear the distant cannonade, the shouts of an -infuriated populace or the rattle of death-carts upon the cobblestones. -Swift visions of past sorrows and past joys! An immense self-pity filled -the girl's heart to bursting. An insistent sob that would not be -suppressed rose to her throat. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mother of God, have mercy!" she murmured through her tears. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand, shamed and confused, his heart stirred by the misery of this -girl whom he had so dearly loved, his nerves strained beyond endurance -through the many mad schemes which his enthusiasm was for ever evolving, -felt like a creature on the rack, torn between compunction and remorse -on the one hand and irresistible passion on the other. -</p> - -<p> -"Régine," he pleaded, "forgive me! I am a brute, I know—a brute to -you, who have been the kindest little friend a man could possibly -hope for. Oh, my dear," he added pitiably. "If you would only -understand. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -At once her tender, womanly sentiment was to the fore, sweeping pride -and just resentment out of the way. Hers was one of those motherly -natures that are always more ready to comfort than to chide. Already she -had swallowed her tears, and now that with a wearied gesture he had -buried his face in his hands, she put her arm around his neck, pillowed -his head against her breast. -</p> - -<p> -"I do understand, Bertrand," she said gently. "And you must never ask my -forgiveness, for you and I have loved one another too well to bear anger -or grudge one toward the other. There!" she said, and rose to her feet, -seemed by that sudden act to gather up all the moral strength of which -she stood in such sore need. "It is getting late, and maman will be -anxious. Another time we must have a more quiet talk about our future. -But," she added, with renewed seriousness, "if I concede you Theresia -Cabarrus without another murmur, you must give me back Joséphine and -Jacques. If—if I—am to lose you—I could not bear to lose -them as well. They are so young. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Who talks of losing them?" he broke in, once more impatient, -enthusiastic—his moodiness gone, his remorse smothered, his -conscience dead to all save to his schemes. "And what have I to do with -it all? Joséphine and Jacques are members of the Club. They may be -young, but they are old enough to know the value of an oath. They are -pledged just like I am, just like we all are. I could not, even if I -would, make them false to their oath." Then, as she made no reply, he -leaned over to her, took her hands in his, tried to read her inscrutable -face through the shadows of night. He thought that he read obstinacy in -her rigid attitude, the unresponsive placidity of her hands. "You would -not have them false to their oath?" he insisted. -</p> - -<p> -She made no reply to that, only queried dully: -</p> - -<p> -"What are you going to do to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-night," he said with passionate earnestness, his eyes glowing with -fervid ardour of self-immolation, "we are going to let hell loose around -the name of Robespierre." -</p> - -<p> -"Where?" -</p> - -<p> -"At the open-air supper in the Rue St. Honoré. Joséphine and Jacques -will be there." -</p> - -<p> -She nodded mechanically, quietly disengaged her hands from his feverish -grasp. -</p> - -<p> -"I know," she said quietly. "They told me they were going. I have no -influence to stop them." -</p> - -<p> -"You will be there, too?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course. So will poor maman," she replied simply. -</p> - -<p> -"This may be the turning point, Régine," he said with passionate -earnestness, "in the history of France!" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps!" -</p> - -<p> -"Think of it, Régine! Think of it! Your sister, your young brother! -Their names may go down to posterity as the saviours of France!" -</p> - -<p> -"The saviours of France!" she murmured vaguely. -</p> - -<p> -"One word has swayed a multitude before now. It may do so again . . . -to-night!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," she said. "And those poor children believe in the power of their -oratory." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not you?" -</p> - -<p> -"I only remember that you, Bertrand, have probably spoken of your plan -to Theresia Cabarrus, that the place will be swarming with the spies of -Robespierre, and that you and the children will be recognised, seized, -dragged into prison, then to the guillotine! My God!" she added in a -pitiful murmur. "And I am powerless to do anything but look on like an -insentient log, whilst you run your rash heads into a noose, and then -follow you all to death, whilst maman is left alone to perish in misery -and in want." -</p> - -<p> -"A pessimist again, Régine!" he said with a forced laugh, and in his -turn rose to his feet. "'Tis little we have accomplished this evening," -he added bitterly, "by talking." -</p> - -<p> -She said nothing more. An icy chill had hold of her heart. Not only of -her heart, but of her brain and her whole being. Strive as she might, -she could not enter into Bertrand's schemes, and as his whole entity was -wrapped up in them she felt estranged from him, out of touch, shut out -from his heart. Unspeakable bitterness filled her soul. She hated -Theresia Cabarrus, who had enslaved Bertrand's fancy, and above all she -mistrusted her. At this moment she would gladly have given her life to -get Bertrand away from the influence of that woman and away from that -madcap association which called itself "the Fatalists," and into which -he had dragged both Joséphine and Jacques. -</p> - -<p> -Silently she preceded him out of the little church porch, the habitual -trysting-place, where at one time she had spent so many happy hours. -Just before she turned off into the street, she looked back, as if -through the impenetrable darkness which enveloped it now she would -conjure up, just once more, those happy images of the past. But the -darkness made no response to the mute cry of her fancy, and with a last -sigh of intense bitterness, she followed Bertrand down the street. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Less than five minutes after Bertrand and Régine had left the porch of -Petit St. Antoine, the heavy oak door of the church was cautiously -opened. It moved noiselessly upon its hinges, and presently through the -aperture the figure of a man emerged, hardly discernible in the gloom. -He slipped through the door into the porch, then closed the former -noiselessly behind him. -</p> - -<p> -A moment or two later his huge, bulky figure was lumbering up the Rue -St. Antoine, in the direction of the Arsenal, his down-at-heel shoes -making a dull clip-clop on the cobblestones. There were but very few -passers-by at this hour, and the man went along with his peculiar -shuffling gait until he reached the Porte St. Antoine. The city gates -were still open at this hour, for it was only a little while ago that -the many church clocks of the quartier had struck eight, nor did the -sergeant at the gate pay much heed to the beggarly caitiff who went by; -only he and the half-dozen men of the National Guard who were in charge -of the gate, did remark that the belated wayfarer appeared to be in -distress with a terrible asthmatic cough which caused one of the men to -say with grim facetiousness: -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi! but here's a man who will not give maman guillotine any -trouble!" -</p> - -<p> -They all noticed, moreover, that after the asthmatic giant had passed -through the city gate, he turned his shuffling footsteps in the -direction of the Rue de la Planchette. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap05"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER V -<br /><br /> -RASCALITY REJOICES</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -The Fraternal Suppers were a great success. They were the invention of -Robespierre, and the unusual warmth of these early spring evenings lent -the support of their balmy atmosphere to the scheme. -</p> - -<p> -Whole Paris is out in the streets on these mild April nights. Families -out on a holiday, after the daily spectacle of the death-cart taking the -enemies of the people, the conspirators against their liberty, to the -guillotine. -</p> - -<p> -And maman brings a basket filled with whatever scanty provisions she can -save from the maximum per day allowed for the provisioning of her -family. Beside her, papa comes along, dragging his youngest by the -hand—the latter no longer chubby and rosy, as were his prototypes in -the days gone by, because food is scarce and dear, and milk -unobtainable; but looking a man for all that, though bare-footed and -bare-kneed, with the red cap upon his lank, unwashed looks, and hugging -against his meagre little chest a tiny toy guillotine, the latest -popular fancy, all complete with miniature knife and pulleys, and frame -artistically painted a vivid crimson. -</p> - -<p> -The Rue St. Honoré is a typical example of what goes on all over the -city. Though it is very narrow and therefore peculiarly inconvenient for -the holding of outdoor entertainments, the Fraternal Suppers there are -extensively patronised, because the street itself is consecrated as -holding the house wherein lives Robespierre. -</p> - -<p> -Here, as elsewhere, huge braziers are lit at intervals, so that -materfamilias may cook the few herrings she has brought with her if she -be so minded, and all down the narrow street tables are set, innocent of -cloths or even of that cleanliness which is next to the equally -neglected virtue of godliness. But the tables have an air of cheeriness -nevertheless, with resin torches, tallow candles, or old stable lanterns -set here and there, the flames flickering in the gentle breeze, adding -picturesqueness to the scene which might otherwise have seemed sordid, -with those pewter mugs and tin plates, the horn-handled knives and iron -spoons. -</p> - -<p> -The scanty light does little more than accentuate the darkness around, -the deep shadows under projecting balconies or lintels of -portes-cochères carefully closed and barred for the night; but it -glints with weird will-o'-the-wisp-like fitfulness on crimson caps and -tricolour cockades, on drawn and begrimed faces, bony arms, or lean, -brown hands. -</p> - -<p> -A motley throng, in truth! The workers of Paris, its proletariat, all -conscripted servants of the State—slaves, we might call them, though -they deem themselves free men—all driven into hard manual labour, -partly by starvation and wholly by the decree of the Committees, who -decide how and when and in what form the nation requires the arms or -hands—not the brains, mind you!—of its citizens. For brains the -nation has no use, only in the heads of those who sit in Convention or on -Committees. "The State hath no use for science," was grimly said to -Lavoisier, the great chemist, when he begged for a few days' surcease -from death in order to complete some important experiments. -</p> - -<p> -But coal-heavers are useful citizens of the State; so are smiths and -armourers and gunmakers, and those who can sew and knit stockings, do -anything in fact to clothe and feed the national army, the defenders of -the sacred soil of France. For them, for these workers—the honest, -the industrious, the sober—are the Fraternal Suppers invented; but -not for them only. There are the "tricotteuses," sexless hags, who, by -order of the State, sit at the foot of the scaffold surrounded by their -families and their children and knit, and knit, the while they -jeer—still by order of the State, at the condemned—old men, -young women, children even, as they walk up to the guillotine. There are -the "insulteuses publiques," public insulters, women mostly—save -the mark!—paid to howl and blaspheme as the death-carts rattle by. -There are the "tappe-durs," the hit-hards, who, armed with weighted -sticks, form the bodyguard around the sacred person of Robespierre. -Then, the members of the Société Révolutionnaire, recruited from the -refuse of misery and of degradation of this great city; and—oh, -the horror of it all!—the "Enfants Rouges," the red children, who -cry "Death" and "à la lanterne" with the best of them—precocious -little offsprings of the new Republic. For them, too, are the Fraternal -Suppers established: for all the riff-raff, all the sweepings of abject -humanity. For they too must be amused and entertained, lest they sit in -clusters and talk themselves into the belief that they are more -wretched, more indigent, more abased, than they were in the days of -monarchical oppression. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -And so, on these balmy evenings of mid-April family parties are gathered -in the open air, around meagre suppers that are "fraternal" by order of -the State. Family parties which make for camaraderie between the honest -man and the thief, the sober citizen and the homeless vagabond, and help -one to forget awhile the misery, the starvation, the slavery, the daily -struggle for bare existence, in anticipation of the belated Millennium. -</p> - -<p> -There is even laughter around the festive boards, fun and frolic. Jokes -are cracked, mostly of a grim order. There is intoxication in the air: -spring has got into the heads of the young. And there is even kissing -under the shadows, love-making, sentiment; and here and there perhaps a -shred of real happiness. -</p> - -<p> -The provisions are scanty. Every family brings its own. Two or three -herrings, sprinkled with shredded onions and wetted with a little -vinegar, or else a few boiled prunes or a pottage of lentils and beans. -</p> - -<p> -"Can you spare some of that bread, citizen?" -</p> - -<p> -"Aye! if I can have a bite of your cheese." -</p> - -<p> -They are fraternal suppers! Do not, in the name of Liberty and Equality, -let us forget that. And the whole of it was Robespierre's idea. He -conceived and carried it through, commanded the voices in the Convention -that voted the money required for the tables, the benches, the tallow -candles. He lives close by, in this very street, humbly, quietly, like a -true son of the people, sharing house and board with citizen Duplay, the -cabinet-maker, and with his family. -</p> - -<p> -A great man, Robespierre! The only man! Men speak of him with bated -breath, young girls with glowing eyes. He is the fetich, the idol, the -demigod. No benefactor of mankind, no saint, no hero-martyr was ever -worshipped more devotedly than this death-dealing monster by his -votaries. Even the shade of Danton is reviled in order to exalt the -virtues of his successful rival. -</p> - -<p> -"Danton was gorged with riches: his pockets full, his stomach satisfied! -But look at Robespierre!" -</p> - -<p> -"Almost a wraith!—so thin, so white!" -</p> - -<p> -"An ascetic!" -</p> - -<p> -"Consumed by the fire of his own patriotism." -</p> - -<p> -"His eloquence!" -</p> - -<p> -"His selflessness!" -</p> - -<p> -"You have heard him speak, citizen?" -</p> - -<p> -A girl, still in her 'teens, her elbows resting on the table, her hands -supporting her rounded chin, asks the question with bated breath. Her -large grey eyes, hollow and glowing, are fixed upon her vis-à-vis, a -tall, ungainly creature, who sprawls over the table, vainly trying to -dispose of his long limbs in a manner comfortable to himself. -</p> - -<p> -His hair is lank and matted with grease, his face covered in coal-dust; -a sennight's growth of beard, stubby and dusty, accentuates the -squareness of his jaw even whilst it fails to conceal altogether the -cruel, sarcastic curves of his mouth. But for the moment, in the rapt -eyes of the young enthusiast, he is a prophet, a seer, a human marvel: -he has heard Robespierre speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Was it in the Club, citizen Rateau?" another woman asks—a young -matron with a poor little starveling at her breast. -</p> - -<p> -The man gives a loud guffaw, displays in the feeble, flickering light of -the nearest torch a row of hideous uneven teeth, scored with gaps and -stained with tobacco juice. -</p> - -<p> -"In the Club?" he says with a curse, and spits in a convenient direction -to show his contempt for that or any other institution. "I don't belong -to any Club. There's no money in my pocket. And the Jacobins and the -Cordeliers like to see a man with a decent coat on his back." -</p> - -<p> -His guffaw broke in a rasping cough which seemed to tear his broad chest -to ribbons. For a moment speech was denied him; even oaths failed to -reach his lips, trembling like an unset jelly in this distressing spasm. -His neighbours alongside the table, the young enthusiast opposite, the -comely matron, paid no heed to him—waited indifferently until the -clumsy lout had regained his breath. This, mark you, was not an era of -gentleness or womanly compassion, and an asthmatic mudlark was not like -to excite pity. Only when he once more stretched out his long limbs, -raised his head and looked about him, panting and blear-eyed, did the -girl insist quietly: -</p> - -<p> -"But you have heard <i>Him</i> speak!" -</p> - -<p> -"Aye!" the ruffian replied drily. "I did." -</p> - -<p> -"When?" -</p> - -<p> -"Night before last. Tenez! He was stepping out of citizen Duplay's house -yonder. He saw me leaning against the wall close by. I was tired, half -asleep, what? He spoke to me and asked me where I lived." -</p> - -<p> -"Where you lived?" the girl echoed, disappointed. -</p> - -<p> -"Was that all?" the matron added with a shrug of her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -The neighbours laughed. The men enjoyed the discomfiture of the women, -who were all craning their necks to hear something great, something -palpitating, about their idol. -</p> - -<p> -The young enthusiast sighed, clasped her hands in fervour. -</p> - -<p> -"He saw that you were poor, citizen Rateau," she said with conviction; -"and that you were tired. He wished to help and comfort you." -</p> - -<p> -"And where did you say you lived, citizen?" the young matron went on, in -her calm, matter-of-fact tone. -</p> - -<p> -"I live far from here, the other side of the water. Not in an -aristocratic quarter like this one—what?" -</p> - -<p> -"You told <i>Him</i> that you lived there?" the girl still insisted. Any -scrap or crumb of information even remotely connected with her idol was -manna to her body and balm to her soul. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I did," citizen Rateau assented. -</p> - -<p> -"Then," the girl resumed earnestly, "solace and comfort will come to you -very soon, citizen. He never forgets. His eyes are upon you. He knows -your distress and that you are poor and weary. Leave it to him, citizen -Rateau. He will know how and when to help." -</p> - -<p> -"He will know, more like," here broke in a harsh voice, vibrating with -excitement, "how and when to lay his talons on an obscure and helpless -citizen whenever his Batches for the guillotine are insufficient to -satisfy his lust!" -</p> - -<p> -A dull murmur greeted this tirade. Only those who sat close by the -speaker knew which he was, for the lights were scanty and burnt dim in -the open air. The others only heard—received this arrow-shot aimed at -their idol—with for the most part a kind of dull resentment. The -women were more loudly indignant. One or two young devotees gave a shrill -cry or so of passionate indignation. -</p> - -<p> -"Shame! Treason!" -</p> - -<p> -"Guillotine, forsooth! The enemies of the people all deserve the -guillotine!" -</p> - -<p> -And the enemies of the people were those who dared raise their voices -against their Chosen, their Fetich, the great, incomprehensible Mystery. -</p> - -<p> -Citizen Rateau was once more rendered helpless by a tearing fit of -coughing. -</p> - -<p> -But from afar, down the street, there came one or two assenting cries. -</p> - -<p> -"Well spoken, young man! As for me, I never trusted that bloodhound!" -</p> - -<p> -And a woman's voice added shrilly: "His hands reek of blood. A butcher, -I call him!" -</p> - -<p> -"And a tyrant!" assented the original spokesman. "His aim is a -dictatorship, with his minions hanging around him like abject slaves. -Why not Versailles, then? How are we better off now than in the days of -kingship? Then, at least, the streets of Paris did not stink of blood. -Then, at least——" -</p> - -<p> -But the speaker got no farther. A hard crust of very dry, black bread, -aimed by a sure hand, caught him full in the face, whilst a hoarse voice -shouted lustily: -</p> - -<p> -"Hey there, citizen! If thou'lt not hold thy tongue 'tis thy neck that -will be recking with blood o'er soon, I'll warrant!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well said, citizen Rateau!" put in another, speaking with his mouth -full, but with splendid conviction. "Every word uttered by that -jackanapes yonder reeks of treason!" -</p> - -<p> -"Shame!" came from every side. -</p> - -<p> -"Where are the agents of the Committee of Public Safety? Men have been -thrown into prison for less than this." -</p> - -<p> -"Shame!" -</p> - -<p> -"Denounce him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Take him to the nearest Section!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ere he wreaks mischief more lasting than words!" cried a woman, who -tried as she spoke to give to her utterance its full, sinister meaning. -</p> - -<p> -"Shame! Treason!" came soon from every side. Voices were raised all down -the length of the tables—shrill, full-throated, even dull and -indifferent. Some really felt indignation—burning, ferocious -indignation; others only made a noise for the sheer pleasure of it, and -because the past five years had turned cries of "Treason!" and of -"Shame!" into a habit. Not that they knew what the disturbance was -about. The street was long and narrow, and the cries came some way from -where they were sitting; but when cries of "Treason!" flew through the -air these days, 'twas best to join in, lest those cries turned against -one, and the next stage in the proceedings became the approach of an -Agent of the Sûreté, the nearest prison, and the inevitable -guillotine. -</p> - -<p> -So every one cried, "Shame!" and "Treason!" whilst those who had first -dared to raise their voices against the popular demagogue drew together -into a closer hatch, trying no doubt to gather courage through one -another's proximity. Eager, excited, a small compact group of two -men—one a mere boy—and three women, it almost seemed as if they -were suffering from some temporary hallucination. How else would five -isolated persons—three of them in their first youth—have dared -to brave a multitude? -</p> - -<p> -In truth Bertrand Moncrif, face to face as he believed with martyrdom, -was like one transfigured. Always endowed with good looks, he appeared -like a veritable young prophet, haranguing the multitude and foretelling -its doom. The gloom partly hid his figure, but his hand was -outstretched, and the outline of an avenging finger pointing straight -out before him, appeared in the weird light of the resin torch, as if -carved in glowing lava. Now and then the fitful light caught the sharp -outline of his face—the straight nose and pointed chin, and brown -hair matted with the sweat of enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -Beside him Régine, motionless and white as a wraith, appeared alive -only by her eyes, which were fixed on her beloved. In the hulking giant -with the asthmatic cough she had recognised the man to whom she had -ministered earlier in the day. Somehow, his presence here and now seemed -to her sinister and threatening. It seemed as if all day he had been -dogging her footsteps; first at the soothsayer's, then he surely must -have followed her down the street. Then he had inspired her with pity; -now his hideous face, his grimy hands, that croaking voice and -churchyard cough, filled her with nameless terror. -</p> - -<p> -He appeared to her excited fancy like a veritable spectre of death, -hovering over Bertrand and over those she loved. With one arm she tried -to press her brother Jacques closer to her breast, to quench his -eagerness and silence his foolhardy tongue. But he, like a fierce, -impatient young animal, fought to free himself from her loving embrace, -shouted approval to Bertrand's oratory, played his part of young -propagandist, heedless of Régine's warning and of his mother's tears. -Next to Régine, her sister Joséphine—a girl not out of her 'teens, -with all the eagerness and exaggeration of extreme youth, was shouting -quite as loudly as her brother Jacques, clapping her small hands -together, turning glowing, defying, arrogant eyes on the crowd of great -unwashed whom she hoped to sway with her ardour and her eloquence. -</p> - -<p> -"Shame on us all!" she cried with passionate vehemence. "Shame on us -French women and French men, that we should be the abject slaves of such -a bloodthirsty tyrant!" -</p> - -<p> -Her mother, pale-faced, delicate, had obviously long since given up all -hope of controlling this unruly little crowd. She was too listless, too -anæmic, had no doubt suffered too much already, to be afraid for -herself or for her children. She was past any thought of fear. Her wan -face only expressed despair—despair that was absolutely -final—and the resignation of silent self-immolation, content to -suffer beside those she loved, only praying to be allowed to share their -martyrdom, even though she had no part in their enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand, Joséphine and Jacques had all the ardour of martyrdom. -Régine and her mother all its resignation. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -The Fraternal Supper threatened to end in a free fight, wherein the only -salvation for the young fire-eaters would lie in a swift taking to their -heels. And even then the chances would be hopelessly against them. Spies -of the Convention, spies of the Committees, spies of Robespierre -himself, swarmed all over the place. They were marked men and women, -those five. It was useless to appear defiant and high-minded and -patriotic. Even Danton had gone to the guillotine for less. -</p> - -<p> -"Shame! Treason!" -</p> - -<p> -The balmy air of mid-April seemed to echo the sinister words. But -Bertrand appeared unconscious of all danger. Nay! it almost seemed as -if he courted it. -</p> - -<p> -"Shame on you all!" he called out loudly, and his fresh, sonorous voice -rang out above the tumult and the hoarse murmurings. "Shame on the -people of France for bowing their necks to such monstrous tyranny. -Citizens of Paris, think on it! Is not Liberty a mockery now? Do you -call your bodies your own? They are but food for cannon at the bidding -of the Convention. Your families? You are parted from those you love. -Your wife? You are torn from her embrace. Your children? They are taken -from you for the service of the State. And by whose orders? Tell me -that! By whose orders, I say?" -</p> - -<p> -He was lashing himself into a veritable fury of self-sacrifice, stood up -beside the table and with a gesture even bade Joséphine and Jacques be -still. As for Régine, she hardly was conscious that she lived, so -acute, so poignant was her emotion, so gaunt and real the approach of -death which threatened her beloved. -</p> - -<p> -This of course was the end—this folly, this mad, senseless, useless -folly! Already through the gloom she could see as in a horrible vision -all those she cared for dragged before a tribunal that knew no mercy; -she could hear the death-carts rattling along the cobblestones, she -could see the hideous arms of the guillotine, ready to receive this -unique, this beloved, this precious prey. She could feel Joséphine's -arms clinging pitiably to her for courage; she could see Jacques' -defiant young face, glorying in martyrdom; she could see maman, drooping -like a faded flower, bereft of what was life to her—the nearness of -her children. She could see Bertrand, turning with a dying look of love, -not to her but to the beautiful Spaniard who had captured his fancy and -then sold him without compunction to the spies of Robespierre and of her -own party. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -But for the fact that this was a "Fraternal Supper," that people had -come out here with their families, their young children, to eat and to -make merry and to forget all their troubles as well as the pall of crime -that hung over the entire city, I doubt not but what the young Hotspur -and his crowd of rashlings would ere now have been torn from their -seats, trampled under foot, at best been dragged to the nearest -Commissary, as the asthmatic citizen Rateau had already threatened. Even -as it was, the temper of many a paterfamilias was sorely tried by this -insistence, this wilful twisting of the tigers' tails. And the women -were on the verge of reprisals. As for Rateau, he just seemed to gather -his huge limbs together, uttered an impatient oath and an angry: "By all -the cats and dogs that render this world hideous with their howls, I -have had about enough of this screeching oratory." Then he threw one -long leg over the bench on which he had been sitting, and in an instant -was lost in the gloom, only to reappear in the dim light a few seconds -later, this time on the farther side of the table, immediately behind -the young rhetorician, his ugly, begrimed face with its grinning, -toothless mouth and his broad, bent shoulders towering above the other's -slender figure. -</p> - -<p> -"Knock him down, citizen!" a young woman cried excitedly. "Hit him in -the face! Silence his abominable tongue!" -</p> - -<p> -But Bertrand was not to be silenced yet. No doubt the fever of -notoriety, of martyrdom, had got into his blood. His youth, his good -looks—obvious even in the fitful light and despite his tattered -clothes—were an asset in his favour, no doubt; but a man-eating tiger -is apt to be indiscriminate in his appetites and will devour a child -with as much gusto as a gaffer; and this youthful firebrand was teasing -the man-eating tiger with reckless insistence. -</p> - -<p> -"By whose orders," he reiterated, with passionate vehemence, "by whose -orders are we, free citizens of France, dragged into this abominable -slavery? Is it by those of the Representatives of the People? No! Of the -Committees chosen by the People? No! Of your Municipalities? your Clubs? -your Sections? No! and again No! Your bodies, citizens, your freedom, -your wives, your children, are the slaves, the property, the toys of one -man—real tyrant and traitor, the oppressor of the weak, the enemy of -the people; and that man is——" -</p> - -<p> -Again he was interrupted, this time more forcibly. A terrific blow on -the head deprived him of speech and of sight. His senses reeled, there -was a mighty buzzing in his ears, which effectually drowned the cries of -execration or of approval that greeted his tirade, as well as a new and -deafening tumult which filled the whole narrow street with its weird and -hideous sounds. -</p> - -<p> -Whence the blow had come, Bertrand had no notion. It had all been so -swift. He had expected to be torn limb from limb, to be dragged to the -nearest Commissariat; he courted condemnation, envisaged the guillotine; -'stead of which, he was prosily knocked down by a blow which would have -felled an ox. -</p> - -<p> -Just for a second his fast-fading perceptions struggled back into -consciousness. He had a swift vision of a giant form towering over him, -with grimy fist uplifted and toothless mouth grinning hideously, and of -the crowd, rising from their seats, turning their backs upon him, waving -arms and caps frantically, and shouting, shouting, with vociferous -lustiness. He also had an equally swift pang of remorse as the faces of -his companions—of Régine and Mme. de Serval, of Joséphine and -Jacques—whom he dragged with him into this made and purposeless -outburst, rose prophetically before him from out the gloom, with -wide-eyed, sacred faces and arms uplifted to ward off vengeful blows. -</p> - -<p> -But the next moment these lightning-like visions faded into complete -oblivion. He felt something hard and heavy hitting him in the back. All -the lights, the faces, the outstretched hands, danced wildly before his -eyes, and he sank like a log on the greasy pavement, dragging pewter -plates, mugs and bottles down with him in his fall. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap06"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER VI -<br /><br /> -ONE CROWDED HOUR OF GLORIOUS LIFE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -And all the while, the people were shouting: -</p> - -<p> -"Le voilà!" -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre!" -</p> - -<p> -The Fraternal Supper was interrupted. Men and women pushed and jostled -and screamed, the while a small, spare figure in dark cloth coat and -immaculate breeches, with smooth brown hair and pale, ascetic face, -stood for a moment under the lintel of a gaping porte-cochère. He had -two friends with him; handsome, enthusiastic St. Just, the right hand -and the spur of the bloodthirsty monster, own kinsman to Armand St. Just -the renegade, whose sister was married to a rich English milor; and -Couthon, delicate, half-paralyzed, wheeled about in a chair, with one -foot in the grave, whose devotion to the tyrant was partly made up of -ambition, and wholly of genuine admiration. -</p> - -<p> -At the uproarious cheering which greeted his appearance, Robespierre -advanced into the open, whilst a sudden swift light of triumph darted -from his narrow, pale eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"And you still hesitate!" St. Just whispered excitedly in his ear. -"Why, you hold the people absolutely in the hollow of your hand!" -</p> - -<p> -"Have patience, friend!" Couthon remonstrated quietly. "Robespierre's -hour is about to strike. To hasten it now, might be courting disaster." -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre himself would, in the meanwhile, have been in serious danger -through the exuberant welcome of his admirers. Their thoughtless -crowding around his person would easily have given some lurking enemy or -hot-headed, would-be martyr the chance of wielding an assassin's knife -with success, but for the presence amongst the crowd of his -"tappe-durs"—hit-hards—a magnificent bodyguard composed of -picked giants from the mining districts of Eastern France, who rallied -around the great man, and with their weighted sticks kept the enthusiastic -crowd at bay. -</p> - -<p> -He walked a few steps down the street, keeping close to the houses on -his left; his two friends, St. Just and Couthon in his carrying chair, -were immediately behind him, and between these three and the mob, the -tappe-durs, striding two abreast, formed a solid phalanx. -</p> - -<p> -Then, all of a sudden, the great man came to a halt, faced the crowd, -and with an impressive gesture imposed silence and attention. His -bodyguard cleared a space for him and he stood in the midst of them, -with the light of a resin torch striking full upon his spare figure and -bringing into bold relief that thin face so full of sinister expression, -the cruel mouth and the coldly glittering eyes. He was looking straight -across the table, on which the debris of Fraternal Suppers lay in -unsavoury confusion. -</p> - -<p> -On the other side of the table, Mme. de Serval with her three children -sat, or rather crouched, closely huddled against one another. Joséphine -was clinging to her mother, Jacques to Régine. Gone was the eagerness -out of their attitude now, gone the enthusiasm that had reviled the -bloodthirsty tyrant in the teeth of a threatening crowd. It seemed as -if, with that terrific blow dealt by a giant hand to Bertrand who was -their leader in this mad adventure, the awesome fear of death had -descended upon their souls. The two young faces as well as that of Mme. -de Serval appeared distorted and haggard, whilst Régine's eyes, dilated -with terror, strove to meet Robespierre's steady gaze, which was charged -with sinister mockery. -</p> - -<p> -And for one short interval of time the crowd was silent; and the -everlasting stars looked down from above on the doings of men. To these -trembling, terrified young creatures, suddenly possessed with youth's -passionate desire to live, with a passionate horror of death, these few -seconds of tense silence must have seemed like an eternity of suffering. -Then Robespierre's thin face lighted up in a portentous smile—a smile -that caused those pale cheeks yonder to take on a still more ashen hue. -</p> - -<p> -"And where is our eloquent orator of a while ago?" the great man asked -quietly. "I heard my name, for I sat at my window looking with joy on -the fraternisation of the people of France. I caught sight of the -speaker, and came down to hear more clearly what he had to say. But -where is he?" -</p> - -<p> -His pale eyes wandered slowly along the crowd; and such was the power -exercised by this extraordinary man, so great the terror that he -inspired, that every one there—men, women and children, workers and -vagabonds—turned their eyes away, dared not meet his glance lest in -it they read an accusation or a threat. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, no one dared to speak. The young rhetorician had disappeared, -and every one trembled lest they should be implicated in his escape. He -had evidently got away under cover of the confusion and the noise. But -his companions were still there—four of them; the woman and the boy -and the two girls, crouching like frightened beasts before the obvious -fury, the certain vengeance of the people. The murmurs were ominous. -"Death! Guillotine! Traitors!" were words easily distinguishable in the -confused babbling of the sullen crowd. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre's cruel, appraising glance rested on those four pathetic -forms, so helpless, so desperate, so terrified. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizens," he said coldly, "did you not hear me ask where your eloquent -companion is at this moment?" -</p> - -<p> -Régine alone knew that he lay like a log under the table, close to her -feet. She had seen him fall, struck by that awful blow from a brutal -fist; but at the ominous query she instinctively pressed her trembling -lips close together, whilst Joséphine and Jacques clung to her with the -strength of despair. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not parley with the rabble, citizen," St. Just whispered eagerly. -"This is a grand moment for you. Let the people of their own accord -condemn those who dared to defame you." -</p> - -<p> -And even Couthon, the prudent, added sententiously: -</p> - -<p> -"Such an opportunity may never occur again." -</p> - -<p> -The people, in truth, were over-ready to take vengeance into their own -hands. -</p> - -<p> -"À la lanterne, les aristos!" -</p> - -<p> -Gaunt, bedraggled forms leaned across the table, shook begrimed fists in -the direction of the four crouching figures. With the blind instinct of -trapped beasts, they retreated into the shadows step by step, as those -threatening fists appeared to draw closer, clutching at the nearest -table and dragging it with them, in an altogether futile attempt at a -barricade. -</p> - -<p> -"Holy Mother of God, protect us!" murmured Mme. de Serval from time to -time. -</p> - -<p> -Behind them there was nothing but the row of houses, no means of escape -even if their trembling knees had not refused them service; whilst -vaguely, through their terror, they were conscious of the proximity of -that awful asthmatic creature with the wheezy cough and the hideous, -toothless mouth. At times he seemed so close that they shut their eyes, -almost feeling his grimy hands around their throats, his huge, hairy -arms dragging them down to death. -</p> - -<p> -It all happened in the space of a very few minutes, far fewer even than -it would take completely to visualise the picture. Robespierre, like an -avenging wraith, theatrical yet impassive, standing in the light of a -huge resin torch, which threw alternate lights and shadows, grotesque -and weird, upon his meagre figure, now elongating the thin, straight -nose, now widening the narrow mouth, misshaping the figure till it -appeared like some fantastic ghoul-form from the nether world. Behind -him, his two friends were lost in the gloom, as were now Mme. de Serval -and her children. They were ensconced against a heavy porte-cochère, a -rickety table alone standing between them and the mob, who were ready to -drag them to the nearest lantern and immolate them before the eyes of -their outraged idol. -</p> - -<p> -"Leave the traitors alone!" Robespierre commanded. "Justice will deal -with them as they deserve." -</p> - -<p> -"À la lanterne!" the people—more especially the women—demanded -insistently. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre turned to one of his "tappe-durs." -</p> - -<p> -"Take the aristos to the nearest Commissariat," he said. "I'll have no -bloodshed to mar our Fraternal Supper." -</p> - -<p> -"The Commissariat, forsooth!" a raucous voice positively bellowed. "Who -is going to stand between us and our vengeance? Robespierre has been -outraged by this rabble. Let them perish in sight of all!" -</p> - -<p> -How it all happened after that, none who were there could in truth have -told you. The darkness, the flickering lights, the glow of the braziers, -which made the inky blackness around more pronounced, made everything -indistinguishable to ordinary human sight. Certain it is that citizen -Rateau—who had constituted himself the spokesman of the mob—was -at one time seen towering behind the four unfortunates, with his huge arms -stretched out, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open, screaming -abuse and vituperation, demanding the people's right to take the law -into its own sovereign hands. -</p> - -<p> -At that moment the light of the nearest resin torch threw this hulking -person into bold relief against a heavy porte-cochère which was -immediately behind him. The mob acclaimed him, cheered him to the -echoes, agreed with him that summary justice in such a case was alone -satisfying. The next instant a puff of wind blew the flame of the torch -in a contrary direction, and darkness suddenly enveloped the ranting -colossus and the cowering prey all ready to his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau!" shouted some one. -</p> - -<p> -"Hey, there! citizen Rateau! Where art thou?" came soon from every side. -</p> - -<p> -No answer came from the spot where Rateau had last been seen, and it -seemed as if just then a strong current of air had slammed a heavy door -to somewhere in the gloom. Citizen Rateau had disappeared, and the four -traitors along with him. -</p> - -<p> -It took a few seconds of valuable time ere the mob suspected that it was -being robbed of its prey. Then a huge upheaval occurred, a motion of the -human mass densely packed in the Rue St. Honoré, that was not unlike -the rush of water through a narrow gorge. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau!" People were yelling the name from end to end of the street. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Superstition, which was rampant in these days of carnage and of crime, -had possession of many a craven soul. Rateau had vanished. It seemed as -if the Evil One, whose name had been so freely invoked during the course -of the Fraternal Supper, had in very truth spirited Rateau away. -</p> - -<p> -On the top of the tumult came a silence as complete as that of a -graveyard at midnight. The "tappe-durs," who at their chief's command -had been forging their way through the crowd, in order to reach the -traitors, ceased their hoarse calls of "Make way there, in the name of -the Convention!" whilst St. Just, who still stood close to his friend, -literally saw the cry stifled on Robespierre's lips. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre himself had not altogether realised what had happened. In -his innermost heart he had already yielded to his friends' suggestion, -and was willing to let mob-law run its course. As St. Just had said: -"What a triumph for himself if his detractors were lynched by the mob!" -When Rateau towered above the four unfortunates, hurling vituperation -above their heads, the tyrant smiled, well satisfied; and when the giant -thus incontinently vanished, Robespierre for a moment or two remained -complacent and content. -</p> - -<p> -Then the whole crowd oscillated in the direction of the mysterious -porte-cochère. Those who were in the front ranks threw themselves -against the heavy panels, whilst those in the rear pushed with all their -might. But the porte-cochères of old Paris are heavily constructed. -Woodwork that had resisted the passage of centuries withheld the -onslaught of a pack of half-starved caitiffs. But only for a while. -</p> - -<p> -The mob, fearing that it was getting foiled, broke into a howl of -execration, and Robespierre, his face more drawn and grey than before, -turned to his companions, trying to read their thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -"If it should be——" St. Just murmured, yet dared not put his -surmise into words. -</p> - -<p> -Nor had he time to do so, or Robespierre the leisure to visualise his -own fears. Already the massive oak panels were yielding to persistent -efforts. The mighty woodwork began to crack under the pressure of this -living battering ram; when suddenly the howls of those who were in the -rear turned to a wild cry of delight. Those who were pushing against the -porte-cochère paused in their task. All necks were suddenly craned -upwards. The weird lights of torches and the glow of braziers glinted on -gaunt necks and upturned chins, turned heads and faces into -phantasmagoric, unearthly shapes. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre and his two companions instinctively looked up too. There, -some few mètres lower down the street, on the third-floor balcony of a -neighbouring house, the figure of Rateau had just appeared. The window -immediately behind him was wide open and the room beyond was flooded -with light, so that his huge person appeared distinctly -silhouetted—a black and gargantuan mass—against the vivid -and glowing background. His head was bare, his lank hair fluttered in -the breeze, his huge chest was bare and his ragged shirt hung in tatters -from his brawny arms. Flung across his left shoulder, he held an -inanimate female form, whilst with his right hand he dragged another -through the open window in his wake. Just below him, a huge brazier was -shedding its crimson glow. -</p> - -<p> -The sight of him—gaunt, weird, a veritable tower of protean -revenge—paralyzed the most ebullient, silenced every clamour. For the -space of two seconds only did he stand there, in full view of the crowd, -in full view of the almighty tyrant whose defamation he had sworn to -avenge. Then he cried in stentorian tones: -</p> - -<p> -"Thus perish all conspirators against the liberty of the people, all -traitors to its cause, by the hands of the people and for the glory of -their chosen!" -</p> - -<p> -And, with a mighty twist of his huge body, he picked up the inanimate -form that lay lifeless at his feet. For a moment he held the two in his -arms, high above the iron railing of the balcony; for a moment those two -lifeless, shapeless forms hung in the darkness in mid-air, whilst an -entire crowd of fanatics held their breath and waited, awed and -palpitating, only to break out into frantic cheering as the giant hurled -the two lifeless bodies down, straight into the glowing brazier. -</p> - -<p> -"Two more to follow!" he shouted lustily. -</p> - -<p> -There was pushing and jostling and cheering. Women screamed, men -blasphemed and children cried. Shouts of "Vive Rateau!" mingled with -those of "Vive Robespierre!" A circle was formed, hands holding hands, -and a wild saraband danced around the glowing brazier. And this mad orgy -of enthusiasm lasted for full three minutes, until the foremost among -those who, awestruck and horrified, had approached the brazier in order -to see the final agony of the abominable traitor, burst out with a -prolonged "Malediction!" -</p> - -<p> -Beyond that exclamation, they were speechless—pointed with trembling -hands at the shapeless bundles on which the dull fire of the braziers -had not yet obtained a purchase. -</p> - -<p> -The bundles were shapeless indeed. Rags hastily tied together to -represent human forms; but rags only! No female traitors, no aristos -beneath! The people had been fooled, hideously fooled by a traitor all -the more execrable, as he had seemed one of themselves. -</p> - -<p> -"Malediction! Death to the traitor!" -</p> - -<p> -Aye, death indeed! The giant, whoever he might be, would have to bear a -charmed life if he were to escape the maddened fury of a foiled -populace. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau!" they shouted hoarsely. -</p> - -<p> -They looked up to that third-floor balcony which had so fascinated them -awhile ago. But now the window was shut and no light from within chased -the gloom that hung over the houses around. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau!" the people shouted. -</p> - -<p> -But Rateau had disappeared. It all seemed like a dream, a nightmare. Had -Rateau really existed, or was he a wraith, sent to tease and to scare -those honest patriots who were out for liberty and for fraternity? Many -there were who would have liked to hold on to that theory—men and -women whose souls, warped and starved by the excesses and the miseries -of the past five years, clung to any superstition, any so-called -supernatural revelations, that failed to replace the old religion that -had been banished from their hearts. -</p> - -<p> -But in this case not even superstition could be allowed free play. -Rateau had vanished, it is true. The house from whence he had thus -mocked and flouted the people was searched through and through by a mob -who found nothing but bare boards and naked walls, empty rooms and -disused cupboards on which to wreak its fury. -</p> - -<p> -But down there, lying on the top of the brazier, were those two bundles -of rags slowly being consumed by the smouldering embers, silent proofs -of the existence of that hulking creature whose size and power had, with -that swiftness peculiar to human conceptions, already become legendary. -</p> - -<p> -And in a third-floor room, a lamp that had recently been extinguished, a -coil of rope, more rags, male and female clothes, a pair of boots, a -battered hat, were mute witnesses to the swift passage of the mysterious -giant with the wheezy cough—the trickster who had fooled a crowd and -thrown the great Robespierre himself into ridicule. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap07"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER VII -<br /><br /> -TWO INTERLUDES</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Two hours later the Rue St. Honoré had resumed its habitual -graveyard-like stillness. The stillness had to come at last. Men in -their wildest passions, in their most ebullient moods, must calm down -sooner or later, if only temporarily. Blood aglow with enthusiasm, or -rage, or idolatry, cannot retain its fever-pitch uninterruptedly for -long. And so silence and quietude descended once more upon the setting -of that turbulent scene of awhile ago. -</p> - -<p> -Here, as in other quarters of Paris, the fraternal suppers had come to -an end; and perspiring matrons, dragging weary children at their skirts, -wended their way homewards, whilst their men went to consummate the -evening's entertainment at one of the numerous clubs or cabarets where -the marvellous doings in the Rue St. Honoré could be comfortably lived -over again or retailed to those, less fortunate, who had not been there -to see. -</p> - -<p> -In the early morning the "nettoyeurs publiques" would be coming along, -to clear away the debris of the festivities and to gather up the tables -and benches which were the property of the several Municipal sections, -and put them away for the next occasion. -</p> - -<p> -But these "nettoyeurs" were not here yet. They, too, were spending an -hour or two in the nearest cabarets, discussing the startling events -that had rendered notorious one corner of the Rue St. Honoré. -</p> - -<p> -And so the streets were entirely deserted, save here and there for the -swift passage of a furtive form, hugging the walls, with hands in -pockets and crimson cap pulled over the eyes, anxious only to escape the -vigilance of the night-watchman, swift of foot and silent of tread; and -anon, in the Rue St. Honoré itself, when even these night-birds had -ceased to flutter, the noiseless movement of a dark and mysterious form -that stirred cautiously upon the greasy cobblestones. More silent, more -furtive than any hunted beast creeping out of its lair, this mysterious -form emerged from under one of the tables that was standing nearly -opposite the house where Robespierre lived and close to the one where -the superhuman colossus had wrought his magic trick. -</p> - -<p> -It was Bertrand Moncrif. No longer a fiery Demosthenes now, but a -hunted, terror-filled human creature, whom a stunning blow from a giant -fist had rendered senseless, even whilst it saved him from the -consequences of his own folly. His senses still reeling, his limbs -cramped and aching, he had lain stark and still under the table just -where he had fallen, not sufficiently conscious to realise what was -happening beyond his very limited range of vision or to marvel what was -the ultimate fate of his companions. -</p> - -<p> -His only instinct throughout this comatose condition was the blind one -of self-preservation. Feeling rather than hearing the tumult around him, -he had gathered his limbs close together, lain as still as a mouse, -crouching within himself in the shelter of the table above. It was only -when the silence around had lasted an eternity of time that he ventured -out of his hiding place. With utmost caution, hardly daring to breathe, -he crept on hands and knees and looked about him, lip and down the -street. There was no one about. The night fortunately was moonless and -dark; nature had put herself on the side of those who wished to pass -unperceived. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand struggled to his feet, smothering a cry of pain. His head ached -furiously, his knees shook under him; but he managed to crawl as far as -the nearest house, and rested for a while against its wall. The fresh -air did him good. The April breeze blew across his burning forehead. -</p> - -<p> -For a few minutes he remained thus, quite still, his eyes gradually -regaining their power of vision. He recollected where he was and all -that had happened. An icy shiver ran down his spine, for he also -remembered Régine and Mme. de Serval and the two children. But he was -still too much dazed, really only half conscious, to do more than -vaguely marvel what had become of them. -</p> - -<p> -He ventured to look fearfully up and down the street. Tables scattered -pell-mell, the unsavoury remnants of fraternal suppers, a couple of -smouldering braziers, collectively met his gaze. And, at one point, -sprawling across a table, with head lost between outstretched arms, a -figure, apparently asleep, perhaps dead. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand, now nothing but a bundle of nerves, could hardly suppress a -cry of terror. It seemed to him as if his life depended on whether that -sprawling figure was alive or dead. But he dared not approach in order -to make sure. For a while he waited, sinking more and more deeply into -the shadows, watching that motionless form on which his life depended. -</p> - -<p> -The figure did not move, and gradually Bertrand nerved himself up to -confidence and then to action. He buried his head in the folds of his -coat-collar and his hands in the pockets of his breeches, and with -silent, stealthy footsteps he started to make his way down the street. -At first he looked back once or twice at the immobile figure sprawling -across the table. It had not moved, still appeared as if it might be -dead. Then Bertrand took to his heels and, no longer looking either -behind him or to the right or left, with elbows pressed close to his -side, he started to run in the direction of the Tuileries. -</p> - -<p> -A minute later, the motionless figure came back to life, rose quickly -and with swift, noiseless tread, started to run in the same direction. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -In the cabarets throughout the city, the chief topic of conversation was -the mysterious event of the Rue St. Honoré. Those who had seen it all -had marvellous tales to tell of the hero of the adventure. -</p> - -<p> -"The man was eight or else nine feet high; his arms reached right across -the street from house to house. Flames spurted out of his mouth when he -coughed. He had horns on his head; cloven feet; a forked tail!" -</p> - -<p> -These were but a few of the asseverations which rendered the person of -the fictitious citizen Rateau a legendary one in the eyes of those who -had witnessed his amazing prowess. Those who had not been thus favoured -listened wide-eyed and open-mouthed. -</p> - -<p> -But all agreed that the mysterious giant was in truth none other than -the far-famed Englishman—that spook, that abominable trickster, that -devil incarnate, known to the Committees as the Scarlet Pimpernel. -</p> - -<p> -"But how could it be the Englishman?" was suddenly put forward by -citizen Hottot, the picturesque landlord of the Cabaret de la Liberté, -a well-known rendezvous close to the Carrousel. "How could it be the -Englishman who played you that trick, seeing that you all say it was -citizen Rateau who . . . The devil take it all!" he added, and scratched -his bald head with savage vigour, which he always did whene'er he felt -sorely perplexed. "A man can't be two at one and the same time; nor two -men become one. Nor . . . Name of a name of a dog!" concluded the worthy -citizen, puffing and blowing in the maze of his own puzzlement like an -old walrus that is floundering in the water. -</p> - -<p> -"It was the Englishman, I tell thee!" one of his customers asserted -indignantly. "Ask any one who saw him! Ask the tappe-durs! Ask Robespierre -himself! <i>He</i> saw him, and turned as grey as—as putty, I -tell thee!" he concluded, with more conviction than eloquence. -</p> - -<p> -"And <i>I</i> tell thee," broke in citizen Sical, the butcher—he with -the bullet-head and hull-neck and a fist that could in truth have felled an -ox; "I tell thee that it was citizen Rateau. Don't I know citizen -Rateau?" he added, and brought that heavy fist of his down upon the -upturned cask on which stood pewter mugs and bottles of eau de vie, and -glared aggressively round upon the assembly. He had only one eye; the -other presented a hideous appearance, scarred and blotched, the result -of a terrible fatality in his early youth. The one eye leered with a -glance of triumph as well as of challenge, daring any less muscular -person to impugn his veracity. -</p> - -<p> -One man alone was bold enough to take up the challenge—a wizened -little fellow, a printer by trade, with skin of the texture of grained oak -and a few unruly curls that tumbled over one another above a highly -polished forehead. -</p> - -<p> -"And I tell thee, citizen Sical," he said with firm decision; "I tell -thee and those who aver, as thou dost, that citizen Rateau had anything -to do with those monkey-tricks, that ye lie. Yes!" he reiterated -emphatically, and paying no heed to the glowering looks and blasphemies -of Sical and his friends. "Yes, ye lie! Not consciously, I grant you; but -you lie nevertheless. Because——" He paused and glanced around -him, like a clever actor conscious of the effect which he produced. His -tiny beady eyes blinked in the glare of the lamp before him. -</p> - -<p> -"Because what?" came in an eager chorus from every side. -</p> - -<p> -"Because," resumed the other sententiously, "all the while that ye were -supping at the expense of the State in the open, and had your gizzards -stirred by the juggling devices of some unknown mountebank, citizen -Rateau was lying comfortably drunk and snoring lustily in the -antechamber of Mother Théot, the soothsayer, right at the other end of -Paris!" -</p> - -<p> -"How do you know that, citizen Langlois?" queried the host with icy -reproval, for butcher Sical was his best customer, and Sical did not -like being contradicted. But little Langlois with the shiny forehead and -tiny, beady, humorous eyes, continued unperturbed. -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi!" he said gaily, "because I was at Mother Théot's myself, and -saw him there." -</p> - -<p> -That certainly was a statement to stagger even the great Sical. It was -received in complete silence. Every one promptly felt that the moment -was propitious for another drink; nay! that the situation demanded it. -</p> - -<p> -Sical, and those who had fought against the Scarlet Pimpernel theory, -were too staggered to speak. They continued to imbibe citizen Hottot's -eau de vie in sullen brooding. The idea of the legendary Englishman, -which had so unexpectedly been strengthened by citizen Langlois' -statement concerning Rateau, was repugnant to their common sense. -Superstition was all very well for women and weaklings like Langlois; -but for men to be asked to accept the theory that a kind of devil in -human shape had so thrown dust in the eyes of a number of perfectly -sober patriots that they literally could not believe what they saw, was -nothing short of an insult. -</p> - -<p> -And they had <i>seen</i> Rateau at the fraternal supper, had talked with -him, until the moment when . . . Then who in Satan's name had they been -talking with? -</p> - -<p> -"Here, Langlois! Tell us——" -</p> - -<p> -And Langlois, who had become the hero of the hour, told all he knew, and -told it, we are told, a dozen times and more. How he had gone to Mother -Théot's at about four o'clock in the afternoon, and had sat patiently -waiting beside his friend Rateau, who wheezed and snored alternately for -a couple of hours. How, at six o'clock or a little after, Rateau went out -because—the aristo, forsooth!—had found the atmosphere filthy -in Mother Théot's antechamber—no doubt he went to get another drink. -</p> - -<p> -"At about half-past seven," the little printer went on glibly, "my turn -came to speak with the old witch. When I came out it was long past eight -o'clock and quite dark. I saw Rateau sprawling upon a bench, half -asleep. I tried to speak with him, but he only grunted. However, I went -out then to get a bit of supper at one of the open-air places, and at -ten o'clock I was once more past Mother Théot's place. One or two -people were coming out of the house. They were all grumbling because -they had been told to go. Rateau was one who was for making a -disturbance, but I took him by the arm. We went down the street -together, and parted company in the Rue de l'Anier, where he lodges. And -here I am!" concluded Langlois, and turned triumphantly to challenge the -gaze of every one of the sceptics around him. -</p> - -<p> -There was not a single doubtful point in his narrative, and though he was -questioned—aye! and severely cross-questioned, too—he never -once swerved from his narrative or in any manner did he contradict himself. -Later on it transpired that there were others who had been in Mother -Théot's antechamber that day. They too subsequently corroborated all -that the little printer had said. One of them was the wife of Sical's -own brother; and there were others. So, what would you? -</p> - -<p> -"Name of a name of a dog, then, who was it who spirited the aristos -away?" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap08"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER VIII -<br /><br /> -THE BEAUTIFUL SPANIARD</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -In the Rue Villedot, which is in the Louvre quarter of Paris, there is a -house, stone built and five-storied, with grey shutters to all the -windows and balconies of wrought-iron—a house exactly similar to -hundreds and thousands of others in every quarter of Paris. During the -day the small wicket in the huge porte-cochère is usually kept open; it -allows a peep into a short dark passage, and beyond it to the lodge of -the concierge. Beyond this again there is a courtyard, into which, from -every one of its four sides, five rows of windows, all adorned with grey -shutters, blink down like so many colourless eyes. The inevitable -wrought-iron balconies extend along three sides of the quadrangle on -every one of the five floors, and on the balustrade of these, pieces of -carpet in various stages of decay are usually to be seen hanging out to -air. From shutter to shutter clothes lines are stretched and support -fantastic arrays of family linen that flap lazily in the sultry, -vitiated air which alone finds its way down the shaft of the quadrangle. -</p> - -<p> -On the left of the entrance passage and opposite the lodge of the -concierge there is a tall glass door, and beyond it the vestibule and -primary staircase, which gives access to the principal -apartments—those that look out upon the street and are altogether -more luxurious and more airy than those which give upon the courtyard. -To the latter, two back stairways give access. They are at the far -corners of the courtyard; both are pitch dark and reek of stuffiness and -evil smells. The apartments which they serve, especially those on the -lower floors, are dependent for light and air on what modicum of these -gifts of heaven comes down the shaft into the quadrangle. -</p> - -<p> -After dark, of course, porte-cochère and wicket are both closed, and if -a belated lodger or visitor desires to enter the house, he must ring the -bell and the concierge in his lodge will pull a communicating cord that -will unlatch the wicket. It is up to the belated visitor or lodger to -close the wicket after him, and he is bound by law to give his name, -together with the number of the apartment to which he is going, in to -the concierge as he goes past the lodge. The concierge, on the other -hand, will take a look at him so that he may identify him should trouble -or police inquiry arise. -</p> - -<p> -On this night of April, somewhere near midnight, there was a ring at the -outer door. Citizen Leblanc, the concierge, roused from his first sleep, -pulled the communicating cord. A young man, hatless and in torn coat and -muddy hoots and breeches, slipped in through the wicket and hurried past -the lodge, giving only one name, but that in a clear voice, as he -passed: -</p> - -<p> -"Citoyenne Cabarrus." -</p> - -<p> -The concierge turned over in his bed and grunted, half asleep. His duty -clearly was to run after the visitor, who had failed to give his own -name; but to begin with, the worthy concierge was very tired; and then -the name which the belated caller had given was one requiring special -consideration. -</p> - -<p> -The citoyenne Cabarrus was young and well favoured, and even in these -troublous days, youth and beauty demanded certain privileges which no -patriotic concierge could refuse to grant. Moreover, the aforesaid lady -had visitors at all hours of the day and late into the night—visitors -for the most part with whom it was not well to interfere. Citizen -Tallien, the popular Representative in the Convention, was, as every one -knew, her ardent adorer. 'Twas said by all and sundry that since the -days when he met the fair Cabarrus in Bordeaux and she exercised such a -mellowing influence upon his bloodthirsty patriotism, he had no thought -save to win her regard. -</p> - -<p> -But he was not the only one who came to the dreary old apartment in the -Rue Villedot, with a view to worshipping at the Queen of Beauty's -shrine. Citizen Leblanc had seen many a great Representative of the -People pass by his lodge since the beautiful Theresia came to dwell -here. And if he became very confidential and his interlocutor very -insistent, he would throw out a hint that the greatest man in France -to-day was a not infrequent visitor in the house. -</p> - -<p> -Obviously, therefore, it was best not to pry too closely into secrets, -the keeping of which might prove uncomfortable for one's peace of mind. -And citizen Leblanc, tossing restlessly in his sleep, dreamed of the -fair Cabarrus and wished himself in the place of those who were -privileged to pay their court to her. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -And so the belated visitor was able to make his way across the courtyard -and up the dark back stairs unmolested. But even this reassuring fact -failed to give him confidence. He hurried on with the swift and stealthy -footstep which had become habitual to him, glancing over his shoulder -from time to time, wide-eyed and with ears alert, and heart quivering -with apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -Up the dark and narrow staircase he hurried, dizzy and sick, his head -reeling in the dank atmosphere, his shaking hands seeking the support of -the walls as he climbed wearily up to the third-floor. Here he almost -measured his length upon the landing, tottered up again and came down -sprawling on his knees against one of the doors—the one which had the -number 22 painted upon it. For the moment it seemed as if he would once -more fall into a swoon. Terror and relief were playing havoc with his -whirling brain. He had not sufficient strength to stretch out an arm in -order to ring the bell, but only beat feebly against the panel of the -door with his moist palm. -</p> - -<p> -A moment later the door was opened, and the unfortunate fell forward -into the vestibule at the feet of a tall apparition clad in white and -holding a small table lamp above her head. The apparition gave a little -scream which was entirely human and wholly feminine, hastily put down -the lamp on a small consol close by, and by retreating forcefully -farther into the vestibule, dragged the half-animate form of the young -man along too; for he was now clinging to a handful of white skirt with -the strength of despair. -</p> - -<p> -"I am lost, Theresia!" he moaned pitiably. "Hide me, for God's sake -I . . . only for to-night!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus was frowning now, looked more perplexed than kindly, -and certainly made no attempt to raise the crouching figure from the -ground. Anon she called loudly: "Pepita!" and whilst waiting for an -answer to this call, she remained quite still, and the frown of -puzzlement on her face yielded to one of fear. The young man, obviously -only half conscious, continued to moan and to implore. -</p> - -<p> -"Silence, you fool!" she said peremptorily. "The door is still open. Any -one on the stairs could hear you. Pepita!" she called again, more -harshly this time. -</p> - -<p> -The next moment an old woman came from somewhere out of the darkness, -threw up her hands at sight of that grovelling figure on the floor, and -would no doubt have broken out in loud lament but that her young -mistress ordered her at once to close the door. -</p> - -<p> -"Then help the citoyen Moncrif to a sofa in my room," the beautiful -Theresia went on peremptorily. "Give him a restorative and see above all -to it that he hold his tongue!" -</p> - -<p> -With a quick imperious jerk she freed herself from the convulsive grasp -of the young man, and walking quickly across the small vestibule, she -went through a door at the end of it that had been left ajar, leaving -the unfortunate Moncrif to the ministrations of Pepita. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus, who had obtained a divorce from her husband, the -Marquis de Fontenay (by virtue of a decree of the former Legislative -Assembly, which allowed—nay, encouraged—the dissolution of a -marriage with an émigré who refused to return to France), Theresia -Cabarrus was, in this year 1794, in her twenty-fourth year, and perhaps -in the zenith of her beauty and in the plenitude of that power which had -subjugated so many men. In what that power consisted the historian has -vainly tried to guess; for it was not her beauty only that brought so -many to her feet. In the small oval face, the pointed chin, the full, -sensuous lips, so typically Spanish, we look in vain for traces of that -beauty which we are told surpassed that of other women of her time; -whilst in the dark, velvety eyes, more tender than spiritual, and in the -narrow arched brows, we fail to find an expression of that esprit which -had moulded Tallien to her will and even brought Robespierre out of the -shell of his asceticism—a willing victim to her wiles. -</p> - -<p> -But who would be bold enough to analyse that subtle quality, -acknowledged by all, possessed by a very few, which is vaguely denoted -by the word "charm"? Theresia Cabarrus must have possessed it to a -marvellous degree—that, and an utter callousness for the feelings of -her victims, which would leave her mind cool and keen to pursue her own -ends, whilst theirs was thrown into that maze of jealousy and of passion -wherein prudence flies to the winds and the fever of self-immolation -gets into the blood. -</p> - -<p> -At this moment, in the sparsely furnished room of her dingy apartment, -she looked like an angry goddess. Her figure, which undeniably was -superb, was drawn to its full height, its splendid proportions -accentuated by the clinging folds of her modish gown—a marvel of -artistic scantiness, which only half concealed the perfectly modelled -bust, and left the rounded thigh, in its skin-tight, flesh-coloured -undergarment, unblushingly exposed. Her blue-black hair was dressed in -the new fashion, copied from ancient Greece and snooded by a glittering -antique fillet; and her small bare feet were encased in satin sandals. -Truly a lovely woman, but for that air of cold displeasure coupled with -fear, which marred the harmony of the dainty, child-like features. -</p> - -<p> -After awhile Pepita came back. -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" queried Theresia impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor M. Bertrand is very ill," the old Spanish woman replied with -unconcealed sympathy. "He has fever, the poor cabbage. Bed is the only -place for him. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"He cannot stay here, as thou well knowest, Pepita," the imperious -beauty retorted drily. "Thy head and mine are in danger every moment -that he spends under this roof." -</p> - -<p> -"But thou couldst not turn a sick man out into the streets in the middle -of the night." -</p> - -<p> -"Why not?" Theresia riposted coldly. "It is a beautiful and balmy night. -Why not?" she reiterated fretfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Because he would die on thy doorstep," was old Pepita's muttered reply. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"He dies if he goes," she said slowly, "and we die if he stays. Tell him -to go, Pepita, ere citizen Tallien comes." -</p> - -<p> -A shudder went through the old woman's spare frame. "It's late," she -protested. "Citizen Tallien will not come to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"Not only he," Theresia rejoined coldly, "but—but—the -other—— Thou knowest well, Pepita—those two arranged -to meet here in my lodgings to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"But not at this hour!" -</p> - -<p> -"After the sitting of the Convention." -</p> - -<p> -"It is nearly midnight. They'll not come," the old woman persisted -obstinately. -</p> - -<p> -"They arranged to meet here, to talk over certain matters which interest -their party," citoyenne Cabarrus went on, equally firmly. "They'll not -fail. So tell citizen Moncrif to go, Pepita. He endangers my life by -staying here." -</p> - -<p> -"Then do the dirty work thyself," the old woman muttered sullenly. "I'll -not be a party to cold-blooded murder." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, since citizen Moncrif's life is more valuable to thee than -mine——" Theresia began, but got no farther. The words died on -her lips. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand Moncrif, very pale, still looking scared and wild, had quietly -entered the room. -</p> - -<p> -"You wish me to go, Theresia," he said simply. "You did not think surely -that I would do anything that might endanger your safety. My God!" he -added with passionate vehemence, "Do you not know that I would at any -time lay down my life for yours?" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia shrugged her statuesque shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, of course, Bertrand," she said a little impatiently, though -obviously trying to be kind. "But I do entreat you not to go into -heroics at this hour, and not to put on tragic airs. You must see that -for yourself as well as for me it would be fatal if you were found here, -and——" -</p> - -<p> -"And I am going, Theresia," he broke in seriously. "I ought never to -have come. I was a fool, as usual!" he added with bitterness. "But after -that awful fracas I was dazed and hardly knew what I was doing." -</p> - -<p> -The frown of vexation reappeared upon the woman's fair, smooth brow. -</p> - -<p> -"The fracas?" she asked quickly. "What fracas?" -</p> - -<p> -"In the Rue St. Honoré. I thought you knew." -</p> - -<p> -"No. I know nothing," she retorted, and her voice now was trenchant and -hard. "What happened?" -</p> - -<p> -"They were deifying that brute Robespierre——" -</p> - -<p> -"Silence!" she broke in harshly. "Name no names." -</p> - -<p> -"They were deifying a bloodthirsty tyrant, and I——" -</p> - -<p> -"And you rose from your seat," she broke in again, and this time with a -laugh that was cruel in its biting irony; "and lashed yourself into a -fury of eloquent vituperation. Oh, I know! I know!" she went on -excitedly. "You and your Fatalists, or whatever you call yourselves! And -that rage for martyrdom! . . . Senseless, stupid and selfish! Oh, my God! -<i>how</i> selfish! And then you came here to drag me down with you into -an abyss of misery, along with you to the guillotine . . . to . . ." -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if she were choking, and her small white hands, with a -gruesome and pathetic gesture, went up to her neck, smoothed it and -fondled it, as if to shield it from that awful fate. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand tried to pacify her. It was he who was the more calm of the two -now. It seemed as if her danger had brought him back to full -consciousness. He forgot his own danger, the threat of death which lay -in wait for him, probably on the very threshold of this house. He was a -marked man now; martyrdom had ceased to be a dream; it had become a grim -reality. But of this he did not think. Theresia was in danger, -compromised by his own callous selfishness. His mind was full of her; -and Régine, the true and loyal friend, the beloved of past happier -years, had no place in his thoughts beside the exquisite enchantress, -whose very nearness was paradise. -</p> - -<p> -"I am going," he said earnestly. "Theresia, my beloved, try to forgive -me. I was a fool—a criminal fool! But lately—since I thought -that you—you did not really care; that all my hopes of future -happiness were naught but senseless dreams; since then I seem to have -lost my head—I don't know <i>what</i> I am doing! . . . And -so——" -</p> - -<p> -He got no farther. Ashamed of his own weakness, he was too proud to let -her see that she made him suffer. For the moment, he only bent the knee -and kissed the hem of her diaphanous gown. He looked so handsome then, -despite his bedraggled, woebegone appearance, so young, so ardent, that -Theresia's egotistical heart was touched, as it had always been when the -incense of his perfect love rose to her sophisticated nostrils. She put -out her hand and brushed with a gentle, almost maternal, gesture the -matted brown hair from his brow. -</p> - -<p> -"Dear Bertrand," she murmured vaguely. "What a foolish boy to think that -I do not care!" -</p> - -<p> -Already he had been brought back to his senses. The imminence of her -danger lent him the courage which he had been lacking, and -unhesitatingly now he jumped to his feet and turned to go. But she, -quick in the transition of her moods, had already seized him by the arm. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no!" she murmured in a hoarse whisper. "Don't go just yet . . . not -before Pepita has seen if the stairs are clear." -</p> - -<p> -Her small hand held him as in a vice, whilst Pepita, obedient and -silent, was shuffling across the vestibule in order to execute her -mistress's commands. But, even so, Bertrand struggled to get away. An -epitome of their whole life, this struggle between them!—he trying to -free himself from those insidious bonds that held him one moment and -loosed him the next; that numbed him to all that he was wont to hold -sacred and dear—his love for Régine, his loyalty, his honour. An -epitome of her character and his: he, weak and yielding, ever a ready -martyr, thirsting for self-immolation; and she, just a bundle of -feminine caprice, swayed by sentiment one moment and by considerations -of ambition or of personal safety the next. -</p> - -<p> -"You must wait, Bertrand," she urged insistently. "Citizen Tallien may -be on the stairs—he or—or the other. If they saw you! . . . My -God!" -</p> - -<p> -"They would conclude that you had turned me out of doors," he riposted -simply. "Which would, in effect, be the truth. I entreat you to let me -go!" he added earnestly. "'Twere better they met me on the stairs than -here." -</p> - -<p> -The old woman's footsteps were heard hurrying back. Bertrand struggled -to free himself—did in truth succeed; and Theresia smothered a -desperate cry of warning as he strode rapidly through the door and -across the vestibule, only to be met here by Pepita, who pushed him with -all her might incontinently back. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia held her tiny handkerchief to her mouth to deaden the scream -that forced itself to her lips. She had followed Bertrand out of the -salon, and now stood in the doorway, a living statue of fear. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Tallien," Pepita had murmured hurriedly. "He is on the landing. -Come this way." -</p> - -<p> -She dragged Bertrand by the arm, not waiting for orders from her -mistress this time, along a narrow dark passage, which at its extreme -end gave access to a tiny kitchen. Into this she pushed him and locked -the door upon him. -</p> - -<p> -"Name of a name!" she muttered as she shuffled back to the vestibule. -"If they should find him here!" -</p> - -<p> -Citoyenne Cabarrus had not moved. Her eyes, dilated with terror, mutely -questioned the old woman as the latter made ready to admit the visitor. -Pepita gave reply as best she could, by silent gestures, indicating the -passage and the action of turning a key in the lock. Her wrinkled old -lips hardly stirred, and then only in order to murmur quickly and with a -sudden assumption of authority: -</p> - -<p> -"Self-possession, my cabbage, or you'll endanger yourself and us all!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia pulled herself together. Obviously, the old woman's warning was -not to be ignored, nor had it been given a moment too soon. Outside, the -visitor had renewed his impatient rat-tat against the door. The eyes of -mistress and maid met for one brief second. Theresia was rapidly -regaining her presence of mind; whereupon Pepita smoothed out her apron, -readjusted her cap, and went to open the door, whilst Theresia said in a -firm voice, loudly enough for the new visitor to hear: -</p> - -<p> -"One of my guests, at last! Open quickly, Pepita!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap09"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER IX -<br /><br /> -A HIDEOUS, FEARFUL HOUR</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Young man—tall, spare, with sallow skin and shifty, restless -eyes—pushed unceremoniously past the old servant, threw his hat and -cane down on the nearest chair, and hurrying across the vestibule, -entered the salon where the beautiful Spaniard, a picture of serene -indifference, sat ready to receive him. -</p> - -<p> -She had chosen for the setting of this scene, a small settee covered in -old rose brocade. On this she half sat, half reclined, with an open book -in her hand, her elbow resting on the frame of the settee, her cheek -leaning against her hand. Immediately behind her, the light from an oil -lamp tempered by a shade of rose-coloured silk, outlined with a -brilliant, glowing pencil the contour of her small head, one exquisite -shoulder, and the mass of her raven hair, whilst it accentuated the cool -half-tones on her diaphanous gown, on the round bare arms and bust, the -tiny sandalled feet and cross-gartered legs. -</p> - -<p> -A picture in truth to dazzle the eyes of any man! Tallien should have -been at her feet in an instant. The fact that he paused in the doorway -bore witness to the unruly thoughts that ran riot in his brain. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, citizen Tallien!" the fair Theresia exclaimed with a perfect -assumption of sang-froid. "You are the first to arrive, and are indeed -welcome; for I was nearly swooning with ennui. Well!" she added, with a -provocative smile, and extended a gracious arm in his direction. "Are -you not going to kiss my hand?" -</p> - -<p> -"I heard a voice," was all the response which he gave to this seductive -invitation. "A man's voice. Whose was it?" -</p> - -<p> -She raised a pair of delicately pencilled eyebrows. Her eyes became as -round and as innocent-looking as a child's. -</p> - -<p> -"A man's voice?" she riposted with a perfect air of astonishment. "You -are crazy, mon ami; or else are crediting my faithful Pepita with a -virile bass, which in truth she doth not possess!" -</p> - -<p> -"Whose voice was it?" Tallien reiterated, making an effort to speak -calmly, even though he was manifestly shaking with choler. -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon the fair Theresia, no longer gracious or arch, looked him up -and down as if he were no better than a lacquey. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, ça!" she rejoined coldly. "Are you perchance trying to -cross-question me? By what right, I pray you, citizen Tallien, do you -assume this hectoring tone in my presence? I am not yet your wife, -remember; and 'tis not you, I imagine, who are the dictator of France." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not tease me, Theresia!" the man interposed hoarsely. "Bertrand -Moncrif is here." -</p> - -<p> -For the space of a second, or perhaps less, Theresia gave no reply to -the taunt. Her quick, alert brain had already faced possibilities, and -she was far too clever a woman to take the risks which a complete -evasion of the truth would have entailed at this moment. She did not, in -effect, know whether Tallien was speaking from positive information -given to him by spies, or merely from conjecture born of jealousy. -Moreover, another would be here presently—another, whose spies were -credited with omniscience, and whom she might not succeed in dominating -with a smile or a frown, as he could the love-sick Tallien. Therefore, -after that one brief instant's reflection she decided to temporise, to -shelter behind a half-truth, and replied, with a quick glance from under -her long lashes: -</p> - -<p> -"I am not teasing you, citizen. Bertrand came here for shelter awhile -ago." -</p> - -<p> -Tallien drew a quick sigh of satisfaction, and she went on carelessly: -</p> - -<p> -"But, obviously, I could not keep him here. He seemed hurt and -frightened. . . . He has been gone this past half-hour." -</p> - -<p> -For a moment it seemed as if the man, in face of this obvious lie, would -flare out into a hot retort; but Theresia's luminous eyes subdued him, -and before the cool contempt expressed by those exquisite lips, he felt -all his blustering courage oozing away. -</p> - -<p> -"The man is an abominable and an avowed traitor," he said sullenly. -"Only two hours ago——" -</p> - -<p> -"I know," she broke in coldly. "He vilified Robespierre. A dangerous -thing to do. Bertrand was ever a fool, and he lost his head." -</p> - -<p> -"He will lose it more effectually to-morrow," Tallien retorted grimly. -</p> - -<p> -"You mean that you would denounce him?" -</p> - -<p> -"That I <i>will</i> denounce him. I would have done so to-night, before -coming here, only—only——" -</p> - -<p> -"Only what?" -</p> - -<p> -"I was afraid he might be here." -</p> - -<p> -Theresia broke into a ringing if somewhat artificial peal of laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"I must thank you, citizen, for this consideration of my feelings. It -was, in truth, thoughtful of you to think of sparing me a scandal. But, -since Bertrand is <i>not</i> here——" -</p> - -<p> -"I know where he lodges. He'll not escape, citoyenne. My word on it!" -</p> - -<p> -Tallien spoke very quietly, but with that concentrated fury of which a -fiercely jealous man is ever capable. He had remained standing in the -doorway all this while, his eyes fixed on the beautiful woman before -him, but his attention feverishly divided between her and what might be -going on in the vestibule behind him. -</p> - -<p> -In answer to his last threatening words, the lovely Theresia rejoined, -more seriously: -</p> - -<p> -"So as to make sure I do not escape either!" And a flash of withering -anger shot from her dark eyes on the unromantic figure of her adorer. -"Or you, mon ami! You are determined that Mme. Roland's fate shall -overtake me, eh? And no doubt you will be thrilled to the marrow when -you see my head fall into your precious salad-bowl. Will yours follow -mine, think you? Or will you prefer to emulate citizen Roland's more -romantic ending?" -</p> - -<p> -Even while she spoke, Tallien had been unable to repress a shudder. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia, in heaven's name——!" he murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"Bah, mon ami! There is no longer a heaven these days. You and your -party have carefully abolished the Hereafter. So, after you and I have -taken our walk up the steps of the scaffold——" -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia!" -</p> - -<p> -"Eh, what?" she went on coolly. "Is that not perchance what you have in -contemplation? Moncrif, you say, is an avowed traitor. Has openly -vilified and insulted your demi-god. He has been seen coming to my -apartments. Good! I tell you that he is no longer here. But let that -pass. He is denounced. Good! Sent to the guillotine. Good again! And -Theresia Cabarrus, in whose house he tried to seek refuge, much against -her will, goes to the guillotine in his company. The prospect may please -you, mon ami, because for the moment you are suffering from a senseless -attack of jealousy. But I confess that it does not appeal to me." -</p> - -<p> -The man was silent now; awed against his will. His curiously restless -eyes swept over the graceful apparition before him. Insane jealousy was -fighting a grim fight in his heart with terror for his beloved. Her -argument was a sound one. Even he was bound to admit that Powerful -though he was in the Convention, his influence was as nothing compared -with that of Robespierre. And he knew his redoubtable colleague well -enough that an insult such as Moncrif had put upon him in the Rue St. -Honoré this night would never be forgiven, neither in the young -hot-head himself nor in any of his friends, adherents, or mere pitying -sympathisers. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus was clever enough and quick enough to see that she had -gained one point. -</p> - -<p> -"Come and kiss my hand," she said, with a little sigh of satisfaction. -</p> - -<p> -This time the man obeyed, without an instant's hesitation. Already he -was down on his knees, repentant and humiliated. She gave him her small, -sandalled foot to kiss. After that, Tallien became abject. -</p> - -<p> -"You know that I would die for you, Theresia!" he murmured passionately. -</p> - -<p> -This was the second time to-night that such an assertion had been made -in this room. And both had been made in deadly earnest, whilst the fair -listener had remained equally indifferent to both. And for the second -time to-night, Theresia passed her cool white hand over the bent head of -an ardent worshipper, whilst her lips murmured vaguely: -</p> - -<p> -"Foolish! Oh, how foolish! Why do men torture themselves, I wonder, with -senseless jealousy?" -</p> - -<p> -Instinctively she turned her small head in the direction of the passage -and the little kitchen, where Bertrand Moncrif had found temporary and -precarious shelter. Self-pity and a kind of fierce helplessness not -untinged with remorse made her eyes appear resentful and hard. -</p> - -<p> -There, in the stuffy little kitchen at the end of the dark, dank -passage, love in its pure sense, happiness, brief perhaps but unalloyed, -and certainly obscure, lay in wait for her. Here, at her feet, was -security in the present turmoil, power, and a fitting background for her -beauty and her talents. She did not want to lose Bertrand; indeed, she -did not intend to lose him. She sighed a little regretfully as she -thought of his good looks, his enthusiasm, his selfless ardour. Then she -looked down once more on the narrow shoulders, the lank, colourless -hair, the bony hands of the erstwhile lawyer's clerk to whom she had -already promised marriage, and she shuddered a little when she -remembered that those same hands into which she had promised to place -her own and which now grasped hers in passionate adoration had, of a -certainty, signed the order for those execrable massacres which had for -ever sullied the early days of the Revolution. For a moment—a brief -one, in truth—she marvelled if union with such a man was not too -heavy a price to pay for immunity and for power. -</p> - -<p> -But the hesitancy lasted only a few seconds. The next, she had thrown -back her head as if in defiance of the whisperings of conscience and of -heart. She need not lose her youthful lover after all. He was satisfied -with so little! A few kind words here, an occasional kiss, a promise or -two, and he would always remain her willing slave. -</p> - -<p> -It were foolish indeed, and far, far too late, to give way to sentiment -at this hour, when Tallien's influence in the Convention was second only -to that of Robespierre, whilst Bertrand Moncrif was a fugitive, a -suspect, a poor miserable fanatic, whose hot-headedness was for ever -landing him from one dangerous situation into another. -</p> - -<p> -So, after indulging in the faintest little sigh of yearning for the -might-have-been, she met her latest adorer's worshipping glance with a -coquettish air of womanly submission which completed his subjugation, -and said lightly: -</p> - -<p> -"And now give me my orders for to-night, mon ami." -</p> - -<p> -She settled herself down more comfortably upon the settee, and -graciously allowed him to sit on a low chair beside her. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -The turbulent little incident was closed. Theresia had her way, and -poor, harassed Tallien succeeded in shutting away in the innermost -recesses of his heart the pangs of jealousy which still tortured him. -His goddess now was all smiles, and the subtle flattery implied by her -preference for him above his many rivals warmed his atrophied heart and -soothed his boundless vanity. -</p> - -<p> -We must accept the verdict of history that Theresia Cabarrus never loved -Tallien. The truth appears to be that what love she was capable of had -undoubtedly been given to Bertrand Moncrif, whom she would not entirely -dismiss from his allegiance, even though she had at last been driven -into promising marriage to the powerful Terrorist. -</p> - -<p> -It is doubtful if, despite that half-hearted and wholly selfish love for -the young royalist, she had ever intended that he should be more -to her than a slavish worshipper, a friend on whom she could -count for perpetual adoration or mere sentimental dalliance; but a -husband—never! Certain it is that even Tallien, influential as he -was, was only a pis-aller. The lovely Spaniard, we make no doubt, would -have preferred Robespierre as a future husband, or, failing him, -Louis-Antoine St. Just. But the latter was deeply enamoured of another -woman; and Robespierre was too cautious, too ambitious, to allow himself -to be enmeshed. -</p> - -<p> -So she fell back on Tallien. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -"Give me my orders for to-night," the lovely woman had said to her -future lord. And he—a bundle of vanity and egoism—was flattered -and soothed by this submission, though he knew in his heart of hearts that -it was only pretence. -</p> - -<p> -"You will help me, Theresia?" he pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -She nodded, and asked coldly: "How?" -</p> - -<p> -"You know that Robespierre suspects me," he went on, and instinctively, -at the mere breathing of that awe-inspiring name, his voice sank to a -murmur. "Ever since I came back from Bordeaux." -</p> - -<p> -"I know. Your leniency there is attributed to me." -</p> - -<p> -"It was your influence, Theresia——" he began. -</p> - -<p> -"That turned you," she broke in coldly, "from a bloodstained beast into -a right-minded justiciary. Do you regret it?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, no!" he protested; "since it gained me your love." -</p> - -<p> -"Could I love a beast of prey?" she retorted. "But if you do not regret, -you are certainly afraid." -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre never forgives," he rejoined vaguely. "And he had sent me -to Bordeaux to punish, not to pardon." -</p> - -<p> -"Then you <i>are</i> afraid!" she insisted. "Has anything happened?" -</p> - -<p> -"No; only his usual hints—his vague threats. You know them." -</p> - -<p> -She nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"The same," he went on sombrely, "that he used ere he struck Danton." -</p> - -<p> -"Danton was hot-headed. He was too proud to appeal to the populace who -idolised him." -</p> - -<p> -"And I have no popularity to which I can appeal. If Robespierre strikes -at me in the Convention, I am doomed——" -</p> - -<p> -"Unless you strike first." -</p> - -<p> -"I have no following. We none of us have. Robespierre sways the -Convention with one word." -</p> - -<p> -"You mean," she broke in more vehemently, "that you are all cringing -cowards—the abject slaves of one man. Two hundred of you are longing -for this era of bloodshed to cease; two hundred would stay the pitiless -work of the guillotine—and not one is plucky enough to cry, 'Halt! It -is enough!'" -</p> - -<p> -"The first man who cries 'Halt!' is called a traitor," Tallien retorted -gloomily. "And the guillotine will not rest until Robespierre himself -has said, 'It is enough!'" -</p> - -<p> -"He alone knows what he wants. He alone fears no one," she exclaimed, -almost involuntarily giving grudging admiration where in truth she felt -naught but loathing. -</p> - -<p> -"I would not fear either, Theresia," he protested, and there was a note -of tender reproach in his voice, "if it were not for you." -</p> - -<p> -"I know that, mon ami," she rejoined with an impatient little sigh. -"Well, what do you want me to do?" -</p> - -<p> -He leaned forward in his chair, closer to her, and did not mark—poor -fool!—that, as he drew near, she recoiled ever so slightly from him. -</p> - -<p> -"There are two things," he said insinuatingly, "which you could do, -Theresia, either of which would place Robespierre under such lasting -obligation to you that he would admit us into the inner circle of his -friends, trust us and confide in us as he does in St. Just or Couthon." -</p> - -<p> -"Trust you, you mean. He never would trust a woman." -</p> - -<p> -"It means the same thing—security for us both." -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" she rejoined. "What are these two things?" -</p> - -<p> -He paused a moment, appeared to hesitate; then said resolutely: -</p> - -<p> -"Firstly, there is Bertrand Moncrif . . . and his Fatalists——" -</p> - -<p> -Her face hardened. She shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -"I warned Robespierre about to-night," she said. "I knew that a lot of -young fools meant to cause a fracas in the Rue St. Honoré. But the -whole thing has been a failure, and Robespierre has no use for -failures." -</p> - -<p> -"It need not be a failure—even yet." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre will be here directly," he urged, in a whisper rendered -hoarse with excitement "Bertrand Moncrif is here—— Why not -deliver the young traitor, and earn Robespierre's gratitude?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she broke in indignant protest. Then, as she caught the look of -jealous anger which at her obvious agitation suddenly flared up in his -narrow eyes again, she went on with a careless shrug of her statuesque -shoulders: "Bertrand is not here, as I told you, my friend. So these -means of serving your cause are out of my reach." -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia," he urged, "by deceiving me——" -</p> - -<p> -"By tantalizing me," she broke in harshly, "you do yourself no good. Let -us understand one another, my friend," she went on more gently. "You -wish me to serve you by serving the dictator of France. And I tell you -you'll not gain your ends by taunting me." -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia, we must make friends with Robespierre! He has the power; he -rules over France. Whilst I——" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" she retorted with vehemence. "That is where you and your -weak-kneed friends are wrong! You say that Robespierre rules France. -'Tis not true. It is not Robespierre, the man, who rules; it is his -name! The name of Robespierre has become a fetish, an idolatry. Before -it every head is bent and every courage cowed. It rules by the fear -which it evokes and by the slavery which it compels under the perpetual -threat of death. Believe me," she insisted, "'tis not Robespierre who -rules, but the guillotine which he wields! And we are all of us -helpless—you and I and your friends. And all the others who long to -see the end of this era of bloodshed and of revenge, we have got to do as -he tells us—pile up crime upon crime, massacre upon massacre, and -bear the odium of it all, while he stands aloof in darkness and in -solitude, the brain that guides, whilst you and your party are only the -hands that strike. Oh! the humiliation of it! And if you were but men, all -of you, instead of puppets——" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush, Theresia, in heaven's name!" Tallien broke in peremptorily at -last. He had vainly tried to pacify her while she poured forth the vials -of her resentment and her contempt. But now his ears, attuned to -sensitiveness by an ever-present danger, had caught a sound which -proceeded from the vestibule—a sound which made him shudder—a -footstep—the opening of a door—a voice. "Hush!" he entreated. -"Every dumb wall has ears these days!" -</p> - -<p> -She broke into a harsh, excited little laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"You are right, my friend," she said under her breath. "What do I care, -after all? What do any of us care now, so long as our necks are fairly -safe upon our shoulders! But I'll not sell Bertrand," she added firmly. -"If I did it I should despise myself too much and hate you worse. So -tell me quickly what else I can do to propitiate the ogre!" -</p> - -<p> -"He'll tell you himself," Tallien murmured hurriedly, as the sounds in -the vestibule became more loud and distinctive. "Here they are! And, in -heaven's name, Theresia, remember that our lives are at that one man's -mercy!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap10"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER X -<br /><br /> -THE GRIM IDOL THAT THE WORLD ADORES</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Theresia, being a woman, was necessarily the more accomplished actor. -While Tallien retired into a gloomy corner of the room, vainly trying to -conceal his agitation, she rose quite serene in order to greet her -visitors. -</p> - -<p> -Pepita had just admitted into her mistress's apartments a singular -group, composed of two able-bodied men supporting a palsied one. One of -the former was St. Just, one of the most romantic figures of the -Revolutionary period, the confidant and intimate friend of Robespierre -and own cousin to Armand St. Just and to the beautiful Marguerite, who -had married the fastidious English milor, Sir Percy Blakeney. The other -was Chauvelin, at one time one of the most influential members of the -Committee of Public Safety, now little more than a hanger-on of -Robespierre's party. A man of no account, to whom not even Tallien and -his colleagues thought it worth while to pay their court. The palsied -man was Couthon, despite his crimes an almost pathetic figure in his -helplessness, after his friends had deposited him in an arm-chair and -wrapped a rug around his knees. The carrying chair in which he spent the -greater part of his life had been left down below in the concierge's -lodge, and St. Just and Chauvelin had carried him up the three flights -of stairs to citoyenne Cabarrus's apartment. -</p> - -<p> -Close behind these three men came Robespierre. -</p> - -<p> -Heavens! If a thunderbolt had fallen from the skies on that night of the -26th of April, 1794, and destroyed house No. 22 in the Rue Villedot, -with all those who were in it, what a torrent of blood would have been -stemmed, what horrors averted, what misery forefended! -</p> - -<p> -But nothing untoward happened. The four men who sat that night and well -into the small hours of the morning in the dingy apartment, occupied for -the present by the beautiful Cabarrus, were allowed by inscrutable -Providence to discuss their nefarious designs unchecked. -</p> - -<p> -In truth, there was no discussion. One man dominated the small assembly, -even though he sat for the most part silent and apparently -self-absorbed, wrapped in that taciturnity and even occasional -somnolence which seemed to have become a pose with him of late. He sat -on a high chair, prim and upright. Immaculately dressed in blue cloth -coat and white breeches, with clean linen at throat and wrist, his hair -neatly tied back with a black silk bow, his nails polished, his shoes -free from mud, he presented a marked contrast to the ill-conditioned -appearance of these other products of revolutionary ideals. -</p> - -<p> -St Just, on the other hand—young, handsome, a brilliant talker and -convinced enthusiast—was only too willing to air his compelling -eloquence, was in effect the mouthpiece of the great man as he was his -confidant and his right hand. He had acquired in the camps which he so -frequently visited a breezy, dictatorial manner that pleased his friends -and irritated Tallien and his clique, more especially when sententious -phrases fell from his lips which were obviously the echo of some of -Robespierre's former speeches in the Convention. -</p> - -<p> -Then there was Couthon, sarcastic and contemptuous, delighting to tease -Tallien and to affect a truculent manner, which brought abject flattery -from the other's lips. -</p> - -<p> -St. Just the fiery young demagogue, and Couthon the half-paralyzed -enthusiast, were known to be pushing their leader toward the -proclamation of a triumvirate, with Robespierre as chief dictator and -themselves as his two hands; and it amused the helpless cripple to see -just how far the obsequiousness of Tallien and his colleagues would go -in subscribing to so monstrous a project. -</p> - -<p> -As for Chauvelin, he said very little, and the deference wherewith he -listened to the others, the occasional unctuous words which he let fall, -bore testimony to the humiliating subservience to which he had sunk. -</p> - -<p> -And the beautiful Theresia, presiding over the small assembly like a -goddess who listens to the prattle of men, sat for the most part quite -still, on the one dainty piece of furniture of which her dingy apartment -boasted. She was careful to sit so that the rosy glow of the lamp fell -on her in the direction most becoming to her attitude. From time to time -she threw in a word; but all the while her whole attention was -concentrated on what was said. At her future husband's fulsome words of -flattery, at his obvious cowardice before the popular idol and his -cringing abjectness, a faint smile of contempt would now and then force -itself up to her lips. But she neither reproved nor encouraged him. And -when Robespierre appeared to be flattered by Tallien's obsequiousness -she even gave a little sigh of satisfaction. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -St. Just, now as always the mouthpiece of his friend, was the first to -give a serious turn to the conversation. Compliments, flatteries, had -gone their round; platitudes, grandiloquent phrases on the subject of -country, intellectual revolution, liberty, purity, and so on, had been -spouted with varying eloquence. The fraternal suppers had been alluded -to with servile eulogy of the giant brain who had conceived the project. -</p> - -<p> -Then it was that St. Just broke into a euphemistic account of the -disorderly scene in the Rue St. Honoré. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus, roused from her queen-like indifference, at once -became interested. -</p> - -<p> -"The young traitor!" she exclaimed, with a great show of indignation. -"Who was he? What was he like?" -</p> - -<p> -Couthon gave quite a minute description of Bertrand, an accurate one, -too. He had faced the blasphemer—thus was he called by this compact -group of devotees and sycophants—for fully five minutes, and despite -the flickering and deceptive light, had studied his features, distorted -by fury and hate, and was quite sure that he would know them again. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia listened eagerly, caught every inflection of the voices as they -discussed the strange events that followed. The keenest observer there -could not have detected the slightest agitation in her large, velvety -eyes—not even when they met Robespierre's coldly inquiring gaze. Not -one—not even Tallien—could have guessed what an effort it cost -her to appear unconcerned, when all the while she was straining every sense -in the direction of the small kitchen at the end of the passage, where the -much-discussed Bertrand was still lying concealed. -</p> - -<p> -However, the certainty that Robespierre's spies and those of the -Committees had apparently lost complete track of Moncrif, did much to -restore her assurance, and her gaiety became after awhile somewhat more -real. -</p> - -<p> -At one time she turned boldly to Tallien. -</p> - -<p> -"You were there, too, citizen," she said provokingly. "Did <i>you</i> not -recognise any of the traitors?" -</p> - -<p> -Tallien stammered out an evasive answer, implored her with a look not to -taunt him and not to play like a thoughtless child within sight and -hearing of a man-eating tiger. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia's dalliance with the young and handsome Bertrand must in truth -be known to Robespierre's army of spies, and he—Tallien—was not -altogether convinced that the fair Spaniard, despite her assurances to -the contrary, was not harbouring Moncrif in her apartment even now. -</p> - -<p> -Therefore he would not meet her tantalising glance; and she, delighted -to tease, threw herself with greater zest than before into the -discussion, amused to see sober Tallien, whom in her innermost heart she -despised, enduring tortures of apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" she exclaimed, apparently enraptured by St. Just's glowing account -of the occurrence, "what would I not give to have seen it all! In truth, -we do not often get such thrilling incidents every day in this dull and -dreary Paris. The death-carts with their load of simpering aristos have -ceased to entertain us. But the drama in the Rue St. Honoré! à la -bonne heure! What a palpitating scene!" -</p> - -<p> -"Especially," added Couthon, "the spiriting away of the company of -traitors through the agency of that mysterious giant, who some aver was -just a coalheaver named Rateau, well-known to half the night-birds of -the city as an asthmatic reprobate; whilst others vow that he -was——" -</p> - -<p> -"Name him not, friend Couthon," St. Just broke in with a sarcastic -chuckle. "I pray thee, spare the feelings of citizen Chauvelin." And his -bold, provoking eyes shot a glance of cool irony on the unfortunate -victim of his taunt. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin made no retort, pressed his thin lips more tightly together as -if to smother any incipient expression of the resentment which he felt. -Instinctively his glance sought those of Robespierre, who sat by, still -apparently disinterested and impassive, with head bent and arms crossed -over his narrow chest. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, yes!" here interposed Tallien unctuously. "Citizen Chauvelin has -had one or two opportunities of measuring his prowess against that of -the mysterious Englishman; but we are told that, despite his great -talents, he has met with no success in that direction." -</p> - -<p> -"Do not tease our modest friend Chauvelin, I pray you, citizen," Theresia -broke in gaily. "The Scarlet Pimpernel—that is the name of the -mysterious Englishman, is it not?—is far more elusive and a thousand -times more resourceful and daring than any mere man can possibly -conceive. 'Tis woman's wits that will bring him to his knees one day. -You may take my word for that!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Your</i> wits, citoyenne?" -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre had spoken. It was the first time, since the discussion had -turned on the present subject, that he had opened his lips. All eyes -were at once reverentially turned to him. His own, cold and sarcastic, -were fixed upon Theresia Cabarrus. -</p> - -<p> -She returned his glance with provoking coolness, shrugged her splendid -shoulders, and retorted airily: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you want a woman with some talent as a sleuthhound—a female -counterpart of citizen Chauvelin. I have no genius in that direction." -</p> - -<p> -"Why not?" Robespierre went on drily. "You, fair citoyenne, would be -well qualified to deal with the Scarlet Pimpernel, seeing that your -adorer, Bertrand Moncrif, appears to be a protégé of the mysterious -League." -</p> - -<p> -At this taunt, uttered by the dictator with deliberate emphasis, like -one who knows what he is talking about, Tallien gave a gasp and his -sallow cheeks became the colour of lead. But Theresia placed her cool, -reassuring hand upon his. -</p> - -<p> -"Bertrand Moncrif," she said serenely, "is no adorer of mine. He -foreswore his allegiance to me on the day that I plighted my troth to -citizen Tallien." -</p> - -<p> -"That is as may be," Robespierre retorted coldly. "But he certainly was -the leader of the gang of traitors whom that meddlesome English rabble -chose to snatch away to-night from the vengeance of a justly incensed -populace." -</p> - -<p> -"How do you know that, citizen Robespierre?" Theresia asked. She was -still maintaining an outwardly calm attitude; her voice was apparently -quite steady, her glance absolutely serene. Only Tallien's keen -perceptions were able to note the almost wax-like pallor which had -spread over her cheeks and the strained, high-pitched tone of her -usually mellow voice. "Why do you suppose, citizen," she insisted, "that -Bertrand Moncrif had anything to do with the fracas to-night? Methought -he had emigrated to England—or somewhere," she added airily, -"after—after I gave him his definite congé." -</p> - -<p> -"Did you think that, citoyenne?" Robespierre rejoined with a wry smile. -"Then let me tell you that you are under a misapprehension. Moncrif, the -traitor, was the leader of the gang that tried to rouse the people -against me to-night. You ask me how I know it?" he added icily. "Well, I -saw him—that is all!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" exclaimed Theresia, in well-played mild astonishment. "You saw -Bertrand Moncrif, citizen. He is in Paris, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Seemingly." -</p> - -<p> -"Strange, he never came to see me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Strange, indeed!" -</p> - -<p> -"What does he look like? Some people have told me that he is getting -fat." -</p> - -<p> -The discussion had now resolved itself into a duel between these two; -the ruthless dictator, sure of his power, and the beautiful woman, -conscious of hers. The atmosphere of the drabbily furnished room had -become electrical. Every one there felt it. Every man instinctively held -his breath, conscious of the quickening of his pulses, of the -accelerated, beating of his heart. -</p> - -<p> -Both the duellists appeared perfectly calm. Of the two, in truth, -Robespierre appeared the most moved. His staccato voice, the drumming of -his pointed fingers upon the arms of his chair, suggested that the -banter of the beautiful Theresia was getting on his nerves. It was like -the lashing of a puma's tail, the irritation of a temper unaccustomed to -being provoked. And Theresia was clever enough—above all, woman -enough—to note that, since the dictator was moved, he could not be -perfectly sure of his ground. He would not display this secret -irritation if by a word he could confound his beautiful adversary, and -openly threaten where now he only insinuated. -</p> - -<p> -"He saw Bertrand in the Rue St. Honoré," was the sum total of her quick -reasoning; "but does not know that he is here. I wonder what it is he -does want!" came as an afterthought. -</p> - -<p> -The one that really suffered throughout, and suffered acutely, was -Tallien. He would have given all that he possessed to know for a -certainty that Bertrand Moncrif was no longer in the house. -Surely Theresia would not be foolhardy enough to provoke the -powerful dictator into one of those paroxysms of spiteful fury for -which he was notorious—fury wherein he might be capable of -anything—insulting his hostess, setting his spies to search her -apartments for a traitor if he suspected one of lying hidden away -somewhere. In truth, Tallien, trembling for his beloved, was ready to -swoon. How marvellous she was! how serene! While men held their breath -before the inexorable despot, she went on teasing the tiger, even though -he had already begun to snarl. -</p> - -<p> -"I entreat you, citizen Robespierre," she said, with a pout, "to tell me -if Bertrand Moncrif has grown fat." -</p> - -<p> -"That I cannot tell you, citoyenne," Robespierre replied curtly. "Having -recognised my enemy, I no longer paid heed to him. My attention was -arrested by his rescuer——" -</p> - -<p> -"That elusive Scarlet Pimpernel," she broke in gaily. "Unrecognisable to -all save to citizen Robespierre, under the disguise of an asthmatic -gossoon. Ah, would I had been there!" -</p> - -<p> -"I would you had, citoyenne," he retorted. "You would have realised that -to refuse your help to unmask an abominable spy after such an episode is -tantamount to treason." -</p> - -<p> -Her gaiety dropped from her like a mantle. In a moment she was serious, -puzzled. A frown appeared between her brows. Her dark eyes flashed, -rapidly inquiring, suspicious, fearful, upon Robespierre. -</p> - -<p> -"To refuse my help?" she asked slowly. "My help in unmasking a spy? I do -not understand." -</p> - -<p> -She looked from one man to the other. Chauvelin was the only one who -would not meet her gaze. No, not the only one. Tallien, too, appeared -absorbed in contemplating his finger nails. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Tallien," she queried harshly. "What does this mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"It means just what I said," Robespierre intervened coldly. "That -abominable English spy has fooled us all. You said yourself that 'tis a -woman's wit that will bring that elusive adventurer to his knees one -day. Why not yours?" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia gave no immediate reply. She was meditating. Here, then, was -this other means to her hand, whereby she was to propitiate the -man-eating tiger, turn his snarl into a purr, obtain immunity for -herself and her future lord. But what a prospect! -</p> - -<p> -"I fear me, citizen Robespierre," she said after awhile, "that you -overestimate the keenness of my wits." -</p> - -<p> -"Impossible!" he retorted drily. -</p> - -<p> -And St. Just, ever the echo of his friend's unspoken words, added with a -great show of gallantry: -</p> - -<p> -"The citoyenne Cabarrus, even from her prison in Bordeaux, succeeded in -snaring our friend Tallien, and making him the slave of her beauty." -</p> - -<p> -"Then why not the Scarlet Pimpernel?" was Couthon's simple conclusion. -</p> - -<p> -"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" Theresia exclaimed with a shrug of her handsome -shoulders. "The Scarlet Pimpernel, forsooth! Why, meseems that no one -knows who he is! Just now you all affirmed that he was a coalheaver -named Rateau. I cannot make love to a coalheaver, can I?" -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Chauvelin knows who the Scarlet Pimpernel is," Couthon went on -deliberately. "He will put you on the right track. All that we want is -that he should be at your feet. It is so easy for the citoyenne Cabarrus -to accomplish that." -</p> - -<p> -"But if you know who he is," she urged, "why do you need my help?" -</p> - -<p> -"Because," St. Just replied, "the moment that he lands in France he -sheds his identity, as a man would a coat. Here, there, everywhere—he -is more elusive than a ghost, for a ghost is always the same, whilst the -Scarlet Pimpernel is never twice alike. A coalheaver one day; a prince -of dandies the next. He has lodgings in every quarter of Paris and quits -them at a moment's notice. He has confederates everywhere; concierges, -cabaret-keepers, soldiers, vagabonds. He has been a public -letter-writer, a sergeant of the National Guard, a rogue, a thief! 'Tis -only in England that he is always the same, and citizen Chauvelin can -identify him there. 'Tis there that you can see him, citoyenne, there -that you can spread your nets for him; from thence that you can lure him -to France in your train, as you lured citizen Tallien to obey your every -whim in Bordeaux. Once a man hath fallen a victim to the charms of -beautiful Theresia Cabarrus," added the young demagogue gallantly, "she -need only to beckon and he will follow, as does citizen Tallien, as did -Bertrand Moncrif, as do so many others. Bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to -your feet, here in Paris, citoyenne, and we will do the rest." -</p> - -<p> -While his young devotee spoke thus vehemently, Robespierre had relapsed -into his usual pose of affected detachment. His head was bent, his arms -were folded across his chest. He appeared to be asleep. When St. Just -paused, Theresia waited awhile, her dark eyes fixed on the great man who -had conceived this monstrous project. Monstrous, because of the -treachery that it demanded. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus had in truth identified herself with the Revolutionary -government. She had promised to marry Tallien, who outwardly at least -was as bloodthirsty and ruthless as was Robespierre himself; but she was -a woman and not a demon. She had refused to sell Bertrand Moncrif in -order to pander to Tallien's fear of Robespierre. To entice a -man—whoever he was—into making love to her, and then to betray -him to his death, was in itself an abhorrent idea. What she might do if -actual danger of death threatened her, she did not know. No human soul can -with certainty say, "I would not do this or that, under any circumstances -whatever!" Circumstance and impulse are the only two forces that create -cowards or heroes. Principles, will-power, virtue, are really -subservient to those two. If they prove the stronger, everything in man -must yield to them. -</p> - -<p> -And Theresia Cabarrus had not yet been tried by force of circumstance or -driven by force of impulse. Self-preservation was her dominant law, and -she had not yet been in actual fear of death. -</p> - -<p> -This is not a justification on the part of this veracious chronicle of -Theresia's subsequent actions; it is an explanation. Faced with this -demand upon her on the part of the most powerful despot in France, she -hesitated, even though she did not altogether dare to refuse. Womanlike, -she tried to temporise. -</p> - -<p> -She appeared puzzled; frowned. Then asked vaguely: -</p> - -<p> -"Is it then that you wish me to go to England?" -</p> - -<p> -St. Just nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"But," she continued, in the same indeterminate manner, "meseems that you -talk very glibly of my—what shall I say?—my proposed dalliance -with the mysterious Englishman. Suppose he—he does not respond?" -</p> - -<p> -"Impossible!" Couthon broke in quickly. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she protested. "Impossible? Englishmen are known to be -prudish—moral—what? And if the man is married—what then?" -</p> - -<p> -"The citoyenne Cabarrus underrates her powers," St. Just riposted -glibly. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia, I entreat!" Tallien put in dolefully. -</p> - -<p> -He felt that the interview, from which he had hoped so much, was proving -a failure—nay, worse! For he realised that Robespierre, thwarted in -this desire, would bitterly resent Theresia's positive refusal to help -him. -</p> - -<p> -"Eh, what?" she riposted lightly. "And is it you, citizen Tallien, who -would push me into this erotic adventure? I' faith, your trust in me is -highly flattering! Have you not thought that in the process I might fall -in love with the Scarlet Pimpernel myself? He is young, they say; -handsome, adventurous; and I am to try and capture his fancy . . . the -butterfly is to dance around the flame . . . . No, no! I am too much -afraid that I may singe my wings!" -</p> - -<p> -"Does that mean," Robespierre put in coldly, "that you refuse us your -help, citoyenne Cabarrus. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes—I refuse," she replied calmly. "The project does not please me, -I confess——" -</p> - -<p> -"Not even if we guaranteed immunity to your lover, Bertrand Moncrif?" -</p> - -<p> -She gave a slight shudder. Her lips felt dry, and she passed her tongue -rapidly over them. -</p> - -<p> -"I have no lover, except citizen Tallien," she said steadily, and placed -her fingers, which had suddenly become ice-cold, upon the clasped hands -of her future lord. Then she rose, thereby giving the signal for the -breaking-up of the little party. -</p> - -<p> -In truth, she knew as well as did Tallien that the meeting had been a -failure. Tallien was looking sallow and terribly worried. Robespierre, -taciturn and sullen, gave her one threatening glance before he took his -leave. -</p> - -<p> -"You know, citoyenne," he said coldly, "that the nation has means at its -disposal for compelling its citizens to do their duty." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, bah!" retorted the fair Spaniard, shrugging her shoulders. "I am -not a citizen of France. And even your unerring Public Prosecutor would -find it difficult to frame an accusation against me." -</p> - -<p> -Again she laughed, determined to appear gay and inconsequent through it -all. -</p> - -<p> -"Think how the accusation would sound, citizen Robespierre!" she went on -mockingly. "'The citoyenne Cabarrus, for refusing to make amorous -overtures to the mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, -and for refusing to administer a love-philtre to him as prepared by -Mother Théot at the bidding of citizen Robespierre!' Confess! Confess!" -she added, and her rippling laugh had a genuine note of merriment in it -at last, "that we none of us would survive such ridicule!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus was a clever woman, and by speaking the word -"ridicule," she had touched the one weak chink in the tyrant's armour. -But it is not always safe to prod a tiger, even with a child's cane, or -even from behind protecting bars. Tallien knew this well enough. He was -on tenterhooks, longing to see the others depart so that he might throw -himself once again at Theresia's feet and implore her to obey the -despot's commands. -</p> - -<p> -But Theresia appeared unwilling to give him such another chance. She -professed intense fatigue, bade him "good night" with such obvious -finality, that he dared not outstay his welcome. A few moments later -they had all gone. Their gracious hostess accompanied them to the door, -since Pepita had by this time certainly gone to bed. The little -procession was formed, with St Just and Chauvelin supporting their -palsied comrade, Robespierre, detached and silent, and finally Tallien, -whose last appealing look to his beloved would have melted a heart of -stone. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap11"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XI -<br /><br /> -STRANGE HAPPENINGS</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Now the dingy little apartment in the Rue Villedot was silent and dark. -The elegant little lamp with its rose-coloured shade was turned down in -the withdrawing-room, leaving only a tiny glimmer of light, which failed -to dispel the gloom around. The nocturnal visitors had departed more -than a quarter of an hour ago; nevertheless the beautiful hostess had -not yet gone to bed. In fact, she had hardly moved since she bade final -adieu to her timorous lover. The enforced gaiety of the last few moments -still sat like a mask upon her face. All that she had done was to sink -with a sigh of weariness upon the settee. -</p> - -<p> -And there she remained, with neck craned forward, listening, straining -every nerve to listen, even though the heavy, measured footsteps of the -five men had long since ceased to echo up and down the stone passages -and stairs. Her foot, in its quaint small sandal, beat now and then an -impatient tattoo upon the threadbare carpet. Her eyes at intervals cast -anxious looks upon the old-fashioned clock above the mantelpiece. -</p> - -<p> -It struck half-past two. Whereupon Theresia rose and went out into the -vestibule. Here a tallow candle flickered faintly in its pewter sconce -and emitted an evil-smelling smoke, which rose in spirals to the -blackened ceiling. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia paused, glanced inquiringly down the narrow passage which gave -access to the little kitchen beyond. Between the kitchen and the corner -of the vestibule where she was standing, two doors gave on the passage: -her bedroom, and that of her maid Pepita. Theresia was vividly conscious -of the strange silence which reigned in the whole apartment. The passage -was pitch dark save at its farthest end, where a tiny ray of light found -its way underneath the kitchen door. -</p> - -<p> -The silence was oppressive, almost terrifying. In a hoarse, anxious -voice, Theresia called: -</p> - -<p> -"Pepita!" -</p> - -<p> -But there came no answer. Pepita apparently had gone to bed, was fast -asleep by now. But what had become of Bertrand? -</p> - -<p> -Full of vague misgivings, her nerves tingling with a nameless fear, -Theresia picked up the candle and tip-toed down the passage. Outside -Pepita's door she paused and listened. Her large dark eyes looked weird -in their expression of puzzlement and of awe, the flickering light of -the candle throwing gleams of orange-coloured lights into the depths of -the widely dilated pupils. -</p> - -<p> -"Pepita!" she called; and somehow the sound of her own voice added to -her terror. Strange that she should be frightened like this in her own -familiar apartment, and with a faithful, sturdy maid sleeping the other -side of this thin partition wall! -</p> - -<p> -"Pepita!" Theresia's voice was shaking. She tried to open the door, but -it was locked. Why had Pepita, contrary to her habit, locked herself in? -Had she, too, been a prey to some unexplainable panic? Theresia knocked -against the door, rattled the handle in its socket, called more loudly -and more insistently, "Pepita!" and, receiving no reply, fell, -half-swooning with fear, against the partition wall, whilst the candle -slipped out of her trembling grasp and fell with a clatter to the -ground. -</p> - -<p> -She was now in complete darkness, with senses reeling and brain -paralyzed. How long she remained thus, in a state bordering on collapse, -she did not know; probably not more than a minute or so. Consciousness -returned quickly, and with it the cold sweat of an abject fear; for -through this returning consciousness she had perceived a groan issuing -from behind the locked door. But her knees were still shaking; she felt -unable to move. -</p> - -<p> -"Pepita!" she called again; and to her own ears her voice sounded hoarse -and muffled. Straining her ears and holding her breath, she once more -caught the sound of a smothered groan. -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon, driven into action by the obvious distress of her maid, -Theresia recovered a certain measure of self-control. Pulling herself -vigorously together, she began by groping for the candle which had -dropped out of her hand a while ago. Even as she stooped down for this -she contrived to say in a moderately clear and firm voice: -</p> - -<p> -"Courage, Pepita! I'll find the light and come back." Then she added: "Are -you able to unlock the door?" -</p> - -<p> -To this, however, she received no reply save another muffled groan. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia now was on her hands and knees, groping for the candlestick. -Then a strange thing happened. Her hands, as they wandered vaguely along -the flagged floor, encountered a small object, which proved to be a key. -In an instant she was on her feet again, her fingers running over the -door until they encountered the keyhole. Into this she succeeded, after -further groping, in inserting the key; it fitted, and turned the lock. -She pushed open the door, and remained paralyzed with surprise upon the -threshold. -</p> - -<p> -Pepita was reclining in an arm-chair, her hands tied behind her, a -woollen shawl wound loosely around her mouth. In a distant corner of the -room, a small oil-lamp, turned very low, cast a glimmer of light upon -the scene. For Theresia to ran to the pinioned woman and undo the bonds -that held her was but the work of a few seconds. -</p> - -<p> -"Pepita!" she cried. "What in heaven's name has happened?" -</p> - -<p> -The woman seemed not much the worse for her enforced duress. She -groaned, and even swore under her breath, and indeed appeared more dazed -than hurt Theresia, impatient and excited, had to shake her more than -once vigorously by the shoulder before she was able to gather her -scattered wits together. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is M. Bertrand?" Theresia asked repeatedly, ere she got a reply -from her bewildered maid. -</p> - -<p> -At last Pepita was able to speak. -</p> - -<p> -"In very truth, Madame," she said slowly. "I do not know." -</p> - -<p> -"How do you mean, you do not know?" Theresia queried, with a deepened -frown. -</p> - -<p> -"Just what I say, my pigeon," Pepita retorted with marked acerbity. "You -ask me what has happened, and I say I do not know. You want to know what -has become of M. Bertrand. Then go and look for yourself. When last I -saw him, he was in the kitchen, unfit to move, the poor cabbage!" -</p> - -<p> -"But, Pepita," Theresia insisted, and stamped her foot with impatience, -"you must know how you came to be sitting here, pinioned and muffled. -Who did it? Who has been here? God preserve the woman, will she never -speak!" -</p> - -<p> -Pepita by now had fully recovered her senses. She had struggled to her -feet, and went to take up the lamp, then led the way toward the door, -apparently intent on finding out for herself what had become of M. -Bertrand, and in no way sharing her mistress's unreasoning terror. She -halted on the threshold and turned to Theresia, who quite mechanically -started to follow her. -</p> - -<p> -"M. Bertrand was sitting in the arm-chair in the kitchen," she said -simply. "I was arranging a cushion for his head, to make him more -comfortable, when suddenly a shawl was flung over my head without the -slightest warning. I had seen nothing; I had not heard the merest sound. -And I had not the time to utter a scream before I was muffled up in -the shawl. Then I was lifted off the ground as if I were a sack of -feathers, and I just remember smelling something acrid which made my -head spin round and round. But I remember nothing more after that until -I heard voices in the vestibule when thy guests were going away. Then I -heard thy voice and tried to make thee hear mine. And that is all!" -</p> - -<p> -"When did that happen, Pepita?" -</p> - -<p> -"Soon after the last of thy guests had arrived. I remember I looked at -the clock. It must have been half an hour after midnight." -</p> - -<p> -While the woman spoke, Theresia had remained standing in the middle of -the room, looking in the gloom like an elfin apparition, with her -clinging, diaphanous draperies. A frown of deep puzzlement lay between -her brows and her lips were tightly pressed together as if in wrath; but -she said nothing more, and when Pepita, lamp in hand, went out of the -room, she followed. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -When, the kitchen door being opened, that room was found to be empty, -Theresia was no longer surprised. Somehow she had expected this. She -knew that Bertrand would be gone. The windows of the kitchen gave on the -ubiquitous wrought-iron balcony, as did all the other windows of the -apartment. That those windows were unfastened, had only been pushed to -from the outside, appeared to her as a matter of course. It was not -Bertrand who had thrown the shawl over Pepita's head; therefore some one -had come in from the outside and had kidnapped Bertrand—some one who -was peculiarly bold and daring. He had not come in from the balcony and -through the window, because the latter had been fastened as usual by -Pepita much earlier in the evening. No! He had gone that way, taking -Bertrand with him; but he must have entered the place in some other -mysterious manner, like a disembodied sprite bent on mischief or -mystery. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst Pepita fumbled and grumbled, Theresia started on a tour of -inspection. Still deeply puzzled, she was no longer afraid. With Pepita -to speak to and the lamps all turned on, her habitual courage and -self-possession had quickly returned to her. She had no belief in the -supernatural. Her materialistic, entirely rational mind at once rejected -the supposition, hinted at by Pepita, that magical powers had been at -work to take Bertrand Moncrif to a place of safety. -</p> - -<p> -Something was going on in her brain, certain theories, guesses, -conjectures, which she was passionately eager to set at rest. Nor did it -take her long. Candle in hand, she had gone round to explore. No sooner -had she entered her own bedroom than the solution of the mystery lay -revealed before her, in a shutter, forced open from the outside, a -broken pane of glass which had allowed a hand to creep in and -surreptitiously turn the handle of the tall French window to allow of -easy ingress. It had been quickly and cleverly done; the splinters of -glass had made no noise as they fell upon the carpet. But for the -disappearance of Bertrand, the circumstances suggested a nimble -housebreaker rather than a benevolent agency for the rescue of young -rashlings in distress. -</p> - -<p> -The frown of puzzlement deepened on Theresia Cabarrus's brow, and her -mobile mouth with the perfectly arched if somewhat thin lips expressed a -kind of feline anger, whilst the hand that held the pewter candlestick -trembled perceptibly. -</p> - -<p> -Pepita's astonishment expressed itself by sundry exclamations: "Name of -a name!" and "Is it possible?" The explanation of the mystery had -loosened her tongue, and while she set stolidly to work to clear up the -debris of glass in her mistress's bedroom, she allowed free rein to her -indignation against the impudent marauder, who no doubt had only been -foiled in his attempt at wholesale robbery by some lucky circumstance -which would presently come to light. -</p> - -<p> -The worthy old peasant absolutely refused to connect the departure of M. -Bertrand with so obvious an attempt at housebreaking. -</p> - -<p> -"M. Bertrand was determined to go, the poor cabbage!" she said -decisively, "since thou didst make him understand that his staying here -was a danger to thee. He no doubt took an opportunity to slip out of the -front door whilst thou wast engaged in conversation with that pack of -murderers, whom may the good God punish one of these days!" -</p> - -<p> -From which remark we may gather that Pepita had not imbibed -revolutionary ideals with the air of her native Andalusia. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus, wearied beyond endurance by all the events of this -night, as well as by her old servant's incessant gabble, finally sent -her, still muttering and grumbling, to bed. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap12"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XII -<br /><br /> -CHAUVELIN</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Theresia had opposed a stern refusal to Pepita's request that she might -put her mistress to bed before she herself went to rest. She did not -want to go to bed; she wanted to think. And now that that peculiar air -of mystery, that silence and semi-darkness no longer held their gruesome -sway in her apartment, she did not feel afraid. -</p> - -<p> -Pepita went to bed. For awhile, Theresia could hear her moving about, -with ponderous, shuffling footsteps; then, presently everything was -still. The clock of old St. Roch struck three. Not much more than half -an hour had gone by since her guests had departed. To Theresia it seemed -like an infinity of time. The sense of a baffling mystery being at work -around her had roused her ire and killed all latent fear. -</p> - -<p> -But what was the mystery? -</p> - -<p> -And was there a mystery at all? Or was Pepita's rational explanation of -the occurrence of this night the right one after all? -</p> - -<p> -Citoyenne Cabarrus, unable to sit still, wandered up and down the -passage, in and out of the kitchen; in and out of her bedroom, and -thence into the vestibule. Then back again. At one moment, when standing -in the vestibule, she thought she heard some one moving on the landing -outside the front door. Her heart beat a little more rapidly, but she -was not afraid. She did not believe in housebreakers and she felt that -Pepita, who was a very light sleeper, was well within call. -</p> - -<p> -So she went to the front door and opened it. The quick cry which she -gave was one of surprise rather than of fear. In her belated visitor she -had recognised citizen Chauvelin; and somehow, by a vague process of -reasoning, his presence just at this moment seemed quite rational—in -keeping with the unsolved mystery that was so baffling to the fair -Theresia. -</p> - -<p> -"May I come in, citoyenne?" Chauvelin said in a whisper. "It is late, I -know; but there is urgency." -</p> - -<p> -He was standing on the threshold, and she, a few paces away from him in -the vestibule. The candle, which now burned low in its socket, was -behind her. Its light touched with a weird, flickering glow the pale -face of the once noted Terrorist, with its pale eyes and sharply hooked -nose, which gave him the air of a gaunt bird of prey. -</p> - -<p> -"It is late," she murmured vaguely. "What do you want?" -</p> - -<p> -"Something has happened," he replied, still speaking below his breath. -"Something which concerns you. And, before speaking of it to citizen -Robespierre——" -</p> - -<p> -At the dread name Theresia stepped farther back into the vestibule. -</p> - -<p> -"Enter!" she said curtly. -</p> - -<p> -He came in, and she closed the door carefully behind him. Then she led -the way into the withdrawing room and turned up the wick of the lamp -under its rosy shade. She sat down and motioned to him to do the same. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -Before replying, Chauvelin's finger and thumb—thin and pointed like -the talons of a vulture—went fumbling in the pocket of his waistcoat. -From it he extracted a small piece of neatly folded paper. -</p> - -<p> -"When we left your apartment, citoyenne—my friend St. Just and I -supporting poor palsied Couthon, and Robespierre following close behind -us—I spied this scrap of paper, which St. Just's careless foot had -just kicked to one side when he was stepping across the threshold. Some -unknown hand must have insinuated it underneath the door. Now, I never -despise stray bits of paper. I have had so many through my hands that -proved after examination to be of paramount importance. So, whilst the -others were busy with their own affairs I, unseen by them, had already -stooped and picked the paper up." -</p> - -<p> -He paused for a moment or two, then, satisfied that he held the -beautiful woman's undivided attention, he went on in his habitual, dry, -urbane monotone: -</p> - -<p> -"Now, though I was quite sure in my own mind, citoyenne, that this -billet-doux was intended for your fair hands, I felt that, as its -finder, I had some sort of lien upon it——" -</p> - -<p> -"To the point, citizen, I pray you!" Theresia broke in harshly, tried by -a show of impatience and of fatigue to hide the anxiety which had once -more taken possession of her heart. "You found a letter addressed to me; -you read it. As you have brought it here, I presume that you wish me to -know its contents. So get on, man, get on!" she added more vehemently. -"It is not at three in the morning that one cares for dalliance." -</p> - -<p> -By way of a reply, Chauvelin slowly unfolded the note and began to read: -</p> - -<p> -"'Bertrand Moncrif is a young fool, but he is too good to be the -plaything of a sleek black pantheress, however beautiful she might be. -So I am taking him away to England where, in the arms of his -long-suffering and loyal sweetheart, he will soon forget the brief -madness which so nearly landed him on the guillotine and made of him a -tool to serve the selfish whims of Theresia Cabarrus.'" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia had listened to the brief, enigmatic epistle without displaying -the slightest sign of emotion or surprise. Now, when Chauvelin had -finished reading, and with his strange, dry smile handed her the tiny -note, she took it and for awhile contemplated it in silence, her face -perfectly placid save for a curious and ominous contraction of the brows -and a screwing-up of the fine eyes, which gave her a curious, snake-like -expression. -</p> - -<p> -"You know, of course, citoyenne," Chauvelin said after awhile, "who the -writer of this—shall we say?—impudent epistle happens to be?" -</p> - -<p> -She nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"The man," he went on placidly, "who goes by the name of the Scarlet -Pimpernel. The impudent English adventurer whom citizen Robespierre has -asked <i>you</i> citoyenne, to lure into the net which we may spread for -him." -</p> - -<p> -Still Theresia was silent. She did not look at Chauvelin, but kept her -eyes fixed upon the scrap of paper, which she had folded into a long, -narrow ribbon and was twining in and out between her fingers. -</p> - -<p> -"A while ago, citoyenne," Chauvelin continued, "in this very room, you -refused to lend us a helping hand." -</p> - -<p> -Still no reply from Theresia. She had just smoothed out the mysterious -epistle, carefully folded it into four, and was in the act of slipping -it into the bosom of her gown. Chauvelin waited quite patiently. He was -accustomed to waiting, and patience was an integral part of his stock in -trade. Opportunism was another. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia was sitting on her favourite settee, leaning forward with her -hands clasped between her knees. Her head was bent, and the tiny -rose-shaded lamp failed to throw its glimmer of light upon her face. The -clock on the mantelshelf behind her was ticking with insentient -monotony. Anon, a distant chime struck the quarter after three. -Whereupon Chauvelin rose. -</p> - -<p> -"I think we understand one another, citoyenne," he said quietly, and -with a sigh of complete satisfaction. "It is late now. At what hour may -I have the privilege of seeing you alone?" -</p> - -<p> -"At three in the afternoon?" she replied tonelessly, like one speaking -in a dream. "Citizen Tallien is always at the Convention then, and my -door will be denied to everybody else." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll be here at three o'clock," was Chauvelin's final word. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia had not moved. He made her a deep bow and went out of the room. -The next moment the opening and shutting of the outer door proclaimed -that he had gone. After that, Theresia Cabarrus went to bed. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap13"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XIII -<br /><br /> -THE FISHERMAN'S REST</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -And whilst the whole of Europe was in travail with the repercussion of -the gigantic upheaval that was shaking France to its historic -foundations, the last few years had seen but very little change in this -little corner of England. -</p> - -<p> -<i>The Fisherman's Rest</i> stood where it had done for two centuries and -long before thrones had tottered and anointed heads fallen on the -scaffold. The oak rafters, black with age, the monumental hearth, the -tables and high-backed benches, seemed like mute testimonies to good -order and to tradition, just as the shiny pewter mugs, the foaming ale, -the brass that glittered like gold, bore witness to unimpaired -prosperity and an even, well-regulated life. -</p> - -<p> -Over in the kitchen yonder, Mistress Sally Waite, as she now was, still -ruled with a firm if somewhat hasty hand, the weight of which, so the -naughty gossips averred, even her husband, Master Harry Waite, had -experienced more than once. She still queened it over her father's -household, presided over his kitchen, and drove the young scullery -wenches to their task with her sharp tongue and an occasional slap. But -<i>The Fisherman's Rest</i> could not have gone on without her. The copper -saucepans would in truth not have glittered so, nor would the -home-brewed ale have tasted half so luscious to Master Jellyband's -faithful customers, had not Mistress Sally's strong brown hands drawn it -for them, with just the right amount of creamy foam on the top and not a -bit too much. -</p> - -<p> -And so it was still many a "Ho, Sally! 'Ere Sally! 'Ow long'll you be -with that there beer!" or "Say, Sally! A cut of your cheese and -home-baked bread; and look sharp about it!" that resounded from end to -end of the long, low-raftered coffee-room of <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i>, -on this fine May day of the year of grace 1794. -</p> - -<p> -Sally Waite, her muslin cap set at a becoming angle, her kerchief primly -folded over her well-developed bosom, and her kirtle neatly raised above -a pair of exceedingly shapely ankles, was in and out of the room, in and -out of the kitchen, tripping it like a benevolent if somewhat -substantial fairy, bandying chaff here, administering rebuke there, hot, -panting and excited. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -The while mine host, Master Jellyband—perhaps a shade more portly of -figure, a thought more bald of pate, these last two years—stood with -stubby legs firmly planted upon his own hearth, wherein, despite the -warmth of a glorious afternoon, a log fire blazed away merrily. He was -giving forth his views upon the political situation of Europe generally -with the self-satisfied assurance born of complete ignorance and true -British insular prejudice. -</p> - -<p> -Believe me, Mr. Jellyband was in no two minds about "them murderin' -furriners over yonder" who had done away with their King and Queen and -all their nobility and quality, and whom England had at last decided to -lick into shape. -</p> - -<p> -"And not a moment too soon, hark'ee, Mr. 'Empseed," he went on -sententiously. "And if I 'ad my way, we should 'ave punished 'em proper -long before this—blown their bloomin' Paris into smithereens, and -carried off the pore Queen afore those murderous villains 'ad 'er pretty -'ead off of 'er shoulders!" -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Hempseed, from his own privileged corner in the inglenook, was not -altogether prepared to admit that. -</p> - -<p> -"I am not for interfering with other folks' ways," he said, raising his -quaking treble so as to stem effectually the torrent of Master Jellyband's -eloquence. "As the Scriptures say——" -</p> - -<p> -"Keep your dirty fingers from off my waist!" came in decisive tones from -Mistress Sally Waite, whilst the shrill sound made by the violent -contact of a feminine hand against a manly cheek froze the Scriptural -quotation on Mr. Hempseed's lips. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, now then, Sally!" Mr. Jellyband thought fit to say in stern -tones, not liking his customers to be thus summarily dealt with. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, father," Sally retorted, with a toss of her brown curls, "you -just attend to your politics, and Mr. 'Empseed to 'is Scriptures, and -leave me to deal with them impudent jackanapes. You wait!" she added, -turning once more with a parting shot directed against the discomfited -offender. "If my 'Arry catches you at them tricks, you'll see what you -get—that's all!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sally!" Mr. Jellyband admonished more sternly this time. "You'll 'ave -my lord Hastings 'ere before 'is dinner is ready." -</p> - -<p> -Which suggestion so overawed Mistress Sally that she promptly forgot the -misdoings of the forward swain and failed to hear the sarcastic chuckle -which greeted the mention of her husband's name. With an excited little -cry, she ran quickly out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Hempseed, loftily unaware of interruption, concluded his sententious -remark: -</p> - -<p> -"As the Scriptures say, Mr. Jellyband: 'Ave no fellowship with the -unfruitful work of darkness.' I don't 'old not with interfering. -Remember what the Scriptures say: 'E that committeth sin is of the -devil, and the devil sinneth from the beginning,'" he concluded with -sublime irrelevance, sagely nodding his head. -</p> - -<p> -But Mr. Jellyband was not thus lightly to be confounded in his -argument—no, not by any quotation, relevant or otherwise! -</p> - -<p> -"All very fine, Mr. 'Empseed," he said, "and good enough for -them 'oo, like yourself, are willin' to side with them murderin' -reprobates. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Like myself, Mr. Jellyband?" protested Mr. Hempseed, with as much -vigour as his shrill treble would allow. "Nay, but I'm not for them -children of darkness——" -</p> - -<p> -"You may be or you may not," Mr. Jellyband went on, nothing daunted. -"There be many as are, and 'oo'd say 'Let 'em murder,' even now. But I -say that them as 'oo talk that way are not true Englishmen; for 'tis we -Englishmen 'oo can teach the furriner just what 'e may do and what 'e -may not. And as we've got the ships and the men and the money, we can -just fight 'em as are not of our way o' thinkin'. And let me tell you, -Mr. 'Empseed, that I'm prepared to back my opinions 'gainst any man as -don't agree with me!" -</p> - -<p> -For the nonce Mr. Hempseed was silent. True, a Scriptural text did hover -on his thin, quivering lips; but as no one paid any heed to him for the -moment its appositeness will for ever remain doubtful. The honours of -victory rested with Mr. Jellyband. Such lofty patriotism, coupled with -so much sound knowledge of political affairs, could not fail to leave -its impress upon the more ignorant and the less fervent amongst the -frequenters of <i>The Fisherman's Rest.</i> -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, who was more qualified to pass an opinion on current events than -the host of that much-frequented resort, seeing that the ladies and -gentlemen of quality who came to England from over the water, so as to -escape all them murtherin' reprobates in their own country, did most -times halt at <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i> on their way to London or to -Bath? And though Mr. Jellyband did not know a word of French—no -furrin lingo for him, thank 'ee!—he nevertheless had mixed with -all that nobility and gentry for over two years now, and had learned all -that there was to know about the life over there, and about Mr. Pitt's -intentions to put a stop to all those abominations. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -Even now, hardly had mine host's conversation with his favoured -customers assumed a more domestic turn, than a loud clatter on the -cobblestones outside, a jingle and a rattle, shouts, laughter and -hustle, announced the arrival of guests who were privileged to make as -much noise as they pleased. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Jellyband ran to the door, shouted for Sally at the top of his -voice, with a "Here's my lord Hastings!" to add spur to Sally's hustle. -Politics were forgotten for the nonce, arguments set aside, in the -excitement of welcoming the quality. -</p> - -<p> -Three young gallants in travelling clothes, smart of appearance and -debonair of mien, were ushering a party of strangers—three ladies -and two men—into the hospitable porch of <i>The Fisherman's -Rest.</i> The little party had walked across from the inner harbour, -where the graceful masts of an elegant schooner lately arrived in port -were seen gently swaying against the delicately coloured afternoon sky. -Three or four sailors from the schooner were carrying luggage, which -they deposited in the hall of the inn, then touched their forelocks in -response to a pleasant smile and nod from the young lords. -</p> - -<p> -"This way, my lord," Master Jellyband reiterated with jovial -obsequiousness. "Everything is ready. This way! Hey, Sallee!" he called -again; and Sally, hot, excited, blushing, came tripping over from the -kitchen, wiping her hot, plump palms against her apron in anticipation -of shaking hands with their lordships. -</p> - -<p> -"Since Mr. Waite isn't anywhere about," my lord Hastings said gaily, as -he put a bold arm round Mistress Sally's dainty waist, "I'll e'en have a -kiss, my pretty one." -</p> - -<p> -"And I, too, by gad, for old sake's sake!" Lord Tony asserted, and -planked a hearty kiss on Mistress Sally's dimpled cheek. -</p> - -<p> -"At your service, my lords, at your service!" Master Jellyband rejoined, -laughing. Then added more soberly: "Now then, Sally, show the ladies up -into the blue room, the while their lordships 'ave a first shake down in -the coffee-room. This way, gentlemen—your lordships—this way!" -</p> - -<p> -The strangers in the meanwhile had stood by, wide-eyed and somewhat -bewildered in face of this exuberant hilarity which was so unlike what -they had pictured to themselves of dull, fog-ridden England—so -unlike, too, the dreary moroseness which of late had replaced the -erstwhile light-hearted gaiety of their own countrymen. The porch and -the narrow hall of <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i> appeared to them seething -with vitality. Every one was talking, nobody seemed to listen; every one -was merry, and every one knew everybody else and was pleased to meet -them. Sonorous laughter echoed from end to end along the solid beams, -black and shiny with age. It all seemed so homely, so happy. The -deference paid to the young gallants and to them as strangers by the -sailors and the innkeeper was so genuine and hearty, without the -slightest sign of servility, that those five people who had left behind -them so much class-hatred, enmity and cruelty in their own country, felt -an unaccountable tightening of the heart, a few hot tears rise to their -eyes, partly of joy, but partly too of regret. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -Lord Hastings, the youngest and merriest of the English party, guided -the two Frenchmen toward the coffee-room, with many a jest in atrocious -French and kindly words of encouragement, all intended to put the -strangers at their ease. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes—a trifle more -serious and earnest, yet equally happy and excited at the success of -their perilous adventure and at the prospect of reunion with their -wives—lingered a moment longer in the hall, in order to speak with -the sailors who had brought the luggage along. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know aught of Sir Percy?" Lord Tony asked. -</p> - -<p> -"No, my lord," the sailor gave answer; "not since he went ashore early -this morning. 'Er Ladyship was waitin' for 'im on the pier. Sir Percy -just ran up the steps and then 'e shouted to us to get back quickly. -'Tell their lordships,' 'e says, 'I'll meet them at <i>The Rest.</i>' And -then Sir Percy and 'er ladyship just walked off and we saw naun more of -them." -</p> - -<p> -"That was many hours ago," Sir Andrew Ffoulkes mused with an inward -smile. He too saw visions of meeting his pretty Suzanne very soon, and -walking away with her into the land of dreams. -</p> - -<p> -"'Twas just six o'clock when Sir Percy 'ad the boat lowered," the sailor -rejoined. "And we rowed quick back after we landed 'im. But the -<i>Day-Dream</i>, she 'ad to wait for the tide. We wurr a long while -gettin' into port." -</p> - -<p> -Sir Andrew nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"You don't know," he said, "if the skipper had any further orders?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know, sir," the man replied. "But we mun be in readiness -always. No one knows when Sir Percy may wish to set sail again." -</p> - -<p> -The two young men said nothing more, and presently the sailors touched -their forelocks and went away. Lord Tony and Sir Andrew exchanged -knowing smiles. They could easily picture to themselves their beloved -chief, indefatigable, like a boy let out from school, exhilarated by the -deadly danger through which he had once more passed unscathed, clasping -his adored wife in his arms and wandering off with her, heaven knew -whither, living his life of joy and love and happiness during the brief -hours which his own indomitable energy, his reckless courage, accorded -to the sentimental side of his complex nature. -</p> - -<p> -Far too impatient to wait until the tide allowed the <i>Day-Dream</i> to -get into port, he had been rowed ashore in the early dawn, and his -beautiful Marguerite—punctual to the assignation conveyed to her -by one of those mysterious means of which Percy alone knew the -secret—was there ready to receive him, to forget in the shelter of -his arms the days of racking anxiety and of cruel terror for her beloved -through which she had again and again been forced to pass. -</p> - -<p> -Neither Lord Tony nor Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, the Scarlet Pimpernel's most -faithful and devoted lieutenants, begrudged their chief these extra -hours of bliss, the while they were left in charge of the party so -lately rescued from horrible death. They knew that within a day or -two—within a few hours, perhaps—Blakeney would tear himself -away once more from the clinging embrace of his exquisite wife, from the -comfort and luxury of an ideal home, from the adulation of friends, the -pleasures of wealth and of fashion, in order mayhap to grovel in the -squalor and filth of some outlandish corner of Paris, where he could be -in touch with the innocents who suffered—the poor, the -terror-stricken victims of the merciless revolution. Within a few hours, -mayhap, he would be risking his life again every moment of the day, in -order to save some poor hunted fellow-creature—man, woman or -child—from death that threatened them at the hands of inhuman -monsters who knew neither mercy nor compunction. -</p> - -<p> -As for the nineteen members of the League, they took it in turns to -follow their leader where danger was thickest. It was a privilege -eagerly sought, deserved by all, and accorded to those who were most -highly trusted. It was invariably followed by a period of rest in happy -England, with wife, friends, joy and luxury. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord -Anthony Dewhurst and my lord Hastings had been of the expedition which -brought Mme. de Serval with her three children and Bertrand Moncrif -safely to England, after adventures more perilous, more reckless of -danger, than most. Within a few hours they would be free to forget in -the embrace of clinging arms every peril and every adventure save the -eternal one of love, free to forswear everything outside that, save -their veneration for their chief and their loyalty to his cause. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap14"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XIV -<br /><br /> -THE CASTAWAY</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -An excellent dinner served by Mistress Sally and her attendant little -wenches put everybody into rare good-humour. Madame de Serval—pale, -delicate, with gentle, plaintive voice and eyes that had acquired a -pathetically furtive look—even contrived to smile, her heart warmed -by the genuine welcome, the rare gaiety that irradiated this fortunate -corner of God's earth. Wars and rumours of war reached it only as an -echo of great things that went on in the vast outside world; and though -more than one of Dover's gallant sons had perished in one or the other -of the Duke of York's unfortunate incursions into Holland, or in one of -the numerous naval engagements off the Western shores of France, on the -whole, the war, intermittent and desultory, had not yet cast its heavy -gloom over the entire country. -</p> - -<p> -Joséphine and Jacques de Serval, whose enthusiasm for martyrdom had -received so severe a check in the course of the Fraternal Supper in the -Rue St. Honoré, had at first with the self-consciousness of youth -adopted an attitude of obstinate and irreclaimable sorrow, until the antics -of Master Harry Waite, pretty Sally's husband—jealous as a young -turkey-cock of every gallant who dared to ogle his buxom wife—brought -laughter to their lips. My lord Hastings' comical attempts at speaking -French, the droll mistakes he made, easily did the rest; and soon their -lively, high-pitched Latin voices mingled with unimpaired gaiety with -the more mellow sound of Anglo-Saxon tongues. -</p> - -<p> -Even Régine de Serval had smiled when my lord Hastings had asked her -with grave solemnity whether Mme. de Serval would wish "le fou de -descendre"—the lunatic to come downstairs—meaning all the while -whether she wanted the fire in the big hearth to be let down, seeing -that the atmosphere in the coffee-room was growing terribly hot. -</p> - -<p> -The only one who seemed quite unable to shake off his moroseness was -Bertrand Moncrif. He sat next to Régine, silent, somewhat sullen, a -look that seemed almost one of dull resentment lingering in his eyes. -From time to time, when he appeared peculiarly moody or when he refused -to eat, her little hand would steal out under the table and press his -with a gentle, motherly gesture. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -It was when the merry meal was over and while Master Jellyband was going -the round with a fine bottle of smuggled brandy, which the young -gentlemen sipped with unmistakable relish, that a commotion arose -outside the inn; whereupon Master Harry Waite ran out of the coffee-room -in order to see what was amiss. -</p> - -<p> -Nothing very much apparently. Waite came back after a moment or two and -said that two sailors from the barque <i>Angela</i> were outside with a -young French lad, who seemed more dead than alive, and whom it appears the -barque had picked up just outside French waters, in an open boat, half -perished with terror and inanition. As the lad spoke nothing but French, -the sailors had brought him along to <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i>, thinking -that maybe some of the quality would care to interrogate him. -</p> - -<p> -At once Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, my lord Tony and Lord Hastings were on the -qui vive. A lad in distress, coming from France, found alone in an open -boat, suggested one of those tragedies in which the League of the -Scarlet Pimpernel was wont to play a rôle. -</p> - -<p> -"Let the lad be taken into the parlour, Jellyband," Sir Andrew -commanded. "You've got a fire there, haven't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes, Sir Andrew! We always keep fires going here until past the -15th of May." -</p> - -<p> -"Well then, get him in there. Then give him some of your smuggled brandy -first, you old dog! then some wine and food. After that we'll find out -something more about him." -</p> - -<p> -He himself went along in order to see that his orders were carried out -Jellyband, as usual, had already deputed his daughter to do the -necessary, and in the hall there was Mistress Sally, capable and -compassionate, supporting, almost carrying, a youth who in truth -appeared scarce able to stand. -</p> - -<p> -She led him gently into the small private parlour, where a cheerful -log-fire was blazing, sat him down in an arm-chair beside the hearth, -after which Master Jellyband himself poured half a glass of brandy down -the poor lad's throat. This revived him a little, and he looked about -him with huge, scared eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Sainte Mère de Dieu!" he murmured feebly. "Where am I?" -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind about that now, my lad," replied Sir Andrew, whose knowledge -of French was of a distinctly higher order than that of his comrades. -"You are among friends. That is enough. Have something to eat and drink -now. Later we'll talk." -</p> - -<p> -He was eyeing the boy keenly. Contact with suffering and misery over -there in France, under the leadership of the most selfless, most -understanding man of this or any time, had intensified his powers of -perception. Even the first glance had revealed to him the fact that here -was no ordinary waif. The lad spoke with a gentle, highly refined voice; -his skin was delicate, and his face exquisitely beautiful; his hands, -though covered with grime, and his feet, encased in huge, coarse boots, -were small and daintily shaped, like those of a woman. Already Sir -Andrew had made up his mind that if the oilskin cap which sat so -extraordinarily tightly on the boy's head were to be removed, a wealth -of long hair would certainly he revealed. -</p> - -<p> -However, all these facts, which threw over the young stranger a further -veil of mystery, could not in all humanity he investigated now. Sir -Andrew Ffoulkes, with the consummate tact born of kindliness, left the -lad alone as soon as he appeared able to sit up and eat, and himself -rejoined his friends in the coffee-room. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap15"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XV -<br /><br /> -THE NEST</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -No one, save a very few intimates, knew of the little nest wherein Sir -Percy Blakeney and his lady hid their happiness on those occasions when -the indefatigable Scarlet Pimpernel was only able to spend a few hours -in England, and when a journey to their beautiful home in Richmond could -not be thought of. The house—it was only a cottage, timbered and -creeper-clad—lay about a mile and half outside Dover off the main -road, perched up high on rising ground over a narrow lane. It had a small -garden round it, which in May was ablaze with daffodils and bluebells, -and in June with roses. Two faithful servants, a man and his wife, -looked after the place, kept the nest cosy and warm whenever her -ladyship wearied of fashion, or else, actually expecting Sir Percy, -would come down from London for a day or two in order to dream of that -elusive and transient happiness for which her soul hungered, even while -her indomitable spirit accepted the inevitable. -</p> - -<p> -A few days ago the weakly courier from France had brought her a line -from Sir Percy, together with the promise that she should rest in his -arms on the 1st of May. And Marguerite had come down to the -creeper-covered cottage knowing that, despite obstacles which might -prove insuperable to others, Percy would keep his word. -</p> - -<p> -She had stolen out at dawn to wait for him on the pier; and sure enough, -as soon as the May day sun, which had risen to-day in his glory as if to -crown her brief happiness with warmth and radiance, had dissipated the -morning mist, her yearning eyes had spied the smart white gig which had -put off from the <i>Day-Dream</i>, leaving the graceful ship to await the -turn of the tide before putting into port. -</p> - -<p> -Since then, every moment of the day had been one of rapture. The first -sight of her husband in his huge caped coat, which seemed to add further -inches to his great height, his call of triumph when he saw her, his -arms outstretched, there, far away in the small boat, with a gesture of -such infinite longing that for a second or two tears obscured -Marguerite's vision. Then the drawing up of the boat against the -landing-stage; Percy's spring ashore; his voice, his look; the strength -of his arms; the ardour of his embrace. Rapture, in truth, to which the -thought of its brief duration alone lent a touch of bitterness. -</p> - -<p> -But of parting again Marguerite would not think—not to-day, while the -birds were singing a deafening pæon of joy; not while the scent of -growing grass, of moist, travailing earth, was in her nostrils; not -while the sap was in the trees, and the gummy crimson buds of the -chestnuts were bursting into leaf. Not while she wandered up the narrow -lane between hedges of blackthorn in bloom, with Percy's arm around her, -his loved voice in her ear, his merry laughter echoing through the sweet -morning air. -</p> - -<p> -After that, breakfast in the low, raftered room—the hot, savoury -milk, the home-baked bread, the home-churned butter. Then the long, -delicious, intimate talk of love, and of yearnings, of duty and gallant -deeds. Blakeney kept nothing secret from his wife; and what he did not -tell her, that she easily guessed. But it was from the members of the -League that she learned all there was to know of heroism and -selflessness in the perilous adventures through which her husband passed -with so light-hearted a gaiety. -</p> - -<p> -"You should see me as an asthmatic reprobate, m'dear," he would say, -with his infectious laugh. "And hear that cough! Lud love you, but I am -mightily proud of that cough! Poor old Rateau does not do it better -himself; and he is genuinely asthmatic." -</p> - -<p> -He gave her an example of his prowess; but she would not allow him to go -on. The sound was too weird, and conjured up visions which to-day she -would fain forget. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau was a real find," he went on more seriously; "because he is -three parts an imbecile and as obedient as a dog. When some of those -devils are on my track, lo! the real Rateau appears and yours truly -vanishes where no one can find him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Pray God," she murmured involuntarily, "they never may!" -</p> - -<p> -"They won't, m'dear, they won't!" he asserted with light-hearted -conviction. "They have become so confused now between Rateau the -coalheaver, the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, and the problematic -English milor, that all three of these personalities can appear before -their eyes and they will let 'em all escape! I assure you that the -confusion between the Scarlet Pimpernel who was in the antechamber of -Mother Théot on that fateful afternoon, and again at the Fraternal -Supper in the Rue St Honoré, and the real Rateau who was at Mother -Théot's while that same exciting supper party was going on, was so -great that not one of those murdering reprobates could trust his own -eyes and ears, and that we got away as easily as rabbits out of a torn -net." -</p> - -<p> -Thus did he explain and laugh over the perilous adventure where he had -faced a howling mob disguised as Rateau the coalheaver, and with almost -superhuman pluck and boldness had dragged Mme. de Serval and her -children into the derelict house which was one of the League's -headquarters. That is how he characterised the extraordinary feat of -audacity when, in order to give his gallant lieutenants time to smuggle -the unfortunates out of the house through a back and secret way, he -showed himself on the balcony above the multitude, and hurled dummy -figures into the brazier below. Then came the story of Bertrand Moncrif, -snatched half-unconscious out of the apartment of fair Theresia -Cabarrus, whilst Robespierre himself sat not half a dozen yards away, -with only the thickness of a wall between him and his arch-enemy. -</p> - -<p> -"How the woman must hate you!" Marguerite murmured, with a slight -shudder of acute anxiety which she did her best to conceal. "There are -things that a woman like the Cabarrus will never forgive. Whether she -cares for Bertrand Moncrif or no, her vanity will suffer intensely, and -she will never forgive you for taking him out of her clutches." -</p> - -<p> -He laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Lud, m' dear!" he said lightly. "If we were to take heed of all the -people who hate us we should spend our lives pondering rather than -doing. And all I want to ponder over," he added, whilst his glance of -passionate earnestness seemed to envelop her like an exquisite, warm -mantle, "is your beauty, your eyes, the scent of your hair, the -delicious flavour of your kiss!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -It was some hours later on that same glorious day, when the shadows of -ash and chestnut lay right across the lane and the arms of evening -folded the cosy nest in their mysterious embrace, that Sir Percy and -Marguerite sat in the deep window-embrasure of the tiny living-room. He -had thrown open wide the casements, and hand resting in hand, they -watched the last ray of golden light lingering in the west and listened -to the twitterings which came like tender "good nights" from the -newly-built nests among the trees. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of those perfect spring evenings, rare enough in northern -climes, without a breath of wind, when every sound carries clear and -sharp through the stillness around. The air was soft and slightly moist, -with a tang in it of wakening life and of rising sap, and with the scent -of wild narcissus and of wood violets rising like intoxicating incense -to the nostrils. It was in truth one of those evenings when happiness -itself seems rudely out of place and nature—exquisite, but so cruelly -transient in her loveliness—demands the tribute of gentle melancholy. -</p> - -<p> -A thrush said something to its mate—something insistent and tender -that lulled them both to rest. After that, Nature became quite still, and -Marguerite, with a catch in her throat which she would have given much -to suppress, laid her head upon her husband's breast. -</p> - -<p> -Then it was that suddenly a man's voice, hoarse but distinct, broke in -upon the perfect peace around. What it said could not at first be -gathered. It took some time ere Marguerite became sufficiently conscious -of the disturbing noise to raise her head and listen. As for Sir Percy, -he was wrapped in the contemplation of the woman he worshipped, and -nothing short of an earthquake would have dragged him back to reality, -had not Marguerite raised herself on her knees and quickly whispered: -</p> - -<p> -"Listen!" -</p> - -<p> -The man's voice had been answered by a woman's, raised as if in defiance -that seemed both pitiful and futile. -</p> - -<p> -"You cannot harm me now. I am in England!" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite leaned out of the window, tried to peer into the darkness -which was fast gathering over the lane. The voices had come from there: -first the man's, then the woman's, and now the man's again; both -speaking in French, the woman obviously terrified and pleading, the man -harsh and commanding. Now it was raised again, more incisive and -distinct than before, and Marguerite had in truth some difficulty in -repressing the cry that rose to her lips. She had recognized the man's -voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Chauvelin!" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye, in England, citoyenne!" that ominous voice went on dryly. "But the -arm of justice is long. And remember that you are not the first who has -tried—unsuccessfully, let me tell you!—to evade punishment -by flying to the enemies of France. Wherever you may hide, I will know -how to find you. Have I not found you here, now?—and you but a few -hours in Dover?" -</p> - -<p> -"But you cannot touch me!" the woman protested with the courage of one -in despair. -</p> - -<p> -The man laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you really simple enough, citoyenne," he said, "to be convinced of -that?" -</p> - -<p> -This sarcastic retort was followed by a moment or two of silence, then -by a woman's cry; and in an instant Sir Percy was on his feet and out of -the house. Marguerite followed him as far as the porch, whence the -sloping ground, aided by flagged steps here and there, led down to the -gate and thence on to the lane. -</p> - -<p> -It was close beside the gate that a human-looking bundle lay huddled, -when Sir Percy came upon the scene, even whilst, some fifty yards away -at the sharp bend of the lane, a man could be seen walking rapidly away, -his pace wellnigh at a run. Sir Percy's instinct was for giving chase, -but the huddled-up figure put out a pair of arms and clung to him so -desperately, with smothered cries of: "For pity's sake, don't leave me!" -that it would have been inhuman to go. And so he bent down, raised the -human bundle from the ground, and carried it bodily up into the house. -</p> - -<p> -Here he deposited his burden upon the window seat, where but a few -moments ago he had been wrapped in the contemplation of Marguerite's -eyelashes, and with his habitual quaint good-humour, said: -</p> - -<p> -"I leave the rest to you, m'dear. My French is too atrocious for dealing -with the case." -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite understood the hint. Sir Percy, whose command of French was -nothing short of phenomenal, never used the language save when engaged -in his perilous undertakings. His perfect knowledge of every idiom would -have set any ill-intentioned eavesdropper thinking. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -The human bundle looked very pathetic lying there upon the window seat, -propped up with cushions. It appeared to be a youth, dressed in rough -fisherman's clothes and with a cap that fitted tightly round the head; -but with hands delicate as a woman's and a face of exquisite beauty. -</p> - -<p> -Without another word, Marguerite quietly took hold of the cap and gently -removed it. A wealth of blue-black hair fell like a cascade over the -recumbent shoulders. "I thought as much!" Sir Percy remarked quietly, -even whilst the stranger, apparently terrified, jumped up and burst into -tears, moaning piteously: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Sainte Vierge, protégez-moi!" -</p> - -<p> -There was nothing to do but to wait; and anon the first paroxysm of -grief and terror passed. The stranger, with a wry little smile, took the -handkerchief which Lady Blakeney was holding out to her and proceeded to -dry her tears. Then she looked up at the kind Samaritans who had -befriended her. -</p> - -<p> -"I am an impostor, I know," she said, with lips that quivered like those -of a child in grief. "But if you only knew. . .!" -</p> - -<p> -She sat bolt upright now, squeezing and twirling the wet handkerchief -between her fingers. -</p> - -<p> -"Some kind English gentlemen were good to me, down in the town," she -went on more glibly. "They gave me food and shelter, and I was left -alone to rest. But I felt stifled in the narrow room. I could hear every -one talking and laughing, and the evening air was so beautiful. So I -ventured out. I only meant to breathe a little fresh air; but it was all -so lovely, so peaceful . . . here in England . . . so different -to . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She shuddered a little and looked as if she was going to cry again. But -Marguerite interposed gently: -</p> - -<p> -"So you prolonged your walk, and found this lane?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. I prolonged my walk," the woman replied. "I did not notice that -the road had become lonely. Then suddenly I realized that I was being -followed, and I ran. Mon Dieu, how I ran! Whither, I knew not! I just -felt that something horrible was at my heels!" -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes, dilated with terror, looked as black as sloes. They were fixed -upon Marguerite, never once raised on Sir Percy, who, standing some way -apart from the two women, was looking down on them, silent and -apparently unmoved. -</p> - -<p> -The stranger shuddered again; her face was almost grey in its expression -of fear, and her lips seemed quite bloodless. Marguerite gave her -trembling hands an encouraging pat. -</p> - -<p> -"It was lucky," she said gently, "that you found your way here." -</p> - -<p> -"I had seen the light," the woman continued more calmly. "And I believe -that at the back of my mind there was the instinct to run for shelter. -Then suddenly my foot knocked against a stone, and I fell. I tried to -raise myself quickly, but I had not the time, for the next moment I felt -a hand on my shoulder, and a voice—oh, a voice I dread, -citoyenne!—called to me by name." -</p> - -<p> -"The voice of citizen Chauvelin?" Marguerite asked simply. -</p> - -<p> -The woman looked up quickly. -</p> - -<p> -"You knew——?" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"I knew his voice." -</p> - -<p> -"But you know him?" the other insisted. -</p> - -<p> -"I know him—yes," Marguerite replied. "I am a compatriot of yours. -Before I married, I was Marguerite St. Just." -</p> - -<p> -"St. Just?" -</p> - -<p> -"We are cousins, my brother and I, of the young deputy, the friend of -Robespierre." -</p> - -<p> -"God help you!" the woman murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"He has done so already, by bringing us both to England. My brother is -married, and I am Lady Blakeney now. You too will feel happy and safe -now that you are here." -</p> - -<p> -"Happy?" the woman ejaculated, with a piteous sob. "And safe? Mon Dieu, -if only I could think it!" -</p> - -<p> -"But what have you to fear? Chauvelin may have retained some semblance -of power over in France. He has none over here." -</p> - -<p> -"He hates me!" the other murmured. "Oh, how he hates me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Why?" -</p> - -<p> -The stranger made no immediate reply. Her eyes, dark as the night, -glowing and searching, seemed to read the very soul behind Marguerite's -serene brow. Then after awhile she went on, with seeming irrelevance: -</p> - -<p> -"It all began so foolishly! . . . mon Dieu, how foolishly! And I really -meant nothing treacherous to my own country—nothing unpatriotic, -quoi?" She suddenly seized Marguerite's two hands and exclaimed with -childlike enthusiasm: "You have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel, have you -not?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," Marguerite replied. "I have heard of him." -</p> - -<p> -"You know then that he is the finest, bravest, most wonderful man in all -the world?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I know that," Marguerite assented with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, in France they hate him. Naturally! He is the enemy of the -republic, quoi? He is against all those massacres, the persecution of -the innocent. He saves them and helps them when he can. So they hate -him. Naturally." -</p> - -<p> -"Naturally!" -</p> - -<p> -"But I have always admired him," the woman continued, enthusiasm glowing -in her dark eyes. "Always; always! Ever since I heard what he had done, -and how he saved the Comte de Tournai, and Juliette Marny, and Esther -Vincent, and—and countless others. Oh, I knew about them all! For I -knew Chauvelin well, and one or two of the men on the Committee of -Public Safety quite intimately, and I used to worm out of them all the -true facts about the Scarlet Pimpernel. Can you wonder that with my -whole soul I admired him? I worshipped him! I could have laid down my -life to help him! He has been the guiding star of my dreary life—my -hero and my king!" -</p> - -<p> -She paused, and those deep, dark eyes of hers were fixed straight out -before her, as if in truth she beheld the hero of her dreams. There was -a glow now in her cheeks, and her marvellous hair fell like a sable -mantle around her, framing the perfect oval of the face and enhancing by -vivid contrast the creamy whiteness of chin and throat and the rose-like -bloom that had spread over her face. Indeed, this was an exquisitely -beautiful creature, and Marguerite, herself one of the loveliest women -of her time, was carried away by genuine, whole-hearted admiration for -the stranger, as well as by her enthusiasm, which, in very truth, seeing -its object, was a perfectly natural feeling. -</p> - -<p> -"So now," the woman concluded, coming back to the painful realities of -life with a shudder, which extinguished the light in her eyes and took -all the glow out of her cheeks, "so now you understand perhaps why -Chauvelin hates me!" -</p> - -<p> -"You must have been rather indiscreet," Marguerite remarked with a -smile. -</p> - -<p> -"I was, I suppose. And Chauvelin is so vindictive. He hates the Scarlet -Pimpernel. Out of a few words, foolishly spoken perhaps, he has made out -a case against me. A friend gave me warning. My name was already in the -hands of Foucquier-Tinville. You know what that means! Perquisition! -Arrest! Judgment! Then the guillotine! Oh, mon Dieu! And I had done -nothing!—nothing! I fled out of Paris. An influential friend just -contrived to arrange this for me. A faithful servant accompanied me. We -reached Boulogne. How, I know not! I was so weak, so ill, so -wretched, I hardly lived. I just allowed François—that was my -servant—to take me whithersoever he wished. But we had no -passports, no papers—nothing! And Chauvelin was on our track. We -had to hide—in barns . . . in pig-styes . . . anywhere! But we -reached Boulogne at last . . . I had some money, fortunately. We bribed -a fisherman to let us have his boat. Only a small boat—imagine! A -rowing boat! And François and I alone in it! But it meant our lives if -we didn't go; and perhaps it meant our lives if we went! A rowing boat -on the great, big sea! . . . Fortunately the weather was fine, and -François said that surely we would meet an English vessel which would -pick us up. I was more dead than alive. And François lifted me into the -boat. And I just remember seeing the coast of France receding, receding, -receding—farther and farther from me. I was so tired. It is -possible that I slept. Then suddenly something woke me. I was wide -awake. I had heard a cry. I knew I had heard a cry, and then a -splash—an awful splash! I was wet through. One oar hung in the -rowlock; the other had gone. And François was not there. I was all -alone." -</p> - -<p> -She spoke in hard, jerky sentences, as if every word hurt her physically -as she uttered it. For the most part she was looking down on her hands, -that twitched convulsively and twisted the tiny wet handkerchief into a -ball. But now and again she looked up, not at Marguerite always, rather -at Sir Percy. Her glowing, tear-wet eyes fastened themselves on him from -time to time with an appealing or a defiant gaze. He appeared silent and -sympathetic, and his glance rested on her the whole while that she -spoke, with an expression of detached if kindly interest, as if he did -not quite understand everything that she said. Marguerite as usual was -full of tenderness and compassion. -</p> - -<p> -"How terribly you must have suffered!" she said gently. "But what -happened after that?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I don't know! I don't know!" the poor woman resumed. "I was too -numbed, too dazed with horror and fear, to suffer very much. The boat -drifted on, I suppose. It was a beautiful, calm night. And the moon was -lovely. You remember the moon last night?" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"But I remember nothing after . . . after that awful cry . . . and the -splash! I suppose my poor François fainted or fell asleep . . . and -that he fell into the water. I never saw him again. . . . And I remember -nothing until—until I found myself on board a ship with a lot of -rough sailors around me, who seemed very kind. . . . They brought me ashore -and took me to a nice warm place, where some English gentlemen took -compassion on me. And . . . and . . . I have already told you the rest." -</p> - -<p> -She leaned back against the cushions of the seat as if exhausted with -the prolonged effort. Her hands seemed quite cold now, almost blue, and -Marguerite rose and closed the window behind her. -</p> - -<p> -"How kind and thoughtful you are!" the stranger exclaimed, and after a -moment added with a weary sigh, "I must not trespass longer on your -kindness. It is late now, and . . . I must go." -</p> - -<p> -She struggled to her feet, rose with obvious reluctance. -</p> - -<p> -"The inn where I was," she said. "It is not far?" -</p> - -<p> -"But you cannot go out alone," Marguerite rejoined. "You do not even -know the way!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, no! But perhaps your servant could accompany me . . . only as far -as the town. . . . After that, I can ask the way . . . I should no -longer be frightened." -</p> - -<p> -"You speak English then, Madame?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes! My father was a diplomat. He was in England once for four -years. I learned a little English. I have not forgotten it." -</p> - -<p> -"One of the servants shall certainly go with you. The inn you speak of -must be <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i>, since you found English gentlemen -there." -</p> - -<p> -"If Madame will allow me?" Sir Percy broke in, for the first time since -the stranger had embarked upon her narrative. -</p> - -<p> -The stranger looked up at him with a half-shy, half-eager smile. -</p> - -<p> -"You, milor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! I would be ashamed——" -</p> - -<p> -She paused, and her cheeks became crimson whilst she looked down in -utter confusion on her extraordinary attire. -</p> - -<p> -"I had forgotten," she murmured tearfully. "François made me put on -these awful clothes when we left Paris." -</p> - -<p> -"Then I must lend you a cloak for to-night," Marguerite interposed with -a smile. "But you need not mind your clothes, Madame. On this coast our -people are used to seeing unfortunate fugitives landing in every sort of -guise. To-morrow we must find you something wherein to travel to -London." -</p> - -<p> -"To London?" the stranger said with some eagerness. "Yes! I would wish -to go to London." -</p> - -<p> -"It will be quite easy. Mme. de Serval, with her son and two daughters -and another friend, is travelling by the coach to-morrow. You could join -them, I am sure. Then you would not be alone. You have money, Madame?" -Marguerite concluded, with practical solicitude. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes!" the other replied. "I have plenty for present needs . . . in -a wallet . . . under my clothes. I was able to collect a little—and I -have not lost it I am not dependent," she added, with a smile of -gratitude. "And as soon as I have found my husband——" -</p> - -<p> -"Your husband?" Marguerite exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"M. le Marquis de Fontenay," the other answered simply. "Perhaps you -know him. You have seen him . . . in London? . . . Not?" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -"Not to my knowledge." -</p> - -<p> -"He left me—two years ago . . . cruelly . . . emigrated to -England . . . and I was left all alone in the world. . . . He saved his -own life by running away from France; but I—I could not go just -then . . . and so . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She seemed on the verge of breaking down again, then recovered herself -and continued more quietly: -</p> - -<p> -"That was my idea, you see; to find my husband one day. Now a cruel Fate -has forced me to fly from France; so I thought I would go to London and -perhaps some kind friends will help me to find M. de Fontenay. I have -never ceased to love him, though he was so cruel. And I think that . . . -perhaps . . . he also has not quite forgotten me." -</p> - -<p> -"That were impossible," Marguerite rejoined gently. "But I have friends -in London who are in touch with most of the émigrés here. We will see -what can be done. It will not be difficult, methinks, to find M. de -Fontenay." -</p> - -<p> -"You are an angel, milady!" the stranger exclaimed; and with a gesture -that was perfect in its suggestion of gracious humility, she took -Marguerite's hand and raised it to her lips. Then she once more mopped -her eyes, picked up her cap and hastily hid the wealth of her hair -beneath it. After which, she turned to Sir Percy. -</p> - -<p> -"I am ready, milor," she said. "I have intruded far too long as it is -upon your privacy. . . . But I am not brave enough to refuse your -escort. Milady, forgive me! I will walk fast, very fast, so that milor -will return to you very soon!" -</p> - -<p> -She wrapped herself up in the cloak which, at Lady Blakeney's bidding, -one of the servants had brought her, and a moment or two later the -stranger and Sir Percy were out of the house, whilst Marguerite remained -for awhile in the porch, listening to their retreating footsteps. -</p> - -<p> -There was a frown of puzzlement between her brows, a look of troubled -anxiety in her eyes. Somehow, the brief sojourn of that strange and -beautiful woman in her house had filled her soul with a vague feeling of -dread, which she tried vainly to combat. There was no real suspicion -against the woman in her heart—how could there be?—but -she—Marguerite—who as a rule was so compassionate, so -understanding of those misfortunes, to alleviate which Sir Percy was -devoting his entire life, felt cold and unresponsive in this -case—most unaccountably so. Mme. de Fontenay's story differed but -little in all its grim detail of misery and humiliation from the -thousand and one other similar tales which had been poured for the past -three years into her sympathetic ear. She had always understood, had -always been ready to comfort and to help. But this time she felt very -much as if she had come across a sick or wounded reptile, something weak -and dumb and helpless, and yet withal unworthy of compassion. -</p> - -<p> -However, Marguerite Blakeney was surely not the woman to allow such -fancies to dry the well of her pity. The gallant Scarlet Pimpernel was -not wont to pause in his errands of mercy in order to reflect whether -the objects of his selfless immolation were worthy of it or no. So -Marguerite, with a determined little sigh, chided herself for her -disloyalty and cowardice, and having dried her tears she went within. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap16"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XVI -<br /><br /> -A LOVER OF SPORT</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -For the first five minutes, Sir Percy Blakeney and Madame de Fontenay -walked side by side in silence. Then she spoke. -</p> - -<p> -"You are silent, milor?" she queried, speaking in perfect English. -</p> - -<p> -"I was thinking," he replied curtly. -</p> - -<p> -"What!" -</p> - -<p> -"That a remarkably fine actress is lost in the fashionable Theresia -Cabarrus." -</p> - -<p> -"Madame de Fontenay, I pray you, milor," she retorted dryly. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia Cabarrus nevertheless. Madam Tallien probably to-morrow: for -Madame divorced that weak-kneed marquis as soon as the law 'contre les -émigrés' allowed her to regain her freedom." -</p> - -<p> -"You seem very well informed, milor." -</p> - -<p> -"Almost as well as Madame herself," he riposted with a pleasant laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Then you do not believe my story?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not one word of it!" he replied. -</p> - -<p> -"Strange!" she mused. "For every word of it is true." -</p> - -<p> -"Demmed strange!" he assented. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I did not tell all," she went on, with sudden vehemence. "I -could not. My lady would not understand. She has become—what shall I -say?—very English. Marguerite St. Just would understand . . . Lady -Blakeney—no?" -</p> - -<p> -"What would Lady Blakeney not understand!" -</p> - -<p> -"Eh bien! About Bertrand Moncrif." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah?" -</p> - -<p> -"You think I did harm to the boy . . . I know . . . you took him away -from me . . . You! The Scarlet Pimpernel! . . . You see, I know! I know -everything! Chauvelin told me . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"And guided you most dexterously to my door," he concluded with a -pleasant laugh. "There to enact a delicious comedy of gruff-voiced bully -and pathetic victim of a merciless persecution. It was all excellently -done! Allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations!" -</p> - -<p> -She said nothing for a moment or two, then queried abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -"You think that I am here in order to spy upon you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" he riposted lightly, "how could I be so presumptuous as to suppose -that the beautiful Cabarrus would bestow attention on so unworthy an -object as I?" -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis you now, milor," she rejoined drily, "who choose to play a rôle. -A truce on it, I pray you; and rather tell me what you mean to do." -</p> - -<p> -To this query he gave no reply, and his silence appeared to grate on -Theresia's nerves, for she went on harshly: -</p> - -<p> -"You will betray me to the police, of course. And as I am here without -papers——" -</p> - -<p> -He put up his hand with that gently deprecating gesture which was -habitual to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" he said, with his quiet little laugh, "why should you think I -would do anything so unchivalrous!" -</p> - -<p> -"Unchivalrous?" she retorted with a pathetic sigh of weariness. "I -suppose, here in England, it would be called an act of patriotism or -self-preservation . . . like fighting an enemy . . . or denouncing a -spy——" -</p> - -<p> -She paused for a moment or two, and as he once more took refuge in -silence, she resumed with sudden, moving passion: -</p> - -<p> -"So it is to be a betrayal after all! The selling of an unfortunate -woman to her bitterest enemy! Oh, what wrong have I ever done you, that -you should persecute me thus?" -</p> - -<p> -"Persecute you?" he exclaimed. "Pardi, Madame; but this is a subtle joke -which by your leave my dull wits are unable to fathom." -</p> - -<p> -"It is no joke, milor," she rejoined earnestly. "Will you let me -explain? For indeed it seems to me that we are at cross purposes, you -and I." -</p> - -<p> -She came to a halt, and he perforce had to do likewise. They had come -almost to the end of the little lane; a few yards farther on it -debouched on the main road. Beyond that, the lights of Dover Town and -the Harbour lights glinted in the still, starry night. Behind them the -lane, sunk between grassy slopes and overhung by old elms of fantastic -shapes, appeared dark and mysterious. But here, where they stood, the -moon shed its full radiance on the broad highway, the clump of copper -beeches over on the left, that tiny cottage with its thatched roof -nestling at the foot of the cliff; and far away, on the picturesque mass -of Dover Castle, the church and towers. Every bit of fencing, every tiny -twig in the hawthorn hedges, stood out clear cut, sharp like metal in the -cold, searching light. Theresia—divinely slender and divinely tall, -graceful despite the rough masculine clothes which she wore—stood -boldly in the full light; the tendrils of her jet black hair were gently -stirred by an imperceptible breeze, her eyes, dark and luminous, were -fixed upwards at the man whom she had set out to subjugate. -</p> - -<p> -"That boy," she went on quite gently, "Bertrand Moncrif, was just a -young fool. But I liked him, and I could see the abyss to which his -folly was tending. There was never anything but friendship between us; -but I knew that sooner or later he would run his head into a noose, and -then what good would his pasty-faced sweetheart have been to him? Whilst -I—I had friends, influence—quoi? And I liked the boy; I was -sorry for him. Then the catastrophe came . . . the other night. There -was what those ferocious beasts over in Paris were pleased to call a -Fraternal Supper. Bertrand Moncrif was there. Like a young fool, he -started to vilify Robespierre—Robespierre, who is the idol of -France! There!—in the very midst of the crowd! They would have -torn him limb from limb, it seems. I don't know just what happened, for -I wasn't there; but he came to my apartment—at -midnight—dishevelled—his clothes torn—more dead than -alive. I gave him shelter; I tended him. Yes, I!—even whilst -Robespierre and his friends were in my house, and I risked my life every -moment that Bertrand was under my roof! Chauvelin suspected something -then. Oh, I knew it! Those awful pale, deep-set eyes of his seemed to be -searching my soul all the time! At which precise moment you came and -took Bertrand away, I know not. But Chauvelin knew. He saw—he saw, -I tell you! He had not been with us the whole time, but in and out of -the apartment on some pretext or other. Then, after the others had left, -he came back, accused me of having harboured not only Bertrand, but the -Scarlet Pimpernel himself!—swore that I was in league with the -English spies and had arranged with them to smuggle my lover out of my -house. Then he went away. He did not threaten. You know him as well as I -do. Threatening is not his way. But from his look I knew that I was -doomed. Luckily I had François. We packed up my few belongings then and -there. I left my woman Pepita in charge, and I fled. As for the rest, I -swear to you that it all happened just as I told it to milady. You say -you do not believe me. Very well! Will you then take me away from this -sheltered land, which I have reached after terrible sufferings? Will you -send me back to France, and drive me to the arms of a man who but waits -to throw me into the tumbril with the next batch of victims for the -guillotine? You have the power to do it, of course. You are in England; -you are rich, influential, a power in your own country; whilst I am an -alien, a political enemy, a refugee, penniless and friendless. You can -do with me what you will, of course. But if you do <i>that</i>, milor, -my blood will stain your hands for ever; and all the good you and your -League have ever done in the cause of humanity will be wiped out by this -execrable crime." -</p> - -<p> -She spoke very quietly and with soul-moving earnestness. She was also -exquisitely beautiful. Sir Percy Blakeney had been more than human if he -had been proof against such an appeal, made by such perfect lips. Nature -itself spoke up for Theresia: the softness and stillness of the night; -the starlit sky and the light of the moon; the scent of wood violets and -of wet earth, and the patter of tiny, mysterious feet in the hedgerows. -And the man whose whole life was consecrated to the relief of suffering -humanity and whose ears were for ever strained to hear the call of the -weak and of the innocent—he would far, far sooner have believed that -this beautiful woman was speaking the truth, rather than allow his -instinct of suspicion, his keen sense of what was untrustworthy and -dangerous, to steel his heart against her appeal. -</p> - -<p> -But whatever his thoughts might be, when she paused, wearied and shaken -with sobs which she vainly tried to suppress, he spoke to her quite -gently. -</p> - -<p> -"Believe me, dear lady," he said, "that I had no thought of wronging you -when I owned to disbelieving your story. I have seen so many strange -things in the course of my chequered career that, in verity, I ought to -know by now how unbelievable truth often appears." -</p> - -<p> -"Had you known me better, milor——" she began. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, that is just it!" he rejoined quaintly. "I did not know you, -Madame. And now, meseems, that Fate has intervened, and that I shall -never have the chance of knowing you." -</p> - -<p> -"How is that?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -But to this he gave no immediate answer, suggested irrelevantly: -</p> - -<p> -"Shall we walk on? It is getting late." -</p> - -<p> -She gave a little cry, as if startled out of a dream, then started to -walk by his side with her long, easy stride, so full of sinuous grace. -They went on in silence for awhile, down the main road now. Already they -had passed the first group of town houses, and <i>The Running Footman</i>, -which is the last inn outside the town. There was only the High Street -now to follow and the Old Place to cross, and <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i> -would be in sight. -</p> - -<p> -"You have not answered my question, milor," Theresia said presently. -</p> - -<p> -"What question, Madame?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"I asked you how Fate could intervene in the matter of our meeting -again." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" he retorted simply. "You are staying in England, you tell me." -</p> - -<p> -"If you will deign to grant me leave," she said, with gentle submission. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not in my power to grant or to refuse." -</p> - -<p> -"You will not betray me—to the police?" -</p> - -<p> -"I have never betrayed a woman in my life." -</p> - -<p> -"Or to Lady Blakeney?" -</p> - -<p> -He made no answer. -</p> - -<p> -"Or to Lady Blakeney?" she insisted. -</p> - -<p> -Then, as he still gave no answer, she began to plead with passionate -earnestness. -</p> - -<p> -"What could she gain—or you—by her knowing that I am that -unfortunate, homeless waif, without kindred and without friends, -Theresia Cabarrus—the beautiful Cabarrus!—once the fiancée -of the great Tallien, now suspect of trafficking with her country's -enemies in France . . . and suspect of being a suborned spy in -England! . . . My God, where am I to go? What am I to do? Do not tell Lady -Blakeney, milor! On my knees I entreat you, do not tell her! She will -hate me—fear me—despise me! Oh, give me a chance to be -happy! Give me—a chance—to be happy!" -</p> - -<p> -Again she had paused and placed her hand on his arm. Once more she was -looking up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, her full red lips -quivering with emotion. And he returned her appealing, pathetic glance -for a moment or two in silence; then suddenly, without any warning, he -threw back his head and laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"By Gad!" he exclaimed. "But you are a clever woman!" -</p> - -<p> -"Milor!" she protested, indignant. -</p> - -<p> -"Nay: you need have no fear, fair one! I am a lover of sport. I'll not -betray you." -</p> - -<p> -She frowned, really puzzled this time. -</p> - -<p> -"I do not understand," she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"Let us get back to <i>The Fisherman's Rest</i>," he retorted with -characteristic irrelevance. "Shall we?" -</p> - -<p> -"Milor," she insisted, "will you explain?" -</p> - -<p> -"There is nothing to explain, dear lady. You have asked me—nay! -challenged me—not to betray you to any one, not even to Lady -Blakeney. Very well! I accept your challenge. That is all." -</p> - -<p> -"You will not tell any one—any one, mind you!—that Mme. de -Fontenay and Theresia Cabarrus are one and the same?" -</p> - -<p> -"You have my word for that." -</p> - -<p> -She drew a scarce perceptible sigh of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"Very well then, milor," she rejoined. "Since I am allowed to go to -London, we shall meet there, I hope." -</p> - -<p> -"Scarcely, dear lady," he replied, "since I go to France to-morrow." -</p> - -<p> -This time she gave a little gasp, quickly suppressed—for she hoped -milor had not noticed. -</p> - -<p> -"You go to France to-morrow, milor?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"As I had the honour to tell you, I go to France to-morrow, and I leave -you a free hand to come and go as you please." -</p> - -<p> -She chose not to notice the taunt; but suddenly, as if moved by an -uncontrollable impulse, she said resolutely: -</p> - -<p> -"If you go, I shall go too." -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure you will, dear lady," he retorted with a smile. "So there -really is no reason why we should linger here. Our mutual friend M. -Chauvelin must be impatient to hear the result of this interview." -</p> - -<p> -She gave a cry of horror and indignation. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh! You—you still think that of <i>me?</i>" -</p> - -<p> -He stood there, smiling, looking down on her with that half-amused, lazy -glance of his. He did not actually say anything, but she felt that she -had her answer. With a moan of pain, like a child who has been badly -hurt, she turned abruptly, and burying her face in her hands, she sobbed -as if her heart would break. Sir Percy waited quietly for a moment or -two, until the first paroxysm of grief had quieted down, then he said -gently: -</p> - -<p> -"Madame, I entreat you to compose yourself and to dry your tears. If I -have wronged you in my thoughts, I humbly crave your pardon. I pray you -to understand that when a man holds human lives in his hands, when he is -responsible for the life and safety of those who trust in him, he must -be doubly cautious and in his turn trust no one. You have said yourself -that now at last in this game of life and death, which I and my friends -have played so successfully these last three years, I hold the losing -cards. Then must I watch every trick all the more closely, for a sound -player can win through the mistakes of his opponent, even if he hold a -losing hand." -</p> - -<p> -But she refused to be comforted. -</p> - -<p> -"You will never know, milor—never—how deeply you have -wounded me," she said through her tears. "And I, who for months -past—ever since I knew!—have dreamed of seeing the Scarlet -Pimpernel one day! He was the hero of my dreams, the man who stood alone -in the mass of self-seeking, vengeful, cowardly humanity as the -personification of all that was fine and chivalrous. I longed to see -him—just once—to hold his hand—to look into his -eyes—and feel a better woman for the experience. Love? It was not -love I felt, but hero-worship, pure as one's love for a starlit night or -a spring morning, or a sunset over the hills. I dreamed of the Scarlet -Pimpernel, milor; and because of my dreams, which were too vital for -perfect discretion, I had to flee from home, suspected, vilified, -already condemned. Chance brings me face to face with the hero of my -dreams, and he looks on me as that vilest thing on earth: a spy!—a -woman who would lie to a man first and send him afterwards to his -death!" -</p> - -<p> -Her voice, though more passionate and intense, had nevertheless become -more steady. She had at last succeeded in controlling her tears. Sir Percy -had listened—quite quietly, as was his wont—to her strange -words. There was nothing that he could say to this beautiful woman who -was so ingenuously avowing her love for him. It was a curious situation, -and in truth he did not relish it—would have given quite a great deal -to see it end as speedily as possible. Theresia, fortunately, was -gradually gaining the mastery over her own feelings. She dried her eyes, -and after a moment or two, of her own accord, she started once more on -her way. -</p> - -<p> -Nor did they speak again with one another until they were under the -porch of <i>The Fisherman's Rest.</i> Then Theresia stopped, and with a -perfectly simple gesture she held out her hand to Sir Percy. -</p> - -<p> -"We may never meet again on this earth, milor," she said quietly. -"Indeed, I shall pray to le bon Dieu to keep me clear of your path." -</p> - -<p> -He laughed good-humouredly. -</p> - -<p> -"I very much doubt, dear lady," he said, "that you will be in earnest -when you utter that prayer!" -</p> - -<p> -"You choose to suspect me, milor; and I'll no longer try to combat your -mistrust. But to one more word you must listen: Remember the fable of -the lion and the mouse. The invincible Scarlet Pimpernel might one day -need the help of Theresia Cabarrus. I would wish you to believe that you -can always count on it." -</p> - -<p> -She extended her hand to him, and hie took it, the while his -inveterately mocking glance challenged her earnest one. After a moment -or two he stooped and kissed her finger-tips. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me rather put it differently, dear lady," he said. "One day the -exquisite Theresia Cabarrus—the Egeria of the Terrorists, the fiancee -of the Great Tallien—might need the help of the League of the Scarlet -Pimpernel." -</p> - -<p> -"I would sooner die than seek your help, milor," she protested -earnestly. -</p> - -<p> -"Here in Dover, perhaps . . . but in France? . . . And you said you were -going back to France, in spite of Chauvelin and his pale eyes, and his -suspicions of you." -</p> - -<p> -"Since you think so ill of me," she retorted, "why should you offer me -your help?" -</p> - -<p> -"Because," he replied lightly, "with the exception of my friend -Chauvelin, I have never had so amusing an enemy; and it would afford me -intense satisfaction to render you a signal service." -</p> - -<p> -"You mean, that you would risk your life to save mine?" -</p> - -<p> -"No. I should not risk my life, dear lady," he said with his puzzling -smile. "But I should—God help me!—do my best, if the need -arose, to save yours." -</p> - -<p> -After which, with another ceremonious bow, he took final leave of her, -and she was left standing there, looking after his tall, retreating -figure until the turn of the street hid him from view. -</p> - -<p> -Who could have fathomed her thoughts and feelings at that moment? No -one, in truth; not even herself. Theresia Cabarrus had met many men in -her day, subjugated and fooled not a few. But she had never met any one -like this before. At one moment she had thought she had him: he appeared -moved, serious, compassionate, gave her his word that he would not betray -her; and in that word, her unerring instinct—the instinct of the -adventuress, the woman who succeeds by her wits as well as by her -charm—told her that she could trust. Did he fear her, or did he not? -Did he suspect her? Theresia could not say. She had no experience of -such men. As for the word "sport," she hardly knew its meaning; and yet -he had talked of not betraying her because he was "a lover of sport!" It -was all very puzzling, very mysterious. -</p> - -<p> -For a long while she remained standing in the porch. From the square bay -window on her right came the sound of laughter and chatter, issuing from -the coffee-room, whilst one or two noisy groups of sailors and their -girls passed her by, singing and laughing, down the street. But in the -porch, where she stood, the noisy world appeared distant, as if she were -alone in one of her own creation. She could, just by closing her eyes -and ears to the life around her, imagine she could still hear the merry, -lazy, drawling voice of the man she had set out to punish. She could -still see his tall figure and humorous face, with those heavy eyes that -lit up now and again with a strange, mysterious light, and the firm lips -ever ready to break into a smile. She could still see the man who so -loved sport that he swore not to betray her, and risked the chance, in -his turn, of falling into a trap. -</p> - -<p> -Well! he had defied and insulted her. The letter, which he left for her -after he had smuggled Bertrand Moncrif out of her apartment, rankled and -stung her pride as nothing had ever done before. Therefore the man must -be punished, and in a manner that would leave no doubt in his mind as to -whence came the blow that struck him. But it was all going to be very -much more difficult than the beautiful Theresia Cabarrus had allowed -herself to believe. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap17"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XVII -<br /><br /> -REUNION</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -It was a thoughtful Theresia who turned into the narrow hall of <i>The -Fisherman's Rest</i> a few moments later. The inn, when she left it -earlier in the evening, had still been all animation and bustle -consequent on the arrival of their lordships with the party of ladies -and gentlemen over from France, and the excitement of making all these -grand folk comfortable for the night. Theresia Cabarrus, in her disguise -as a young stowaway, had only aroused passing interest—refugees of -every condition and degree were frequent enough in these parts—and -when awhile ago she had slipped out in order to enact the elaborate -rôle devised by her and Chauvelin, she had done so unperceived. Since -then, no doubt there had been one or two cursory questions about the -mysterious stowaway, who had been left to feed and rest in the tiny -living-room; but equally no doubt, interest in him waned quickly when it -was discovered that he had gone, without as much as thanking those who -had befriended him. -</p> - -<p> -The travellers from France had long since retired to their rooms, broken -with fatigue after the many terrible experiences they had gone through. -The young English gallants had gone, either to friends in the -neighbourhood or—in the case of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony -Dewhurst—ridden away in the early part of the evening, so as to reach -Ashford mayhap or Maidstone before nightfall, and thus lessen the -distance which still separated them from the loved ones at home. -</p> - -<p> -A good deal of noise and laughter was still issuing from the -coffee-room. Through the glass door Theresia could see the habitues of -<i>The Fisherman's Rest</i>—yokels and fisherfolk—sitting -over their ale, some of them playing cards or throwing dice. Mine host -was there too, engaged as usual in animated discussion with some -privileged guests who sat in the ingle-nook. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia slipped noiselessly past the glass door. Straight in front of -her a second passage ran at right angles; two or three steps led up to -it She tip-toed up these, and then looked about her, trying to -reconstruct in her mind the disposition of the various rooms. On her -left a glass partition divided the passage from the small parlour -wherein she had found shelter on her arrival. On her right the passage -obviously led to the kitchen, for much noise of crockery and shrill -feminine voices and laughter came from there. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment Theresia hesitated. Her original intention had been to find -Mistress Waite and see if a bed for the night were still available; but -a slight noise or movement issuing from the parlour caused her to turn. -She peeped through the glass partition. The room was dimly lighted by a -small oil-lamp which hung from the ceiling. A fire still smouldered in -the hearth, and beside it, sitting on a low stool staring into the -embers, his hands held between his knees, was Bertrand Moncrif. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus had some difficulty in smothering the cry of surprise -which had risen to her throat. Indeed, for the moment she thought that -the dim light and her own imaginative fancy was playing her a fantastic -trick. The next, she had opened the door quite noiselessly and slipped -into the room. Bertrand had not moved. Apparently he had not heard; or -if he had cursorily glanced up, he had disdained to notice the roughly -clad fellow who was disturbing his solitude. Certain it is that he -appeared absorbed in gloomy meditations; whilst Theresia, practical and -deliberate, drew the curtains together that hung in front of the glass -partition, and thus made sure that intruding eyes could not catch her -unawares. Then she murmured softly: -</p> - -<p> -"Bertrand!" -</p> - -<p> -He woke as from a dream, looked up and saw her. He passed a shaking hand -once or twice across his forehead, then suddenly realised that she was -actually there, near him, in the flesh. A hoarse cry escaped him, and -the next moment he was down on his knees at her feet, his arms around -her, his face buried in the folds of her mantle. -</p> - -<p> -Everything—anxiety, sorrow, even surprise—was forgotten in the -joy of seeing her. He was crying like a child, and murmuring her name in -the intervals of covering her knees, her hands, her feet in their rough -boots with kisses. She stood there, quite still, looking down on him, -yielding her hands to his caresses. Around her full red lips there was -an undefinable smile; but the light in her eyes was certainly one of -triumph. -</p> - -<p> -After awhile he rose, and she allowed him to lead her to an arm-chair by -the hearth. She sat down, and he knelt at her feet with one arm around -her waist, and his head against her breast. He had never in his life -been quite so exquisitely happy. This was not the imperious Theresia, -impatient and disdainful, as she had been of late—cruel even -sometimes, as on that last evening when he thought he would never see -her again. It was the Theresia of the early days in Paris, when first -she came back from Bordeaux, with a reputation for idealism as well as -for beauty and wit, and with a gracious acceptance of his homage which -had completely subjugated him. -</p> - -<p> -She insisted on hearing every detail of his escape out of Paris and out -of France, under the protection of the League and of the Scarlet -Pimpernel. In truth, he did not know who his rescuer was. He remembered -but little of that awful night when, after the terrible doings at the -Fraternal Supper, he had sought refuge in her apartment, and then -realised that, like a criminal and selfish fool, he was compromising her -precious life by remaining under her roof. -</p> - -<p> -He had resolved to go as soon as he was able to stand—resolved if -need be to give himself up at the nearest Poste de Section, when in a -semi-conscious state he became aware that some one was in the room with -him. He had not the time or the power to rouse himself and to look -about, when a cloth was thrown over his face and he felt himself lifted -off the chair bodily and carried away by powerful arms, whither he knew -not. -</p> - -<p> -After that, a great deal had happened—it all seemed indeed like a -dream. At one time he was with Régine de Serval in a coach; at others -with her brother Jacques, in a hut at night, lying on straw, trying to -get some sleep, and tortured with thoughts of Theresia and fear for her -safety. There were halts and delays, and rushes through the night. He -himself was quite dazed, felt like a puppet that was dragged hither and -thither in complete unconsciousness. Régine was constantly with him. -She did her best to comfort him, would try to wile away the weary hours -in the coach or in various hiding-places by holding his hand and talking of -the future—the happy future in England, when they would have a home -of their own, secure from the terrors of the past two years, peaceful in -complete oblivion of the cruel past. Happy and peaceful! My God! As if -there could be any happiness or peace for him, away from the woman he -worshipped! -</p> - -<p> -Theresia listened to the tale, for the most part in silence. From time -to time she would stroke his hair and forehead with her cool, gentle -hand. She did ask one or two questions, but these chiefly on the subject -of his rescuer: Had he seen him? Had he seen any of the English -gentlemen who effected his escape? -</p> - -<p> -Oh, yes! Bertrand saw a good deal of the three or four young gallants -who accompanied him and the party all the way from Paris. He only saw -the last of them here, in this inn, a few hours ago. One of them gave -him some money to enable him to reach London in comfort. They were very -kind, entirely unselfish. Mme. de Serval, Régine, and the others were -overwhelmed with gratitude, and oh, so happy! Joséphine and Jacques had -forgotten all about their duty to their country in their joy at finding -themselves united and safe in this new land. -</p> - -<p> -But the Scarlet Pimpernel himself, Theresia insisted, trying to conceal -her impatience under a veneer of tender solicitude—had Bertrand seen -him? -</p> - -<p> -"No!" Bertrand replied. "I never once set eyes on him, though it was he -undoubtedly who dragged me helpless out of your apartment. The others -spoke of him—always as 'the chief.' They seem to reverence him. He -must be fine and brave. Régine and her mother and the two young ones have -learned to worship him. Small wonder! seeing what he did for them at -that awful Fraternal Supper." -</p> - -<p> -"What did he do?" Theresia queried. -</p> - -<p> -And the story had to be told by Bertrand, just as he had had -it straight from Régine. The asthmatic coal-heaver—the -quarrel—Robespierre's arrival on the scene—the -shouts—the mob. The terror of that awful giant who had dragged -them into the empty house, and there left them in the care of others -scarce less brave than himself. Then the disguises—the wanderings -through the streets—the deathly anxiety at the gates of the -city—the final escape in a laundry cart. Miracles of -self-abnegation! Wonders of ingenuity and of daring! What wonder that -the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel was one to be revered! -</p> - -<p> -"On my knees will I pay homage to him," Bertrand concluded fervently; -"since he brought you to my arms!" -</p> - -<p> -She had him by the shoulders, held him from her at arm's length, whilst -she looked—inquiring, slightly mocking—into his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Brought me to your arms, Bertrand?" she said slowly. "What do you -mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"You are here, Theresia," he riposted. "Safe in England . . . through -the agency of the Scarlet Pimpernel." -</p> - -<p> -She gave a hard, mirthless laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye!" she said dryly; "through his agency. But not as you imagine, -Bertrand." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"The Scarlet Pimpernel, my friend, after he had dragged you away from -the shelter which you had found under my roof, sent an anonymous -denunciation of me to the nearest Poste de Section, as having harboured -the traitor Moncrif and conspiring with him to assassinate Robespierre -whilst the latter was in my apartment." -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand uttered a cry of horror. -</p> - -<p> -"Impossible!" he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"The chief Commissary of the Section," she went on glibly, -earnestly—never taking her eyes off his, "at risk of his life, -gave me warning. Aided by him and a faithful servant, I contrived to -escape—out of Paris first, then across country in the midst of -unspeakable misery, and finally out of the country in an open boat, -until I was picked up by a chance vessel and brought to this inn more -dead than alive." -</p> - -<p> -She fell back against the cushion of the chair, her sinuous body shaken -with sobs. Bertrand, speechless with horror, could but try and soothe -his beloved as she had soothed him a while ago, when past terrors and -past bitter experiences had unmanned him. After a while she became more -calm, contrived to smile through her tears. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, Bertrand, that your gallant Scarlet Pimpernel is as merciless -in hate as he is selfless in love." -</p> - -<p> -"But why?" the young man ejaculated vehemently. "Why?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why he should hate me?" she rejoined with a pathetic little sigh and a -shrug of the shoulders. "Chien sabe, my friend! Of course, he does not -know that of late—ever since I have gained the regard of citizen -Tallien—my life has been devoted to intervening on behalf of the -innocent victims of our revolution. I suppose he takes me for the friend -and companion of all those ruthless Terrorists whom he abhors. He has -forgotten what I did in Bordeaux, and how I risked my life there, and -did so daily in Paris for the sake of those whom he himself befriends. -It may all be a question of misunderstanding," she added, with gentle -resignation, "but 'tis one that wellnigh did cost me my life." -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand folded her in his arms, held her against him, as if to shield -her with his body against every danger. It was his turn now to comfort and -to console, and she rested her head against his shoulder—a perfect -woman rather than an unapproachable divinity, giving him through her -weakness more exquisite bliss than he had ever dreamed of before. The -minutes sped on, winged with happiness, and time was forgotten in the -infinity of joy. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Theresia was the first to rouse herself from this dream of happiness and -oblivion. She glanced up at the clock. It was close upon ten. Confused, -adorable, she jumped to her feet. -</p> - -<p> -"You will ruin my reputation, Bertrand," she said with a smile, "thus -early in a strange land!" -</p> - -<p> -She would arrange with the landlord's daughter, she said, about a bed -for herself, as she was very tired. What did he mean to do? -</p> - -<p> -"Spend the night in this room," he replied, "if mine host will let me. I -could have such happy dreams here! These four walls will reflect your -exquisite image, and 'tis your dear face will smile down on me ere I -close mine eyes in sleep." -</p> - -<p> -She had some difficulty in escaping from his clinging arms, and 'twas -only the definite promise that she gave him to come back in a few -minutes and let him know what she had arranged, that ultimately enabled -him to let her go. Even so, he felt inexpressibly sad when she went, -watched her retreating figure, so supple and so quaint in the rough, -masculine clothes and the heavy mantle, as she walked resolutely down -the passage in the direction of the kitchen. From the coffee-room there -still came the sound of bustle and of merriment; but this little room -seemed so peaceful, so remote—a shrine, now that his goddess had -hallowed it by her presence. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand drew a deep sigh, partly of happiness, partly of utter -weariness. He was more tired than he knew. She had promised to come back -and say good night . . . in a few minutes. . . . But the minutes seemed -leaden-footed now . . . and he was half-dead with fatigue. He threw -himself down on the hard, uncomfortable horsehair sofa, whereon he hoped -to pass the night if the landlord would let him, and glanced up at the -clock. Only three minutes since she had gone . . . of course she would -not be long . . . only a few more minutes ... a very few. . . . He -closed his eyes, for the lids felt heavy . . . of a surety he would hear -her come. . . -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap18"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XVIII -<br /><br /> -NIGHT AND MORNING</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Theresia waited for a moment or two at the turn of the passage, until -her keen ear had told her that Bertrand was no longer on the watch and -had closed the door behind him. Then she retraced her steps—on -tiptoe, lest he should hear. -</p> - -<p> -She found her way to the front door; it was still on the latch. She -opened it and peered out into the night. The little porch was deserted, -but out there on the quay a few passers-by still livened the evening -with chatter or song. Theresia was on the point of stepping out of the -porch, when a familiar voice hailed her softly by name: -</p> - -<p> -"Citoyenne Cabarrus!" -</p> - -<p> -A man, dressed in dark clothes, with high boots and sugar-loaf hat, came -out from the dark angle behind the porch. -</p> - -<p> -"Not here!" Theresia whispered eagerly. "Out on the quay. Wait for me -there, my little Chauvelin. I'll be with you anon. I have so much to -tell you!" -</p> - -<p> -Silently, he did as she desired. She waited for a moment in the porch, -watching the meagre figure in the dark cloak making its way across to -the quay, then walking rapidly in the direction of the Pent. The moon -was dazzlingly brilliant. The harbour and the distant sea glistened like -diamond-studded sheets of silver. From afar there came the sound of the -castle clock striking ten. The groups of passers-by had dwindled down to -an occasional amorous couple strolling homewards, whispering soft -nothings and gazing enraptured at the moon; or half-a-dozen sailors -lolling down the quays arm in arm, on their way back to their ship, -obstructing the road, yelling and singing the refrain of the newest -ribald song; or perhaps a belated pedlar, weary of an unprofitable beat, -wending his way dejectedly home. -</p> - -<p> -One of these poor wretches—a cripple with a wooden leg and bent -nearly double with the heavy load on his back—paused for a moment -beside the porch, held out a grimy hand to Theresia, with a pitiable cry. -</p> - -<p> -"Of your charity, kind sir! Buy a little something from the pore ole -man, to buy a bit of bread!" -</p> - -<p> -He looked utterly woebegone, with lank grey hair blown about by the -breeze and a colourless face covered with sweat, that shone like painted -metal in the moonlight. -</p> - -<p> -"Buy a little something, kind sir!" he went on, in a shrill, throaty -voice. "I've a sick wife at 'ome, and pore little gran'childer!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia—a little frightened, and not at all charitably inclined at -this hour—turned hastily away and went back into the house, whither -the cripple's vigorous curses followed her. -</p> - -<p> -"May Satan and all his armies——" -</p> - -<p> -She shut the door on him and hastened up the passage. That cadaverous -old reprobate had caused her to shudder as with the presentiment of -coming evil. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -With infinite precaution, Theresia peeped into the room where she had -left Bertrand. She saw him lying on the sofa, fast asleep. -</p> - -<p> -On the table in the middle of the room there was an old ink-horn, a pen, -and a few loose sheets of paper. Noiseless as a mouse, Theresia slipped -into the room, sat at the table, and hurriedly wrote a few lines. -Bertrand had not moved. Having written her missive, Theresia folded it -carefully, and still on tiptoe, more stealthily even than before, she -slipped the paper between the young man's loosely clasped fingers. Then, -as soundlessly as she had come, she glided out of the room, ran down the -passage, and was out in the porch once more, breathless but relieved. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand had not moved; and no one had seen her. Theresia only paused in -the porch long enough to recover her breath, then, without hesitation -and with rapid strides, she crossed over to the water's edge and walked -along in the direction of the Pent. -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon, the figure of the old cripple emerged from out the shadows. -He gazed after the fast retreating figure of Theresia for a moment or -two, then threw down his load, straightened out his back, and stretched -out his arms from the shoulders with a sigh of content After which -amazing proceedings he gave a soft, inward chuckle, unstrapped his -wooden leg, slung it with his discarded load across his broad shoulders, -and turning his back upon harbour and sea, turned up the High Street and -strode rapidly away. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -When Bertrand Moncrif woke, the dawn was peeping in through the -uncurtained window. He felt cold and stiff. It took him some time to -realise where he was, to collect his scattered senses. He had been -dreaming . . . here in this room . . . Theresia had been here . . . and -she had laid her head against his breast and allowed him to soothe and -comfort her. Then she said that she would come back . . . and he . . . -like a fool . . . had fallen asleep. -</p> - -<p> -He jumped up, fully awake now; and as he did so a folded scrap of paper -fell out of his hand. He had not known that it was there when first he -woke, and somehow it appeared to be a part of his dream. As it lay there -on the sanded floor at his feet, it looked strangely ghostlike, ominous; -and it was with a trembling hand that, presently, he picked it up. -</p> - -<p> -Every minute now brought fuller daylight into the room; a grey, cold -light, for the window faced the south-west, showing a wide stretch of -the tidal harbour and the open sea beyond. The sun, not fully risen, had -not yet shed warmth over the landscape, and to Bertrand this colourless -dawn, the mysterious stillness which earth assumes just before it wakens -to the sun's kiss, seemed inexpressibly dreary and desolate. -</p> - -<p> -He went to the window and threw open the casement. Down below a kitchen -wench was busy scrubbing the flagged steps of the porch; over in the -inner harbour, one or two fishing vessels were preparing to put out to -sea; and from the tidal harbour, the graceful yacht which yesterday had -brought him—Bertrand—and his friends safely to this land of -refuge, was majestically gliding out, like a beautiful swan with gleaming -wings outspread. -</p> - -<p> -Controlling his apprehension, his nervousness, Bertrand at last -contrived to unfold the mysterious epistle. He read the few lines that -were traced with a delicate, feminine hand, and with a sigh of infinite -longing and of ardent passion, he pressed the paper to his lips. -Theresia had sent him a message. Finding him asleep, she had slipped it -into his hand. The marvel was that he did not wake when she stooped over -him, and perhaps even touched his forehead with her lips. -</p> - -<p> -"A kind soul," so the message ran, "hath taken compassion on me. There -was no room for me at the inn, and she has offered me a bed in her -cottage, somewhere close by. I do not know where it is. I have arranged -with the landlord that you shall be left undisturbed in the small room -where we found one another, and where the four walls will whisper to you -of me. Good night, my beloved! To-morrow you will go to London with the -de Servals. I will follow later. It is better so. In London you will -find me at the house of Mme. de Neufchateau, a friend of my father's who -lives at No. 54 in Soho Square, and who offered me hospitality in the -days when I thought I might visit London for pleasure. She will receive -me now that I am poor and an exile. Come to me there. Until then my -heart will feed on the memory of your kiss." -</p> - -<p> -The letter was signed "Theresia." -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand pressed it time and again to his lips. Never in his wildest -dreams had he hoped for this; never even in those early days of rapture -had he tasted such perfect bliss. The letter he hid against his breast. -He was immeasurably happy, felt as if he were treading on air. The sea, -the landscape, no longer looked grey and dreary. This was England, the -land of the free, the land wherein he had regained his beloved. Ah, the -mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, while seeking ignoble vengeance against -her, for sins which she never had committed, did in truth render him and -her a priceless service. Theresia, courted, adulated, over in Paris, had -been as far removed from Bertrand Moncrif as the stars; but here, where -she was poor and lonely, a homeless refugee like himself, she turned -instinctively to the faithful lover, who would gladly die to ensure her -happiness. -</p> - -<p> -With that letter in his possession, Bertrand felt that he could not -remain indoors. He was pining for open spaces, the sea, the mountains, -God's pure air—the air which she too was breathing even now. He -snatched up his hat and made his way out of the little building. The -kitchen wench paused in her scrubbing and looked up smiling as he ran -past her, singing and shouting for joy. For Régine—the tender, loving -heart that pined for him and for his love—he had not a thought She -was the past, the dull, drabby past wherein he had dwelt before he knew how -glorious a thing life could be, how golden the future, how rosy that -horizon far away. -</p> - -<p> -By the time he reached the harbour, the sun had risen in all its glory. -Way out against the translucent sky, the graceful silhouette of the -schooner swayed gently in the morning breeze, her outspread sails -gleaming like wings that are tinged with gold. Bertrand watched her for -awhile. He thought of the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel and the hideous -vengeance which he had wrought against his beloved. And the rage which -possessed his soul at the thought obscured for a moment the beauty of -the morning and the glory of the sky. With a gesture characteristic of -his blood and of his race, he raised his fist and shook it in the -direction of the distant ship. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap19"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XIX -<br /><br /> -A RENCONTRE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -For Marguerite, that wonderful May-day, like so many others equally -happy and equally wonderful, came to an end all too soon. To dwell on -those winged hours were but to record sorrow, anxiety, a passionate -resentment coupled with an equally passionate acceptance of the -inevitable. Her intimate friends often marvelled how Marguerite Blakeney -bore the strain of these constantly recurring farewells. Every time that -in the early dawn she twined her loving arms round the neck of the man -she worshipped, feeling that mayhap she was looking into those dear, -lazy, laughing eyes for the last time on earth—every time, it seemed -to her as if earth could not hold greater misery. -</p> - -<p> -Then after that came that terrible half-hour, whilst she stood on the -landing-stage—his kisses still hot upon her lips, her eyes, her -throat—and watched and watched that tiny speck, the fast-sailing ship -that bore him away on his errand of mercy and self-sacrifice, leaving -her lonely and infinitely desolate. And then the days and hours, when he -was away and it was her task to smile and laugh, to appear to know -nothing of her husband save that he was a society butterfly, the pet of -the salons, an exquisite, something of a fool, whose frequent absences -were accounted for by deer-stalking in Scotland or fishing in the Tweed, -or hunting in the shires—anything and everything that would throw -dust in the eyes of the fashionable crowd, of whom she and he formed an -integral part. -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Percy not with you to-night, dear Lady Blakeney?" -</p> - -<p> -"With me? Lud love you, no! I have not seen him these three weeks past." -</p> - -<p> -"The dog!" -</p> - -<p> -People would talk and ask questions, throw out suggestions and -innuendoes. Society a few months ago had been greatly agitated because -the beautiful Lady Blakeney, the most fashionable woman about town, had -taken a mad fancy for—you'll never believe it, my dear!—for her -own husband. She had him by her side at routs and river-parties, in her -opera-box and on the Mall. It was positively indecent! Sir Percy was the -pet of Society, his sallies, his inane laugh, his lazy, delicious, -impertinent ways and his exquisite clothes, made the success of every -salon in which he chose to appear. His Royal Highness was never so -good-tempered as when Sir Percy was by his side. Then, for his own wife -to monopolise him was preposterous, abnormal, extravagant! Some people -put it down to foreign eccentricity; others to Lady Blakeney's -shrewdness in thus throwing dust in the eyes of her none-too-clever -lord, in order to mask some intrigue or secret amour, of which Society -had not as yet the key. -</p> - -<p> -Fortunately for the feelings of the fashionable world, this phase of -conjugal affection did not last long. It had been at its height last -year, and had waned perceptibly since. Of late, so it was averred, Sir -Percy was hardly ever at home, and his appearances at Blakeney -Manor—his beautiful house at Richmond—were both infrequent and -brief. He had evidently tired of playing second fiddle to his exquisite -wife, or been irritated by her caustic wit, which she was wont to sharpen -at his expense; and the menage of these two leaders of fashion had, in the -opinion of those in the know, once more resumed a more normal aspect. -</p> - -<p> -When Lady Blakeney was in Richmond, London or Bath, Sir Percy was -shooting or fishing or yachting—which was just as it should be. And -when he appeared in society, smiling, elegant, always an exquisite, Lady -Blakeney would scarce notice him, save for making him a butt for her -lively tongue. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -What it cost Marguerite to keep up this rôle, none but a very few ever -knew. The identity of one of the greatest heroes of this or any time was -known to his most bitter enemy—not to his friends. So Marguerite -went on smiling, joking, flirting, while her heart ached and her brain -was at times wellnigh numb with anxiety. His intimates rallied round -her, of course: the splendid little band of heroes who formed the League -of the Scarlet Pimpernel—Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and his pretty wife; -Lord Anthony Dewhurst and his lady, whose great dark eyes still wore the -impress of the tragedy which had darkened the first month of her happy -wedded life. Then there was my lord Hastings; and Sir Evan Cruche, the -young Squire of Holt, and all the others. -</p> - -<p> -As for the Prince of Wales, it is more than surmised by those competent -to judge that His Royal Highness did indeed guess at the identity of the -Scarlet Pimpernel, even if he had not actually been apprised of it. -Certain it is that his tact and discretion did on more than one occasion -save a situation which might have proved embarrassing for Marguerite. -</p> - -<p> -In all these friends then—in their conversation, their happy -laughter, their splendid pluck and equally splendid gaiety, the echo of -the chief whom they adored—Marguerite found just the solace that -she needed. With Lady Ffoulkes and Lady Anthony Dewhurst she had -everything in common. With those members of the League who happened to -be in England, she could talk over and in her mind trace the various -stages of the perilous adventure on which her beloved and the others -were even then engaged. -</p> - -<p> -And there were always the memories of those all too brief days at Dover -or in Richmond, when her loving heart tasted such perfect happiness as -is granted only to the elect: the happiness that comes from perfect -love, perfect altruism, a complete understanding and measureless -sympathy. On those memories her hungering soul could subsist in the -intervals, and with them as her unalienable property, she could even hid -the grim spectre of unhappiness begone. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -Of Madame de Fontenay—for as such Marguerite still knew her—she -saw but little. Whether the beautiful Theresia had gone to London or no, -whether she had succeeded in finding her truant husband, Marguerite did -not know and cared less. The unaccountable antipathy which she had felt -on that first night of her acquaintance with the lovely Spaniard still -caused her to hold herself aloof. Sir Percy, true to his word, had not -betrayed the actual identity of Theresia Cabarrus to his wife; but in -his light, insouciant manner had dropped a word or two of warning, which -had sharpened Marguerite's suspicions and strengthened her determination -to avoid Mme. de Fontenay as far as possible. And since monetary or -other material help was apparently not required, she had no reason to -resume an intercourse which, in point of fact, was not courted by -Theresia either. -</p> - -<p> -But one day, walking alone in Richmond Park, she came face to face with -Theresia. It was a beautiful late afternoon in July, the end of a day -which had been a comparatively happy one for Marguerite—the day when -a courier had come from France with news of Sir Percy; a letter from him, -telling her that he was well and hinting at the possibility of another -of those glorious days together at Dover. -</p> - -<p> -With that message from her beloved just to hand, Marguerite had felt -utterly unable to fulfil her social engagements in London. There was -nothing of any importance that claimed her presence. His Royal Highness -was at Brighton; the opera and the rout at Lady Portarles' could well -get on without her. The evening promised to be more than ordinarily -beautiful, with a radiant sunset and the soft, sweet-scented air of a -midsummer's evening. -</p> - -<p> -After dinner, Marguerite had felt tempted to stroll out alone. She threw -a shawl over her head and stepped out on to the terrace. The vista of -velvet lawns, of shady paths and rose borders in full bloom, stretched -out into the dim distance before her; and beyond these, the boundary -wall, ivy-clad, overhung with stately limes, and broken into by the -finely wrought-iron gates that gave straight into the Park. -</p> - -<p> -The shades of evening were beginning to draw in, and the garden was -assuming that subtle veil of mysterious melancholy which perfect beauty -always lends. In the stately elms far away, a blackbird was whistling -his evensong. The night was full of sweet odours—roses and -heliotrope, lime and mignonette—whilst just below the terrace a -bed of white tobacco swung ghost-like its perfumed censer into the air. -Just an evening to lure a lonely soul into the open, away from the -indifferent, the casual, into the heart of nature, always potent enough -to soothe and to console. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -Marguerite strolled through the grounds with a light foot, and anon -reached the monumental gates, through which the exquisite peace and -leafy solitude of the Park seemed to beckon insistently to her. The gate -was on the latch; she slipped through and struck down a woodland path -bordered by tangled undergrowth and tall bracken, and thus reached the -pond, when suddenly she perceived Mme. de Fontenay. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia was dressed in a clinging gown of diaphanous black silk, which -gave value to the exquisite creamy whiteness of her skin and to the -vivid crimson of her lips. She wore a transparent shawl round her -shoulders, which with the new-modish, high-waisted effect of her gown, -suited her sinuous grace to perfection. But she wore no jewellery, no -ornaments of any kind: only a magnificent red rose at her breast. -</p> - -<p> -The sight of her at this place and at this hour was so unexpected that, -to Marguerite's super-sensitive intuition, the appearance of this -beautiful woman, strolling listless and alone beside the water's edge, -seemed like a presage of evil. Her first instinct had been to run away -before Mme. de Fontenay was aware of her presence; but the next moment -she chided herself for this childish cowardice, and stood her ground, -waiting for the other woman to draw near. -</p> - -<p> -A minute or two later, Theresia had looked up and in her turn had -perceived Marguerite. She did not seem surprised, rather came forward -with a glad little cry, and her two hands outstretched. -</p> - -<p> -"Milady!" she exclaimed. "Ah, I see you at last! I have oft wondered why -we never met." -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite took her hands, greeted her as warmly as she could. Indeed -she did her best to appear interested and sympathetic. -</p> - -<p> -Mme. de Fontenay had not much to relate. She had found refuge in the -French convent of the Assumption at Twickenham, where the Mother -Superior had been an intimate friend of her mother's in the happy olden -days. She went out very little, and never in society. But she was fond -of strolling in this beautiful Park. The sisters had told her that Lady -Blakeney's beautiful house was quite near. She would have liked to -call—but never dared—hoping for a chance rencontre which -hitherto had never come. -</p> - -<p> -She asked kindly after milor, and seemed to have heard a rumour that he -was at Brighton, in attendance on his royal friend. Of her husband, Mme. -de Fontenay had as yet found no trace. He must be living under an -assumed name, she thought—no doubt in dire poverty—Theresia -feared it, but did not know—would give worlds to find out. -</p> - -<p> -Then she asked Lady Blakeney whether she knew aught of the de Servals. -</p> - -<p> -"I was so interested in them," she said, "because I had heard something -of them while I was in Paris, and seeing that we arrived in England the -same day, though under such different circumstances. But we could not -journey to London together, as you, milady, so kindly suggested, because -I was very ill the next day. . . . Ah, can you wonder? . . . A kind -friend in Dover took care of me. But I remember their name, and have oft -marvelled if we should ever meet." -</p> - -<p> -Yes; Marguerite did see the de Servals from time to time. They rented a -small cottage not very far from here—just outside the town. One of -the daughters, Régine, was employed all day at a fashionable dressmaker's -in Richmond. The younger girl, Joséphine, was a pupil-teacher at a -young ladies' finishing school, and the boy, Jacques, was doing work in -a notary's office. It was all very dreary for them, but their courage -was marvellous; and though the children did not earn much, it was -sufficient for their wants. -</p> - -<p> -Madame de Fontenay was vastly interested. She hoped that Régine's -marriage with the man of her choice would bring a ray of real happiness -into the household. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope so too," Lady Blakeney assented. -</p> - -<p> -"Milady has seen the young man—Régine's fiancée?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes! Once or twice. But he is engaged in business all day, it -seems. He is inclined to be morbid and none too full of ardour. It is a -pity; for Régine is a sweet girl and deserves happiness." -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon Madame de Fontenay sighed again, and expressed the hope that -one day Fate would bring her together with the de Servals. -</p> - -<p> -"We have so much sorrow in common," she said with a pathetic smile. "So -many misfortunes. We ought to be friends." -</p> - -<p> -Then she gave a little shiver. -</p> - -<p> -"The weather is extraordinarily cold for July," she said. "Ah, how one -misses the glorious sunshine of France!" -</p> - -<p> -She wrapped her thin, transparent shawl closer round her shoulders. She -was delicate, she explained. Always had been. She was a child of the -South, and fully expected the English climate would kill her. In any -case, it was foolish of her to stand thus talking, when it was so cold. -</p> - -<p> -After which she took her leave, with a gracious inclination of the head -and a cordial au revoir. Then she turned off into a small path under the -trees, cut through the growing bracken; and Marguerite watched the -graceful figure thoughtfully, until the leafy undergrowth hid her from -view. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap20"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XX -<br /><br /> -DEPARTURE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -The next morning's sun rose more radiant than before. Marguerite greeted -it with a sigh that was entirely a happy one. Another round of the clock -had brought her a little nearer to the time when she would see her -beloved. The next courier might indeed bring a message naming the very -day when she could rest once more in his arms for a few brief hours, -which were so like the foretaste of heaven. -</p> - -<p> -Soon after breakfast she ordered her coach, intending to go to London in -order to visit Lady Ffoulkes and give Sir Andrew the message which was -contained for him in Percy's last letter. Whilst waiting for the coach, -she strolled out into the garden, which was gay with roses and blue -larkspur, sweet william and heliotrope, alive with a deafening chorus of -blackbirds and thrushes, the twittering of sparrows and the last call of -the cuckoo. It was a garden brimful of memories, filled in rich -abundance with the image of the man she worshipped. Every bird-song -seemed to speak his name, the soughing of the breeze amidst the trees -seemed to hold the echo of his voice; the perfume of thyme and -mignonette to bring back the savour of his kiss. -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly she became aware of hurrying footsteps on the gravelled -path close by. She turned, and saw a young man whom at first she did not -recognise running with breathless haste towards her. He was hatless, his -linen crumpled, his coat-collar awry. At sight of her he gave a queer -cry of excitement and relief. -</p> - -<p> -"Lady Blakeney! Thank God! Thank God!" -</p> - -<p> -Then she recognised him. It was Bertrand Moncrif. -</p> - -<p> -He fell on his knees and seized her gown. He appeared entirely -overwrought, imbalanced, and Marguerite tried in vain at first to get a -coherent word out of him. All that he kept on repeating was: -</p> - -<p> -"Will you help me? Will you help us all?" -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed I will, if I can, M. Moncrif," Marguerite said gently. "Do try -and compose yourself and tell me what is amiss." -</p> - -<p> -She persuaded him to rise, and presently to follow her to a garden seat, -where she sat down. He remained standing in front of her. His eyes still -looked wild and scared, and he passed a shaking hand once or twice -through his unruly hair. But he was obviously making an effort to -compose himself, and after a little while, during which Marguerite -waited with utmost patience, he began more coherently: -</p> - -<p> -"Your servants said, milady," he began more quietly, "that you were in -the garden. I could not wait until they called you; so I ran to find -you. Will you try and forgive me? I ought not to have intruded." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I will forgive you," Marguerite rejoined with a smile, "if -you will only tell me what is amiss." -</p> - -<p> -He paused a moment, then cried abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -"Régine has gone!" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite frowned, puzzled, and murmured slowly, not understanding: -</p> - -<p> -"Gone? Whither?" -</p> - -<p> -"To Dover," he replied, "with Jacques." -</p> - -<p> -"Jacques?" she reiterated, still uncomprehending. -</p> - -<p> -"Her brother," he rejoined. "You know the boy?" Marguerite nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"Hot-headed, impulsive," Moncrif went on, trying to speak calmly. "He -and the girl Joséphine always had it in their minds that they were -destined to liberate France from her present state of anarchy and -bloodshed." -</p> - -<p> -"Like you yourself, M. Moncrif!" Marguerite put in with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I became sobered, reasonable, when I realised how futile it all -was. We all owe our lives to that noble Scarlet Pimpernel. They were no -longer ours to throw away. At least, that was my theory, and Régine's. -I have been engaged in business; and she works hard. . . . Oh, but you -know!" he exclaimed impulsively. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I know all your circumstances. But to the point, I pray you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Jacques of late has been very excited, feverish. We did not know what -was amiss. Régine and I oft spoke of him. And Mme. de Serval has been -distraught with anxiety. She worships the boy. He is her only son. But -Jacques would not say what was amiss. He spoke to no one. Went to his -work every day as usual. Last night he did not come home. A message came -for Mme. de Serval to say that a friend in London had persuaded him to -go to the play and spend the night with him. Mme. de Serval thought -nothing of that. She was pleased to think that Jacques had some -amusement to distract him from his brooding thoughts. But Régine, it -seems, was not satisfied. After her mother had gone to bed, she went -into Jacques' room; found some papers, it seems . . . letters . . . I -know not . . . proof in fact that the boy was even then on his way to -Dover, having made arrangements to take ship for France." -</p> - -<p> -"Mon Dieu!" Marguerite exclaimed involuntarily. "What senseless folly!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah! but that is not the worst. Folly, you say! But there is worse folly -still!" -</p> - -<p> -With the same febrile movements that characterised his whole attitude, -he drew a stained and crumpled letter from his pocket. -</p> - -<p> -"She sent me this, this morning," he said. "That is why I came to you." -</p> - -<p> -"You mean Régine?" Marguerite asked, and took the letter which he was -handing to her. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes! She must have brought it round herself . . . to my lodgings . . . -in the early dawn. I did not know what to do . . . whom to -consult. . . . A blind instinct brought me here . . . I have no other -friend . . ." -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile Marguerite was deciphering the letter, turning a deaf -ear to his ramblings. -</p> - -<p> -"My Bertrand," so the letter ran, "Jacques is going to France. Nothing -will keep him back. He says it is his duty. I think that he is mad, and -I know that it will kill maman. So I go with him. Perhaps at the -last—at Dover—my tears and entreaties might yet prevail. If -not, and he puts this senseless project in execution, I can watch over -him there, and perhaps save him from too glaring a folly. We go by the -coach to Dover, which starts in an hour's time. Farewell, my beloved, -and forgive me for causing you this anxiety; but I feel that Jacques has -more need of me than you." -</p> - -<p> -Below the signature "Régine de Serval" there were a few more lines, -written as if with an afterthought: -</p> - -<p> -"I have told maman that my employer is sending me down into the country -about some dresses for an important customer, and that as Jacques can -get a few days' leave from his work, I am taking him with me, for I feel -the country air would do him good. -</p> - -<p> -"Maman will be astonished and no doubt hurt that Jacques did not send -her a word of farewell, but it is best that she should not learn the -truth too suddenly. If we do not return from Dover within the week, you -will have to break the news as gently as you can." -</p> - -<p> -Whilst Marguerite read the letter, Bertrand had sunk upon the seat and -buried his head in his hands. He looked utterly dejected and forlorn, -and she felt a twinge of remorse at thought how she had been wronging -him all this while by doubting his love for Régine. She placed a kindly -hand on the young man's shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"What was your idea," she asked, "in coming to me? What can I do?" -</p> - -<p> -"Give me advice, milady!" he implored. "I am so helpless, so friendless. -When I had the letter, I could think of nothing at first. You see, -Régine and Jacques started early this morning, by the coach from -London, long before I had it. I thought you could tell me what to do, -how to overtake them. Régine loves me—oh, she loves me! If I knelt at -her feet I could bring her back. But they are marked people, those two. -The moment they attempt to enter Paris, they will be recognised, -arrested. Oh, my God! have mercy on us all!" -</p> - -<p> -"You think you can persuade Régine, M. Moncrif?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure," he asserted firmly. "And you, milady! Régine thinks the -whole world of you!" -</p> - -<p> -"But there is the boy—Jacques!" -</p> - -<p> -"He is just a child—he acted on impulse—and I always had great -authority over him. And you, milady! The whole family worship you! . . . -They know what they owe to you. Jacques has not thought of his mother; -but if he did——" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite rose without another word. -</p> - -<p> -"Very well," she said simply. "Well go together and see what we can do -with those two obstinate young folk." -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand gave a gasp of surprise and of hope. His whole face lighted up -and he gazed upon the beautiful woman before him as a worshipper would -on his divinity. -</p> - -<p> -"You, milady?" he murmured. "You would . . . really . . . help me . . . -like that?" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite smiled. -</p> - -<p> -"I really would help you like that," she said. "My coach is ordered; we -can start at once. We'll get relays at Maidstone and at Ashford, and -easily reach Dover to-night, before the arrival of the public coach. In -any case, I know every one of any importance in Dover. We could not fail -to find the runaways." -</p> - -<p> -"But you are an angel, milady!" Bertrand contrived to stammer, although -obviously he was overwhelmed with gratitude. -</p> - -<p> -"You are ready to start?" Marguerite retorted, gently checking any -further display of emotion. -</p> - -<p> -He certainly was hatless, and his clothes were in an untidy condition; -but such trifles mattered nothing at a moment like this. Marguerite's -household, on the other hand, were accustomed to these sudden vagaries -and departures of their mistress, either for Dover, Bath, or any known -and unknown destination, often at a few minutes' notice. -</p> - -<p> -In this case the coach was actually at the gates. The maids packed the -necessary valise; her ladyship changed her smart gown for a dark -travelling one, and less than half an hour after Bertrand Moncrif's -first arrival at the Manor, he was seated beside Lady Blakeney in her -coach. The coachman cracked his whip, the postilion swung himself into -the saddle, and the servants stood at attention as the vehicle slowly -swung out of the gates; and presently, the horses putting on the pace, -disappeared along the road, followed by a cloud of dust. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Bertrand Moncrif, brooding, absorbed in thoughts, said little or nothing -while the coach swung along at a very brisk pace. Marguerite, who always -had plenty to think about, did not feel in the mood to try and make -conversation. She was very sorry for the young man, who in very truth -must have suffered also from remorse. His lack of ardour—obviously -only an outward lack—toward his fiancée and the members of her -family, must to a certain extent have helped to precipitate the present -catastrophe. Coolness and moroseness on his part gave rise to want of -confidence on the other. Régine, heartsick at her lover's seeming -indifference, was no doubt all the more ready to lavish love and -self-sacrifice upon the young brother. Marguerite was sorry enough for -the latter—a young fool, with the exalté Latin temperament, -brimming over with desires for self-immolation as futile as they were -senseless—but her generous heart went out to Régine de Serval, a -girl who appeared predestined to sorrow and disappointments, endowed -with an exceptionally warm nature and cursed with the inability to draw -whole-hearted affection to herself. She worshipped Bertrand Moncrif; she -idolised her mother, her brother, her sister. But though they, one and -all, relied on her, brought her the confidences of their troubles and -their difficulties, it never occurred to any one of them to give up -something—a distraction, a fancy, an ideal—for the sake of -silent, thoughtful Régine. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite allowed her thoughts thus to dwell on these people, whom her -husband's splendid sacrifice on their behalf had rendered dear. Indeed, -she loved them as she loved so many others, because of the dangers which -he had braved for their sakes. Their lives had become valuable because -of his precious one, daily risked because of them. And at the back of -her mind there was also the certainty that if these two young fools did -put their mad project in execution and endeavoured to return to Paris, -it would again be the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel who would jeopardise his -life to save them from the consequences of their own folly. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -Luncheon and a brief halt was taken at Farningham and Maidstone reached -by three o'clock in the afternoon. Here Lady Blakeney's own servants -took leave of her, and post-horses were engaged to take her ladyship on -to Ashford. Two hours later, at Ashford, fresh relays were obtained. The -public coach at this hour was only some nine or ten miles ahead, it -seems, and there was now every chance that Dover would be reached by -nightfall and the young runaways met by their pursuers on arrival. -</p> - -<p> -All was then for the best. Bertrand, after the coach had rattled out of -Ashford, appeared to find comfort and courage. He began to talk, long and -earnestly—of himself, his plans and projects, his love for Régine, -to which he always found it so difficult to give expression; of Régine -herself and the de Servals, mother, son and daughters. His voice was -toneless and very even. The monotony of his diction acted after awhile -as a soporific on Marguerite's nerves. The rumble of the coach, the -closeness of this long afternoon in July, the rocking of the springs, -made her feel drowsy. After a while too, a curious scent pervaded the -interior of the coach—a sweet, heady scent that appeared to weigh her -eyelids down and gave her a feeling of delicious and lazy beatitude. -Bertrand Moncrif droned on, and his voice came to her fast-fading senses -as through a thick pulpy veil. She closed her eyes. That sweet, -intoxicating scent came, more marked, more insistent, to her nostrils. -She laid her head against the cushions, and still she heard the dreary -monotone of Bertrand's voice, quite inarticulate now, like the hum of a -swarm of bees. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Then, all of a sudden she was fully conscious; only just in time to feel -the weight of an iron hand against her mouth and to see Bertrand's face, -ghastly of hue, eyes distorted more with fear than rage, quite close to -her own. She had not the time to scream, and her limbs felt as heavy as -lead, so that she could not struggle. The next moment a thick woollen -scarf was wound quickly and tightly round her head, covering her mouth -and eyes, only barely giving her room to breathe, and her hands and arms -were tied together with cords. -</p> - -<p> -This brutal assault had been so quick and sudden that at first it seemed -to Marguerite like part of a hideous dream. She was not fully conscious, -and was half suffocated by the thick folds of the scarf and that -persistent odour, which by its sickening sweetness caused her wellnigh -to swoon. -</p> - -<p> -Through this semi-consciousness, however, she was constantly aware of -her enemy, Bertrand Moncrif—the black-hearted traitor who had carried -out this execrable outrage: why and for what purpose, Marguerite was too -dazed to attempt to guess. He was there, that she knew. She was -conscious of his hands making sure of the cords round her wrists, -tightening the scarf around her mouth; then presently she felt him -leaning across her body and throwing down the window, and she heard him -shouting to the driver: "Her ladyship has fainted. Drive as fast as ever -you can till you come to that white house yonder on the right, the one -with the green shutters and the tall yew at the gate!" -</p> - -<p> -The driver's reply she could not hear, nor the crack of his whip. -Certain it is that, though the coach had rattled on at a great pace -before, the horses, as if in response to Bertrand's commands, now burned -the ground under their hoofs. A few minutes went by—an eternity. Then -that terrible cloying perfume was again held close to her nostrils; an -awful dizziness and nausea seized her; after which she remembered -nothing more. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap21"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXI -<br /><br /> -MEMORIES</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -When Marguerite Blakeney finally recovered consciousness, the sun was -low down in the west. She was in a coach—not her own—which was -being whisked along the road at terrific speed. She was alone, her mouth -gagged, her wrists and her ankles tied with cords, so that she could -neither speak nor move—a helpless log, being taken . . . -whither? . . . and by whom? -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand was not there. Through the front window of the coach she could -perceive the vague outline of two men sitting on the driver's seat, -whilst another was riding the off-leader. Four horses were harnessed to -the light coach. It flew along in a south-easterly direction, the while -the shades of evening were fast drawing in. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite had seen too much of the cruelties and barbarities of this -world, too much of the hatred that existed between enemy countries and -too much of the bitter rancour felt by certain men against her husband, -and indirectly against herself, not to realise at once whence the blow -had come that had struck her. Something too in the shape of that back -which she perceived through the window in front of her, something in the -cut of the threadbare coat, the set of the black bow at the nape of the -neck, was too familiar to leave her even for a moment in doubt. Here was -no ordinary foot-pad, no daring abduction with a view to reward or -ransom. This was the work of her husband's enemies, who, through her, -were once more striving to get at him. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand Moncrif had been the decoy. Whence had come the hatred which -prompted him to raise his hand against the very man to whom he owed his -life. Marguerite was still too dazed to conjecture. He had gone, and -taken his secret of rancour with him, mayhap for ever. Lying pinioned -and helpless as she was, Marguerite had but the one thought: in what way -would those fiends who had her a prisoner use her as a leverage against -the life and the honour of the Scarlet Pimpernel? They had held her once -before—not so very long ago—in Boulogne, and he had emerged -unscathed, victorious over them all. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite, helpless and pinioned, forced her thoughts to dwell on that -time, when his enemies had filled to the brim the cup of humiliation and -of dread which was destined to reach him through her hands, and his -ingenuity and his daring dashed the cup to the ground ere it reached her -lips. In truth, her plight then, at Boulogne, was in no way less -terrible, less seemingly hopeless than now. She was a prisoner then, -just as she was now; in the power of men whose whole life and entire -range of thought had for the past two years been devoted to the undoing -and annihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And there was a certain grim -satisfaction for the pinioned, helpless woman in recalling the many -instances where the daring adventurer had so completely outwitted his -enemies, as well as in the memory of those days at Boulogne when the -life of countless innocents was to be the price of her own. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -The embarkation took place somewhere on the coast around Birchington. -When, at dead of night the coach came to a halt, and the tang of sea air -and salt spray reached Marguerite's burning cheeks and parched lips, she -tried with all her might to guess at her exact position. But that was -impossible. -</p> - -<p> -She was lifted out of the coach, and at once a shawl was thrown over her -face, so that she could not see. It was more instinct than anything else -that guided her perceptions. Even in the coach she had been vaguely -conscious of the direction in which she had been travelling. All that -part of the country was entirely familiar to her. So often had she -driven down with Sir Percy, either to Dover or more often to some lonely -part of the coast, where he took ship for unknown destinations, that in -her mind she could, even blinded with tears and half conscious as she -was, trace in her mind the various turnings and side-roads along which -she was being borne at unabating speed. -</p> - -<p> -Birchington—one of the favourite haunts of the smuggling fraternity, -with its numberless caves and retreats dug by the sea in the chalk -cliffs, as if for the express benefit of ne'er-do-wells—seemed the -natural objective of the miscreants who had her in their power. In fact, -at one moment she was quite sure that the square tower of old Minster -church flitted past her vision through the window of the coach, and that -the horses immediately after that sprinted the hill between Minster and -Acoll. -</p> - -<p> -Be that as it may, there was no doubt that the coach came to a halt at a -desolate spot. The day which had begun in radiance and sunshine, had -turned to an evening of squall and drizzle. A thin rain soon wetted -Marguerite's clothes and the shawl on her head through and through, -greatly adding to her misery and discomfort. Though she saw nothing, she -could trace every landmark of the calvary to the summit of which she was -being borne like an insentient log. -</p> - -<p> -For a while she lay at the bottom of a small boat, aching in body as -well as in mind, her eyes closed, her limbs cramped by the cords which -owing to the damp were cutting into her flesh, faint with cold and want -of food, wet to the skin yet with eyes and head and hands burning hot, -and her ears filled with the dreary, monotonous sound of the oars -creaking in the rowlocks and the boom of the water against the sides of -the boat. -</p> - -<p> -She was lifted out of the boat and carried, as she judged, by two men up -a companion ladder, then down some steps and finally deposited on some -hard boards; after which the wet shawl was removed from her face. She -was in the dark. Only a tiny streak of light found its way through a -chink somewhere close to the floor. A smell of tar and of stale food -gave her a wretched sense of nausea. But she had by now reached a stage -of physical and mental prostration wherein even acute bodily suffering -counts as nothing, and is endurable because it is no longer felt. -</p> - -<p> -After a while the familiar motion, the well-known sound of a ship -weighing anchor, gave another blow to her few lingering hopes. Every -movement of the ship now bore her farther and farther from England and -home, and rendered her position more utterly miserable and hopeless. -</p> - -<p> -Far be it from me to suggest even for a moment that Marguerite Blakeney -lost either spirit or courage during this terrible ordeal. But she was -so completely helpless that instinct forced her to remain motionless and -quiescent, and not to engage in a fight against overwhelming odds. In -mid-Channel, surrounded by miscreants who had her in their power, she -could obviously do nothing except safeguard what dignity she could by -silence and seeming acquiescence. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -She was taken ashore in the early dawn, at a spot not very far from -Boulogne. Precautions were no longer taken against her possible calls -for help; even the cords had been removed from her wrists and ankles as -soon as she was lowered into the boat that brought her to shore. Cramped -and stiff though she was, she disdained the help of an arm which was -held out to her to enable her to step out of the boat. -</p> - -<p> -All the faces around her were unfamiliar. There were four or five men, -surly and silent, who piloted her over the rocks and cliffs and then -along the sands, to the little hamlet of Wimereux, which she knew well. -The coast at this hour was still deserted; only at one time did the -little party meet with a group of buxom young women, trudging along -barefooted with their shrimping nets over their shoulders. They stared -wide-eyed but otherwise indifferent, at the unfortunate woman in torn, -damp clothes, and with golden hair all dishevelled, who was bravely -striving not to fall whilst urged on by five rough fellows in ragged -jerseys, tattered breeches, and barekneed. -</p> - -<p> -Just for one moment—a mere flash—Marguerite at sight of these -girls had the wild notion to run to them, implore their assistance in the -name of their sweethearts, their husbands, their sons; to throw herself at -their feet and beg them to help her, seeing that they were women and -could not be without heart or pity. But it was a mere flash, the wild -vagary of an over-excited brain, the drifting straw that mocks the -drowning man. The next moment the girls had gone by, laughing and -chattering. One of them intoned the "Ça ira!" and Marguerite, -fortunately for her own dignity, was not seriously tempted to essay so -futile, so senseless an appeal. -</p> - -<p> -Later on, in a squalid little hovel on the outskirts of Wimereux, she -was at last given some food which, though of the poorest and roughest -description, was nevertheless welcome, for it revived her spirit and -strengthened her courage, of which she had sore need. -</p> - -<p> -The rest of the journey was uneventful. Within the first hour of making -a fresh start, she had realised that she was being taken to Paris. A few -words dropped casually by the men who had charge of her apprised her of -that fact. Otherwise they were very reticent—not altogether rough or -unkind. -</p> - -<p> -The coach in which she travelled during this stage of the journey was -roomy and not uncomfortable, although the cushions were ragged and the -leatherwork mildewed. Above all, she had the supreme comfort of privacy. -She was alone in the coach, alone during the halts at way-side -hostelries when she was allowed food and rest, alone throughout those -two interminable nights when, with brief intervals whilst relays of -horses were put into the shafts or the men took it in turns to get food -or drink in some house unseen in the darkness, she vainly tried to get a -snatch or two of sleep and a few moments of forgetfulness; alone -throughout that next long day, whilst frequent summer showers sent heavy -raindrops beating against the window-panes of the coach and familiar -landmarks on the way to Paris flitted like threatening ghouls past her -aching eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Paris was reached at dawn of the third day. Seventy-two hours had crept -along leaden-footed, since the moment when she had, stepped into her own -coach outside her beautiful home in Richmond, surrounded by her own -servants, and with that traitor Moncrif by her side. Since then, what a -load of sorrow, of anxiety, of physical and mental suffering had she -borne! And yet, even that sorrow, even those sufferings and that -anxiety, seemed as nothing beside the heartrending thoughts of her -beloved, as yet ignorant of her terrible fate and of the schemes which -those fiends who had so shamefully trapped her were even now concocting -for the realisation of their vengeance against him. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap22"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXII -<br /><br /> -WAITING</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -The house to which Marguerite was ultimately driven, and where she -presently found herself ushered up the stairs into a small, -well-furnished apartment, appeared to be situated somewhere in an -outlying quarter of Paris. -</p> - -<p> -The apartment consisted of three rooms—a bedroom, a sitting-room, and -small cabinet de toilette—all plainly but nicely furnished. The bed -looked clean and comfortable, there was a carpet on the floor, one or -two pictures on the wall, an arm-chair or two, even a few books in an -armoire. An old woman, dour of mien but otherwise willing and attentive, -did all she could to minister to the poor, wearied woman's wants. She -brought up some warm milk and home-baked bread. Butter, she explained, -was not obtainable these days, and the household had not seen sugar for -weeks. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite, tired out and hungry, readily ate some breakfast; but what -she longed for most and needed most was rest. So presently, at the gruff -invitation of the old woman, she undressed and stretched her weary limbs -between the sheets, with a sigh of content. Anxiety, for the moment, had -to yield to the sense of well-being, and with the name of her beloved on -her lips Marguerite went to sleep like a child. -</p> - -<p> -When she woke, it was late afternoon. On a chair close by her bedside -was some clean linen laid out, a change of stockings, clean shoes, and a -gown—a perfect luxury, which made this silent and lonely house -appear more like the enchanted abode of ogres or fairies than before. -Marguerite rose and dressed. The linen was fine, obviously the -property of a woman of refinement, whilst everything in the -tiny dressing-room—a comb, hand-mirror, soap, and scented -water—suggested that the delicate hand of a cultured woman had -seen to their disposal. A while later, the dour attendant brought her -some soup and a dish of cooked vegetables. -</p> - -<p> -Every phase of the situation became more and more puzzling as time went -on. Marguerite, with the sense of well-being further accentuated by the -feel of warm, dry clothes and of wholesome food, had her mind free -enough to think and to ponder. She had thrown open the window, and -peeping out, noted that it obviously gave on the back of the house and -that the view consisted of rough, uncultivated land, broken up here and -there by workshops, warehouses, and timber-yards. Marguerite also noted -that she was gazing out in the direction of the north-west, that the -apartment wherein she found herself was on the top floor of a detached -house which, judging by certain landmarks vaguely familiar, was situated -somewhere outside the barrier of St. Antoine, and not very far from the -Bastille and from the Arsenal. -</p> - -<p> -Again she pondered. Where was she? Why was she being treated with a -kindness and consideration altogether at variance with the tactics -usually adopted by the enemies of the Scarlet Pimpernel? She was not in -prison. She was not being starved, or threatened, or humiliated. The day -wore on, and she was not confronted with one or other of those fiends -who were so obviously using her as a decoy for her husband. -</p> - -<p> -But though Marguerite Blakeney was not in prison, she was a prisoner. -This she had ascertained five minutes after she was alone in the -apartment. She could wander at will from room to room; but only in them, -not out of them. The door of communication between the rooms was wide -open; those that obviously gave on a landing outside were securely -locked; and when a while ago the old woman had entered with the tray of -food, Marguerite had caught sight of a group of men in the well-known -tattered uniform of the National Guard, standing at attention in a wide, -long antechamber. -</p> - -<p> -Yes; she was a prisoner! She could open the windows of her apartment and -inhale the soft moist air which came across the wide tract of barren -land; but these windows were thirty feet above the ground, and there was -no projection in the outside wall of the house anywhere near that would -afford a foothold to anything human. -</p> - -<p> -Thus for twenty-four hours was she left to meditate, thrown upon her own -resources, with no other company save that of her own thoughts, and they -were anything but cheerful. The uncertainty of the situation soon began -to prey upon her nerves. She had been calm in the morning; but as the -day wore on the loneliness, the mystery, the silence, began to tell upon -her courage. Soon she got to look upon the woman who waited on her as -upon her jailer, and when she was alone she was for ever straining her -ears to hear what the men who were guarding her door might be saying -among themselves. -</p> - -<p> -The next night she hardly slept. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Twenty-four hours later she had a visit from citizen Chauvelin. -</p> - -<p> -She had been expecting that visit all along, or else a message from him. -When he came she had need of all her pluck and all her determination, -not to let him see the emotion which his presence caused her. Dread! -Loathing! These were her predominant sensations. But dread above all; -because he looked perfectly urbane and self-possessed; because he was -dressed with scrupulous care and affected the manners and graces of a -society which had long since cast him out. It was not the rough, -out-at-elbows Terrorist who stood before her, the revolutionary -demagogue who hits out right and left against a caste that has always -spurned him and held itself aloof; it was the broken-down gentleman at -war with fortune, who strives by his wits to be revenged against the -buffetings of Fate and the arrogance which ostracised him as soon as he -was down. -</p> - -<p> -He began by asking solicitously after her well-being; hoped the journey -had not over-fatigued her; humbly begged her pardon for the discomfort -which a higher power compelled him to put upon her. He talked platitudes -in an even, unctuous voice until Marguerite, exasperated, and her nerves -on edge, curtly bade him to come to the point. -</p> - -<p> -"I have come to the point, dear lady," he retorted suavely. "The point -is that you should be comfortable and have no cause to complain whilst -you are under this roof." -</p> - -<p> -"And how long am I to remain a prisoner under it?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Until Sir Percy has in his turn honoured this house with his presence," -he replied. -</p> - -<p> -To this she made no answer for a time, but sat quite still looking at -him, as if detached and indifferent. He waited for her to speak, his -pale eyes, slightly mocking, fixed upon her. Then she said simply: -</p> - -<p> -"I understand." -</p> - -<p> -"I was quite sure you would, dear lady," he rejoined blandly. "You see, -the phase of heroics is past. I will confess to you that it proved of no -avail when measured against the lofty coolness of that peerless -exquisite. So we over here have shed our ardour like a mantle. We, too, -now are quite calm, quite unperturbed, quite content to wait. The -beautiful Lady Blakeney is a guest under this roof. Well, sooner or -later that most gallant of husbands will desire to approach his lady. -Sooner or later he will learn that she is no longer in England. Then he -will set his incomparable wits to work to find out where she is. Again, -I may say that sooner or later, perhaps, even aided by us, he will know -that she is here. Then he will come. Am I not right?" -</p> - -<p> -Of course he was right. Sooner or later Percy would learn where she was; -and then he would come. He would come to her, despite every trap set for -his undoing, despite every net laid to catch him, despite danger of -death that waited for him if he came. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin said little more. In truth, the era of heroics was at an end. -At an end those ominous "either—ors" that he was wont to mete out -with a voice quavering with rage and lust of revenge. Now there was no -alternative, no deep-laid plot save one: to wait for the Scarlet -Pimpernel until he came. -</p> - -<p> -In the meanwhile she, Marguerite, must remain helpless and a prisoner; she -must eat and drink and sleep. She, the decoy!—who would never know -when the crushing blow would fall that would mean a hundred deaths to -her if it involved that of the husband whom she worshipped. -</p> - -<p> -After a while, Chauvelin went away. In fact, she never knew actually -when he did go. A while ago he had sat there on that upright chair, -quiet, well groomed, suave of speech and bland of manner. -</p> - -<p> -"Then he will come," he had said quite urbanely. "Am I not right?" -</p> - -<p> -When Marguerite closed her eyes she could still see him, his mocking -gaze fixed upon her, his thin, white hands folded complacently before -him. And presently, as the day wore on and the shades of evening blurred -one object in the room after another, the straight-backed chair, still -left in its place, assumed a fantastic human shape—the shape of a -meagre figure with narrow shoulders and thin, carefully be-stockinged -legs. And all the faint noises around her—the occasional creaking of -the furniture, the movement of the men outside her door, the soughing of -the evening breeze in the foliage of the elm trees—all were merged -into a thin, bland human voice, that went on repeating in a kind of thin, -dreary monotone: -</p> - -<p> -"Then he will come. Am I not right?" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap23"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIII -<br /><br /> -MICE AND MEN</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -It was on her return from England that Theresia Cabarrus took to -consulting the old witch in the Rue de la Planchette, driven thereto by -ambition, and also no doubt by remorse. There was nothing of the -hardened criminal about the fair Spaniard; she was just a spoilt woman -who had been mocked and thwarted, and desired to be revenged. The -Scarlet Pimpernel had appeared before her as one utterly impervious to -her charms; and, egged on by Chauvelin, who used her for his own ends, -she entered into a callous conspiracy, the aim of which was the -destruction of that gang of English spies who were the enemies of -France, and the first stage of which was the heartless abduction of Lady -Blakeney and her incarceration as a decoy for the ultimate capture of -her own husband. -</p> - -<p> -A cruel, abominable act! Theresia, who had plunged headlong into this -shameful crime, would a few days later have given much to undo the harm -she had wrought. But she had yet to learn that, once used as a tool by -the Committee of Public Safety and by Chauvelin, its most unscrupulous -agent, no man or woman could hope to become free again until the work -demanded had been accomplished to the end. There was no freedom from -that taskmaster save in death; and Theresia's fit of compunction did not -carry her to the lengths of self-sacrifice. Marguerite Blakeney was her -prisoner, the decoy which would bring the English milor inevitably to -the spot where his wife was incarcerated; and Theresia, who had helped -to bring this state of things about, did her best to smother remorse, -and having done Chauvelin's dirty work for him she set to see what -personal advantage she could derive from it. -</p> - -<p> -Firstly, the satisfaction of her petty revenge: the Scarlet Pimpernel -caught in a trap, would surely regret his interference in Theresia's -love affairs. Theresia cared less than nothing about Bertrand Moncrif, -and would have been quite grateful to the English milor for having -spirited that embarrassing lover of hers away but for that letter which -had wounded the beautiful Spaniard's vanity to the quick, and still -rankled sufficiently to ease her conscience on the score of her -subsequent actions. That the letter was a bogus one, concocted and -written by Chauvelin himself in order to spur her on to a mean revenge, -Theresia did not know. -</p> - -<p> -But far stronger than thoughts of revenge were Theresia's schemes for -her own future. She had begun to dream of Robespierre's gratitude, of -her triumph over all those who had striven for over two years to bring -that gang of English spies to book. She saw her name writ largely on the -roll of fame; she even saw in her mind, the tyrant himself as her -willing slave . . . and something more than that. -</p> - -<p> -For her tool Bertrand she had no further use. By way of a reward for the -abominable abduction of Lady Blakeney, he had been allowed to follow the -woman he worshipped like a lacquey attached to her train. Dejected, -already spurned, he returned to Paris with her, here to resume the life -of humiliation and of despised ardour which had broken his spirit and -warped his nature, before his gallant rescuer had snatched him out of -the toils of the beautiful Spaniard. -</p> - -<p> -Within an hour of setting his foot on French soil, Bertrand had realised -that he had been nothing in Theresia's sight but a lump of malleable -wax, which she had moulded to her own design and now threw aside as -cumbersome and useless. He had realised that her ambition soared far -above linking her fate to an obscure and penniless lover, when the -coming man of the hour—citizen Tallien—was already at her feet. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Thus Theresia had attained one of her great desires: the Scarlet -Pimpernel was as good as captured, and when he finally succumbed he -could not fail to know whence came the blow that struck him. -</p> - -<p> -With regard to her future, matters were more doubtful. She had not yet -subjugated Robespierre sufficiently to cause him to give up his more -humble love and to lay his power and popularity at her feet; whilst the -man who had offered her his hand and name—citizen Tallien—was -for ever putting a check upon her ambition and his own advancement by his -pusillanimity and lack of enterprise. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst she was aching to push him into decisive action, into seizing the -supreme power before Robespierre and his friends had irrevocably -established theirs, Tallien was for temporising, fearing that in trying -to snatch a dictatorship he and his beloved with him would lose their -heads. -</p> - -<p> -"While Robespierre lives," Theresia would argue passionately, "no man's -head is safe. Every rival, sooner or later, becomes a victim. St. Just -and Couthon aim at a dictatorship for him. Sooner or later they will -succeed; then death to every man who has ever dared oppose them." -</p> - -<p> -"Therefore 'tis wiser not to oppose," the prudent Tallien would retort. -"The time will come——" -</p> - -<p> -"Never!" she riposted hotly. "While you plot, and argue and ponder, -Robespierre acts or signs your death-warrant." -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre is the idol of the people; he sways the Convention with a -word. His eloquence would drag an army of enemies to the guillotine." -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre!" Theresia retorted with sublime contempt. "Ah, when you -have said that, you think you have said everything! France, humanity, the -people, sovereign power!—all that, you assert, is embodied in that -one man. But, my friend, listen to me!" she went on earnestly. "Listen, -when I assert that Robespierre is only a name, a fetish, a manikin set -up on a pedestal! By whom? By you, and the Convention; by the Clubs and -the Committees. And the pedestal is composed of that elusive entity -which you call the people and which will disintegrate from beneath his -feet as soon as the people have realised that those feet are less than -clay. One touch of a firm finger against that manikin, I tell you, and -he will fall as dust before you; and you can rise upon that same elusive -pedestal—popularity, to the heights which he hath so easily -attained." -</p> - -<p> -But, though Tallien was at times carried away by her vehemence, he would -always shake his head and counsel prudence, and assure her that the time -was not yet. Theresia, impatient and dictatorial, had more than once -hinted at rupture. -</p> - -<p> -"I could not love a weakling," she would aver; and at the back of her -mind there would rise schemes, which aimed at transferring her favours -to the other man, who she felt would be more worthy of her. -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre would not fail me, as this coward does!" she mused, even -while Tallien, blind and obedient, was bidding her farewell at the very -door of the charlatan to whom Theresia had turned in her ambition and -her difficulties. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -Something of the glamour which had originally surrounded Mother Théot's -incantations had vanished since sixty-two of her devotees had been sent -to the guillotine on a charge of conspiring for the overthrow of the -Republic. Robespierre's enemies, too cowardly to attack him in the -Convention or in the Clubs, had seized upon the mystery which hung over -the séances in the Rue de la Planchette in order to undermine his -popularity in the one and his power in the other. -</p> - -<p> -Spies were introduced into the witch's lair. The names of its chief -frequenters became known, and soon wholesale arrests were made, which -were followed by the inevitable condemnations. Robespierre had not -actually been named; but the identity of the sycophants who had -proclaimed him the Messenger of the Most High, the Morning Star, or the -Regenerator of Mankind, were hurled across from the tribune of the -Convention, like poisoned arrows aimed at the tyrant himself. -</p> - -<p> -But Robespierre had been too wary to allow himself to be dragged into -the affair. His enemies tried to goad him into defending his -worshippers, thus admitting his association with the gang; but he -remained prudently silent, and with callous ruthlessness he sacrificed -them to his own safety. He never raised his voice nor yet one -finger to save them from death, and whilst he—the bloodthirsty -autocrat—remained firmly installed upon his self-constituted -throne, those who had acclaimed him as second only to God, perished upon -the scaffold. -</p> - -<p> -Mother Théot, for some inexplicable reason, escaped this wholesale -slaughter; but her séances were henceforth shorn of their splendour. -Robespierre no longer dared frequent them even in disguise. The house in -the Rue de la Planchette became a marked one to the agents of the -Committee of Public Safety, and the witch herself was reduced to -innumerable shifts to eke out a precarious livelihood and to keep -herself in the good graces of those agents, by rendering them various -unavowable services. -</p> - -<p> -To those, however, who chose to defy public opinion and to disregard the -dangers which attended the frequentation of Mother Théot's sorceries, -these latter had lost little or nothing of their pristine solemnity. -There was the closely curtained room; the scented, heavy atmosphere; the -chants, the coloured flames, the ghost-like neophytes. Draped in her -grey veils, the old witch still wove her spells and called on the powers -of light and of darkness to aid her in foretelling the future. The -neophytes chanted and twisted their bodies in quaint contortions; alone, -the small blackamoor grinned at what experience had taught him was -nothing but quackery and charlatanism. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia, sitting on the dais, with the heady fumes of Oriental scents -blurring her sight and the clearness of her intellect, was drinking in -the honeyed words and flattering prophecies of the old witch. -</p> - -<p> -"Thy name will be the greatest in the land! Before thee will bow the -mightiest thrones! At thy words heads will fall and diadems will -totter!" Mother Théot announced in sepulchral tones, whilst gazing into -the crystal before her. -</p> - -<p> -"As the wife of citizen Tallien?" Theresia queried in an awed whisper. -</p> - -<p> -"That the spirits do not say," the old witch replied. "What is a name to -them? I see a crown of glory, and thy head surrounded by a golden light; -and at thy feet lies something which once was scarlet, and now is -crimson and crushed." -</p> - -<p> -"What does it mean?" Theresia murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"That is for thee to know," the sybil replied sternly. "Commune with the -spirits; lose thyself in their embrace; learn from them the great -truths, and the future will be made clear to thee." -</p> - -<p> -With which cryptic utterance she gathered her veils around her, and with -weird murmurs of, "Evohe! Evohe! Sammael! Zamiel! Evohe!" glided out of -the room, mysterious and inscrutable, presumably in order to allow her -bewildered client to meditate on the enigmatical prophecy in solitude. -</p> - -<p> -But directly she had closed the door behind her, Mother Théot's manner -underwent a change. Here the broad light of day appeared to divest her -of all her sybilline attributes. She became just an ugly old woman, -wrinkled and hook-nosed, dressed in shabby draperies that were grey with -age and dirt, and with claw-like hands that looked like the talons of a -bird of prey. -</p> - -<p> -As she entered the room, a man who had been standing at the window -opposite, staring out into the dismal street below, turned quickly to -her. -</p> - -<p> -"Art satisfied?" she asked at once. -</p> - -<p> -"From what I could hear, yes!" he replied, "though I could have wished -thy pronouncements had been more clear." -</p> - -<p> -The hag shrugged her lean shoulders and nodded in the direction of her -lair. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she said. "The Spaniard understands well enough. She never -consults me or invokes the spirits but they speak to her of that which -is scarlet. She knows what it means. You need not fear, citizen -Chauvelin, that in the pursuit of her vaulting ambition, she will forget -that her primary duty is to you!" -</p> - -<p> -"No," Chauvelin asserted calmly, "she'll not forget that. The Cabarrus -is no fool. She knows well enough that when citizens of the State have -been employed to work on its behalf, they are no longer free agents -afterwards. The work must be carried through to the end." -</p> - -<p> -"You need not fear the Cabarrus, citizen," the sybil rejoined dryly. -"She'll not fail you. Her vanity is immense. She believes that the -Englishman insulted her by writing that flippant letter, and she'll not -leave him alone till she has had her revenge." -</p> - -<p> -"No!" Chauvelin assented. "She'll not fail me. Nor thou either, -citoyenne." -</p> - -<p> -The old hag shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"I?" she exclaimed, with a quiet laugh. "Is that likely? You promised me -ten thousand livres the day the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured!" -</p> - -<p> -"And the guillotine," Chauvelin broke in grimly, "if thou shouldst allow -the woman upstairs to escape." -</p> - -<p> -"I know that," the old woman rejoined dryly. "If she escapes 'twill not -be through my connivance." -</p> - -<p> -"In the service of the State," Chauvelin riposted, "even carelessness -becomes a crime." -</p> - -<p> -Catherine Théot was silent for a moment or two, pressed her thin lips -together; then rejoined quite quietly: -</p> - -<p> -"She'll not escape. Have no fear, citizen Chauvelin." -</p> - -<p> -"That's brave! And now, tell me what has become of the coalheaver -Rateau?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he comes and goes. You told me to encourage him." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes" -</p> - -<p> -"So I give him potions for his cough. He has one foot in the grave." -</p> - -<p> -"Would that he had both!" Chauvelin broke in savagely. "That man is a -perpetual menace to my plans. It would have been so much better if we -could have sent him last April to the guillotine." -</p> - -<p> -"It was in your hands," Mother Théot retorted. "The Committee reported -against him. His measure was full enough. Aiding that execrable Scarlet -Pimpernel to escape . . .! Name of a name! it should have been enough!" -</p> - -<p> -"It was not proved that he did aid the English spies," Chauvelin -retorted moodily. "And Foucquier-Tinville would not arraign him. He vowed -it would anger the people—the rabble—of which Rateau himself -forms an integral part. We cannot afford to anger the rabble these days, -it seems." -</p> - -<p> -"And so Rateau, the asthmatic coalheaver, walked out of prison a free -man, whilst my neophytes were dragged up to the guillotine, and I was -left without means of earning an honest livelihood!" Mother Théot -concluded with a doleful sigh. -</p> - -<p> -"Honest?" Chauvelin exclaimed, with a sarcastic chuckle. Then, seeing -that the old witch was ready to lose her temper, he quickly added: "Tell -me more about Rateau. Does he often come here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; very often. He must be in my anteroom now. He came directly he was -let out of prison, and has haunted this place ever since. He thinks I -can cure him of his asthma, and as he pays me well——" -</p> - -<p> -"Pays you well?" Chauvelin broke in quickly. "That starveling?" -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau is no starveling," the old woman asserted. "Many an English gold -piece hath he given me." -</p> - -<p> -"But not of late?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not later than yesterday." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin swore viciously. -</p> - -<p> -"Then he is still in touch with that cursed Englishman!" -</p> - -<p> -Mother Théot shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Does one ever know which is the Englishman and which the asthmatic -Rateau?" she queried, with a dry laugh. -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon a strange thing happened—so strange indeed that Chauvelin's -next words turned to savage curses, and that Mother Théot, white to the -lips, her knees shaking under her, tiny beads of perspiration rising -beneath her scanty locks, had to hold on to the table to save herself -from falling. -</p> - -<p> -"Name of a name of a dog!" Chauvelin muttered hoarsely, whilst the old -woman, shaken by that superstitious dread which she liked to arouse in -her clients, could only stare at him and mutely shake her head. -</p> - -<p> -And yet nothing very alarming had occurred. Only a man had laughed, -light-heartedly and long; and the sound of that laughter had come from -somewhere near—the next room probably, or the landing beyond Mother -Théot's anteroom. It had come low and distinct, slightly muffled by the -intervening wall. Nothing in truth to frighten the most nervous child! -</p> - -<p> -A man had laughed. One of Mother Théot's clients probably, who in the -company of a friend chose to wile away the weary hour of waiting on the -sybil by hilarious conversation. Of course, that was it! Chauvelin, -cursing himself now for his cowardice, passed a still shaking hand -across his brow, and a wry smile distorted momentarily his thin, set -lips. -</p> - -<p> -"One of your clients is of good cheer," he said with well-assumed -indifference. -</p> - -<p> -"There is no one in the anteroom at this hour," the old hag murmured -under her breath. "Only Rateau . . . and he is too scant of breath to -laugh . . . he . . ." -</p> - -<p> -But Chauvelin no longer heard what she had to say. With an exclamation -which no one who heard it could have defined, he turned on his heel and -almost ran out of the room. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap24"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIV -<br /><br /> -BY ORDER OF THE STATE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -The antechamber, wide and long, ran the whole length of Mother Théot's -apartment. Her witch's lair and the room where she had just had her -interview with Chauvelin gave directly on it on the one side, and two -other living rooms on the other. At one end of the antechamber there -were two windows, usually kept closely shuttered; and at the other was -the main entrance door, which led to landing and staircase. -</p> - -<p> -The antechamber was empty. It appeared to mock Chauvelin's excitement, -with its grey-washed walls streaked with grime, its worm-eaten benches -and tarnished chandelier. Mother Théot, voluble and quaking with fear, -was close at his heels. Curtly he ordered her to be gone; her mutterings -irritated him, her obvious fear of something unknown grated unpleasantly -on his nerves. He cursed himself for his cowardice, and cursed the one -man who alone in this world had the power to unnerve him. -</p> - -<p> -"I was dreaming, of course," he muttered aloud to himself between his -teeth. "I have that arch-devil, his laugh, his voice, his affectations, -on the brain!" -</p> - -<p> -He was on the point of going to the main door, in order to peer out on -the landing or down the stairs, when he heard his name called -immediately behind him. Theresia Cabarrus was standing under the lintel -of the door which gave on the sybil's sanctum, her delicate hand holding -back the portière. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Chauvelin," she said, "I was waiting for you." -</p> - -<p> -"And I, citoyenne," he retorted gruffly, "had in truth forgotten you." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother Théot left me alone for a while, to commune with the spirits," -she explained. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" he riposted, slightly sarcastic. "With what result?" -</p> - -<p> -"To help you further, citizen Chauvelin," she replied; "if you have need -of me." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" he exclaimed with a savage curse. "In truth, I have need of every -willing hand that will raise itself against mine enemy. I have need of -you, citizeness; of that old witch; of Rateau, the coalheaver; of every -patriot who will sit and watch this house, to which we have brought the -one bait that will lure the goldfish to our net." -</p> - -<p> -"Have I not proved my willingness, citizen?" she retorted, with a smile. -"Think you 'tis pleasant to give up my life, my salon, my easy, -contented existence, and become a mere drudge in your service?" -</p> - -<p> -"A drudge," he broke in with a chuckle, "who will soon be greater than a -Queen." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, if I thought that! . . ." she exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"I am as sure of it as that I am alive," he replied firmly. "You will -never do anything with citizen Tallien, citoyenne. He is too mean, too -cowardly. But bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees at the chariot -wheel of Robespierre, and even the crown of the Bourbons would be yours -for the asking!" -</p> - -<p> -"I know that, citizen," she rejoined dryly; "else I were not here." -</p> - -<p> -"We hold all the winning cards," he went on eagerly. "Lady Blakeney is -in our hands. So long as we hold her, we have the certainty that sooner -or later the English spy will establish communication with her. -Catherine Théot is a good gaoler, and Captain Boyer upstairs has a -number of men under his command—veritable sleuthhounds, whose -efficiency I can guarantee and whose eagerness is stimulated by the -promise of a magnificent reward. But experience has taught me that -accursed Scarlet Pimpernel is never so dangerous as when we think we -hold him. His extraordinary histrionic powers have been our undoing -hitherto. No man's eyes are keen enough to pierce his disguises. That is -why, citoyenne, I dragged you to England; that is why I placed you face -to face with him, and said to you, 'that is the man.' Since then, with -your help, we hold the decoy. Now you are my coadjutor and my help. In -your eyes I place my trust; in your wits, your instinct. In whatever guise -the Scarlet Pimpernel presents himself before you—and he <i>will</i> -present himself before you, or he is no longer the impudent and reckless -adventurer I know him to be!—I feel that you at least will recognise -him." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; I think I should recognise him," she mused. -</p> - -<p> -"Think you that I do not appreciate the sacrifice you make—the -anxiety, the watchfulness to which you so nobly subject yourself? But 'tis -you above all who are the lure which must inevitably attract the Scarlet -Pimpernel into my hands." -</p> - -<p> -"Soon, I hope," she sighed wearily. -</p> - -<p> -"Soon," he asserted firmly. "I dare swear it! Until then, citizeness, in -the name of your own future, and in the name of France, I adjure you to -watch. Watch and listen! Oh, think of the stakes for which we are -playing, you and I! Bring the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees, citoyenne, -and Robespierre will be as much your slave as he is now the prey to a -strange dread of that one man. Robespierre fears the Scarlet Pimpernel. -A superstitious conviction has seized hold of him that the English spy -will bring about his downfall. We have all seen of late how aloof he -holds himself. He no longer attends the Committees. He no longer goes to -the Clubs; he shuns his friends; and his furtive glance is for ever -trying to pierce some imaginary disguise, under which he alternately -fears and hopes to discover his arch-enemy. He dreads assassination, -anonymous attacks. In every obscure member of the Convention who walks -up the steps of the tribune, he fears to find the Scarlet Pimpernel -under a new, impenetrable mask. Ah, citoyenne! what influence you would -have over him if through your agency all those fears could be drowned in -the blood of that abominable Englishman!" -</p> - -<p> -"Now, who would have thought that?" a mocking voice broke in suddenly, -with a quiet chuckle. "I vow, my dear M. Chambertin, you are waxing more -eloquent than ever before!" -</p> - -<p> -Like the laughter of a while ago, the voice seemed to come from nowhere. -It was in the air, muffled by the clouds of Mother Théot's perfumes, or -by the thickness of doors and tapestries. Weird, yet human. -</p> - -<p> -"By Satan, this is intolerable!" Chauvelin exclaimed, and paying no heed -to Theresia's faint cry of terror, he ran to the main door. It was on -the latch. He tore it open and dashed out upon the landing. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -From here a narrow stone staircase, dank and sombre, led downwards as -well as upwards, in a spiral. The house had only the two stories, -perched above some disused and dilapidated storage-rooms, to which a -double outside door and wicket gave access from the street. -</p> - -<p> -The staircase received its only light from a small window high up in the -roof, the panes of which were coated with grime, so that the well of the -stairs, especially past the first-floor landing, was almost in complete -gloom. For an instant Chauvelin hesitated. Never a coward physically, he -yet had no mind to precipitate himself down a dark staircase when mayhap -his enemy was lying in wait for him down below. -</p> - -<p> -Only for an instant however. The very next second had brought forth the -positive reflection: "Bah! Assassination, and in the dark, are not the -Englishman's ways." -</p> - -<p> -Scarce a few yards from where he stood, the other side of the door, was -the dry moat which ran round the Arsenal. From there, at a call from him, -a dozen men and more would surge from the ground—sleuthhounds, as -he had told Theresia a moment ago, who were there on the watch and whom -he could trust to do his work swiftly and securely—if only he could -reach the door and call for help. Elusive as that accursed Pimpernel -was, successful chase might even now be given to him. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin ran down half a dozen steps, peered down the shaft of the -staircase, and spied a tiny light, which moved swiftly to and fro. Then -presently, below the light a bit of tallow candle, then a grimy hand -holding the candle, an arm, the top of a shaggy head crowned by a greasy -red cap, a broad back under a tattered blue jersey. He heard the thump -of heavy soles upon the stone flooring below, and a moment or two later -the weird, sepulchral sound of a churchyard cough. Then the light -disappeared. For a second or two the darkness appeared more impenetrably -dense; then one or two narrow streaks of daylight showed the position of -the outside door. Something prompted him to call: -</p> - -<p> -"Is that you, citizen Rateau?" -</p> - -<p> -It was foolish, of course. And the very next moment he had his answer. A -voice—the mocking voice he knew so well—called up to him in -reply: -</p> - -<p> -"At your service, dear M. Chambertin! Can I do anything for you?" -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin swore, threw all prudence to the winds, and ran down the -stairs as fast as his shaking knees would allow him. Some three steps -from the bottom he paused for the space of a second, like one turned to -stone by what he saw. Yet it was simple enough: just the same tiny -light, the grimy hand holding the tallow candle, the shaggy head with -the greasy red cap. . . . The figure in the gloom looked preternaturally -large, and the flickering light threw fantastic shadows on the face and -neck of the colossus, distorting the nose to a grotesque length and the -chin to weird proportions. -</p> - -<p> -The next instant Chauvelin gave a cry like an enraged bull and hurled -his meagre person upon the giant, who, shaken at the moment by a tearing -fit of coughing, was taken unawares and fell backwards, overborne by the -impact, dropping the light as he fell and still wheezing pitiably whilst -trying to give vent to his feelings by vigorous curses. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin, vaguely surprised at his own strength or the weakness of his -opponent, pressed his knee against the latter's chest, gripped him by -the throat, smothering his curses and wheezes, turning the funereal -cough into agonised gasps. -</p> - -<p> -"At my service, in truth, my gallant Pimpernel!" he murmured hoarsely, -feeling his small reserve of strength oozing away by the strenuous -effort. "What you can do for me? Wait here, until I have you bound and -gagged, safe against further mischief!" -</p> - -<p> -His victim had in fact given a last convulsive gasp, lay now at full -length upon the stone floor, with arms outstretched, motionless. -Chauvelin relaxed his grip. His strength was spent, he was bathed in -sweat, his body shook from head to foot. But he was triumphant! His -mocking enemy, carried away by his own histrionics, had overtaxed his -colossal strength. The carefully simulated fit of coughing had taken -away his breath at the critical moment; the surprise attack had done the -rest; and Chauvelin—meagre, feeble, usually the merest human insect -beside the powerful Englishman—had conquered by sheer pluck and -resource. -</p> - -<p> -There lay the Scarlet Pimpernel, who had assumed the guise of asthmatic -Rateau once too often, helpless and broken beneath the weight of the man -whom he had hoodwinked and derided. And now at last all the intrigues, -the humiliations, the schemes and the disappointments, were at an end. -He—Chauvelin—free and honoured: Robespierre his grateful -servant. -</p> - -<p> -A wave of dizziness passed over his brain—the dizziness of coming -glory. His senses reeled. When he staggered to his feet he could -scarcely stand. The darkness was thick around him; only two streaks of -daylight at right angles to one another came through the chinks of the -outside door and vaguely illumined the interior of the dilapidated -store-room, the last step or two of the winding stairway, the row of -empty barrels on one side, the pile of rubbish on the other, and on the -stone floor the huge figure in grimy and tattered rags, lying prone and -motionless. Guided by those streaks of light, Chauvelin lurched up to -the door, fumbled for the latch of the wicket-gate, and finding it -pulled the gate open and almost fell out into the open. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -The Rue de la Planchette was as usual lonely and deserted. It was a -second or two before Chauvelin spied a passer-by. That minute he spent -in calling for help with all his might. The passer-by he quickly -dispatched across to the Arsenal for assistance. -</p> - -<p> -"In the name of the Republic!" he said solemnly. -</p> - -<p> -But already his cries had attracted the attention of the sentries. -Within two or three minutes, half a dozen men of the National Guard were -speeding down the street. Soon they had reached the house, the door -where Chauvelin, still breathless but with his habitual official manner -that brooked of no argument, gave them hasty instructions. -</p> - -<p> -"The man lying on the ground in there," he commanded. "Seize him and -raise him. Then one of you find some cord and bind him securely." -</p> - -<p> -The men flung the double doors wide open. A flood of light illumined the -store-room. There lay the huge figure on the floor, no longer -motionless, but trying to scramble to its feet, once more torn by a fit -of coughing. The men ran up to him; one of them laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, if it isn't old Rateau!" -</p> - -<p> -They lifted him up by his arms. He was helpless as a child, and his face -was of a dull purple colour. -</p> - -<p> -"He will die!" another man said, with an indifferent shrug of the -shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -But, in a way, they were sorry for him. He was one of themselves. -Nothing of the aristo about asthmatic old Rateau! -</p> - -<p> -"Hast thou been playing again at being an English milor, poor old -Rateau?" another man asked compassionately. -</p> - -<p> -They had succeeded in propping him up and sitting him down upon a barrel -His fit of coughing was subsiding. He had breath enough now to swear. He -raised his head and encountered the pale eyes of citizen Chauvelin fixed -as if sightlessly upon him. -</p> - -<p> -"Name of a dog!" he began; but got no farther. Giddiness seized him, for -he was weak from coughing and from that strangling grip round his -throat, after he had been attacked in the darkness and thrown violently -to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -The men around him recoiled at sight of citizen Chauvelin. His -appearance was almost death-like. His cheeks and lips were livid; his -hair dishevelled; his eyes of an unearthly paleness. One hand, claw-like -and shaking, he held out before him, as if to ward off some horrible -apparition. -</p> - -<p> -This trance-like state made up of a ghastly fear and a sense of the most -hideous, most unearthly impotence, lasted for several seconds. The men -themselves were frightened. Unable to understand what had happened, they -thought that citizen Chauvelin, whom they all knew by sight, had -suddenly lost his reason or was possessed of a devil. For in truth there -was nothing about poor old Rateau to frighten a child! -</p> - -<p> -Fortunately the tension was over before real panic had seized on any of -them. The next moment Chauvelin had pulled himself together with one of -those mighty efforts of will of which strong natures are always capable. -With an impatient gesture he passed his hand across his brow, then -backwards and forwards in front of his face, as if to chase away the -demon of terror that obsessed him. He gazed on Rateau for a moment or -two, his eyes travelling over the uncouth, semi-conscious figure of the -coalheaver with a searching, undefinable glance. Then, as if suddenly -struck with an idea, he spoke to the man nearest him: -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant Chazot? Is he at the Arsenal?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, citizen," the man replied. -</p> - -<p> -"Run across quickly then," Chauvelin continued; "and bring him hither at -once." -</p> - -<p> -The soldier obeyed, and a few more minutes—ten, perhaps—went by -in silence. Rateau, weary, cursing, not altogether in full possession of -his faculties, sat huddled upon the barrel, his bleary eyes following -every movement of citizen Chauvelin with an anxious, furtive gaze. The -latter was pacing up and down the stone floor, like a caged, impatient -animal. From time to time he paused, either to peer out into the open in -the direction of the Arsenal, or to search the dark angles of the -store-room, kicking the piles of rubbish about with his foot. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -Anon he uttered a sigh of satisfaction. The soldier had returned, was -even now in the doorway with a comrade—a short, thick-set, -powerful-looking fellow—beside him. -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant Chazot!" Chauvelin said abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -"At your commands, citizen!" the sergeant replied, and at a sign from -the other followed him to the most distant corner of the room. -</p> - -<p> -"Bend your ear and listen," Chauvelin murmured peremptorily. "I don't -want those fools to hear." And, having assured himself that he and -Chazot could speak without being overheard, he pointed to Rateau, then -went on rapidly: "You will take this lout over to the cavalry barracks. -See the veterinary. Tell him——" -</p> - -<p> -He paused, as if unable to proceed. His lips were trembling, his face, -ashen-white, looked spectral in the gloom. Chazot, not understanding, -waited patiently. -</p> - -<p> -"That lout," Chauvelin resumed more steadily after a while, "is in -collusion with a gang of dangerous English spies. One Englishman -especially—tall, and a master of histrionics—uses this man as a -kind of double. Perhaps you heard . . .?" -</p> - -<p> -Chazot nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"I know, citizen," he said sagely. "The Fraternal Supper in the Rue St. -Honoré. Comrades have told me that no one could tell who was Rateau the -coalheaver and who the English milor." -</p> - -<p> -"Exactly!" Chauvelin rejoined dryly, quite firmly now. "Therefore, I -want to make sure. The veterinary, you understand? He brands the horses -for the cavalry. I want a brand on this lout's arm. Just a letter . . . -a distinguishing mark . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Chazot gave an involuntary gasp. -</p> - -<p> -"But, citizen——!" he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"Eh? What?" the other retorted sharply. "In the service of the Republic -there is no 'but,' sergeant Chazot." -</p> - -<p> -"I know that, citizen," Chazot, abashed, murmured humbly. "I only meant -. . . it seems so strange . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Stranger things than that occur every day in Paris, my friend," -Chauvelin said dryly. "We brand horses that are the property of the -State; why not a man? Time may come," he added with a vicious snarl, "when -the Republic may demand that every loyal citizen carry—indelibly -branded in his flesh and by order of the State—the sign of his own -allegiance." -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis not for me to argue, citizen," Chazot rejoined, with a careless -shrug of the shoulders. "If you tell me to take citizen Rateau over to -the veterinary at the cavalry barracks and have him branded like cattle, -why . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Not like cattle, citizen," Chauvelin broke in blandly. "You shall -commence proceedings by administering to citizen Rateau a whole bottle -of excellent eau de vie, at the Government's expense. Then, when he is -thoroughly and irretrievably drunk, the veterinary will put the brand -upon his left forearm . . . just one letter. . . . Why, the drunken -reprobate will never feel it!" -</p> - -<p> -"As you command, citizen," Chazot assented with perfect indifference. "I -am not responsible. I do as I'm told." -</p> - -<p> -"Like the fine soldier that you are, citizen Chazot!" Chauvelin -concluded. "And I know that I can trust to your discretion." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, as to that——!" -</p> - -<p> -"It would not serve you to be otherwise; that's understood. So now, my -friend, get you gone with the lout; and take these few words of -instruction with you, for the citizen veterinary." -</p> - -<p> -He took tablet and point from his pocket and scribbled a few words; -signed it "Chauvelin" with that elegant flourish which can be traced to -this day on so many secret orders that emanated from the Committee of -Public Safety during the two years of its existence. -</p> - -<p> -Chazot took the written order and slipped it into his pocket. Then he -turned on his heel and briefly gave the necessary orders to the men. -Once more they hoisted the helpless giant up on his feet. Rateau was -willing enough to go. He was willing to do anything so long as they took -him away from here, away from the presence of that small devil with the -haggard face and the pale, piercing eyes. He allowed himself to be -conducted out of the building without a murmur. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin watched the little party—the six men, the asthmatic -coalheaver and lastly the sergeant—file out of the place, then cross -the Rue de la Planchette and take the turning opposite, the one that led -through the Porte and the Rue St. Antoine to the cavalry barracks in the -Quartier Bastille. After which, he carefully closed the double outside -doors and, guided by instinct since the place down here was in darkness -once more, he groped his way to the foot of the stairs and slowly -mounted to the floor above. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§5</h4> - -<p> -He reached the first-floor landing. The door which led into Mother -Théot's apartments was on the latch, and Chauvelin had just stretched -out his hand with a view to pushing it open, when the door swung out on -its hinges, as if moved by an invisible hand, and a pleasant, mocking -voice immediately behind him said, with grave politeness: -</p> - -<p> -"Allow me, my dear M. Chambertin!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap25"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXV -<br /><br /> -FOUR DAYS</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -What occurred during the next few seconds Chauvelin himself would have -been least able to say. Whether he stepped of his own accord into the -antechamber of Catherine Théot's apartment, or whether an unseen hand -pushed him in, he could not have told you. Certain it is that, when he -returned to the full realisation of things, he was sitting on one of the -benches, his back against the wall, whilst immediately in front of him, -looking down on him through half-closed, lazy eyes, débonnair, well -groomed, unperturbed, stood his arch-enemy, Sir Percy Blakeney. -</p> - -<p> -The antechamber was gloomy in the extreme. Some one in the interval had -lighted the tallow candles in the centre chandelier, and these shed a -feeble, flickering light on the dank, bare walls, the carpetless floor, -the shuttered windows; whilst a thin spiral of evil-smelling smoke wound -its way to the blackened ceiling above. -</p> - -<p> -Of Theresia Cabarrus there was not a sign. Chauvelin looked about him, -feeling like a goaded animal shut up in a narrow space with its -tormentor. He was making desperate efforts to regain his composure, -above all he made appeal to that courage which was wont never to desert -him. In truth, Chauvelin had never been a physical coward, nor was he -afraid of death or outrage at the hands of the man whom he had so deeply -wronged, and whom he had pursued with a veritable lust of hate. No! he -did not fear death at the hands of the Scarlet Pimpernel. What he feared -was ridicule, humiliation, those schemes—bold, adventurous, seemingly -impossible—which he knew were already seething behind the smooth, -unruffled brow of his arch-enemy, behind those lazy, supercilious eyes, -which had the power to irritate his nerves to the verge of dementia. -</p> - -<p> -This impudent adventurer—no better than a spy, despite his -aristocratic mien and air of lofty scorn—this meddlesome English -brigand, was the one man in the world who had, when he measured his -prowess against him, invariably brought him to ignominy and derision, -made him a laughing-stock before those whom he had been wont to -dominate; and at this moment, when once again he was being forced to -look into those strangely provoking eyes, he appraised their glance as -he would the sword of a proved adversary, and felt as he did so just -that same unaccountable dread of them which had so often paralysed his -limbs and atrophied his brain whenever mischance flung him into the -presence of his enemy. -</p> - -<p> -He could not understand why Theresia Cabarrus had deserted him. Even a -woman, if she happened to be a friend, would by her presence have -afforded him moral support. -</p> - -<p> -"You are looking for Mme. de Fontenay, I believe, dear M. Chambertin," -Sir Percy said lightly, as if divining his thoughts. "The ladies—ah, -the ladies! They add charm, piquancy, eh? to the driest conversations. -Alas!" he went on with mock affectation, "that Mme. de Fontenay should -have fled at first sound of my voice! Now she hath sought refuge in the -old witch's lair, there to consult the spirits as to how best she can -get out again, seeing that the door is now locked. . . . Demmed awkward, -a locked door, when a pretty woman wants to be on the other side. What -think you, M. Chambertin?" -</p> - -<p> -"I only think, Sir Percy," Chauvelin contrived to retort, calling all -his wits and all his courage to aid him in his humiliating position, "I -only think of another pretty woman, who is in the room just above our -heads, and who would also be mightily glad to find herself the other -side of a locked door." -</p> - -<p> -"Your thoughts," Sir Percy retorted with a light laugh, "are always so -ingenuous, my dear M. Chambertin. Strangely enough, mine just at this -moment run on the possibility—not a very unlikely one, you will -admit—of shaking the breath out of your ugly little body, as I would -that of a rat." -</p> - -<p> -"Shake, my dear Sir Percy, shake!" Chauvelin riposted with -well-simulated calm. "I grant you that I am a puny rat and you the most -magnificent of lions; but even if I lie mangled and breathless on this -stone floor at your feet, Lady Blakeney will still be a prisoner in our -hands." -</p> - -<p> -"And you will still be wearing the worst-cut pair of breeches it has -ever been my bad fortune to behold," Sir Percy retorted, quite -unruffled. "Lud love you, man! Have you guillotined all the good tailors -in Paris?" -</p> - -<p> -"You choose to be flippant, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. "But, -though you have chosen for the past few years to play the rôle of a -brainless nincompoop, I have cause to know that behind your affectations -there lurks an amount of sound common sense." -</p> - -<p> -"Lud, how you flatter me, my dear sir!" quoth Sir Percy airily. "I vow -you had not so high an opinion of me the last time I had the honour of -conversing with you. It was at Nantes; do you remember?" -</p> - -<p> -"There, as elsewhere, you succeeded in circumventing me. Sir Percy." -</p> - -<p> -"No, no!" he protested. "Not in circumventing you. Only in making you -look a demmed fool!" -</p> - -<p> -"Call it that, if you like, sir," Chauvelin admitted with an indifferent -shrug of the shoulders. "Luck has favoured you many a time. As I had the -honour to tell you, you have had the laugh of us in the past, and no -doubt you are under the impression that you will have it again this -time." -</p> - -<p> -"I am such a believer in impressions, my dear sir. The impression now -that I have of your charming personality is indelibly graven upon my -memory." -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Percy Blakeney counts a good memory as one of his many -accomplishments. Another is his adventurous spirit, and the gallantry -which must inevitably bring him into the net which we have been at pains -to spread for him. Lady Blakeney——" -</p> - -<p> -"Name her not, man!" Sir Percy broke in with affected deliberation; "or -I verily believe that within sixty seconds you would be a dead man!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am not worthy to speak her name, c'est entendu," Chauvelin retorted -with mock humility. "Nevertheless, Sir Percy, it is around the person of -that gracious lady that the Fates will spin their web during the next -few days. You may kill me. Of course, I am at this moment entirely at -your mercy. But before you embark on such a perilous undertaking, will -you allow me to place the position a little more clearly before you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Lud, man!" quoth Sir Percy with a quaint laugh. "That's what I'm here -for! Think you that I have sought your agreeable company for the mere -pleasure of gazing at your amiable countenance?" -</p> - -<p> -"I only desired to explain to you, Sir Percy, the dangers to which you -expose Lady Blakeney, if you laid violent hands; upon ma 'Tis you, -remember, who sought this interview—not I." -</p> - -<p> -"You are right, my dear sir, always right; and I'll not interrupt again. -I pray you to proceed." -</p> - -<p> -"Allow me then to make my point clear. There are at this moment a score -of men of the National Guard in the room above your head. Every one of -them goes to the guillotine if they allow their prisoner to escape; -every one of them receives a reward of ten thousand livres the day they -capture the Scarlet Pimpernel. A good spur for vigilance, what? But that -is not all," Chauvelin went on quite steadily, seeing that Sir Percy had -apparently become thoughtful and absorbed. "The men are under the -command of Captain Boyer, and he understands that every day at a certain -hour—seven in the evening, to be precise—I will be with him and -interrogate him as to the welfare of the prisoner. If—mark me, Sir -Percy!—if on any one day I do not appear before him at that hour, his -orders are to shoot the prisoner on sight. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -The word was scarce out of his mouth; it broke in a hoarse spasm. Sir -Percy had him by the throat, shook him indeed as he would a rat. -</p> - -<p> -"You cur!" he said in an ominous whisper, his face quite close now to -that of his enemy, his jaw set, his eyes no longer good-humoured and -mildly scornful, but burning with the fire of a mighty, unbridled wrath. -"You damned—insolent—miserable cur! As there is a Heaven above -us——" -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly his grip relaxed, the whole face changed as if an unseen -hand had swept away the fierce lines of anger and of hate. The eyes -softened beneath their heavy lids, the set lips broke into a mocking -smile. He let go his hold of the Terrorist's throat; and the unfortunate -man, panting and breathless, fell heavily against the wall. He tried to -steady himself as best he could, but his knees were shaking, and faint -and helpless, he finally collapsed upon the nearest bench, the while Sir -Percy straightened out his tall figure, with unruffled composure rubbed -his slender hands one against the other, as if to free them from dust, -and said, with gentle, good-humoured sarcasm: -</p> - -<p> -"Do put your cravat straight, man! You look a disgusting object!" -</p> - -<p> -He dragged the corner of a bench forward, sat astride upon it, and -waited with perfect sang-froid, spy-glass in hand, while Chauvelin -mechanically readjusted the set of his clothes. -</p> - -<p> -"That's better," he said approvingly. "Just the bow at the back of your -neck . . . a little more to the right . . . now your cuffs. . . . Ah, -you look quite tidy again! . . . a perfect picture, I vow, my dear M. -Chambertin, of elegance and of a well-regulated mind!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Percy——!" Chauvelin broke in with a vicious snarl. -</p> - -<p> -"I entreat you to accept my apologies," the other rejoined with utmost -courtesy. "I was on the verge of losing my temper, which we in England -would call demmed bad form. I'll not transgress again. I pray you, -proceed with what you were saying. So interesting—demmed -interesting! You were talking about murdering a woman in cold blood, I -think——" -</p> - -<p> -"In hot blood, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined more firmly. "Blood fired -by thoughts of a just revenge." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon! My mistake! As you were saying——" -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis you who attack us. You—the meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, with -your accursed gang! . . . We defend ourselves as best we can, using what -weapons lie closest to our hand——" -</p> - -<p> -"Such as murder, outrage, abduction . . . and wearing breeches the cut -of which would provoke a saint to indignation!" -</p> - -<p> -"Murder, abduction, outrage, as you will, Sir Percy," Chauvelin -retorted, as cool now as his opponent. "Had you ceased to interfere in -the affairs of France when first you escaped punishment for your -machinations, you would not now be in the sorry plight in which your own -intrigues have at last landed you. Had you left us alone, we should by -now have forgotten you." -</p> - -<p> -"Which would have been such a pity, my dear M. Chambertin," Blakeney -rejoined gravely. "I should not like you to forget me. Believe me, I -have enjoyed life so much these past two years,'I would not give up -those pleasures even for that of seeing you and your friends have a bath -or wear tidy buckles on your shoes." -</p> - -<p> -"You will have cause to indulge in those pleasures within the next few -days, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. -</p> - -<p> -"What?" Sir Percy exclaimed. "The Committee of Public Safety going to -have a bath? Or the Revolutionary Tribunal? Which?" -</p> - -<p> -But Chauvelin was determined not to lose his temper again. Indeed, he -abhorred this man so deeply that he felt no anger against him, no -resentment; only a cold, calculating hate. -</p> - -<p> -"The pleasure of pitting your wits against the inevitable," he riposted -dryly. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah?" quoth Sir Percy airily. "The inevitable has always been such a -good friend to me." -</p> - -<p> -"Not this time, I fear, Sir Percy." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah? You really mean this time to——?" and he made a significant -gesture across his own neck. -</p> - -<p> -"In as few days as possible." -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon Sir Percy rose, and said solemnly: -</p> - -<p> -"You are right there, my friend, quite right. Delays are always -dangerous. If you mean to have my head, why—have it quickly. As for -me, delays always bore me to tears." -</p> - -<p> -He yawned and stretched his long limbs. -</p> - -<p> -"I am getting so demmed fatigued," he said. "Do you not think this -conversation has lasted quite long enough?" -</p> - -<p> -"It was none of my seeking, Sir Percy." -</p> - -<p> -"Mine, I grant you; mine, absolutely! But, hang it, man! I had to tell -you that your breeches were badly cut." -</p> - -<p> -"And I, that we are at your service, to end the business as soon as may -be." -</p> - -<p> -"To——?" And once more Sir Percy passed his firm hand across his -throat. Then he gave a shudder. -</p> - -<p> -"B-r-r-r!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea you were in such a demmed -hurry." -</p> - -<p> -"We await your pleasure, Sir Percy. Lady Blakeney must not be kept in -suspense too long. Shall we say that in three days . . .?" -</p> - -<p> -"Make it four, my dear M. Chambertin, and I am eternally your debtor." -</p> - -<p> -"In four days then, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined with pronounced -sarcasm. "You see how ready I am to meet you in a spirit of -conciliation! Four days, you say? Very well then; for four days more we -keep our prisoner in those rooms upstairs. . . . After that——" -</p> - -<p> -He paused, awed mayhap, in spite of himself, by the diabolical thought -which had suddenly come into his mind—a sudden inspiration which in -truth must have emanated from some unclean spirit with which he held -converse. He looked the Scarlet Pimpernel—his enemy—squarely in -the face. Conscious of his power, he was no longer afraid. What he longed -for most at this moment was to see the least suspicion of a shadow dim -the mocking light that danced in those lazy, supercilious eyes, or the -merest tremor pass over the slender hand framed in priceless Mechlin -lace. -</p> - -<p> -For a while complete silence reigned in the bare, dank room—a silence -broken only by the stertorous, rapid breathing of the one man who -appeared moved. That man was not Sir Percy Blakeney. He indeed had -remained quite still, spy-glass in hand, the good-humoured smile still -dancing round his lips. Somewhere in the far distance a church clock -struck the hour. Then only did Chauvelin put his full fiendish project -into words. -</p> - -<p> -"For four days," he reiterated with slow deliberation, "We keep our -prisoner in the room upstairs. . . . After that, Captain Boyer has -orders to shoot her." -</p> - -<p> -Again there was silence—only for a second perhaps; whilst down by the -Stygian creek, where Time never was, the elfish ghouls and impish demons -set up a howl of delight at the hellish knavery of man. -</p> - -<p> -Just one second, whilst Chauvelin waited for his enemy's answer to this -monstrous pronouncement, and the very walls of the drabby apartment -appeared to listen, expectant. Overhead, could be dimly heard the -measured tramp of heavy feet upon the uncarpeted floor. And suddenly -through the bare apartment there rang the sound of a quaint, -light-hearted laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"You really are the worst-dressed man I have ever come across, my good -M. Chambertin," Sir Percy said with rare good-humour. "You must allow me -to give you the address of a good little tailor I came across in the -Latin quarter the other day. No decent man would be seen walking up the -guillotine in such a waistcoat as you are wearing. As for your -boots——" He yawned again. "You really must excuse me! I came -home late from the theatre last night, and have not had my usual hours of -sleep. So, by your leave——" -</p> - -<p> -"By all means, Sir Percy!" Chauvelin replied complacently. "At this -moment you are a free man, because I happen to be alone and unarmed, and -because this house is solidly built and my voice would not carry to the -floor above. Also because you are so nimble that no doubt you could give -me the slip long before Captain Boyer and his men came to my rescue. -Yes, Sir Percy; for the moment you are a free man! Free to walk out of -this house unharmed. But even now, you are not as free as you would wish -to be, eh? You are free to despise me, to overwhelm me with lofty scorn, -to sharpen your wits at my expense; but you are not free to indulge your -desire to squeeze the life out of me, to shake me as you would a rat And -shall I tell you why? Because you know now that if at a certain hour of -the day I do not pay my daily visit to Captain Boyer upstairs, he will -shoot his prisoner without the least compunction." -</p> - -<p> -Whereupon Blakeney threw up his head and laughed heartily. -</p> - -<p> -"You are absolutely priceless, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said gaily. -"But you really must put your cravat straight. It has once again become -disarranged . . . in the heat of your oratory, no doubt . . . Allow me -to offer you a pin." -</p> - -<p> -And with inimitable affectation, he took a pin out of his own cravat and -presented it to Chauvelin, who, unable to control his wrath, jumped to -his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Percy——!" he snarled. -</p> - -<p> -But Blakeney placed a gentle, Arm hand upon his shoulder, forcing him to -sit down again. -</p> - -<p> -"Easy, easy, my friend," he said. "Do not, I pray you, lose that -composure for which you are so justly famous. There! Allow me to arrange -your cravat for you. A gentle tug here," he added, suiting the action to -the word, "a delicate flick there, and you are the most perfectly -cravatted man in France!" -</p> - -<p> -"Your insults leave me unmoved, Sir Percy," Chauvelin broke in savagely, -and tried to free himself from the touch of those slender, strong hands -that wandered so uncomfortably in the vicinity of his throat. -</p> - -<p> -"No doubt," Blakeney riposted lightly, "that they are as futile as your -threats. One does not insult a cur, any more than one threatens Sir -Percy Blakeney—what?" -</p> - -<p> -"You are right there, Sir Percy. The time for threats has gone by. And -since you appear so vastly entertained——" -</p> - -<p> -"I <i>am</i> vastly entertained, my dear M. Chambertin! How can I help it, -when I see before me a miserable shred of humanity who does not even -know how to keep his tie or his hair smooth, calmly—or almost -calmly—talking of——Let me see, what were you talking of, -my amiable friend?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of the hostage, Sir Percy, which we hold until the happy day when the -gallant Scarlet Pimpernel is a prisoner in our hands." -</p> - -<p> -"'M, yes! He was that once before, was he not, my good sir? Then, too, -you laid down mighty schemes for his capture." -</p> - -<p> -"And we succeeded." -</p> - -<p> -"By your usual amiable methods—lies, deceit, forgery. The latter has -been useful to you this time too, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean, Sir Percy?" -</p> - -<p> -"You had need of the assistance of a fair lady for your schemes. She -appeared disinclined to help you. So when her inconvenient lover, -Bertrand Moncrif, was happily dragged away from her path, you forged a -letter, which the lady rightly looked upon as an insult. Because of that -letter, she nourished a comfortable amount of spite against me, and lent -you her aid in the fiendish outrage for which you are about to receive -punishment." He had raised his voice slightly while he spoke, and -Chauvelin cast an apprehensive glance in the direction of the door -behind which he guessed that Theresia Cabarrus must be straining her -ears to listen. -</p> - -<p> -"A pretty story, Sir Percy," he said with affected coolness. "And one -that does infinite credit to your imagination. It is mere surmise on -your part." -</p> - -<p> -"What, my friend? What is surmise? That you gave a letter to Madame de -Fontenay which you had concocted, and which I had never written? Why, -man," he added with a laugh, "I saw you do it!" -</p> - -<p> -"You? Impossible!" -</p> - -<p> -"More impossible things than that will happen within the next few days, -my good sir. I was outside the window of Madame de Fontenay's apartment -during the whole of your interview with her. And the shutters were not -as closely fastened as you would have wished. But why argue about it, my -dear M. Chambertin, when you know quite well that I have given you a -perfectly accurate exposé of the means which you employed to make a -pretty and spoilt woman help you in your nefarious work?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why argue, indeed?" Chauvelin retorted dryly. "The past is past. I'll -answer to my country which you outrage by your machinations, for the -methods which I employ to circumvent them. Your concern and mine, my -gallant friend, is solely with the future—with the next four days, in -fact. . . . After which, either the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our hands, -or Lady Blakeney will be put against the wall upstairs and summarily -shot." -</p> - -<p> -Then only did something of his habitual lazy nonchalance go out of -Blakeney's attitude. Just for the space of a few seconds he drew himself -up to his full magnificent height, and from the summit of his splendid -audacity and the consciousness of his own power he looked down at the -mean cringing figure of the enemy who had hurled this threat of death -against the woman he worshipped. Chauvelin vainly tried to keep up some -semblance of dignity; he tried to meet the glance which no longer -mocked, and to close his ears to the voice which, sonorous and -commanding, now threatened in its turn. -</p> - -<p> -"And you really believe," Sir Percy Blakeney said slowly and -deliberately, "that you have the power to carry through your infamous -schemes? That I—yes, I!—would allow you! to come within -measurable distance of their execution? Bah! my dear friend. You have -learned nothing by past experience—not even this: that when you -dared to lay your filthy hands upon Lady Blakeney, you and the whole -pack of assassins who have terrorized this beautiful country far too -long, struck the knell of your ultimate doom. You have dared to measure -your strength against mine by perpetrating an outrage so monstrous in my -sight that, to punish you, I—even I!—will sweep you off the -face of the earth and send you to join the pack of unclean ghouls who -have aided you in your crimes. After which—thank the -lord!—the earth, being purged of your presence, will begin to -smell sweetly again." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin made a vain effort to laugh, to shrug his shoulders, to put on -those airs of insolence which came so naturally to his opponent. No -doubt the strain of this long interview with his enemy had told upon his -nerves. Certain it is that at this moment, though he was conscious -enough to rail inwardly at his own cowardice, he was utterly unable to -move or to retort. His limbs felt heavy as lead, an icy shudder was -coursing down his spine. It seemed in truth as if some uncanny ghoul had -entered the dreary, dank apartment and with gaunt, invisible hand was -tolling a silent passing bell—the death-knell of all his ambitions -and of all his hopes. He closed his eyes, for he felt giddy and sick. When -he opened his eyes again he was alone. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap26"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVI -<br /><br /> -A DREAM</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Chauvelin had not yet regained full possession of his faculties, when a -few seconds later he saw Theresia Cabarrus glide swiftly across the -antechamber. She appeared to him like a ghost—a pixie who had found -her way through a keyhole. But she threw him a glance of contempt that was -very human, very feminine indeed, and the next moment she was gone. -</p> - -<p> -Outside on the landing she paused. Straining her ears, she caught the -sound of a firm footfall slowly descending the stairs. She ran down a -few steps, then called softly: -</p> - -<p> -"Milor!" -</p> - -<p> -The footsteps paused, and a pleasant voice gave quiet reply: -</p> - -<p> -"At your service, fair lady!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia, shrewd as well as brave, continued to descend. She was not in -the least afraid. Instinct had told her before now that no woman need -ever have the slightest fear of that elegant milor with the quaint laugh -and gently mocking mien, whom she had learned to know over in England. -</p> - -<p> -Midway down the stairs she came face to face with him, and when she -paused, panting, a little breathless with excitement, he said with -perfect courtesy: -</p> - -<p> -"You did me the honour to call me, Madame?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, milor," she replied in a quick, eager whisper. "I heard every word -that passed between you and citizen Chauvelin." -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you did, dear lady," he rejoined with a smile. "If a woman -once resisted the temptation of putting a shell-like ear to a keyhole, -the world would lose many a cause for entertainment." -</p> - -<p> -"That letter, milor——" she broke in impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -"Which letter, Madame?" -</p> - -<p> -"That insulting letter to me . . . when you took Moncrif away. . . . You -never wrote it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Did you really think that I did?" he retorted. -</p> - -<p> -"No. I ought to have guessed . . . the moment that I saw you in -England. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"And realised that I was not a cad—what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, milor!" she protested. "But why—why did you not tell me before?" -</p> - -<p> -"It had escaped my memory. And if I remember rightly, you spent most of -the time when I had the honour of walking with you, in giving me -elaborate and interesting accounts of your difficulties, and I, in -listening to them." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she exclaimed vehemently. "I hate that man! I hate him!" -</p> - -<p> -"In truth, he is not a lovable personality. But, by your leave, I -presume that you did not desire to speak with me so that we might -discuss our friend Chauvelin's amiable qualities." -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, milor!" she rejoined quickly. "I called to you -because——" -</p> - -<p> -Then she paused for a moment or two, as if to collect her thoughts. Her -eager eyes strove to pierce the bloom that enveloped the figure of the -bold adventurer. She could only see the dim outline of his powerful -figure, the light from above striking on his smooth hair, the elegantly -tied bow at the nape of his neck, the exquisite filmy lace at his throat -and wrists. His head was slightly bent, one arm in a curve supported his -chapeau-bras, his whole attitude was one befitting a salon rather than -this dank hovel, where death was even now at his elbow; it was as cool -and unperturbed as it had been on that May-day evening, in the -hawthorn-scented lanes of Kent. -</p> - -<p> -"Milor," she said abruptly, "you told me once—you -remember?—that you were what you English call a sportsman. Is -that so?" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope always to remain that, dear lady," he replied with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Does that mean," she queried, with a pretty air of deference and -hesitation, "does that mean a man who would under no circumstances harm -a woman?" -</p> - -<p> -"I think so." -</p> - -<p> -"Not even if she—if she has sinned—transgressed against him?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't quite understand, Madame," he rejoined simply. "And, time being -short—— Are you perchance speaking of yourself?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. I have done you an injury, milor." -</p> - -<p> -"A very great one indeed," he assented gravely. -</p> - -<p> -"Could you," she pleaded, raising earnest, tear-filled eyes to his, -"could you bring yourself to believe that I have been nothing but a -miserable, innocent tool?" -</p> - -<p> -"So was the lady upstairs innocent, Madame," he broke in quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"I know," she retorted with a sigh. "I know. I would never dare to -plead, as you must hate me so." -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his shoulders with an air of carelessness. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" he said. "Does a man ever hate a pretty woman?" -</p> - -<p> -"He forgives her, milor," she entreated, "if he is a true sportsman." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed? You astonish me, dear lady. But in verity you all in this -unhappy country are full of surprises for a plain, blunt-headed -Britisher. Now what, I wonder," he added, with a light, good-humoured -laugh, "would my forgiveness be worth to you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Everything!" she replied earnestly. "I was deceived by that abominable -liar, who knew how to play upon a woman's pique. I am ashamed, -wretched. . . . Oh, cannot you believe me? And I would give worlds to -atone!" -</p> - -<p> -He laughed in his quiet, gently ironical way. -</p> - -<p> -"You do not happen to possess worlds, dear lady. All that you have is -youth and beauty and ambition, and life. You would forfeit all those -treasures if you really tried to atone." -</p> - -<p> -"But——" -</p> - -<p> -"Lady Blakeney is a prisoner. . . . You are her jailer. . . . Her -precious life is the hostage for yours." -</p> - -<p> -"Milor——" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"From my heart, I wish you well, fair one," he broke in lightly. -"Believe me, the pagan gods that fashioned you did not design you for -tragedy. . . . And if you ran counter to your friend Chauvelin's -desires, I fear me that pretty neck of yours would suffer. A thing -to be avoided at all costs! And now," he added, "have I your permission -to go? My position here is somewhat precarious, and for the next four -days I cannot afford the luxury of entertaining so fair a lady, by -running my head into a noose." -</p> - -<p> -He was on the point of going when she placed a restraining hand upon his -arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Milor!" she pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -"At your service, dear lady!" -</p> - -<p> -"Is there naught I can do for you?" -</p> - -<p> -He looked at her for a moment or two, and even through the gloom she -caught his quizzical look and the mocking lines around his firm lips. -</p> - -<p> -"You can ask Lady Blakeney to forgive you," he said, with a thought more -seriousness than was habitual to him, "She is an angel; she might do -it." -</p> - -<p> -"And if she does?" -</p> - -<p> -"She will know what to do, to convey her thoughts to me." -</p> - -<p> -"Nay! but I'll do more than that, milor," Theresia continued excitedly. -"I will tell her that I shall pray night and day for your deliverance -and hers. I will tell her that I have seen you, and that you are well." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, if you did that——!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily. -</p> - -<p> -"You would forgive me, too?" she pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -"I would do more than that, fair one. I would make you Queen of France, -in all but name." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"That I would then redeem the promise which I made to you that evening, -in the lane—outside Dover. Do you remember?" -</p> - -<p> -She made no reply, closed her eyes; and her vivid fancy, rendered doubly -keen by the mystery which seemed to encompass him as with a supernal -mantle, conjured up the vision of that unforgettable evening: the -moonlight, the scent of the hawthorn, the call of the thrush. She saw -him stooping before her, and kissing her finger-tips, even whilst her -ears recalled every word he had spoken and every inflexion of his -mocking voice: -</p> - -<p> -"Let me rather put it differently, dear lady," he had said then. "One -day the exquisite Theresia Cabarrus, the Egeria of the Terrorists, the -fiancée of the great Tallien, might need the help of the Scarlet -Pimpernel." -</p> - -<p> -And she, angered, piqued by his coolness, thirsting for revenge for the -insult which she believed he had put upon her, had then protested -earnestly: -</p> - -<p> -"I would sooner die," she had boldly asserted, "than seek your help, -milor!" -</p> - -<p> -And now, at this hour, here in this house where Death lurked in every -corner, she could still hear his retort: "Here in Dover, perhaps. . . . -But in France?" -</p> - -<p> -How right he had been! . . . How right! She—who had thought -herself so strong, so powerful—what was she indeed but a miserable -tool in the hands of men who would break her without scruple if she ran -counter to their will? Remorse was not for her—atonement too great -a luxury for a tool of Chauvelin to indulge in. The black, hideous -taint, the sin of having dragged this splendid man and that innocent -woman to their death must rest upon her soul for ever. Even now she was -jeopardizing his life, every moment that she kept him talking in this -house. And yet the impulse to speak with him, to hear him say a word of -forgiveness, had been unconquerable. One moment she longed for him to -go; the next she would have sacrificed much to keep him by her side. -When he wished to go, she held him back. Now that, with his wonted -careless disregard of danger, he appeared willing to linger, she sought -for the right words wherewith to bid him go. -</p> - -<p> -He seemed to divine her thoughts, remained quite still while she stood -there with eyes closed, in one brief second reviewing the past. All! All! -It all came back to her: her challenge to him, his laughing retort. -</p> - -<p> -"You mean," she had said at parting, "that you would risk your life to -save mine?" -</p> - -<p> -"I should not risk my life, dear lady," he had said, with his puzzling -smile. "But I should—God help me!—do my best, if the need -arose, to save yours." -</p> - -<p> -Then he had gone, and she had stood under the porch of the quaint old -English inn and watched his splendid figure as it disappeared down the -street. She had watched, puzzled, uncomprehending, her heart already -stirred by that sweet, sad ache which at this hour brought tears to her -eyes—the aching sorrow of that which could never, never be. Ah! if it -had been her good fortune to have come across such a man, to have -aroused in him that admiration for herself which she so scorned in -others, how different, how very different would life have been! And she -fell to envying the poor prisoner upstairs, who owned the most precious -treasure life can offer to any woman: the love of a fine man. Two hot -tears came slowly through her closed eyes, coursing down her cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -"Why so sad, dear lady?" he asked gently. -</p> - -<p> -She could not speak for the moment, only murmured vaguely: -</p> - -<p> -"Four days——" -</p> - -<p> -"Four days," he retorted gaily, "as you say! In four days, either I or a -pack of assassins will be dead." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, what will become of me?" she sighed. -</p> - -<p> -"Whatever you choose." -</p> - -<p> -"You are bold, milor," she rejoined more calmly. "And you are brave. -Alas! what can you do, when the most powerful hands in France are -against you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Smite them, dear lady," he replied airily. "Smite them! Then turn my -back upon this fair land. It will no longer have need of me." Then he -made her a courteous bow. "May I have the honour of escorting you -upstairs? Your friend M. Chauvelin will be awaiting you." -</p> - -<p> -The name of her taskmaster brought Theresia back to the realities of -life. Gone was the dream of a while ago, when subconsciously her mind -had dwelt upon a sweet might-have-been. The man was nothing to -her—less than nothing; a common spy, so her friends averred. Even -if he had not presumed to write her an insulting letter, he was still -the enemy—the foe whose hand was raised against her own country -and against those with whose fortunes she had thrown in her lot. Even -now, she ought to be calling loudly for help, rouse the house with her -cries, so that this spy, this enemy, might be brought down before her -eyes. Instead of which, she felt her heart beating with apprehension -lest his quiet, even voice be heard on the floor above, and he be caught -in the snare which those who feared and hated him had laid for him. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, she appeared far more conscious of danger than he was; and while -she chided herself for her folly in having called to him, he was -standing before her as if he were in a drawing-room, holding out his arm -to escort her in to dinner. His foot was on the step, ready to ascend, -even whilst Theresia's straining ears caught the sound of other -footsteps up above: footsteps of men—real men, those!—who were -set up there to watch for the coming of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and whose -vigilance had been spurred by promise of reward and by threat of death. -She pushed his arm aside almost roughly. -</p> - -<p> -"You are mad, milor!" she said, in a choked murmur. "Such foolhardiness, -when your life is in deadly jeopardy, becomes criminal folly——" -</p> - -<p> -"The best of life," he said airily, "is folly. I would not miss this -moment for a kingdom!" -</p> - -<p> -She felt like a creature under a spell. He took her hand and drew it -through his arm. She went up the steps beside him. -</p> - -<p> -Every moment she thought that one or more of the soldiers would be -coming down, or that Chauvelin, impatient at her absence, might step out -upon the landing. The dank, murky air seemed alive with ominous -whisperings, of stealthy treads upon the stone. Theresia dared not look -behind her, fearful lest the grim presence of Death itself be suddenly -made manifest before her. -</p> - -<p> -On the landing he took leave of her, stooped and kissed her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, how cold it is!" he remarked with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -His was perfectly steady and warm. The very feel of it seemed to give -her strength. She raised her eyes to his. -</p> - -<p> -"Milor," she entreated, "on my knees I beg of you not to toy with your -life any longer." -</p> - -<p> -"Toy with my life," he retorted gaily. "Nothing is further from my -thoughts." -</p> - -<p> -"You must know that every second which you spend in this house is -fraught with the greatest possible danger." -</p> - -<p> -"Danger? Ne'er a bit, dear lady! I am no longer in danger, now that you -are my friend." -</p> - -<p> -The next moment he was gone. For awhile, Theresia's straining ears still -caught the sound of his firm footfall upon the stone steps. Then all was -still; and she was left wondering if, in very truth, the last few -minutes on the dark stairs had not all been part of a dream. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap27"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVII -<br /><br /> -TERROR OR AMBITION</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Chauvelin had sufficiently recovered from the emotions of the past -half-hour to speak coolly and naturally to Theresia. Whether he knew -that she had waylaid Sir Percy Blakeney on the stairs or no, she could -not conjecture. He made no reference to his interview with the Scarlet -Pimpernel, nor did he question her directly as to whether she had -overheard what passed between them. -</p> - -<p> -Certainly his attitude was a more dictatorial one than it had been -before. Some of his first words to her contained a veiled menace. -Whether the sense of coming triumph gave him a fresh measure of that -arrogance which past failures had never wholly subdued, or whether -terror for the future caused him to bluster and to threaten, it were -impossible to say. -</p> - -<p> -"Vigilance!" he said to Theresia, after a curt greeting. "Incessant -vigilance, night and day, is what your country demands of you now, -citizeness! All our lives now depend upon our vigilance." -</p> - -<p> -"Yours perhaps, citizen," she rejoined coolly. "You seem to forget that -I am not bound——" -</p> - -<p> -"You? Not bound?" he broke in roughly, and with a strident laugh. "Not -bound to aid in bringing the most bitter enemy of your country to his -knees? Not bound, now that success is in sight?" -</p> - -<p> -"You only obtained my help by a subterfuge," she retorted; "by a forged -letter and a villainous lie——" -</p> - -<p> -"Bah! Are you going to tell me, citizeness, that all means are not -justifiable when dealing with those whose hands are raised against -France? Forgery?" he went on, with passionate earnestness. "Why not? -Outrage? Murder? I would commit every crime in order to serve the -country which I love and hound her enemies to death. The only crime that -is unjustifiable, citoyenne, is indifference. You? Not bound? Wait! -Wait, I say! And if by your indifference or your apathy we fail once -more to bring that elusive enemy to book, wait then until you stand at -the bar of the people's tribunal, and in the face of France, who called -to you for help, of France, who, beset by a hundred foes, stretched -appealing arms to you, her daughter, you turned a deaf ear to her -entreaties, and, shrugging your fair shoulders, calmly pleaded, 'Bah! I -was not bound!'" -</p> - -<p> -He paused, carried away by his own enthusiasm, feeling perhaps that he -had gone too far, or else had said enough to enforce the obedience which -he exacted. After awhile, since Theresia remained silent too, he added -more quietly: -</p> - -<p> -"If we capture the Scarlet Pimpernel this time, citizeness, Robespierre -shall know from my lips that it is to you and to you alone that he owes -his triumph over the enemy whom he fears above all. Without you, I could -not have set the trap out of which he cannot now escape." -</p> - -<p> -"He can escape! He can!" she retorted defiantly. "The Scarlet Pimpernel -is too clever, too astute, too audacious, to fall into your trap." -</p> - -<p> -"Take care, citoyenne, take care! Your admiration for that elusive hero -carries you beyond the bounds of prudence." -</p> - -<p> -"Bah! If he escapes, 'tis you who will be blamed——-" -</p> - -<p> -"And 'tis you who will suffer, citoyenne," he riposted blandly. With -which parting shaft he left her, certain that she would ponder over his -threats as well as over his bold promise of a rich reward. -</p> - -<p> -Terror and ambition! Death, or the gratitude of Robespierre! How well -did Chauvelin gauge the indecision, the shallowness of a fickle woman's -heart! Theresia, left to herself, had only those two alternatives over -which to ponder. Robespierre's gratitude, which meant that the -admiration which already he felt for her would turn to stronger passion. -He was still heart-whole, that she knew. The regard which he was -supposed to feel for the humble cabinet-maker's daughter could only be a -passing fancy. The dictator of France must choose a mate worthy of his -power and of his ambition; his friends would see to that. Robespierre's -gratitude! What a vista of triumphs and of glory did that eventuality -open up before her, what dizzy heights of satisfied ambition! And what a -contrast if Chauvelin's scheme failed in the end! -</p> - -<p> -"Wait," he had cried, "until you stand at the bar of the people's -tribunal and plead indifference!" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia shuddered. Despite the close atmosphere of the apartment, she -was shivering with cold. Her loneliness, her isolation, here in this -house, where an appalling and grim tragedy was even now in preparation, -filled her with sickening dread. Overhead she could hear the soldiers -moving about, and in one of the rooms close by her sensitive ear caught -the sound of Mother Théot's shuffling tread. -</p> - -<p> -But the sound that was most insistent, that hammered away at her heart -until she could have screamed with the pain, was the echo of a lazy, -somewhat inane laugh and of a gently mocking voice that said lightly: -</p> - -<p> -"The best of life is folly, dear lady. I would not miss this moment for -a kingdom." -</p> - -<p> -Her hand went up to her throat to smother the sobs that would rise up -against her will. Then she called all her self-control, all her ambition -to her aid. This present mood was sentimental nonsense, an abyss created -by an over-sensitive heart, into which she might be falling headlong. -What was this Englishman to her that thought of his death should prove -such mental agony? As for him, he only laughed at her; despised her -still, probably; hated her for the injury she had done to that woman -upstairs whom he loved. -</p> - -<p> -Impatient to get away from this atmosphere of tragedy and of mysticism -which was preying on her nerves, Theresia called peremptorily to Mother -Théot, and when the old woman came shuffling out of her room, demanded -her cloak and hood. -</p> - -<p> -"Have you seen aught of citizen Moncrif?" she asked, just before going -away. -</p> - -<p> -"I caught sight of him over the way," Catherine Théot replied, -"watching this house, as he always does when you, citoyenne, are in it." -</p> - -<p> -"Ah!" the imperious beauty retorted, with a thought of spite in her -mellow voice. "Would you could give him a potion, Mother, to cure him of -his infatuation for me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Despise no man's love, citoyenne," the witch retorted sententiously. -"Even that poor vagabond's blind passion may yet prove thy salvation." -</p> - -<p> -A moment or two later Theresia was once more on the dark stairs where -she had dreamed of the handsome milor. She sighed as she ran swiftly -down—sighed, and looked half-fearfully about her. She still felt his -presence through the gloom; and in the ghostly light that feebly -illumined the corner whereon he had stood, she still vaguely saw in -spirit his tall straight figure, stooping whilst he kissed her hand. At -one moment she was quite sure that she heard his voice and the echo of -his pleasant laugh. -</p> - -<p> -Down below, Bertrand Moncrif was waiting for her, silent, humble, with -the look of a faithful watch-dog upon his pale, wan face. -</p> - -<p> -"You make yourself ill, my poor Bertrand," Theresia said, not unkindly, -seeing that he stood aside to let her pass, fearful of a rebuff if he -dared speak to her. "I am in no danger, I assure you; and this constant -dogging of my footsteps can do no good to you or to me." -</p> - -<p> -"But it can do no harm," he pleaded earnestly. "Something tells me, -Theresia, that danger does threaten you, unbeknown to you, from a -quarter least expected." -</p> - -<p> -"Bah!" she retorted lightly. "And if it did, you could not avert it." -</p> - -<p> -He made a desperate effort to check the words of passionate -protestations which rose to his lips. He longed to tell her how gladly -he would make of his body a shield to protect her from harm, how happy -he would be if he might die for her. But obviously he dared not say what -lay nearest to his heart. All he could do now was to walk silently by -her side as far as her lodgings in the Rue Villedot, grateful for this -small privilege, uncomplaining and almost happy because she tolerated -his presence, and because while she walked the ends of her long scarf -stirred by the breeze would now and again flutter against his cheek. -</p> - -<p> -Miserable Bertrand! He had laden his soul with an abominable crime for -this woman's sake; and he had not even the satisfaction of feeling that -she gave him an infinitesimal measure of gratitude. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap28"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXVIII -<br /><br /> -IN THE MEANWHILE</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Chauvelin, who, despite his many failures, was still one of the most -conspicuous—since he was one of the most -unscrupulous—members of the Committee of Public Safety, had not -attended its sittings for some days. He had been too deeply absorbed in -his own schemes to trouble about those of his colleagues. In truth, the -coup which he was preparing was so stupendous, and if it succeeded his -triumph would be so magnificent, that he could well afford to hold -himself aloof. Those who were still inclined to scorn and to scoff at -him to-day would be his most cringing sycophants on the morrow. -</p> - -<p> -He know well enough—none better—that during this time the -political atmosphere in the Committees and the Clubs was nothing short of -electrical. He felt, as every one did, that something catastrophic was -in the air, that death, more self-evident than ever before, lurked at -every man's elbow, and stalked round the corner of every street. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre, the tyrant, the autocrat whose mere word swayed the -multitude, remained silent and impenetrable, absent from every -gathering. He only made brief appearances at the Convention, and there -sat moody and self-absorbed. Every one knew that this man, dictator in -all but name, was meditating a Titanic attack upon his enemies. His -veiled threats, uttered during his rare appearances at the speaker's -tribune, embraced even the most popular, the most prominent, amongst the -Representatives of the people. Every one, in fact, who was likely to -stand in his way when he was ready to snatch the supreme power. His -intimates—Couthon, St. Just, and the others—openly accused -of planning a dictatorship for their chief, hardly took the trouble to -deny the impeachment, even whilst Tallien and his friends, feeling that -the tyrant had already decreed their doom, went about like ghostly -shadows, not daring to raise their voices in the Convention lest the -first word they uttered brought down the sword of his lustful wrath upon -their heads. -</p> - -<p> -The Committee of Public Safely—now renamed the Revolutionary -Committee—strove on the other hand by a recrudescence of cruelty to -ingratiate itself with the potential dictator and to pose before the -people as alone pure and incorruptible, blind in justice, inexorable -where the safety of the Republic was concerned. Thus an abominable -emulation of vengeance and of persecution went on between the Committee -and Robespierre's party, wherein neither side could afford to give in, -for fear of being accused of apathy and of moderation. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin, for the most part, had kept out of the turmoil. He felt that -in his hands lay the destiny of either party. His one thought was of the -Scarlet Pimpernel and of his imminent capture, knowing that, with the -most inveterate opponent of revolutionary excesses in his hands, he -would within an hour be in a position to link his triumph with one or -the other of the parties—either with Robespierre and his herd of -butchers, or with Tallien and the Moderates. -</p> - -<p> -He was the mysterious and invisible deus ex machina, who anon, when it -suited his purpose, would reveal himself in his full glory as the man -who had tracked down and brought to the guillotine the most dangerous -enemy of the revolutionary government. And, so easily is a multitude -swayed, that one fact would bring him popularity, transcending that -of every other man in France. He, Chauvelin, the despised, the derided, -whose name had become synonymous with Failure, would then with a word -sweep those aside who had mocked him, hurl his enemies from their -pedestals, and name at will the rulers of France. All within four days! -</p> - -<p> -And of these, two had gone by. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -These days in mid-July had been more than usually sultry. It seemed -almost as if Nature had linked herself with the passions of men, and -hand in hand with Vengeance, Lust and Cruelty, had rendered the air hot -and heavy with the presage of on-coming storm. -</p> - -<p> -For Marguerite Blakeney these days had gone by like a nightmare. Cut off -from all knowledge of the outside world, without news from her husband -for the past forty-eight hours, she was enduring mental agony such as -would have broken a weaker or less trusting spirit. -</p> - -<p> -Two days ago she had received a message, a few lines hastily scribbled -by an unknown hand, and brought to her by the old woman who waited upon -her. -</p> - -<p> -"I have seen him," the message said. "He is well and full of hope. I -pray God for your deliverance and his, but help can only come by a -miracle." -</p> - -<p> -The message was written in a feminine hand, with no clue as to the -writer. -</p> - -<p> -Since then, nothing. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite had not seen Chauvelin again, for which indeed she thanked -Heaven on her knees. But every day at a given hour she was conscious of -his presence outside her door. She heard his voice in the vestibule: -there would be a word or two of command, the grounding of arms, then -some whispered talking; and presently Chauvelin's stealthy footstep -would slink up to her door. And Marguerite would remain still as a mouse -that scents the presence of a cat, holding her breath, life almost at a -standstill in this agony of expectation. -</p> - -<p> -The remainder of the day time hung with a leaden weight on her hands. -She was given no books to read, not a needle wherewith to busy herself. -She had no one to speak to save old Mother Théot, who waited on her and -brought her meals, nearly always in silence, and with a dour mien -which checked any attempt at conversation. -</p> - -<p> -For company, the unfortunate woman had nothing but her own thoughts, her -fears which grew in intensity, and her hopes which were rapidly -dwindling, as hour followed hour and day succeeded day in dreary -monotony. No sound around her save the incessant tramp, tramp of -sentries at her door, and every two hours the changing of the guard in -the vestibule outside; then the whispered colloquies, the soldiers -playing at cards or throwing dice, the bibulous songs, the ribald -laughter, the obscene words flung aloud like bits of filthy rag; the -life, in fact, that revolved around her jailers and seemed at a -standstill within her prison walls. -</p> - -<p> -In the late afternoons the air would become insufferably hot, and -Marguerite would throw open the window and sit beside it, her gaze fixed -upon the horizon far away, her hands lying limp and moist upon her lap. -</p> - -<p> -Then she would fall to dreaming. Her thoughts, swifter than flight of -swallows, would cross the sea and go roaming across country to her -stately home in Richmond, where at this hour the moist, cool air was -fragrant with the scent of late roses and of lime blossom, and the -murmur of the river lapping the mossy bank whispered of love and of -peace. In her dream she would see the tall figure of her beloved coming -toward her. The sunset was playing upon his smooth hair and upon his -strong, slender hands, always outstretched toward the innocent and the -weak. She would hear his dear voice calling her name, feel his arms -around her, and her senses swooning in the ecstasy of that perfect -moment which comes just before a kiss. -</p> - -<p> -She would dream . . . only to wake up the next moment to hear the church -clock of St. Antoine striking seven, and a minute or two later that -ominous shuffling footstep outside her door, those whisperings, the -grounding of arms, a burst of cruel laughter, which brought her from the -dizzy heights of illusive happiness back to the hideous reality of her -own horrible position, and of the deadly danger which lay in wait for -her beloved. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap29"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXIX -<br /><br /> -THE CLOSE OF THE SECOND DAY</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Soon after seven o'clock that evening the storm which had threatened all -day burst in its full fury. A raging gale tore at the dilapidated roofs -of this squalid corner of the great city, and lashed the mud of the -streets into miniature cascades. Soon the rain fell in torrents; one -clap of thunder followed on another with appalling rapidity, and the -dull, leaden sky was rent with vivid flashes of lightning. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin, who had paid his daily visit to the Captain in charge of the -prisoner in the Rue de la Planchette, was unable to proceed homewards. -For the moment the street appeared impassable. Wrapped in his cloak, he -decided to wait in the disused storage-room below until it became -possible for an unfortunate pedestrian to sally forth into the open. -</p> - -<p> -There seems no doubt that at this time the man's very soul was on the -rack. His nerves were stretched to breaking point, not only by incessant -vigilance, the obsession of the one idea, the one aim, but also by -multifarious incidents which his overwrought imagination magnified into -attempts to rob him of his prey. -</p> - -<p> -He trusted no one—not Mother Théot, not the men upstairs, not -Theresia: least of all Theresia. And his tortured brain invented and -elaborated schemes whereby he set one set of spies to watch another, one -set of sleuthhounds to run after another, in a kind of vicious and -demoniac circle of mistrust and denunciation. Nor did he trust himself -any longer: neither his instinct, nor his eyes, nor his ears. His -intimates—and he had a very few of these—said of him at that -time that, if he had his way, he would have had every tatterdemalion in the -city branded, like Rateau, lest they were bribed or tempted into -changing identities with the Scarlet Pimpernel. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst waiting for a lull in the storm, he was pacing up and down the -dank and murky storage house, striving by febrile movements to calm his -nerves. Shivering, despite the closeness of the atmosphere, he kept the -folds of his mantle closely wrapped around his shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible to keep the outer doors open, because the rain beat in -wildly on that side, and the place would have been in utter darkness but -for an old grimy lantern which some prudent hand had set up on a barrel -in the centre of the vast space, and which shed a feeble circle of light -around. The latch of the wicket appeared to be broken, for the small -door, driven by the wind, flapped backwards and forwards with irritating -ceaselessness. At one time Chauvelin tried to improvise some means of -fastening it, for the noise helped to exacerbate his nerves and, leaning -out into the street in order to seize hold of the door, he saw the -figure of a man, bent nearly double in the teeth of the gale, shuffling -across the street from the direction of the Porte St. Antoine. -</p> - -<p> -It was then nearly eight o'clock, and the light treacherous, but despite -the veil of torrential rain which intervened between him and that -shuffling figure, something in the gait, the stature, the stoop of the -wide, bony shoulders, appeared unpleasantly familiar. The man's head and -shoulders were wrapped in a tattered piece of sacking, which he held -close to his chest. His arms were bare, as were his shins, and on his -feet he had a pair of sabots stuffed with straw. -</p> - -<p> -Midway across the street he paused, and a tearing fit of coughing seemed -to render him momentarily helpless. Chauvelin's first instinct prompted -him to run to the stairs and to call for assistance from Captain Boyer. -Indeed, he was half-way up to the first-floor when, looking down, he saw -that the man had entered the place through the wicket-door. Still -coughing and spluttering, he had divested himself of his piece of -sacking and was crouching down against the barrel in the centre of the -room and trying to warm his hands by holding them against the glass -sides of the old lantern. -</p> - -<p> -From where he stood, Chauvelin could see the dim outline of the man's -profile, the chin ornamented with a three-days' growth of beard, the -lank hair plastered above the pallid forehead, the huge bones, coated -with grime, that protruded through the rags that did duty for a shirt. -The sleeves of this tattered garment hung away from the arm, displaying -a fiery, inflamed weal, shaped like the letter "M," that had recently -been burned into the flesh with a branding iron. -</p> - -<p> -The sight of that mark upon the vagabond's arm caused Chauvelin to pause -a moment, then to come down the stairs again. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Rateau!" he called. -</p> - -<p> -The man jumped as if he had been struck with a whip, tried to struggle -to his feet, but collapsed on the floor, while a terrible fit of -coughing took his breath away. Chauvelin, standing beside the barrel, -looked down with a grim smile on this miserable wreckage of humanity -whom he had so judiciously put out of the way of further mischief. The -dim flicker of the lantern illumined the gaunt, bony arm, so that the -charred flesh stood out like a crimson, fiery string against à coating -of grime. -</p> - -<p> -Rateau appeared terrified, scared by the sudden apparition of the man -who had inflicted the shameful punishment upon him. Chauvelin's face, -lighted from below by the lantern, did indeed appear grim and -forbidding. Some few seconds elapsed before the coalheaver had recovered -sufficiently to stand on his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"I seem to have scared you, my friend," Chauvelin remarked dryly. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I did not know," Rateau stammered with a painful wheeze, "that any -one was here . . . I came for shelter. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I am here for shelter, too," Chauvelin rejoined, "and did not see you -enter." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother Théot allows me to sleep here," Rateau went on mildly. "I have -had no work for two days . . . not since . . ." And he looked down -ruefully upon his arm. "People think I am an escaped felon," he -explained with snivelling timidity. "And as I have always lived just -from hand to mouth . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He paused, and cast an obsequious glance on the Terrorist, who retorted -dryly: -</p> - -<p> -"Better men than you, my friend, live from hand to mouth these days. -Poverty," he continued with grim sarcasm, "exalts a man in this glorious -revolution of ours. 'Tis riches that shame him." -</p> - -<p> -Rateau's branded arm went up to his lanky hair and he scratched his head -dubiously. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye," he nodded, obviously uncomprehending, "perhaps! But I'd like to -taste some of that shame!" -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel. The thunder -sounded a little more distant and the rain less violent for the moment, -and he strode toward the door. -</p> - -<p> -"The children run after me now," Rateau continued dolefully. "In my -quartier, the concierge turned me out of my lodging. They keep asking me -what I have done to be branded like a convict." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin laughed. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell them you've been punished for serving the English spy," he said. -</p> - -<p> -"The Englishman paid me well, and I am very poor," Rateau retorted -meekly. "I could serve the State now . . . if it would pay me well." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed? How?" -</p> - -<p> -"By telling you something, citizen, which you would like to know." -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" -</p> - -<p> -At once the instinct of the informer, of the sleuthhound, was on the -<i>qui vive.</i> The coalheaver's words, the expression of cunning on his -ugly face, the cringing obsequiousness of his attitude, all suggested -the spirit of intrigue, of underhand dealing, of lies and denunciations, -which were as the breath of life to this master-spy. He retraced his -steps, came and sat upon a pile of rubbish beside the barrel, and when -Rateau, terrified apparently at what he had said, made a motion as if to -slink away, Chauvelin called him back peremptorily. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it, citizen Rateau," he said curtly, "that you could tell me, -and that I would like to know?" -</p> - -<p> -Rateau was cowering in the darkness, trying to efface his huge bulk and -to smother his rasping cough. -</p> - -<p> -"You have said too much already," Chauvelin went on harshly, "to hold -your tongue. And you have nothing to fear . . . everything to gain. What -is it?" -</p> - -<p> -For a moment Rateau leaned forward, struck the ground with his fist. -</p> - -<p> -"Am I to be paid this time?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"If you speak the truth—yes." -</p> - -<p> -"How much?" -</p> - -<p> -"That depends on what you tell me. And now, if you hold your tongue, I -shall call to the citizen Captain upstairs and send you to jail." -</p> - -<p> -The coalheaver appeared to crouch yet further into himself. He looked -like a huge, shapeless mass in the gloom. His huge yellow teeth could be -heard chattering. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Tallien will send me to the guillotine," he murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"What has citizen Tallien to do with it?" -</p> - -<p> -"He pays great attention to the citoyenne Cabarrus." -</p> - -<p> -"And it is about her?" -</p> - -<p> -Rateau nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" Chauvelin reiterated harshly. -</p> - -<p> -"She is playing you false, citizen," Rateau murmured in a hoarse breath, -and crawled like a long, bulky worm a little closer to the Terrorist. -</p> - -<p> -"How?" -</p> - -<p> -"She is in league with the Englishman." -</p> - -<p> -"How do you know? -</p> - -<p> -"I saw her here . . . two days ago. . . . You remember, citizen . . . -after you . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes!" Chauvelin cried impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant Chazot took me to the cavalry barracks. . . . They gave me to -drink . . . and I don't remember much what happened. But when I was -myself again, I know that my arm was very sore, and when I looked down I -saw this awful mark on it. . . . I was just outside the Arsenal -then. . . . How I got there I don't know. . . . I suppose Sergeant -Chazot brought me back. . . . He says I was howling for Mother -Théot. . . . She has marvellous salves, you know, citizen." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes!" -</p> - -<p> -"I came in here. . . . My head still felt very strange . . . and my arm -felt like living fire. Then I heard voices . . . they came from the -stairs. . . . I looked about me, and saw them standing there. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Rateau, leaning upon one arm, stretched out the other and pointed to the -stairs. Chauvelin, with a violent gesture, seized him by the wrist. -</p> - -<p> -"Who?" he queried harshly. "Who was standing there?" -</p> - -<p> -His glance followed the direction in which the coalheaver was pointing, -then instinctively wandered back and fastened on that fiery letter "M" -which had been seared into the vagabond's flesh. -</p> - -<p> -"The Englishman and citoyenne Cabarrus," Rateau replied feebly, for he -had winced with pain under the excited grip of the Terrorist. -</p> - -<p> -"You are certain?" -</p> - -<p> -"I heard them talking——" -</p> - -<p> -"What did they say?" -</p> - -<p> -"I do not know. . . . But I saw the Englishman kiss the citoyenne's hand -before they parted." -</p> - -<p> -"And what happened after that?" -</p> - -<p> -"The citoyenne went to Mother Théot's apartment and the Englishman came -down the stairs. I had just time to hide behind that pile of rubbish. He -did not see me." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin uttered a savage curse of disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -"Is that all?" he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"The State will pay me?" Rateau murmured vaguely. -</p> - -<p> -"Not a sou!" Chauvelin retorted roughly. "And if citizen Tallien hears -this pretty tale . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"I can swear to it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Bah! Citoyenne Cabarrus will swear that you lied. 'Twill be her word -against that of a mudlark!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nay!" Rateau retorted. "'Twill be more than that." -</p> - -<p> -"What then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Will you swear to protect me, citizen, if citizen Tallien—" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes! I'll protect you. . . . And the guillotine has no time to -trouble about such muck-worms as you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, then, citizen," Rateau went on in a hoarse murmur, "if you will -go to the citoyenne's lodgings in the Rue Villedot, I can show you where -the Englishman hides the clothes wherewith he disguises himself . . . -and the letters which he writes to the citoyenne when . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He paused, obviously terrified at the awesome expression of the other -man's face. Chauvelin had allowed the coalheaver's wrist to drop out of -his grasp. He was sitting quite still, silent and grim, his thin, -claw-like hands closely clasped together and held between his knees. The -flickering light of the lantern distorted his narrow face, lengthened -the shadows beneath the nose and chin, threw a high light just below the -brows, so that the pale eyes appeared to gleam with an unnatural flame. -Rateau hardly dared to move. He lay like a huge bundle of rags in the -inky blackness beyond the circle of light protected by the lantern; his -breath came and went with a dragging, hissing sound, now and then broken -by a painful cough. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment or two there was silence in the great disused -store-room—a silence broken only by the thunder, dull and distant -now, and the ceaseless, monotonous patter of the rain. Then Chauvelin -murmured between his teeth: -</p> - -<p> -"If I thought that she . . ." But he did not complete the sentence, -jumped to his feet and approached the big mass of rags and humanity that -cowered in the gloom. "Get up, citizen Rateau!" he commanded. -</p> - -<p> -The asthmatic giant struggled to his knees. His wooden shoes had slipped -off his feet. He groped for them, and with trembling hands contrived to -put them on again. -</p> - -<p> -"Get up!" Chauvelin reiterated, with a snarl like an angry tiger. -</p> - -<p> -He took a small tablet and a leaden point from his pocket, and stooping -toward the light he scribbled a few words, and then handed the tablet to -Rateau. -</p> - -<p> -"Take this over to the Commissary of the Section in the Place du -Carrousel. Half a dozen men and a captain will be detailed to go with -you to the lodgings of the citoyenne Cabarrus in the Rue Villedot. You -will find me there. Go!" -</p> - -<p> -Rateau's hand trembled visibly as he took the tablets. He was obviously -terrified at what he had done. But Chauvelin paid no further heed to -him. He had given him his orders, knowing well that they would be -obeyed. The man had gone too far to draw back. It never entered -Chauvelin's head that the coalheaver might have lied. He had no cause -for spite against the citoyenne Cabarrus, and the fair Spaniard stood on -too high a pinnacle of influence for false denunciations to touch her. -The Terrorist waited until Rateau had quietly slunk out by the wicket -door; then he turned on heel and quickly went up the stairs. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -In the vestibule on the top floor he called to Capitaine Boyer. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Captain," he said at the top of his voice. "You remember that -to-morrow eve is the end of the third day?" -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi!" the Captain retorted gruffly. "Is anything changed?" -</p> - -<p> -"No." -</p> - -<p> -"Then, unless by the eve of the fourth day that cursed Englishman is not -in our hands, my orders are the same." -</p> - -<p> -"Your orders are," Chauvelin rejoined loudly, and pointed with grim -intention at the door behind which he felt Marguerite Blakeney to be -listening for every sound, "unless the English spy is in our hands on -the evening of the fourth day to shoot your prisoner." -</p> - -<p> -"It shall be done, citizen!" Captain Boyer gave reply. -</p> - -<p> -Then he grinned maliciously, because from behind the closed door there -had come a sound like a quickly smothered cry. -</p> - -<p> -After which, Chauvelin nodded to the Captain and once more descended the -stairs. A few seconds later he went out of the house into the stormy -night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap30"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXX -<br /><br /> -WHEN THE STORM BURST</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Fortunately the storm only broke after the bulk of the audience was -inside the theatre. The performance was timed to commence at seven, and -a quarter of an hour before that time the citizens of Paris who had come -to applaud citoyenne Vestris, citoyen Talma, and their colleagues, in -Chénier's tragedy, <i>Henri VIII</i>, were in their seats. -</p> - -<p> -The theatre in the Rue de Richelieu was crowded. Talma and Vestris had -always been great favourites with the public, and more so perhaps since -their secession from the old and reactionary Comédie Française. -Citizen Chénier's tragedy was in truth of a very poor order; but the -audience was not disposed to be critical, and there was quite an excited -hush in the house when citoyenne Vestris, in the part of "Anne de -Boulen," rolled off the meretricious verses: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Trop longtemps j'ai gardé le silence;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Le poids qui m'accablait tombe avec violence."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -But little was heard of the storm which raged outside; only at times the -patter of the rain on the domed roof became unpleasantly apparent as an -inharmonious accompaniment to the declamation of the actors. -</p> - -<p> -It was a brilliant evening, not only because citoyenne Vestris was in -magnificent form, but also because of the number of well-known people -who sat in the various boxes and in the parterre and who thronged the -foyer during the entr'actes. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if the members of the Convention and those who sat upon the -Revolutionary Committees, as well as the more prominent speakers in the -various clubs, had made a point of showing themselves to the public, -gay, unconcerned, interested in the stage and in the audience, at this -moment when every man's head was insecure upon his shoulders and no man -knew whether on reaching home he would not find a posse of the National -Guard waiting to convey him to the nearest prison. -</p> - -<p> -Death indeed lurked everywhere. -</p> - -<p> -The evening before, at a supper party given in the house of deputy -Barrère, a paper was said to have dropped out of Robespierre's coat -pocket, and been found by one of the guests. The paper contained nothing -but just forty names. What those names were the general public did not -know, nor for what purpose the dictator carried the list about -in his pocket; but during the representation of <i>Henri VIII</i>, -the more obscure citizens of Paris—happy in their own -insignificance—noted that in the foyer during the entr'actes, -citizen Tallien and his friends appeared obsequious, whilst those who -fawned upon Robespierre were more than usually arrogant. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -In one of the proscenium boxes, citizeness Cabarrus attracted a great -deal of attention. Indeed, her beauty to-night was in the opinion of -most men positively dazzling. Dressed with almost ostentatious -simplicity, she drew all eyes upon her by her merry, ringing laughter, -the ripple of conversation which flowed almost incessantly from her -lips, and the graceful, provocative gestures of her bare hands and arms -as she toyed with a miniature fan. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, Theresia Cabarrus was unusually light-hearted to-night. Sitting -during the first two acts of the tragedy in her box, in the company of -citizen Tallien, she became the cynosure of all eyes, proud and happy -when, during the third interval, she received the visit of Robespierre. -</p> - -<p> -He only stayed with her a few moments, and kept himself concealed for -the most part at the back of the box; but he had been seen to enter, and -Theresia's exclamation, "Ah, citizen Robespierre! What a pleasant -surprise! 'Tis not often you grace the theatre with your presence!" had -been heard all over the house. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, with the exception of Eleonore Duplay, whose passionate -admiration he rather accepted than reciprocated, the incorruptible and -feline tyrant had never been known to pay attention to any woman. Great -therefore was Theresia's triumph. Visions of that grandeur which she had -always coveted and to which she had always felt herself predestined, -danced before her eyes; and remembering Chauvelin's prophecies and -Mother Théot's incantations, she allowed the dream-picture of the -magnificent English milor to fade slowly from her ken, bidding it a -reluctant adieu. -</p> - -<p> -Though in her heart she still prayed for his deliverance—and did it -with a passionate earnestness—some impish demon would hover at her -elbow and repeat in her unwilling ear Chauvelin's inspired words: "Bring -the Scarlet Pimpernel to his knees at the chariot-wheel of Robespierre, -and the crown of the Bourbons will be yours for the asking." And if, -when she thought of that splendid head falling under the guillotine, a -pang of remorse and regret shot through her heart, she turned with a -seductive smile to the only man who could place that crown at her feet -His popularity was still at its zenith. To-night, whenever the audience -caught sight of him in the Cabarrus' box, a wild cheer rang out from -gallery to pit of the house. Then Theresia would lean over to him and -whisper insinuatingly: -</p> - -<p> -"You can do anything with that crowd, citizen! You hold the people by -the magnetism of your presence and of your voice. There is no height to -which you cannot aspire." -</p> - -<p> -"The greater the height," he murmured moodily, "the dizzier the -fall. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"'Tis on the summit you should gaze," she retorted; "not on the abyss -below." -</p> - -<p> -"I prefer to gaze into the loveliest eyes in Paris," he replied with a -clumsy attempt at gallantry; "and remain blind to the summits as well as -to the depths." -</p> - -<p> -She tapped her daintily shod foot against the ground and gave an -impatient little sigh. It seemed as if at every turn of fortune she was -confronted with pusillanimity and indecision. Tallien fawning on -Robespierre; Robespierre afraid of Tallien; Chauvelin a prey to nerves. -How different to them all was that cool, self-possessed Englishman with -the easy good-humour and splendid self-assurance! -</p> - -<p> -"I would make you Queen of France in all but name!" He said this as -easily, as unconcernedly as if he were promising an invitation to a -rout. -</p> - -<p> -When, a moment or two later, Robespierre took leave of her and she was -left for a while alone with her thoughts, Theresia no longer tried to -brush away from her mental vision the picture on which her mind loved to -dwell. The tall magnificent figure; the lazy, laughing eyes; the slender -hand that looked so firm and strong amidst the billows of exquisite -lace. -</p> - -<p> -Ah, well! The dream was over! It would never come again. He himself had -wakened her; he himself had cast the die which must end his splendid -life, even at the hour when love and fortune smiled at him through the -lips and eyes of beautiful Cabarrus. -</p> - -<p> -Fate, in the guise of the one man she could have loved, was throwing -Theresia into the arms of Robespierre. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -The next moment she was rudely awakened from her dreams. The door of her -box was torn open by a violent hand, and turning, she saw Bertrand -Moncrif, hatless, with hair dishevelled, clothes dripping and -mud-stained, and linen soaked through. She was only just in time to -arrest with a peremptory gesture the cry which was obviously hovering on -his lips. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush—sh—sh!" came at once from every portion of the audience, -angered by this disturbing noise. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien jumped to his feet -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" he demanded in a quick whisper. -</p> - -<p> -"A perquisition," Moncrif replied hurriedly, "in the house of the -citoyenne!" -</p> - -<p> -"Impossible!" she broke in harshly. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush! . . . Silence!" the audience muttered audibly. -</p> - -<p> -"I come from there," Moncrif murmured. "I have seen . . . heard . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"Come outside," Theresia interjected. "We cannot talk here." -</p> - -<p> -She led the way out, and Tallien and Moncrif followed. -</p> - -<p> -The corridor fortunately was deserted. Only a couple of ouvreuses stood -gossiping in a corner. Theresia, white to the lips—but more from -anger than fear—dragged Moncrif with her to the foyer. Here there -was no one. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, tell me!" she commanded. -</p> - -<p> -Bertrand passed his trembling hand through his soaking hair. His clothes -were wet through. He was shaking from head to foot and appeared to have -run till now he could scarcely stand. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me!" Theresia reiterated impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien stood by, half-paralyzed with terror. He did not question the -younger man, but gazed on him with compelling, horror-filled eyes, as if -he would wrench the words out of him before they reached his throat. -</p> - -<p> -"I was in the Rue Villedot," Moncrif stammered breathlessly at last, -"when the storm broke. I sought shelter under the portico of a house -opposite the citoyenne's lodgings. . . . I was there a long time. Then -the storm subsided. . . . Men in uniform came along. . . . They were -soldiers of the National Guard . . . I could see that, though the street -was pitch dark. . . . They passed quite close to me. . . . They were -talking of the citoyenne. . . . Then they crossed over to her lodgings. -. . . I saw them enter the house. . . . I saw citizen Chauvelin in the -doorway. . . . He chided them for being late. . . . There was a captain -and there were six soldiers, and that asthmatic coalheaver was with -them." -</p> - -<p> -"What!" Theresia exclaimed. "Rateau?" -</p> - -<p> -"What in Satan's name does it all mean?" Tallien exclaimed with a savage -curse. -</p> - -<p> -"They went into the house," Moncrif went on, his voice rasping through -his parched throat. "I followed at a little distance, to make quite sure -before I came to warn you. Fortunately I knew where you were . . . -fortunately I always know . . ." -</p> - -<p> -"You are sure they went up to my rooms?" Theresia broke in quickly. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. Two minutes later I saw a light in your apartment." She turned -abruptly to Tallien. -</p> - -<p> -"My cloak!" she commanded. "I left it in the box." -</p> - -<p> -He tried to protest. -</p> - -<p> -"I am going," she rejoined firmly. "This is some ghastly mistake, for -which that fiend Chauvelin shall answer with his life. My cloak!" -</p> - -<p> -It was Bertrand who went back for the cloak and wrapped her in it. He -knew—none better—that if his divinity desired to go, no power -on earth would keep her back. She did not appear in the least afraid, but -her wrath was terrible to see, and boded ill to those who dared provoke it. -Indeed, Theresia, flushed with her recent triumph and with Robespierre's -rare if clumsy gallantries still ringing in her ear, felt ready to dare -anything, to brave any one—even Chauvelin and his threats. She even -succeeded in reassuring Tallien, ordered him to remain in the theatre, -and to show himself to the public as utterly unconcerned. -</p> - -<p> -"In case a rumour of this outrage penetrates to the audience," she said, -"you must appear to make light of it. . . . Nay! you must at once -threaten reprisals against its perpetrators." -</p> - -<p> -Then she wrapped her cloak about her, and taking Bertrand's arm, she -hurried out of the theatre. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap31"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXI -<br /><br /> -OUR LADY OF PITY</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -It was like an outraged divinity in the face of sacrilege that Theresia -Cabarrus appeared in the antechamber of her apartment, ten minutes -later. -</p> - -<p> -Her rooms were full of men; sentries were at the door; the furniture was -overturned; the upholstery ripped up, cupboard doors swung open; even -her bed and bedding lay in a tangled heap upon the floor. The lights in -the rooms were dim, one single lamp shedding its feeble rays from the -antechamber into the living-room, whilst another flickered on a -wall-bracket in the passage. In the bedroom the maid Pepita, guarded by -a soldier, was loudly lamenting and cursing in voluble Spanish. -</p> - -<p> -Citizen Chauvelin was standing in the centre of the living-room, intent -on examining some papers. In a corner of the antechamber cowered the -ungainly figure of Rateau the coalheaver. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia took in the whole tragic picture at a glance; then with a -proud, defiant toss of the head she swept past the soldiers in the -antechamber and confronted Chauvelin, before he had time to notice her -approach. -</p> - -<p> -"Something has turned your brain, citizen Chauvelin," she said coolly. -"What is it?" -</p> - -<p> -He looked up, encountered her furious glance, and at once made her a -profound, ironical bow. -</p> - -<p> -"How wise was our young friend there to tell you of our visit, -citoyenne!" he said suavely. -</p> - -<p> -And he looked with mild approval in the direction where Bertrand Moncrif -stood between two soldiers, who had quickly barred his progress and were -holding him tightly by the wrists. -</p> - -<p> -"I came," Theresia retorted harshly, "as the forerunner of those who -will know how to punish this outrage, citizen Chauvelin." -</p> - -<p> -Once more he bowed, smiling blandly. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall be as ready to receive them," he said quietly, "as I am -gratified to see the citoyenne Cabarrus. When they come, shall I direct -them to call and see their beautiful Egeria at the Conciergerie, whither -we shall have the honour to convey her immediately?" -</p> - -<p> -Theresia threw back her head and laughed; but her voice sounded hard and -forced. -</p> - -<p> -"At the Conciergerie?" she exclaimed. "I?" -</p> - -<p> -"Even you, citoyenne," Chauvelin replied. -</p> - -<p> -"On what charge, I pray you?" she demanded, with biting sarcasm. -</p> - -<p> -"Of trafficking with the enemies of the Republic." -</p> - -<p> -She shrugged her shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"You are mad, citizen Chauvelin!" she riposted with perfect sang-froid. -"I pray you, order your men to re-establish order in my apartment; and -remember that I will hold you responsible for any damage that has been -done." -</p> - -<p> -"Shall I also," Chauvelin rejoined with equally perfect equanimity, -"replace these letters and other interesting objects, there where we -found them?" -</p> - -<p> -"Letters?" she retorted, frowning. "What letters?" -</p> - -<p> -"These, citoyenne," he replied, and held up to her gaze the papers which -he had in his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"What are they? I have never seen them before." -</p> - -<p> -"Nevertheless, we found them in that bureau." And Chauvelin pointed to a -small piece of furniture which stood against the wall, and the drawers -of which had obviously been forcibly torn open. Then as Theresia -remained silent, apparently ununderstanding, he went on suavely: "They -are letters written at different times to Mme. de Fontenay, née -Cabarrus—<i>Our Lady of Pity</i>, as she was called by grateful -Bordeaux." -</p> - -<p> -"By whom?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"By the interesting hero of romance who is known to the world as the -Scarlet Pimpernel." -</p> - -<p> -"It is false!" she retorted firmly. "I have never received a letter from -him in my life!" -</p> - -<p> -"His handwriting is all too familiar to me, citoyenne; and the letters -are addressed to you." -</p> - -<p> -"It is false!" she reiterated with unabated firmness. "This is some -devilish trick you have devised in order to ruin me. But take care, -citizen Chauvelin, take care! If this is a trial of strength 'twixt you -and me, the next few hours will show who will gain the day." -</p> - -<p> -"If it were a trial of strength 'twixt you and me, citoyenne," he -rejoined blandly, "I would already be a vanquished man. But it is France -this time who has challenged a traitor. That traitor is Theresia -Fontenay, née Cabarrus. The trial of strength is between her and -France." -</p> - -<p> -"You are mad, citizen Chauvelin! If there were letters writ by the -Scarlet Pimpernel found in my rooms, 'tis you who put them there!" -</p> - -<p> -"That statement you will be at liberty to substantiate to-morrow, -citoyenne," he retorted coldly, "at the bar of the revolutionary -tribunal. There, no doubt, you can explain away how citizen Rateau knew -of the existence of those letters, and led me straight to their -discovery. I have an officer of the National Guard, the commissary of -the section, and half a dozen men to prove the truth of what I say, and -to add that in a wall-cupboard in your antechamber we also found this -interesting collection, the use of which you, citoyenne, will no doubt -be able to explain." -</p> - -<p> -He stepped aside and pointed to a curious heap which littered the -floor—rags for the most part: a tattered shirt, frayed breeches, a -grimy cap, a wig made up of lank, colourless hair, the counterpart of -that which adorned the head of the coalheaver Rateau. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia looked on those rags for a moment in a kind of horrified -puzzlement. Her cheeks and lips became the colour of ashes. She put her -hand up to her forehead, as if to chase a hideous, ghoulish vision away, -and smothered a cry of horror. Puzzlement had given place to a kind of -superstitious dread. The room, the rags, the faces of the soldiers began -to whirl around her—impish shapes to dance a wild saraband before her -eyes. And in the midst of this witch's cauldron the figure of Chauvelin, -like a weird hobgoblin, was executing elf-like contortions and -brandishing a packet of letters writ upon scarlet paper. -</p> - -<p> -She tried to laugh, to speak defiant words; but her throat felt as if it -were held in a vice, and losing momentary consciousness she tottered, -and only saved herself from measuring her length upon the floor by -clinging with both hands to a table immediately behind her. -</p> - -<p> -As to what happened after that, she only had a blurred impression. -Chauvelin gave a curt word of command, and a couple of soldiers came and -stood to right and left of her. Then a piercing cry rang through the -narrow rooms, and she saw Bertrand Moncrif for one moment between -herself and the soldiers, fighting desperately, shielding her with his -body, tearing and raging like a wild animal defending its young. The -whole room appeared full of a deafening noise: cries and more -cries—words of command—calls of rage and of entreaty. Then -suddenly the word "Fire!" and the detonation of a pistol at close range, -and the body of Bertrand Moncrif sliding down limp and impotent to the -floor. -</p> - -<p> -After that, everything became dark around her. Theresia felt as if she -were looking down an immeasurable abyss of inky blackness, and that she -was falling, falling. . . . -</p> - -<p> -A thin, dry laugh brought her back to her senses, her pride to the fore, -her vanity up in arms. She drew her statuesque figure up to its full -height and once more confronted Chauvelin like an august and outraged -divinity. -</p> - -<p> -"And at whose word," she demanded, "is this monstrous charge to be -brought against me?" -</p> - -<p> -"At the word of a free citizen of the State," Chauvelin replied coldly. -</p> - -<p> -"Bring him before me." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently, like one who is -ready to humour a wayward child. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Rateau!" he called. -</p> - -<p> -From the anteroom there came the sound of much shuffling, spluttering, -and wheezing; then the dull clatter of wooden shoes upon the carpeted -floor; and presently the ungainly, grime-covered figure of the -coalheaver appeared in the doorway. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia looked on him for a few seconds in silence, then she gave a -ringing laugh and with exquisite bare arm outstretched she pointed to -the scrubby apparition. -</p> - -<p> -"That man's word against mine!" she called, with well-assumed mockery. -"Rateau the caitiff against Theresia Cabarrus, the intimate friend of -citizen Robespierre! What a subject for a lampoon!" -</p> - -<p> -Then her laughter broke. She turned once more on Chauvelin like an angry -goddess. -</p> - -<p> -"That vermin!" she exclaimed, her voice hoarse with indignation. "That -sorry knave with a felon's brand! In truth, citizen Chauvelin, your -spite must be hard put to it to bring up such a witness against me!" -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly her glance fell upon the lifeless body of Bertrand -Moncrif, and on the horrible crimson stain which discoloured his coat. -She gave a shudder of horror, and for a moment her eyes closed and her -head fell back, as if she were about to swoon. But she quickly recovered -herself. Her will-power at this moment was unconquerable. She looked -with unutterable contempt on Chauvelin; then she raised her cloak, which -had slipped down from her shoulders, and wrapped it with a queen-like -gesture around her, and without another word led the way out of the -apartment. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin remained standing in the middle of the room, his face quite -expressionless, his claw-like hands still fingering the fateful letters. -Two soldiers remained with him beside the body of Bertrand Moncrif. The -maid Pepita, still shrieking and gesticulating violently, had to be -dragged away in the wake of her mistress. -</p> - -<p> -In the doorway between the living-room and the antechamber, Rateau, -humble, snivelling, more than a little frightened, stood aside in order -to allow the guard and their imperious prisoner to pass. Theresia did -not condescend to look at him again; and he, shuffling and stumbling in -his clumsy wooden shoes, followed the soldiers down the stairs. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -It was still raining hard. The captain who was in charge of Theresia -told her that he had a chaise ready for her. It was waiting out in the -street. Theresia ordered him to send for it; she would not, she said, -offer herself as a spectacle to the riff-raff who happened to be passing -by. The captain had probably received orders to humour the prisoner as -far as was compatible with safety. Certain it is that he sent one of his -men to fetch the coach and to order the concierge to throw open the -porte-cochère. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia remained standing in the narrow vestibule at the foot of the -stairs. Two soldiers stood on guard over the maid, whilst another stood -beside Theresia. The captain, muttering with impatience, paced up and -down the stone-paved floor. Rateau had paused on the stairs, a step or -two just above where Theresia was standing. On the wall opposite, -supported by an iron bracket, a smoky oil-lamp shed a feeble, yellowish -flicker around. -</p> - -<p> -A few minutes went by; then a loud clatter woke the echoes of the dreary -old house, and a coach drawn by two ancient, half-starved nags, lumbered -into the courtyard and came to a halt in front of the open doorway. The -captain gave a sigh of relief, and called out: "Now then, citoyenne!" -whilst the soldier who had gone to fetch the coach jumped down from the -box-seat and, with his comrades, stood at attention. The maid was -summarily bundled into the coach, and Theresia was ready to follow. -</p> - -<p> -Just then the draught through the open door blew her velvet cloak -against the filthy rags of the miserable ruffian behind her. An -unexplainable impulse caused her to look up, and she encountered his -eyes fixed upon her. A dull cry rose to her throat, and instinctively -she put up her hand to her mouth, striving to smother the sound. Horror -dilated her eyes, and through her lips one word escaped like a hoarse -murmur: -</p> - -<p> -"You!" -</p> - -<p> -He put a grimy finger to his lips. But already she had recovered -herself. Here then was the explanation of the mystery which surrounded -this monstrous denunciation. The English milor had planned it as a -revenge for the injury done to his wife. -</p> - -<p> -"Captain!" she cried out shrilly. "Beware! The English spy is at your -heels!" -</p> - -<p> -But apparently the captain's complaisance did not go to the length of -listening to the ravings of his fair prisoner. He was impatient to get -this unpleasant business over. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, citoyenne!" was his gruff retort. "En voiture!" -</p> - -<p> -"You fool!" she cried, bracing herself against the grip of the soldiers -who were on the point of seizing her. "'Tis the Scarlet Pimpernel! If -you let him escape——" -</p> - -<p> -"The Scarlet Pimpernel?" the Captain retorted with a laugh. "Where?" -</p> - -<p> -"The coalheaver! Rateau! 'Tis he, I tell you!" And Theresia's cries -became more frantic as she felt herself unceremoniously lifted off the -ground. "You fool! You fool! You are letting him escape!" -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau, the coalheaver!" the captain exclaimed. "We have heard that -pretty story before. Here, citizen Rateau!" he went on, and shouted at -the top of his voice. "Go and report yourself to citizen Chauvelin. Tell -him you are the Scarlet Pimpernel! As for you, citoyenne, enough of this -shouting—what? My orders are to take you to the Conciergerie, and not -to run after spies—English, German, or Dutch. Now then, citizen -soldiers! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Theresia, throwing her dignity to the winds, did indeed raise a shout -that brought the other lodgers of the house to their door. But her -screams had become inarticulate, as the soldiers, in obedience to the -captain's impatient orders, had wrapped her cloak about her head. Thus -the inhabitants of the dreary old house in the Rue Villedot could only -ascertain that the citoyenne Cabarrus who lodged on the third floor had -been taken to prison, screaming and fighting, in a manner that no -self-respecting aristo had ever done. -</p> - -<p> -Theresia Cabarrus was ignominiously lifted into the coach and deposited -by the side of equally noisy Pepita. Through the folds of the cloak her -reiterated cry could still faintly be heard: -</p> - -<p> -"You fool! You traitor! You cursed, miserable fool!" -</p> - -<p> -One of the lodgers on the second floor—a young woman who was on good -terms with every male creature that wore uniform—leaned over the -balustrade of the balcony and shouted gaily down: -</p> - -<p> -"Hey, citizen captain! Why is the aristo screaming so?" -</p> - -<p> -One of the soldiers looked up, and shouted back: -</p> - -<p> -"She has hold of the story that citizen Rateau is an English milor in -disguise, and she wants to run after him!" -</p> - -<p> -Loud laughter greeted this tale, and a lusty cheer was set up as the -coach swung clumsily out of the courtyard. -</p> - -<p> -A moment or two later, Chauvelin, followed by the two soldiers, came -quickly down the stairs. The noise from below had at last reached his -ears. At first he too thought that it was only the proud Spaniard who -was throwing her dignity to the winds. Then a word or two sounded -clearly above the din: -</p> - -<p> -"The Scarlet Pimpernel! The English spy!" -</p> - -<p> -The words acted like a sorcerer's charm—a call from the vasty deep. -In an instant the rest of the world ceased to have any importance in his -sight. One thing and one alone mattered; his enemy. -</p> - -<p> -Calling to the soldiers to follow him, he was out of the apartment and -down in the vestibule below in a trice. The coach at that moment was -turning out of the porte-cochère. The courtyard, wrapped in gloom, was -alive with chattering and laughter which proceeded from the windows and -balconies around. It was raining fast, and from the balconies the water -was pouring down in torrents. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin stood in the doorway and sent one of the soldiers to ascertain -what the disturbance had all been about. The man returned with an -account of how the aristo had screamed and raved like a mad-woman, and -tried to escape by sending the citizen captain on a fool's errand, -vowing that poor old Rateau was an English spy in disguise. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin gave a sigh of relief. He certainly need not rack his nerves -or break his head over that! He had good cause to know that Rateau, with -the branded arm, could not possibly be the Scarlet Pimpernel! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap32"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXII -<br /><br /> -GREY DAWN</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Ten minutes later the courtyard and approach of the old house in the Rue -Villedot were once more wrapped in silence and in darkness. Chauvelin -had with his own hands affixed the official seals on the doors which led -to the apartments of citoyenne Cabarrus. In the living-room, the body of -the unfortunate Moncrif still lay uncovered and unwatched, awaiting what -hasty burial the commissary of the section would be pleased to order for -it. Chauvelin dismissed the soldiers at the door, and himself went his -way. -</p> - -<p> -The storm was gradually dying away. By the time that the audience filed -out of the theatre, it was scarcely raining. Only from afar, dull -rumblings of thunder could still faintly be heard. Citizen Tallien -hurried along on foot to the Rue Villedot. The last hour had been -positive torture for him. Although his reason told him that no man would -be fool enough to trump up an accusation against Theresia Cabarrus, who -was the friend, the Egeria of every influential man in the Convention or -the Clubs, and that she herself had always been far too prudent to allow -herself to be compromised in any way—although he knew all that, -his overwrought fancy conjured up visions which made him sick with -dread. His Theresia in the hands of rough soldiery—dragged to -prison—he himself unable to ascertain what had become of -her—until he saw her at the bar of that awful tribunal, from which -there was no issue save the guillotine! -</p> - -<p> -And with this dread came unendurable, gnawing remorse. He himself was -one of the men who had helped to set up the machinery of wild -accusations, monstrous tribunals and wholesale condemnations which had -been set in motion now by an unknown hand against the woman he loved. -He—Tallien—the ardent lover, the future husband of Theresia, -had aided in the constitution of that abominable Revolutionary Committee, -which could strike at the innocent as readily and as ruthlessly as at the -guilty. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed at this hour, this man, who long since had forgotten how to pray, -when he heard the tower-clock of a neighbouring church striking the -hour, turned his eyes that were blurred with tears toward the sacred -edifice which he had helped to desecrate, and found in his heart a -half-remembered prayer which he murmured to the Fount of all Mercy and -of Pardon. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Citizen Tallien turned into the Rue Villedot, the street where lodged -his beloved. A minute or so later, he was making his way up the back -staircase of the dingy house where his divinity had dwelt until now. On -the second-floor landing two women stood gossiping. One of them -recognised the influential Representative. -</p> - -<p> -"It is citizen Tallien," she said. -</p> - -<p> -And the other woman at once volunteered the information: -</p> - -<p> -"They have arrested the citoyenne Cabarrus," she said: "and the soldiers -did not know whither they were taking her." -</p> - -<p> -Tallien did not wait to listen further. He stumbled up the stairs to the -third-floor, to the door which he knew so well. His trembling fingers -wandered over the painted panels. They encountered the official seals, -which told their own mute tale. -</p> - -<p> -The whole thing, then, was not a dream. Those assassins had taken his -Theresia and dragged her to prison, would drag her on the morrow to an -outrageous mockery of a tribunal first, and then to death! Who shall say -what wild thoughts of retrospection and of remorse coursed through the -brain of this man—himself one of the makers of a bloody revolution? -What visions of past ideals, good intentions, of honest purpose and -incessant labour, passed before his mind? That glorious revolution, -which was to mark the regeneration of mankind, which was to have given -liberty to the oppressed, equality to the meek, fraternity in one vast -human family! And what did it lead to but to oppression far more cruel -than all that had gone before, to fratricide and to arrogance on the one -side, servility on the other, to constant terror of death, to -discouragement and sloth? -</p> - -<p> -For hours citizen Tallien sat in the dark, on the staircase outside -Theresia's door, his head buried in his hands. The grey dawn, livid and -chill, which came peeping in through the skylight overhead found him -still sitting there stiff and numb with cold. -</p> - -<p> -Whether what happened after that was part of a dream he never knew. -Certain it is that presently something extraneous appeared to rouse him. -He sat up and listened, leaned his back against the wall, for he was very -tired. Then he heard—or thought he heard—firm, swift steps on -the stairs, and soon after saw the figures of two men coming up the stairs. -Both the men were very tall, one of them unusually so, and the ghostly -light of dawn made him appear unreal and mysterious. He was dressed with -marvellous elegance; his smooth, fair hair was tied at the nape of the -neck with a satin bow; soft, billowy lace gleamed at his wrists and -throat, and his hands were exquisitely white and slender. Both the men -wore huge coats of fine cloth, adorned with many capes, and boots of -fine leather, perfectly cut. -</p> - -<p> -They paused on the vestibule outside the door of Theresia's apartment, -and appeared to be studying the official seals affixed upon the door. Then -one of them—the taller of the two—took a knife out of his -pocket and cut through the tapes which held the seals together. Then -together they stepped coolly into the apartment. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien had watched them, dazed and fascinated. He was so numb and weary -that his tongue—just as it does in dreams—refused him -service when he tried to call. But now he struggled to his feet and -followed in the wake of the two mysterious strangers. With him, the -instinct of the official, the respect due to regulations and laws framed -by his colleagues and himself, had been too strong to allow him to -tamper with the seals, and there was something mysterious and awesome -about that tall figure of a man, dressed with supreme elegance, whose -slender, firm hands had so unconcernedly committed this flagrant breach -of the law. It did not occur to Tallien to call for help. Somehow, the -whole incident—the two men—were so ghostlike, that he felt -that at a word they would vanish into thin air. -</p> - -<p> -He stepped cautiously into the familiar little antechamber. The -strangers had gone through to the living-room. One of them was kneeling -on the floor. Tallien, who knew nothing of the tragedy which had been -enacted inside the apartment of his beloved, marvelled what the men were -doing. He crept stealthily forward and craned his neck to see. The -window at the end of the room had been left unfastened. A weird grey -streak of light came peeping in and illumined the awesome scene: the -overturned furniture, the torn hangings; and on the ground, the body of -a man, with the stranger kneeling beside it. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien, weary and dazed, always of a delicate constitution, felt nigh -to swooning. His knees were shaking, a cold dread of the supernatural -held his heart with an icy grip and caused his hair to tingle at the -roots. His tongue felt huge and as if paralysed, his teeth were -chattering together. It was as much as he could do not to measure his -length on the ground; and the vague desire to remain unobserved kept him -crouching in the gloom. -</p> - -<p> -He just could flee the tall stranger pass his hands over the body on the -floor, and could hear the other ask him a question in English. -</p> - -<p> -A few moments went by. The strangers conversed in a low tone of voice. -From one or two words which came clearly to his ear, Tallien gathered -that they spoke in English—a language with which he himself was -familiar. The taller man of the two appeared to be giving his friend -some orders, which the latter promised to obey. Then, with utmost -precaution, he took the body in his arms and lifted it from the floor. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me help you, Blakeney," the other said in a whisper. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no!" the mysterious stranger replied quickly. "The poor worm is as -light as a feather! 'Tis better he died as he did. His unfortunate -infatuation was killing him." -</p> - -<p> -"Poor little Régine!" the younger man sighed. -</p> - -<p> -"It is better so," his friend rejoined. "We'll be able to tell her that -he died nobly, and that we've given him Christian burial." -</p> - -<p> -No wonder that Tallien thought that he was dreaming! These English were -strange folk indeed! Heaven alone knew what they risked by coming here, -at this hour, and into this house, in order to fetch away the body of -their friend. They certainly were wholly unconscious of danger. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien held his breath. He saw the splendid figure of the mysterious -adventurer step across the threshold, bearing the lifeless body in his -arms with as much ease as if he were carrying a child. The pale grey -light of morning was behind him, and his fine head with its smooth fair -hair was silhouetted against the neutral-tinted background. His friend -came immediately behind him. -</p> - -<p> -In the dark antechamber he paused and called abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Tallien!" -</p> - -<p> -A cry rose to Tallien's throat. He had thought himself entirely -unobserved, and the stranger a mere vision which he was watching in a -dream. Now he felt that compelling eyes were gazing straight at him, -piercing the darkness for a clearer sight of his face. -</p> - -<p> -But the spell was still on him, and he only moved in order to straighten -himself out and to force his trembling knees to be still. -</p> - -<p> -"They have taken the citoyenne Cabarrus to the Conciergerie," the -stranger went on simply. "To-morrow she will be charged before the -Revolutionary Tribunal. . . . You know what is the inevitable -end——" -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if some subtle magic was in the man's voice, in his very -presence, in the glance wherewith he challenged that of the unfortunate -Tallien. The latter felt a wave of shame sweep over him. There was -something so splendid in these two men—exquisitely dressed, and -perfectly deliberate and cool in all their movements—who were braving -and daring death in order to give Christian burial to their friend; -whilst he, in face of the outrage put upon his beloved, had only sat on -her desecrated doorstep like a dumb animal pining for its master. He -felt a hot flush rush to his cheeks. With quick, nervy movements he -readjusted the set of his coat, passed his thin hands over his rumpled -hair; whilst the stranger reiterated with solemn significance: -</p> - -<p> -"You know what is the inevitable end. . . . The citoyenne Cabarrus will -be condemned. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -Tallien this time met the stranger's eyes fearlessly. It was the magic -of strength and of courage that flowed into him from them. He drew up -his meagre stature to its full height and his head with an air of -defiance and of conscious power. -</p> - -<p> -"Not while I live!" he said firmly. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia Cabarrus will be condemned to-morrow," the stranger went on -calmly. "Then the next day, the guillotine——" -</p> - -<p> -"Never!" -</p> - -<p> -"Inevitably! . . . Unless——" -</p> - -<p> -"Unless what?" Tallien queried, and hung breathless on the man's lips as -he would on those of an oracle. -</p> - -<p> -"Theresia Cabarrus, or Robespierre and his herd of assassins. Which -shall it be, citizen Tallien?" -</p> - -<p> -"By Heaven!——" Tallien exclaimed forcefully. -</p> - -<p> -But he got no further. The stranger, bearing his burden, had already -gone out of the room, closely followed by his friend. -</p> - -<p> -Tallien was alone in the deserted apartment, where every broken piece of -furniture, every torn curtain, cried out for vengeance in the name of -his beloved. He said nothing. He neither protested nor swore. But he -tip-toed into the apartment and knelt down upon the floor close beside -the small sofa on which she was wont to sit. Here he remained quite -still for a minute or two, his eyes closed, his hands tightly clasped -together. Then he stooped very low and pressed his lips against the spot -where her pretty, sandalled foot was wont to rest. -</p> - -<p> -After that he rose, strode with a firm step out of the apartment, -carefully closing the doors behind him. -</p> - -<p> -The strangers had vanished into the night; and citizen Tallien went -quietly back to his own lodgings. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap33"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXIII -<br /><br /> -THE CATACLYSM</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -Forty names! Found on a list in the pocket of Robespierre's coat! -</p> - -<p> -Forty names! And every one of these that of a known opponent of -Robespierre's schemes of dictatorship: Tallien, Barrère, Vadier, -Cambon, and the rest. Men powerful to-day, prominent Members of the -Convention, leaders of the people, too—but opponents! -</p> - -<p> -The inference was obvious, the panic general. That night—it was -the 8th Thermidor, July the 26th of the old calendar—men talked of -flight, of abject surrender, of appeal—save the mark!—to -friendship, camaraderie, humanity! Friendship, camaraderie, humanity? An -appeal to a heart of stone! They talked of everything, in fact, save of -defying the tyrant; for such talk would have been folly. -</p> - -<p> -Defying the tyrant? Ye gods! When with a word he could sway the -Convention, the Committees, the multitude, bend them to his will, bring -them to heel like any tamer of beasts when he cracks his whip? -</p> - -<p> -So men talked and trembled. All night they talked and trembled; for they -did not sleep, those forty whose names were on Robespierre's list. But -Tallien, their chief, was nowhere to be found. 'Twas known that his -fiancée, the beautiful Theresia Cabarrus, had been summarily arrested. -Since then he had disappeared; and they—the others—were -leaderless. But, even so, he was no loss. Tallien was ever pusillanimous, a -temporiser—what? -</p> - -<p> -And now the hour for temporising is past. Robespierre then is to be -dictator of France. He will be dictator of France, in spite of any -opposition led by those forty whose names are on his list! He will be -dictator of France! He has not said it; but his friends have shouted it -from the house-tops, and have murmured under their breath that those who -oppose Robespierre's dictatorship are traitors to the land. Death then -must be their fate. -</p> - -<p> -What then, ye gods? What then? -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -And so the day broke—smiling, mark you! It was a beautiful warm -July morning. It broke on what is perhaps the most stupendous -cataclysm—save one—the world has ever known. -</p> - -<p> -Behold the picture! A medley. A confusion. A whirl of everything that is -passionate and cruel, defiant and desperate. Heavens, how desperate! Men -who have thrown lives away as if lives were in truth grains of sand; men -who have juggled with death, dealt it and tossed it about like cards -upon a gaming table. They are desperate now, because their own lives are -at stake; and they find now that life can be very dear. -</p> - -<p> -So, having greeted their leader, the forty draw together, watching the -moment when humility will be most opportune. -</p> - -<p> -Robespierre mounts the tribune. The hour has struck. His speech is one -long, impassioned, involved tirade, full at first, of vague accusations -against the enemies of the Republic and the people, and is full of -protestations of his own patriotism and selflessness. Then he warms to -his own oratory; his words are prophetic of death, his voice becomes -harsh—like a screech owl's, so we're told. His accusations are no -longer vague. He begins to strike. -</p> - -<p> -Corruption! Backsliding! Treachery! Moderatism!—oh, moderatism above -all! Moderatism is treachery to the glorious revolution. Every victim -spared from the guillotine is a traitor let loose against the people! A -traitor, he who robs the guillotine of her prey! Robespierre stands -alone incorruptible, true, faithful unto death! -</p> - -<p> -And for all that treachery, what remedy is there? Why, death of course! -Death! The guillotine! New power to the sovereign guillotine! Death to -all the traitors! -</p> - -<p> -And seven hundred faces become paler still with dread, and the sweat of -terror rises on seven hundred brows. There were only forty names on that -list . . . but there might be others somewhere else! -</p> - -<p> -And still the voice of Robespierre thunders on. His words fall on seven -hundred pairs of ears like on a sounding-board; his friends, his -sycophants, echo them; they applaud, rise in wild enthusiasm. 'Tis the -applause that is thundering now! -</p> - -<p> -One of the tyrant's most abject slaves has put forward the motion that -the great speech just delivered shall forthwith be printed, and -distributed to every township, every village, throughout France, as a -monument to the lofty patriotism of her greatest citizen. -</p> - -<p> -The motion at one moment looks as if it would be carried with -acclamations; after which, Robespierre's triumph would have risen to the -height of deification. Then suddenly the note of dissension; the hush; -the silence. The great Assembly is like a sounding-board that has ceased -to respond. Something has turned the acclamations to mutterings, and -then to silence. The sounding-board has given forth a dissonance. -Citizen Tallien has demanded "delay in printing that speech," and asked -pertinently: -</p> - -<p> -"What has become of the Liberty of Opinion in this Convention?" -</p> - -<p> -His face is the colour of ashes, and his eyes, ringed with purple, gleam -with an unnatural fire. The coward has become bold; the sheep has donned -the lion's skin. -</p> - -<p> -There is a flutter in the Convention, a moment's hesitation. But the -question is put to the vote, and the speech is <i>not</i> to be printed. A -small matter, in truth—printing or not printing. . . . Does the -Destiny of France hang on so small a peg? -</p> - -<p> -It is a small matter; and yet how full of portent! Like the breath of -mutiny blowing across a ship. But nothing more occurs just then. -Robespierre, lofty in his scorn, puts the notes of his speech into his -pocket. He does not condescend to argue. He, the master of France, will -not deign to bandy words with his slaves. And he stalks out of the Hall -surrounded by his friends. -</p> - -<p> -There <i>has</i> been a breath of mutiny; but his is still -the iron heel, powerful enough to crush a raging revolt. His -withdrawal—proud, silent, menacing—is in keeping with his -character and with the pose which he has assumed of late. But he is -still the Chosen of the People; and the multitude is there, thronging -the streets of Paris—there, to avenge the insult put upon their -idol by a pack of slinking wolves. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -And now the picture becomes still more poignant. It is painted in -colours more vivid, more glowing than before. The morning breaks on the -9th Thermidor, and again the Hall of the Convention is crowded to the -roof, with Tallien and his friends, in a close phalanx, early at their -post! -</p> - -<p> -Tallien is there, pale, resolute, the fire of his hatred kept up by -anxiety for his beloved. The night before, at the corner of a dark -street, a surreptitious hand slipped a scrap of paper into the pocket of -his coat. It was a message written by Theresia in prison, and written -with her own blood. How it ever came into his pocket Tallien never knew; -but the few impassioned, agonised words seared his very soul and whipped -up his courage: -</p> - -<p> -"The Commissary of Police has just left me," Theresia wrote. "He came to -tell me that to-morrow I must appear before the tribunal. This means the -guillotine. And I, who thought that you were a <i>man</i> . . .!" -</p> - -<p> -Not only is his own head in peril, not only that of his friends; but the -life of the woman whom he worships hangs now upon the thread of his own -audacity and of his courage. -</p> - -<p> -St. Just on this occasion is the first to mount the tribune; and -Robespierre, the very incarnation of lustful and deadly Vengeance, -stands silently by. He has spent the afternoon and evening with his -friends at the Jacobins Club, where deafening applause greeted his every -word, and wild fury raged against his enemies. -</p> - -<p> -It is then to be a fight to the finish! To your tents, O Israel! -</p> - -<p> -To the guillotine all those who have dared to say one word against the -Chosen of the People! St. Just shall thunder Vengeance from the tribune -at the Convention, whilst Henriot, the drunken and dissolute Commandant -of the Municipal Guard, shall, by the might of sword and fire, proclaim -the sovereignty of Robespierre through the streets of Paris. That is the -picture as it has been painted in the minds of the tyrant and of his -sycophants: a picture of death paramount, and of Robespierre rising like -a new Phoenix from out the fire of calumny and revolt, greater, more -unassailable than before. -</p> - -<p> -And lo! One sweep of the brush, and the picture is changed. -</p> - -<p> -Ten minutes . . . less . . . and the whole course of the world's history -is altered. No sooner has St. Just mounted the tribune than Tallien -jumps to his feet. His voice, usually meek and cultured, rises in a -harsh crescendo, until it drowns that of the younger orator. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizens," he exclaims, "I ask for truth! Let us tear aside the curtain -behind which lurk concealed the real conspirators and the traitors!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes! Truth! Let us have the truth!" One hundred voices—not -forty—have raised the echo. -</p> - -<p> -The mutiny is on the verge of becoming open revolt, is that already, -perhaps. It is like a spark fallen—who knows where?—into a -powder magazine. Robespierre feels it, sees the spark. He knows that one -movement, one word, one plunge into that magazine, foredoomed though it -be to destruction, one stamp with a sure foot, may yet quench the spark, -may yet smother the mutiny. He rushes to the tribune, tries to mount. -But Tallien has forestalled him, elbows him out of the way, and turns to -the seven hundred, with a cry that rings far beyond the Hall, out into -the streets. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizens!" he thunders in his turn. "I begged of you just now to tear -aside the curtains behind which lurk the traitors. Well, the curtain is -already rent. And if you dare not strike at the tyrant now, then 'tis I -who will dare!" And from beneath his coat he draws a dagger and raises -it above his head. "And I will plunge this into his heart," he cries, -"if you have not the courage to smite!" -</p> - -<p> -His words, that gleaming bit of steel, fan the spark into a flame. -Within a few seconds, seven hundred voices are shouting, "Down with the -tyrant!" Arms are waving, hands gesticulate wildly, excitedly. Only a -very few shout, "Behold the dagger of Brutus!" All the others retort -with "Tyranny!" and "Conspiracy!" and with cries of "Vive la Liberté!" -</p> - -<p> -At this hour all is confusion and deafening uproar. In vain Robespierre -tries to speak. He demands to speak. He hurls insults, anathema, upon -the President, who relentlessly refuses him speech and jingles his bell -against him. -</p> - -<p> -"President of Assassins," the falling tyrant cries, "I demand speech of -thee!" -</p> - -<p> -But the bell goes jingling on, and Robespierre, choked with rage and -terror, "turns blue" we are told, and his hand goes up to his throat. -</p> - -<p> -"The blood of Danton chokes thee!" cries one man. And these words seem -like the last blow dealt to the fallen foe. The next moment the voice of -an obscure Deputy is raised, in order to speak the words that have been -hovering on every lip: -</p> - -<p> -"I demand a decree of accusation against Robespierre!" -</p> - -<p> -"Accusation!" comes from seven hundred throats. "The decree of -accusation!" -</p> - -<p> -The President jingles his bell, puts the question, and the motion is -passed unanimously. -</p> - -<p> -Maximilien Robespierre—erstwhile master of France—is decreed -<i>accused.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="chap34"></a></h4> - -<h4>CHAPTER XXXIV -<br /><br /> -THE WHIRLWIND</h4> - - -<h4>§1</h4> - -<p> -It was then noon. Five minutes later, the Chosen of the People, the -fallen idol, is hustled out of the Hall into one of the Committee rooms -close by, and with his friends—St. Just, Couthon, Lebas, his brother -Augustin, and the others—all decreed accused and the order of arrest -launched against them. As for the rest, 'tis the work of the Public -Prosecutor—and of the guillotine. -</p> - -<p> -At five o'clock the Convention adjourns. The deputies have earned food -and rest. They rush to their homes, there to relate what has happened; -Tallien to the Conciergerie, to get a sight of Theresia. This is denied -him. He is not dictator yet; and Robespierre, though apparently -vanquished, still dominates—and lives. -</p> - -<p> -But from every church steeple the tocsin bursts; and a prolonged roll of -drums ushers in the momentous evening. -</p> - -<p> -In the city all is hopeless confusion. Men are running in every -direction, shouting, brandishing pistols and swords. Henriot, Commandant -of the Municipal Guard, rides through the streets at the head of his -gendarmes like one possessed, bent on delivering Robespierre. Women and -children fly screaming in every direction; the churches, so long -deserted, are packed with people who, terror-stricken, are trying to -remember long-forgotten prayers. -</p> - -<p> -Proclamations are read at street corners; there are rumours of a general -massacre of all the prisoners. At one moment—the usual hour—the -familiar tumbril with its load of victims for the guillotine rattles -along the cobblestones of the Rue St. Antoine. The populace, vaguely -conscious of something stupendous in the air—even though the decree -of accusation against Robespierre has not yet transpired—loudly -demand the release of the victims. They surround the tumbrils, crying, -"Let them be free!" -</p> - -<p> -But Henriot at the head of his gendarmes comes riding down the street, -and while the populace shouts, "It shall not be! Let them be free!" he -threatens with pistols and sabre, and retorts, bellowing: "It shall be! -To the guillotine!" And the tumbrils, which for a moment had halted, -lumber on, on their way. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§2</h4> - -<p> -Up in the attic of the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette, -Marguerite Blakeney heard but a mere faint echo of the confusion and of -the uproar. -</p> - -<p> -During the previous long, sultry afternoon, it had seemed to her as if -her jailers had been unwontedly agitated. There was much more moving to -and fro on the landing outside her door than there had been in the last -three days. Men talked, mostly in whispers; but at times a word, a -phrase here and there, a voice raised above the others, reached her -straining ears. She glued her ear to the keyhole and listened; but what -she heard was all confusion, sentences that conveyed but little meaning -to her. She distinguished the voice of the Captain of the Guard. He -appeared impatient about something, and talked about "missing all the -fun." The other soldiers seemed to agree with him. Obviously they were -all drinking heavily, for their voices sounded hoarse and thick, and -often would break into bibulous song. From time to time, too, she would -hear the patter of wooden shoes, together with a wheezy cough, as from a -man troubled with asthma. -</p> - -<p> -But it was all very vague, for her nerves by this time were on the rack. -She had lost count of time, of place; she knew nothing. She was unable -even to think. All her instincts were merged in the dread of that silent -evening hour, when Chauvelin's furtive footsteps would once more resound -upon the stone floor outside her door, when she would hear the quick -word of command that heralded his approach, the grounding of arms, the -sharp query and quick answer, and when she would feel again the presence -of the relentless enemy who lay in wait to trap her beloved. -</p> - -<p> -At one moment that evening he had raised his voice, obviously so that -she might hear. -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow is the fourth day, citizen Captain," she had heard him say. -"I may not be able to come." -</p> - -<p> -"Then," the voice of the Captain had said in reply, "if the Englishman -is not here by seven o'clock——" -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin had given a harsh, dry laugh, and retorted: -</p> - -<p> -"Your orders are as they were, citizen. But I think that the Englishman -will come." -</p> - -<p> -What it all meant Marguerite could not fail to conjecture. It meant death -to her or to her husband—to both, in fact. And all to-day she had -sat by the open window, her hands clasped in silent, constant prayer, -her eyes fixed upon the horizon far away, longing with all her might for -one last sight of her beloved, fighting against despair, striving for -trust in him and for hope. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§3</h4> - -<p> -At this hour, the centre of interest is the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, -where Robespierre and his friends sit entrenched and—for the -moment—safe. The prisons have refused one by one to close their gates -upon the Chosen of the People; governors and jailers alike have quaked -in the face of so monstrous a sacrilege. And the same gendarmes who have -been told off to escort the fallen tyrant to his penultimate resting place, -have had a touch of the same kind of scruple—or dread—and at -his command have conveyed him to the Hôtel de Ville. -</p> - -<p> -In vain does the Convention hastily reassemble. In -vain—apparently—does Tallien demand that the traitor -Robespierre and his friends be put outside the pale of the law. They are -for the moment safe, redacting proclamations, sending out messengers in -every direction; whilst Henriot and his gendarmes, having struck terror -in the hearts of all peaceable citizens, hold the place outside the Town -Hall and proclaim Robespierre dictator of France. -</p> - -<p> -The sun sinks towards the West behind a veil of mist. Ferment and -confusion are at their height. All around the City there is an invisible -barrier that seems to confine agitation within its walls. Outside this -barrier, no one knows what is happening. Only a vague dread has -filtrated through and gripped every heart. The guard at the several -gates appear slack and undisciplined. Sentries are accosted by -passers-by, eager for news. And, from time to time, from every -direction, troops of the Municipal gendarmes ride furiously by, with -shouts of "Robespierre! Robespierre! Death to the traitors! Long live -Robespierre!" -</p> - -<p> -They raise a cloud of dust around them, trample unheedingly over every -obstacle, human or otherwise, that happens to be in their way. They -threaten peaceable citizens with their pistols and strike at women and -children with the flat of their sabres. -</p> - -<p> -As soon as they have gone by, excited groups close up in their wake. -</p> - -<p> -"Name of a name, what is happening?" every one queries in affright. -</p> - -<p> -And gossip, conjectures, rumours, hold undisputed sway. -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre is dictator of France!" -</p> - -<p> -"He has ordered the arrest of all the Members of the Convention." -</p> - -<p> -"And the massacre of all the prisoners." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi, a wise decree! As for me, I am sick of the eternal tumbrils and -the guillotine!" -</p> - -<p> -"Better finish with the lot, say I!" -</p> - -<p> -"Robespierre! Robespierre!" comes as a far-off echo, to the -accompaniment of thundering hoofs upon the cobblestones. -</p> - -<p> -And so, from mouth to mouth! The meek and the peace-loving magnify these -rumours into approaching cataclysm; the opportunists hold their tongue, -ready to fall in with this party or that; the cowards lie in hiding and -shout "Robespierre!" with Henriot's horde or "Tallien!" in the -neighbourhood of the Tuileries. -</p> - -<p> -Here the Convention has reassembled, and here they are threatened -presently by Henriot and his artillery. The members of the great -Assembly remain at their post. The President has harangued them. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen deputies!" he calls aloud. "The moment has come to die at our -posts!" -</p> - -<p> -And they sit waiting for Henriot's cannonade, and calmly decree all the -rebels "outside the pale of the law." -</p> - -<p> -Tallien, moved by a spirit of lofty courage, goes, followed by a few -intimates, to meet Henriot's gunners boldly face to face. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen soldiers!" he calls aloud, and his voice has the resonance of -undaunted courage. "After covering yourselves with glory on the fields -of honour, are you going to disgrace your country?" He points a scornful -finger at Henriot who, bloated, purple in the face, grunting and -spluttering like an old seal, is reeling in his saddle. "Look at him, -citizen soldiers!" Tallien commands. "He is drunk and besotted! What man -is there who, being sober, would dare to order fire against the -representatives of the people?" -</p> - -<p> -The gunners are moved, frightened too by the decree which has placed -them "outside the pale of the law." Henriot, fearing mutiny if he -persisted in the monstrous order to fire, withdraws his troops, back to -the Hôtel de Ville. -</p> - -<p> -Some follow him; some do not. And Tallien goes back to the Hall of the -Convention covered with glory. -</p> - -<p> -Citizen Barras is promoted Commandant of the National Guard and of all -forces at the disposal of the Convention, and order to recruit loyal -troops that will stand up to the traitor Henriot and his ruffianly -gendarmes. The latter are in open revolt against the Government; but, -name of a name! Citizen Barras, with a few hundred patriots, will soon -put reason—and a few charges of gunpowder—into them! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§4</h4> - -<p> -So, at five o'clock in the afternoon, whilst Henriot has once more -collected his gendarmes and the remnants of his artillery outside the -Hôtel de Ville, citizen Barras, accompanied by two aides-de-camp, goes -forth on his recruiting mission. He makes the round of the city gates, -wishing to find out what loyal soldiers amongst the National Guard the -Convention can rely upon. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin, on his way to the Rue de la Planchette, meets Barras at the -Porte St. Antoine; and Barras is full of the news. -</p> - -<p> -"Why were you not at your place at the Assembly, citizen Chauvelin?" he -asks of his colleague. "It was the grandest moment I have ever -witnessed! Tallien was superb, and Robespierre ignoble! And if we -succeed in crushing that bloodthirsty monster once and for all, it will -be a new era of civilisation and liberty!" -</p> - -<p> -He halts, and continues with a fretful sigh: -</p> - -<p> -"But we want soldiers—loyal soldiers! All the troops that we can get! -Henriot has the whole of the Municipal Gendarmerie at his command, with -muskets and guns; and Robespierre can always sway that rabble with a -word. We want men! . . . Men! . . ." -</p> - -<p> -But Chauvelin is in no mood to listen. Robespierre's fall or his -triumph, what are they to him at this hour, when the curtain is about to -fall on the final act of his own stupendous drama of revenge? Whatever -happens, whoever remains in power, vengeance is his! The English spy in -any event is sure of the guillotine. He is not the enemy of a party, but -of the people of France. And the sovereignty of the people is not in -question yet. Then, what matters if the wild beasts in the Convention -are at one another's throat? -</p> - -<p> -So Chauvelin listens unmoved to Barras' passionate tirades, and when the -latter, puzzled at his colleague's indifference, reiterates frowning: -</p> - -<p> -"I must have all the troops I can get. You have some capable soldiers at -your command always, citizen Chauvelin. Where are they now?" -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin retorts drily: -</p> - -<p> -"At work. On business at least as important as taking sides in a quarrel -between Robespierre and Tallien." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi! . . ." Barras protests hotly. -</p> - -<p> -But Chauvelin pays no further attention to him. A neighbouring church -clock has just struck six. Within the hour his arch-enemy will be in his -hands! Never for a moment does he doubt that the bold adventurer will -come to the lonely house in the Rue de la Planchette. Even hating the -Englishman as he does, he knows that the latter would not endanger his -wife's safety by securing his own. -</p> - -<p> -So Chauvelin turns on his heel, leaving Barras to fume and to threaten. -At the angle of the Porte St. Antoine, he stumbles against and nearly -knocks over a man who sits on the ground, with his back to the wall, -munching a straw, his knees drawn up to his nose, a crimson cap pulled -over his eyes, and his two long arms encircling his shins. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin swore impatiently. His nerves were on the rack, and he was in -no pleasant mood. The man, taken unawares, had uttered an oath, which -died away in a racking fit of coughing. Chauvelin looked down, and saw -the one long arm branded with the letter "M," the flesh still swollen -and purple with the fire of the searing iron. -</p> - -<p> -"Rateau!" he ejaculated roughly. "What are you doing here?" -</p> - -<p> -Meek and servile, Rateau struggled with some difficulty to his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"I have finished my work at Mother Théot's, citizen," he said humbly. -"I was resting." -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin kicked at him with the toe of his boot. -</p> - -<p> -"Then go and rest elsewhere," he muttered. "The gates of the city are -not refuges for vagabonds." -</p> - -<p> -After which act of unnecessary brutality, his temper momentarily -soothed, he turned on his heel and walked rapidly through the gate. -</p> - -<p> -Barras had stood by during this brief interlude, vaguely interested in -the little scene. But now, when the coalheaver lurched past him, one of -his aides-de-camp remarked audibly: -</p> - -<p> -"An unpleasant customer, citizen Chauvelin! Eh, friend?" -</p> - -<p> -"I believe you!" Rateau replied readily enough. Then, with the mulish -persistence of a gaby who is smarting under a wrong, he thrust out his -branded arm, right under citizen Barras' nose. "See what he has done to -me!" -</p> - -<p> -Barras frowned. -</p> - -<p> -"A convict, what? Then, how is it you are at large?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am not a convict," Rateau protested with sullen emphasis. "I am an -innocent man, and a free citizen of the Republic. But I got in citizen -Chauvelin's way, what? He is always full of schemes——" -</p> - -<p> -"You are right there!" Barras retorted grimly. But the subject was not -sufficiently interesting to engross his attention further. He had so -many and such momentous things to do. Already he had nodded to his men -and turned his back on the grimy coalheaver, who, shaken by a fit of -coughing, unable to speak for the moment, had put out his grimy hand and -gripped the deputy firmly by the sleeve. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it now?" Barras ejaculated roughly. -</p> - -<p> -"If you will but listen, citizen," Rateau wheezed painfully, "I can tell -you——" -</p> - -<p> -"What?" -</p> - -<p> -"You were asking citizen Chauvelin where you could find some soldiers of -the Republic to do you service." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes; I did." -</p> - -<p> -"Well," Rateau rejoined, and an expression of malicious cunning -distorted his ugly face. "I can tell you." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"I lodge in an empty warehouse over yonder," Rateau went on eagerly, and -pointed in the direction where Chauvelin's spare figure had disappeared -awhile ago. "The floor above is inhabited by Mother Théot, the witch. -You know her, citizen?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, yes! I thought she had been sent to the guillotine along -with——" -</p> - -<p> -"She was let out of prison, and has been doing some of citizen -Chauvelin's spying for him." -</p> - -<p> -Barras frowned. This was none of his business, and the dirty coalheaver -inspired him with an unpleasant sense of loathing. -</p> - -<p> -"To the point, citizen!" he said curtly. -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen Chauvelin has a dozen or more soldiers under his command, in -that house," Rateau went on with a leer. "They are trained troops of the -National Guard——" -</p> - -<p> -"How do you know?" Barras broke in harshly. -</p> - -<p> -"Pardi!" was the coalheaver's dry reply. "I clean their boots for them." -</p> - -<p> -"Where is the house?" -</p> - -<p> -"In the Rue de la Planchette. But there is an entrance into the -warehouse at the back of it." -</p> - -<p> -"Allons!" was Barras' curt word of command, to the two men who -accompanied him. -</p> - -<p> -He strode up the street toward the gate, not caring whether Rateau came -along or no. But the coalheaver followed in the wake of the three men. -He had buried his grimy fists once more in the pocket of his tattered -breeches; but not before he had shaken them, each in turn, in the -direction of the Rue de la Planchette. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§5</h4> - -<p> -Chauvelin in the meanwhile had turned into Mother Théot's house, and -without speaking to the old charlatan, who was watching for him in the -vestibule, he mounted to the top floor. Here he called peremptorily to -Captain Boyer. -</p> - -<p> -"There is half an hour yet," the latter murmured gruffly; "and I am sick -of all this waiting! Let me finish with that cursed aristo in there. My -comrades and I want to see what is going on in the city, and join in the -fun, if there is any." -</p> - -<p> -"Half an hour, citizen," Chauvelin rejoined dryly. "You'll lose little -of the fun, and you'll certainly lose your share of the ten thousand -livres if you shoot the woman and fail to capture the Scarlet -Pimpernel." -</p> - -<p> -"Bah! He'll not come now," Boyer riposted. "It is too late. He is -looking after his own skin, pardi!" -</p> - -<p> -"He will come, I swear!" Chauvelin said firmly, as if in answer to his -own thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -Inside the room, Marguerite has heard every word of this colloquy. Its -meaning is clear enough. Clear, and horrible! Death awaits her -at the hands of those abominable ruffians—here—within half an -hour—unless . . . Her thoughts are becoming confused; she cannot -concentrate. Frightened? No, she is not frightened. She has looked death -in the face before now. That time in Boulogne. And there are worse things -than death. . . . There is, for instance, the fear that she might never see -her husband again . . . in this life . . . There is only half an hour or -less than that . . . and . . . and he might not come. . . . She prays -that he might not come. But, if he does, then what chance has he? My -God, what chance? -</p> - -<p> -And her tortured mind conjures up visions of his courage, his coolness, -his amazing audacity and luck. . . . She thinks and thinks . . . if he -does not come . . . and if he does. . . . -</p> - -<p> -A distant church clock strikes the half-hour . . . a short half-hour -now . . . -</p> - -<p> -The evening is sultry. Another storm is threatening, and the sun has -tinged the heat-mist with red. The air smells foul, as in the midst of a -huge, perspiring crowd. And through the heat, the lull, above the -hideous sounds of those ruffians outside her door, there is a rumbling -noise as of distant, unceasing thunder. The city is in travail. -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly Boyer, the Captain of the ruffians, exclaims loudly: -</p> - -<p> -"Let me finish with the aristo, citizen Chauvelin! I want to join in the -fun." -</p> - -<p> -And the door of her room is torn open by a savage, violent hand. - -The window behind Marguerite is open, and she, facing the door, clings -with both hands to the sill. Her cheeks bloodless, her eyes glowing, her -head erect, she waits, praying with all her might for courage . . . only -courage. -</p> - -<p> -The ruffianly captain in his tattered, mud-stained uniform, stands in -the doorway—for one moment only. The next, Chauvelin has elbowed him -out of the way, and in his turn faces the prisoner—the innocent woman -whom he has pursued with such relentless hatred. Marguerite prays with -all her might, and does not flinch. Not for one second. Death stands -there before her in the guise of this man's vengeful lust, which gleams -in his pale eyes. Death is there waiting for her, under the guise of -those ignoble soldiers in the scrubby rags, with their muskets held in -stained, filthy hands. -</p> - -<p> -Courage—only courage! The power to die as <i>he</i> would wish her -to . . . could be but know! -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin speaks to her; she does not hear. There is a mighty buzzing in -her ears as of men shouting—shouting what, she does not know, for she -is still praying for courage. Chauvelin has ceased talking. Then it must -be the end. Thank God! she has had the courage not to speak and not to -flinch. Now she closes her eyes, for there is a red mist before her and -she feels that she might fall into it—straight into that mist. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§6</h4> - -<p> -With closed eyes, Marguerite suddenly seems able to hear. She hears -shouts which come from below—quite close, and coming nearer every -moment. Shouts, and the tramp, the scurry of many feet; and now and then -that wheezing, asthmatic cough, that strange, strange cough, and the -click of wooden shoes. Then a voice, harsh and peremptory: -</p> - -<p> -"Citizen soldiers, your country needs you! Rebels have defied her laws. -To arms! Every man who hangs back is a deserter and a traitor!" -</p> - -<p> -After this, Chauvelin's sharp, dictatorial voice raised in protest: -</p> - -<p> -"In the name of the Republic, citizen Barras!——" -</p> - -<p> -But the other breaks in more peremptorily still: -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, ça, citizen Chauvelin! Do you presume to stand between me and my -duty? By order of the Convention now assembled, every soldier must -report at once at his section. Are you perchance on the side of the -rebels?" -</p> - -<p> -At this point, Marguerite opens her eyes. Through the widely open door -she sees the small, sable-clad figure of Chauvelin, his pale face -distorted with rage to which he obviously dare not give rein; and beside -him a short, stoutish man in cloth coat and cord breeches, and with the -tricolour scarf around his waist. His round face appears crimson with -choler and in his right hand he grasps a heavy malacca stick, with a -grip that proclaims the desire to strike. The two men appear to be -defying one another; and all around them are the vague forms of the -soldiers silhouetted against a distant window, through which the crimson -afternoon glow comes peeping in on a cloud of flickering dust. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, citizen soldiers!" Barras resumes, and incontinently turns -his back on Chauvelin who, white to the lips, raises a final and -menacing word of warning. -</p> - -<p> -"I warn you, citizen Barras," he says firmly, "that, by taking these men -away from their post, you place yourself in league with the enemy of -your country, and will have to answer to her for this crime." -</p> - -<p> -His accent is so convinced, so firm, and fraught with such dire menace, -that for one instant Barras hesitates. -</p> - -<p> -"Eh bien!" he exclaims. "I will humour you thus far, citizen Chauvelin. -I will leave you a couple of men to wait on your pleasure until sundown. -But, after that. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -For a second or two there is silence. Chauvelin stands there, with his -thin lips pressed tightly together. Then Barras adds, with a shrug of -his wide shoulders: -</p> - -<p> -"I am contravening my duty in doing even so much; and the responsibility -must rest with you, citizen Chauvelin. Allons, my men!" he says once -more; and without another glance on his discomfited colleague, he -strides down the stairs, followed by captain Boyer and the soldiers. -</p> - -<p> -For a while the house is still filled with confusion and sounds: men -tramping down the stone stairs, words of command, click of sabres and -muskets, opening and slamming of doors. Then the sounds slowly die away, -out in the street in the direction of the Porte St. Antoine. After -which, there is silence. -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin stands in the doorway with his back to the room and to -Marguerite, his claw-like hands intertwined convulsively behind him. The -silhouettes of the two remaining soldiers are still visible; they stand -silently and at attention with their muskets in their hands. Between -them and Chauvelin hovers the tall, ungainly figure of a man, clothed in -rags and covered in soot and coal-dust. His feet are thrust into wooden -shoes, his grimy hands are stretched out each side of him; and on his -left arm, just above the wrist, there is an ugly mark like the brand -seared into the flesh of a convict. -</p> - -<p> -Just now he looks terribly distressed with a tearing fit of coughing. -Chauvelin curtly bids him stand aside; and at the same moment the church -clock of St. Louis, close by, strikes seven. -</p> - -<p> -"Now then, citizen soldiers!" Chauvelin commands. -</p> - -<p> -The soldiers grasp their muskets more firmly, and Chauvelin raises his -hand. The next instant he is thrust violently back into the room, loses -his balance, and falls backward against a table, whilst the door is -slammed to between him and the soldiers. From the other side of the door -there comes the sound of a short, sharp scuffle. Then silence. -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite, holding her breath, hardly realised that she lived. A second -ago she was facing death; and now. . . . -</p> - -<p> -Chauvelin struggled painfully to his feet. With a mighty effort and a -hoarse cry of rage, he threw himself against the door. The impetus -carried him further than he intended, no doubt; for at that same moment -the door was opened, and he fell up against the massive form of the -grimy coalheaver, whose long arms closed round him, lifted him off the -floor, and carried him like a bundle of straw to the nearest chair. -</p> - -<p> -"There, my dear M. Chambertin!" the coalheaver said, in exceedingly -light and pleasant tones. "Let me make you quite comfortable!" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite watched—dumb and fascinated—the dexterous hands that -twined a length of rope round the arms and legs of her helpless enemy, and -wound his own tricolour scarf around that snarling mouth. -</p> - -<p> -She scarcely dared trust her eyes and ears. -</p> - -<p> -There was the hideous, dust-covered mudlark with bare feet thrust into -sabots, with ragged breeches and tattered shirt; there was the cruel, -mud-stained face, the purple lips, the toothless mouth; and those huge, -muscular arms, one of them branded like the arm of a convict, the flesh -still swollen with the searing of the iron. -</p> - -<p> -"I must indeed crave your ladyship's forgiveness. In very truth, I am a -disgusting object!" -</p> - -<p> -Ah, there was the voice!—the dear, dear, merry voice! A little weary -perhaps, but oh! so full of laughter and of boyish shame-facedness! To -Marguerite it seemed as if God's own angels had opened to her the gates -of Paradise. She did not speak; she scarce could move. All that she -could do was to put out her arms. -</p> - -<p> -He did not approach her, for in truth he looked a dusty object; but he -dragged his ugly cap off his head, then slowly, and keeping his eyes -fixed upon her, he put one knee to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -"You did not doubt, m'dear, that I would come?" he asked quaintly. -</p> - -<p> -She shook her head. The last days were like a nightmare now; and in -truth she ought never to have been afraid. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you ever forgive me?" he continued. -</p> - -<p> -"Forgive? What?" she murmured. -</p> - -<p> -"These last few days. I could not come before. You were safe for the -time being. . . . That fiend was waiting for me. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -She gave a shudder and closed her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is he?" -</p> - -<p> -He laughed his gay, irresponsible laugh, and with a slender hand, still -covered with coal-dust, he pointed to the helpless figure of Chauvelin. -</p> - -<p> -"Look at him!" he said. "Doth he not look a picture?" -</p> - -<p> -Marguerite ventured to look. Even at sight of her enemy bound tightly -with ropes to a chair, his own tricolour scarf wound loosely round his -mouth, she could not altogether suppress a cry of horror. -</p> - -<p> -"What is to become of him?" -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his broad shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder!" he said lightly. -</p> - -<p> -Then he rose to his feet, and went on with quaint bashfulness: -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder," he said, "how I dare stand thus before your ladyship!" -</p> - -<p> -And in a moment she was in his arms, laughing, crying, covered herself -now with coal-dust and with grime. -</p> - -<p> -"My beloved!" she exclaimed with a shudder of horror. "What you must -have gone through!" -</p> - -<p> -He only laughed like a schoolboy who has come through some impish -adventure without much harm. -</p> - -<p> -"Very little, I swear!" he asserted gaily. "But for thoughts of you, I -have never enjoyed anything so much as this last phase of a glorious -adventure. After our clever friend here ordered the real Rateau to be -branded, so that he might know him again wherever he saw him, I had to -bribe the veterinary who had done the deed, to do the same thing for me. -It was not difficult. For a thousand livres the man would have branded -his own mother on the nose; and I appeared before him as a man of -science, eager for an experiment He asked no questions. And, since then, -I whenever Chauvelin gazed contentedly on my arm, I could have screamed -for joy! -</p> - -<p> -"For the love of Heaven, my lady!" he added quickly, for he felt her -soft, warm lips against his branded flesh; "don't shame me over such a -trifle! I shall always love that scar, for the exciting time it recalls -and because it happens to be the initial of your dear name." -</p> - -<p> -He stooped down to the ground and kissed the hem of her gown. -</p> - -<p> -After which he had to tell her as quickly and as briefly as he could, -all that had happened in the past few days. -</p> - -<p> -"It was only by risking the fair Theresia's life," he said, "that I -could save your own. No other spur would have goaded Tallien into open -revolt." -</p> - -<p> -He turned and looked down for a moment on his enemy, who lay pinioned -and helpless, with hatred and baffled revenge writ plainly on the -contorted face and pale, rolling eyes. -</p> - -<p> -And Sir Percy Blakeney sighed, a quaint sigh of regret. -</p> - -<p> -"I only regret one thing, my dear M. Chambertin," he said after a while. -"And that is, that you and I will never measure wits again after this. -Your damnable revolution is dead . . . your unsavoury occupation -gone. . . . I am glad I was never tempted to kill you. I might have -succumbed, and in very truth robbed the guillotine of an interesting prey. -Without any doubt, they will guillotine the lot of you, my good M. -Chambertin. Robespierre to-morrow; then his friends, his sycophants, his -imitators—you amongst the rest. . . . 'Tis a pity! You have so often -amused me. Especially after you had put a brand on Rateau's arm, and -thought you would always know him after that. Think it all out, my dear -sir! Remember our happy conversation in the warehouse down below, and my -denunciation of citoyenne Cabarrus. . . . You gazed upon my branded arm -then and were quite satisfied. My denunciation was a false one, of -course! 'Tis I who put the letters and the rags in the beautiful -Theresia's apartments. But she will bear me no malice, I dare swear; for -I shall have redeemed my promise. To-morrow, after Robespierre's head -has fallen, Tallien will be the greatest man in France and his Theresia -a virtual queen. Think it all out, my dear Monsieur Chambertin! You have -plenty of time. Some one is sure to drift up here presently, and will -free you and the two soldiers, whom I left out on the landing. But no -one will free you from the guillotine when the time comes, unless I -myself. . . ." -</p> - -<p> -He did not finish; the rest of the sentence was merged in a merry laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"A pleasant conceit—what?" he said lightly. "I'll think on it, I -promise you!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>§7</h4> - -<p> -And the next day Paris went crazy with joy. Never had the streets looked -more gay, more crowded. The windows were filled with spectators; the -very roofs were crowded with an eager, shouting throng. -</p> - -<p> -The seventeen hours of agony were ended. The tyrant was a fallen, broken -man, maimed, dumb, bullied and insulted. Aye! He, who yesterday was the -Chosen of the People, the Messenger of the Most High, now sat, or rather -lay, in the tumbril, with broken jaw, eyes closed, spirit already -wandering on the shores of the Styx; insulted, railed at, cursed—aye, -cursed!—by every woman, reviled by every child. -</p> - -<p> -The end came at four in the afternoon, in the midst of acclamations from -a populace drunk with gladness—acclamations which found their echo in -the whole of France, and have never ceased to re-echo to this day. -</p> - -<p> -But of all that tumult, Marguerite and her husband heard but little. -They lay snugly concealed the whole of that day in the quiet lodgings in -the Rue de l'Anier, which Sir Percy had occupied during these terribly -anxious times. Here they were waited on by that asthmatic reprobate -Rateau and his mother, both of whom were now rich for the rest of their -days. -</p> - -<p> -When the shades of evening gathered in over the jubilant city, whilst -the church bells were ringing and the cannons booming, a market -gardener's cart, driven by a worthy farmer and his wife, rattled out of -the Porte St. Antoine. It created no excitement, and suspicion was far -from everybody's mind. The passports appeared in order; but even if they -were not, who cared, on this day of all days, when tyranny was crushed -and men dared to be men again? -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>THE END</h4> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIUMPH OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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