El Dorado .............................................................................................................................................................1

Baroness Orczy........................................................................................................................................1

There has of late years crept so much confusion into the mind of the student as well as of the general reader

as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel with that of the Gascon Royalist plotter known to history as the

Baron de Batz, that the time seems opportune for setting all doubts on that subject at rest.

The identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is in no way whatever connected with that of the Baron de Batz, and

even superficial reflection will soon bring the mind to the conclusion that great fundamental differences

existed in these two men, in their personality, in their character, and, above all, in their aims.

According to one or two enthusiastic historians, the Baron de Batz was the chief agent in a vast network of

conspiracy, entirely supported by foreign moneyboth English and Austrianand which had for its object

the overthrow of the Republican Government and the restoration of the monarchy in France.

In order to attain this political goal, it is averred that he set himself the task of pitting the members of the

revolutionary Government one against the other, and bringing hatred and dissensions amongst them, until the

cry of "Traitor!" resounded from one end of the Assembly of the Convention to the other, and the Assembly

itself became as one vast den of wild beasts wherein wolves and hyenas devoured one another and, still

Those same enthusiastic historians, who have a firm belief in the socalled "Foreign Conspiracy," ascribe

every important event of the Great Revolutionbe that event the downfall of the Girondins, the escape of the

Dauphin from the Temple, or the death of Robespierreto the intrigues of Baron de Batz. He it was, so they

say, who egged the Jacobins on against the Mountain, Robespierre against Danton, Hebert against

Robespierre. He it was who instigated the massacres of September, the atrocities of Nantes, the horrors of

Thermidor, the sacrileges, the noyades: all with the view of causing every section of the National Assembly

to vie with the other in excesses and in cruelty, until the makers of the Revolution, satiated with their own

lust, turned on one another, and Sardanapaluslike buried themselves and their orgies in the vast hecatomb of

Whether the power thus ascribed to Baron de Batz by his historians is real or imaginary it is not the purpose

of this preface to investigate. Its sole object is to point out the difference between the career of this plotter and

The Baron de Batz himself was an adventurer without substance, save that which he derived from abroad. He

was one of those men who have nothing to lose and everything to gain by throwing themselves headlong in

Though he made several attempts at rescuing King Louis first, and then the Queen and Royal Family from

prison and from death, he never succeeded, as we know, in any of these undertakings, and he never once so

much as attempted the rescue of other equally innocent, if not quite so distinguished, victims of the most

bloodthirsty revolution that has ever shaken the foundations of the civilised world.

Nay more; when on the 29th Prairial those unfortunate men and women were condemned and executed for

alleged complicity in the socalled " Foreign Conspiracy," de Batz, who is universally admitted to have been

the head and primemover of that conspiracy if, indeed, conspiracy there wasnever made either the

slightest attempt to rescue his confederates from the guillotine, or at least the offer to perish by their side if he

And when we remember that the martyrs of the 29th Prairial included women like Grandmaison, the devoted

friend of de Batz, the beautiful Emilie de St. Amaranthe, little Cecile Renaulta mere child not sixteen years

of agealso men like Michonis and Roussell, faithful servants of de Batz, the Baron de Lezardiere, and the

Comte de St. Maurice, his friends, we no longer can have the slightest doubt that the Gascon plotter and the

The latter's aims were absolutely nonpolitical. He never intrigued for the restoration of the monarchy, or

His only concern was the rescue of the innocent, the stretching out of a saving hand to those unfortunate

creatures who had fallen into the nets spread out for them by their fellowmen; by those whogodless,

lawless, penniless themselveshad sworn to exterminate all those who clung to their belongings, to their

The Scarlet Pimpernel did not take it upon himself to punish the guilty; his care was solely of the helpless and

For this aim he risked his life every time that he set foot on French soil, for it he sacrificed his fortune, and

Moreover, whereas the French plotter is said to have had confederates even in the Assembly of the

Convention, confederates who were sufficiently influential and powerful to secure his own immunity, the

Englishman when he was bent on his errands of mercy had the whole of France against him.

The Baron de Batz was a man who never justified either his own ambitions or even his existence; the Scarlet

And yet people found the opportunity to amuse themselves, to dance and to go to the theatre, to enjoy music

New fashions in dress made their appearance, milliners produced fresh "creations," and jewellers were not

idle. A grim sense of humour, born of the very intensity of everpresent danger, had dubbed the cut of certain

On three evenings only during the past memorable four and a half years did the theatres close their doors, and

these evenings were the ones immediately following that terrible 2nd of September the day of the butchery

outside the Abbaye prison, when Paris herself was aghast with horror, and the cries of the massacred might

have drowned the calls of the audience whose hands upraised for plaudits would still be dripping with blood.

On all other evenings of these same four and a half years the theatres in the Rue de Richelieu, in the Palais

Royal, the Luxembourg, and others, had raised their curtains and taken money at their doors. The same

audience that earlier in the day had whiled away the time by witnessing the everrecurrent dramas of the

Place de la Revolution assembled here in the evenings and filled stalls, boxes, and tiers, laughing over the

satires of Voltaire or weeping over the sentimental tragedies of persecuted Romeos and innocent Juliets.

Death knocked at so many doors these days! He was so constant a guest in the houses of relatives and friends

that those who had merely shaken him by the hand, those on whom he had smiled, and whom he, still

smiling, had passed indulgently by, looked on him with that subtle contempt born of familiarity, shrugged

their shoulders at his passage, and envisaged his probable visit on the morrow with lighthearted indifference.

Parisdespite the horrors that had stained her walls had remained a city of pleasure, and the knife of the

On this bitterly cold evening of the 27th Nivose, in the second year of the Republicor, as we of the old

style still persist in calling it, the 16th of January, 1794the auditorium of the Theatre National was filled

The appearance of a favourite actress in the part of one of Moliere's volatile heroines had brought

pleasureloving Paris to witness this revival of "Le Misanthrope," with new scenery, dresses, and the

The Moniteur, which so impartially chronicles the events of those times, tells us under that date that the

Assembly of the Convention voted on that same day a new law giving fuller power to its spies, enabling them

to effect domiciliary searches at their discretion without previous reference to the Committee of General

Security, authorising them to proceed against all enemies of public happiness, to send them to prison at their

own discretion, and assuring them the sum of thirtyfive livres "for every piece of game thus beaten up for

the guillotine." Under that same date the Moniteur also puts it on record that the Theatre National was filled

The Assembly of the Convention having voted the new law which placed the lives of thousands at the mercy

of a few human bloodhounds, adjourned its sitting and proceeded to the Rue de Richelieu.

Already the house was full when the fathers of the people made their way to the seats which had been

reserved for them. An awed hush descended on the throng as one by one the men whose very names inspired

horror and dread filed in through the narrow gangways of the stalls or took their places in the tiny boxes

Citizen Robespierre's neatly bewigged head soon appeared in one of these; his bosom friend St. Just was with

him, and also his sister Charlotte. Danton, like a big, shaggycoated lion, elbowed his way into the stalls,

whilst Sauterre, the handsome butcher and idol of the people of Paris, was loudly acclaimed as his huge

frame, gorgeously clad in the uniform of the National Guard, was sighted on one of the tiers above.

The public in the parterre and in the galleries whispered excitedly; the aweinspiring names flew about hither

and thither on the wings of the overheated air. Women craned their necks to catch sight of heads which

mayhap on the morrow would roll into the gruesome basket at the foot of the guillotine.

In one of the tiny avantscene boxes two men had taken their seats long before the bulk of the audience had

begun to assemble in the house. The inside of the box was in complete darkness, and the narrow opening

which allowed but a sorry view of one side of the stage helped to conceal rather than display the occupants.

The younger one of these two men appeared to be something of a stranger in Paris, for as the public men and

the wellknown members of the Government began to arrive he often turned to his companion for

"Tell me, de Batz," he said, calling the other's attention to a group of men who had just entered the house,

"that creature there in the green coatwith his hand up to his face nowwho is he?"

"There! He looks this way now, and he has a playbill in his hand. The man with the protruding chin and the

The other leaned over the edge of the box, and his small, restless eyes wandered over the now closelypacked

"Oh!" he said as soon as he recognised the face which his friend had pointed out to him, "that is citizen

Both leaned back in their chairs, and their sombrelyclad figures were once more merged in the gloom of the

narrow box. Instinctively, since the name of the Public Prosecutor had been mentioned between them, they

The older mana stoutish, floridlooking individual, with small, keen eyes, and skin pitted with

smallpoxshrugged his shoulders at his friend's question, and then said with an air of contemptuous

"It means, my good St. Just, that these two men whom you see down there, calmly conning the programme of

this evening's entertainment, and preparing to enjoy themselves tonight in the company of the late M. de

"Yes, yes," said St. Just, and much against his will a slight shudder ran through his slim figure as he spoke.

"FoucquierTinville I know; I know his cunning, and I know his powerbut the other?"

"The other?" retorted de Batz lightly. "Heron? Let me tell you, my friend, that even the might and lust of that

"Ah! you have been in England so long, you lucky dog, and though no doubt the main plot of our hideous

tragedy has reached your ken, you have no cognisance of the actors who play the principal parts on this arena

flooded with blood and carpeted with hate. They come and go, these actors, my good St. Justthey come

and go. Marat is already the man of yesterday, Robespierre is the man of tomorrow. Today we still have

Danton and FoucquierTinville; we still have Pere Duchesne, and your own good cousin Antoine St. Just, but

"Spies," assented the other. "And what spies! Were you present at the sitting of the Assembly today?"

"I was. I heard the new decree which already has passed into law. Ah! I tell you, friend, that we do not let the

grass grow under our feet these days. Robespierre wakes up one morning with a whim; by the afternoon that

whim has become law, passed by a servile body of men too terrified to run counter to his will, fearful lest

they be accused of moderation or of humanitythe greatest crimes that can be committed nowadays."

"Ah! Danton? He would wish to stem the tide that his own passions have let loose; to muzzle the raging

beasts whose fangs he himself has sharpened. I told you that Danton is still the man of today; tomorrow he

will be accused of moderation. Danton and moderation! ye gods! Eh? Danton, who thought the guillotine

too slow in its work, and armed thirty soldiers with swords, so that thirty heads might fall at one and the same

time. Danton, friend, will perish tomorrow accused of treachery against the Revolution, of moderation

towards her enemies; and curs like Heron will feast on the blood of lions like Danton and his crowd."

He paused a moment, for he dared not raise his voice, and his whispers were being drowned by the noise in

the auditorium. The curtain, timed to be raised at eight o'clock, was still down, though it was close on

halfpast, and the public was growing impatient. There was loud stamping of feet, and a few shrill whistles

"If Heron gets impatient," said de Batz lightly, when the noise had momentarily subsided, the manager of this

theatre and mayhap his leading actor and actress will spend an unpleasant day tomorrow."

"Yes, my friend," rejoined the other imperturbably, "always Heron. And he has even obtained a longer lease

"Yes. The new decree. The agents of the Committee of General Security, of whom Heron is the chief, have

from today powers of domiciliary search; they have full powers to proceed against all enemies of public

welfare. Isn't that beautifully vague? And they have absolute discretion; every one may become an enemy of

public welfare, either by spending too much money or by spending too little, by laughing today or crying

tomorrow, by mourning for one dead relative or rejoicing over the execution of another. He may be a bad

example to the public by the cleanliness of his person or by the filth upon his clothes, he may offend by

walking today and by riding in a carriage next week; the agents of the Committee of General Security shall

alone decide what constitutes enmity against public welfare. All prisons are to be opened at their bidding to

receive those whom they choose to denounce; they have henceforth the right to examine prisoners privately

and without witnesses, and to send them to trial without further warrants; their duty is clearthey must 'beat

up game for the guillotine.' Thus is the decree worded; they must furnish the Public Prosecutor with work to

do, the tribunals with victims to condemn, the Place de la Revolution with deathscenes to amuse the people,

and for their work they will be rewarded thirtyfive livres for every head that falls under the guillotine Ah! if

Heron and his like and his myrmidons work hard and well they can make a comfortable income of four or

five thousand livres a week. We are getting on, friend St. Justwe are getting on."

He had not raised his voice while he spoke, nor in the recounting of such inhuman monstrosity, such vile and

bloodthirsty conspiracy against the liberty, the dignity, the very life of an entire nation, did he appear to feel

the slightest indignation; rather did a tone of amusement and even of triumph strike through his speech; and

now he laughed goodhumouredly like an indulgent parent who is watching the naturally cruel antics of a

"Then from this hell let loose upon earth," exclaimed St. Just hotly, "must we rescue those who refuse to ride

His cheeks were glowing, his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He looked very young and very eager. Armand

St. Just, the brother of Lady Blakeney, had something of the refined beauty of his lovely sister, but the

features though manlyhad not the latent strength expressed in them which characterised every line of

Marguerite's exquisite face. The forehead suggested a dreamer rather than a thinker, the bluegrey eyes were

De Batz's keen piercing eyes had no doubt noted this, even whilst he gazed at his young friend with that same

"We have to think of the future, my good St. Just," he said after a slight pause, and speaking slowly and

decisively, like a father rebuking a hotheaded child, "not of the present. What are a few lives worth beside

"The restoration of the monarchyI know," retorted St. Just, still unsobered, "but, in the meanwhile"

"In the meanwhile," rejoined de Batz earnestly, "every victim to the lust of these men is a step towards the

restoration of law and orderthat is to say, of the monarchy. It is only through these violent excesses

perpetrated in its name that the nation will realise how it is being fooled by a set of men who have only their

own power and their own advancement in view, and who imagine that the only way to that power is over the

dead bodies of those who stand in their way. Once the nation is sickened by these orgies of ambition and of

hate, it will turn against these savage brutes, and gladly acclaim the restoration of all that they are striving to

destroy. This is our only hope for the future, and, believe me, friend, that every head snatched from the

guillotine by your romantic hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a stone laid for the consolidation of this infamous

De Batz, with a gesture of contempt indicative also of complete selfsatisfaction and unalterable selfbelief,

shrugged his broad shoulders. His short fat fingers, covered with rings, beat a tattoo upon the ledge of the

Obviously, he was ready with a retort. His young friend's attitude irritated even more than it amused him. But

he said nothing for the moment, waiting while the traditional three knocks on the floor of the stage

proclaimed the rise of the curtain. The growing impatience of the audience subsided as if by magic at the

welcome call; everybody settled down again comfortably in their seats, they gave up the contemplation of the

fathers of the people, and turned their full attention to the actors on the boards.

This was Armand S. Just's first visit to Paris since that memorable day when first he decided to sever his

connection from the Republican party, of which he and his beautiful sister Marguerite had at one time been

amongst the most noble, most enthusiastic followers. Already a year and a half ago the excesses of the party

had horrified him, and that was long before they had degenerated into the sickening orgies which were

culminating today in wholesale massacres and bloody hecatombs of innocent victims.

With the death of Mirabeau the moderate Republicans, whose sole and entirely pure aim had been to free the

people of France from the autocratic tyranny of the Bourbons, saw the power go from their clean hands to the

grimy ones of lustful demagogues, who knew no law save their own passions of bitter hatred against all

It was no longer a question of a fight for political and religious liberty only, but one of class against class,

man against man, and let the weaker look to himself. The weaker had proved himself to be, firstly, the man of

property and substance, then the lawabiding citizen, lastly the man of action who had obtained for the

people that very same liberty of thought and of belief which soon became so terribly misused.

Armand St. Just, one of the apostles of liberty, fraternity, and equality, soon found that the most savage

excesses of tyranny were being perpetrated in the name of those same ideals which he had worshipped.

His sister Marguerite, happily married in England, was the final temptation which caused him to quit the

country the destinies of which he no longer could help to control. The spark of enthusiasm which he and the

followers of Mirabeau had tried to kindle in the hearts of an oppressed people had turned to raging tongues of

unquenchable flames. The taking of the Bastille had been the prelude to the massacres of September, and

Armand, saved from the swift vengeance of the revolutionaries by the devotion of the Scarlet Pimpernel,

crossed over to England and enrolled himself tinder the banner of the heroic chief. But he had been unable

hitherto to be an active member of the League. The chief was loath to allow him to run foolhardy risks. The

St. Justsboth Marguerite and Armandwere still very wellknown in Paris. Marguerite was not a woman

easily forgotten, and her marriage with an English "aristo" did not please those republican circles who had

looked upon her as their queen. Armand's secession from his party into the ranks of the emigres had singled

him out for special reprisals, if and whenever he could be got hold of, and both brother and sister had an

unusually bitter enemy in their cousin Antoine St. Justonce an aspirant to Marguerite's hand, and now a

servile adherent and imitator of Robespierre, whose ferocious cruelty he tried to emulate with a view to

Nothing would have pleased Antoine St. Just more than the opportunity of showing his zeal and his

patriotism by denouncing his own kith and kin to the Tribunal of the Terror, and the Scarlet Pimpernel,

whose own slender fingers were held on the pulse of that reckless revolution, had no wish to sacrifice

Thus it was that more than a year had gone by before Armand St. Justan enthusiastic member of the

League of the Scarlet Pimpernelwas able to do aught for its service. He had chafed under the enforced

restraint placed upon him by the prudence of his chief, when, indeed, he was longing to risk his life with the

At last, in the beginning of '94 he persuaded Blakeney to allow him to join the next expedition to France.

What the principal aim of that expedition was the members of the League did not know as yet, but what they

did know was that perilsgraver even than hithertowould attend them on their way.

The circumstances had become very different of late At first the impenetrable mystery which had surrounded

the personality of the chief had been a full measure of safety, but now one tiny corner of that veil of mystery

had been lifted by two rough pairs of hands at least; Chauvelin, exambassador at the English Court, was no

longer in any doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, whilst Collot d'Herbois had seen him at

Four months had gone by since that day, and the Scarlet Pimpernel was hardly ever out of France now; the

massacres in Paris and in the provinces had multiplied with appalling rapidity, the necessity for the selfless

devotion of that small band of heroes had become daily, hourly more pressing. They rallied round their chief

with unbounded enthusiasm, and let it be admitted at once that the sporting instinctinherent in these

English gentlemen made them all the more keen, all the more eager now that the dangers which beset their

At a word from the beloved leader, these young menthe spoilt darlings of societywould leave the

gaieties, the pleasures, the luxuries of London or of Bath, and, taking their lives tn their hands, they placed

them, together with their fortunes, and even their good names, at the service of the innocent and helpless

victims of merciless tyranny. The married menFfoulkes, my Lord Hastings, Sir Jeremiah

Wallescourtleft wife and children at a call from the chief, at the cry of the wretched. Armand unattached

and enthusiastichad the right to demand that he should no longer be left behind.

He had only been away a little over fifteen months, and yet he found Paris a different city from the one he

had left immediately after the terrible massacres of September. An air of grim loneliness seemed to hang over

her despite the crowds that thronged her streets; the men whom he was wont to meet in public places fifteen

months agofriends and political allieswere no longer to be seen; strange faces surrounded him on every

side sullen, glowering faces, all wearing a certain air of horrified surprise and of vague, terrified wonder,

as if life had become one awful puzzle, the answer to which must be found in the brief interval between the

Armand St. Just, having settled his few simple belongings in the squalid lodgings which had been assigned to

him, had started out after dark to wander somewhat aimlessly through the streets. Instinctively he seemed to

be searching for a familiar face, some one who would come to him out of that merry past which he had spent

For an hour he wandered thus and met no one whom he knew. At times it appeared to him as if he did

recognise a face or figure that passed him swiftly by in the gloom, but even before he could fully make up his

mind to that, the face or figure had already disappeared, gliding furtively down some narrow unlighted

bystreet, without turning to look to right or left, as if dreading fuller recognition. Armand felt a total

The terrible hours of the execution on the Place de la Revolution were fortunately over, the tumbrils no

longer rattled along the uneven pavements, nor did the deathcry of the unfortunate victims resound through

the deserted streets. Armand was, on this first day of his arrival, spared the sight of this degradation of the

once lovely city; but her desolation, her general appearance of shamefaced indigence and of cruel aloofness

It was no wonder, therefore, when anon he was wending his way slowly back to his lodging he was accosted

by a pleasant, cheerful voice, that he responded to it with alacrity. The voice, of a smooth, oily timbre, as if

the owner kept it well greased for purposes of amiable speech, was like an echo of the past, when jolly,

irresponsible Baron de Batz, erstwhile officer of the Guard in the service of the late King, and since then

known to be the most inveterate conspirator for the restoration of the monarchy, used to amuse Marguerite by

his vapid, senseless plans for the overthrow of the newlyrisen power of the people.

Armand was quite glad to meet him, and when de Batz suggested that a good talk over old times would be

vastly agreeable, the younger man gladly acceded, The two men, though certainly not mistrustful of one

another, did not seem to care to reveal to each other the place where they lodged. De Batz at once proposed

the avantscene box of one of the theatres as being the safest place where old friends could talk without fear

"There is no place so safe or so private nowadays, believe me, my young friend," he said "I have tried every

sort of nook and cranny in this accursed town, now riddled with spies, and I have come to the conclusion that

a small avantscene box is the most perfect den of privacy there is in the entire city. The voices of the actors

on the stage and the hum among the audience in the house will effectually drown all individual conversation

It is not difficult to persuade a young man who feels lonely and somewhat forlorn in a large city to while

away an evening in the companionship of a cheerful talker, and de Batz was essentially good company. His

vapourings had always been amusing, but Armand now gave him credit for more seriousness of purpose; and

though the chief had warned him against picking up acquaintances in Paris, the young man felt that that

restriction would certainly not apply to a man like de Batz, whose hot partisanship of the Royalist cause and

harebrained schemes for its restoration must make him at one with the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Armand accepted the other's cordial invitation. He, too, felt that he would indeed be safer from observation in

a crowded theatre than in the streets. Among a closely packed throng bent on amusement the sombrelyclad

figure of a young man, with the appearance of a student or of a journalist, would easily pass unperceived.

But somehow, after the first ten minutes spent in de Batz' company within the gloomy shelter of the small

avantscene box, Armand already repented of the impulse which had prompted him to come to the theatre

tonight, and to renew acquaintanceship with the exofficer of the late King's Guard. Though he knew de

Batz to be an ardent Royalist, and even an active adherent of the monarchy, he was soon conscious of a vague

sense of mistrust of this pompous, selfcomplacent individual, whose every utterance breathed selfish aims

Therefore, when the curtain rose at last on the first act of Moliere's witty comedy, St. Just turned deliberately

towards the stage and tried to interest himself in the wordy quarrel between Philinte and Alceste.

But this attitude on the part of the younger man did not seem to suit his newlyfound friend. It was clear that

de Batz did not consider the topic of conversation by any means exhausted, and that it had been more with a

view to a discussion like the present interrupted one that he had invited St. Just to come to the theatre with

him tonight, rather than for the purpose of witnessing Mile. Lange's debut in the part of Celimene.

The presence of St. Just in Paris had as a matter of fact astonished de Batz not a little, and had set his

intriguing brain busy on conjectures. It was in order to turn these conjectures into certainties that he had

He waited silently now for a moment or two, his keen, small eyes resting with evident anxiety on Armand's

averted head, his fingers still beating the impatient tattoo upon the velvetcovered cushion of the box. Then

at the first movement of St. Just towards him he was ready in an instant to reopen the subject under

With a quick nod of his head he called his young friend's attention back to the men in the auditorium.

"Your good cousin Antoine St. Just is hand and glove with Robespierre now," he said. "When you left Paris

more than a year ago you could afford to despise him as an emptyheaded windbag; now, if you desire to

"Yes, I knew that he had taken to herding with the wolves," rejoined Armand lightly. "At one time he was in

"They say that he herds with the wolves because of this disappointment," said de Batz. "The whole pack is

made up of men who have been disappointed, and who have nothing more to lose. When all these wolves will

have devoured one another, then and then only can we hope for the restoration of the monarchy in France.

And they will not turn on one another whilst prey for their greed lies ready to their jaws. Your friend the

Scarlet Pimpernel should feed this bloody revolution of ours rather than starve it, if indeed he hates it as he

His restless eyes peered with eager interrogation into those of the younger man. He paused as if waiting for a

reply; then, as St. Just remained silent, he reiterated slowly, almost in the tones of a challenge:

The Scarlet Pimpernel," he said, "cares naught for your political aims. The work of mercy that he does, he

"He is English," assented St. Just, " and as such will never own to sentiment. Whatever be the motive, look at

"The more innocent they were, the more helpless, the more pitiable, the louder would their blood have cried

St. Just made no reply. It was obviously useless to attempt to argue with this man, whose political aims were

as far apart from those of the Scarlet Pimpernel as was the North Pole from the South.

"If any of you have influence over that hotheaded leader of yours," continued de Batz, unabashed by the

"In what way?" queried St. Just, smiling in spite of himself at the thought of his or any one else's control over

It was de Batz' turn to be silent. He paused for a moment or two, then he asked abruptly:

"Bah! there is no necessity to fence with me, my friend. The moment I set eyes on you this afternoon I knew

"You are mistaken, my good de Batz," rejoined the young man earnestly; "I came to Paris alone."

"Clever parrying, on my wordbut wholly wasted on my unbelieving ears. Did I not note at once that you

"Again you are mistaken. I was very pleased to meet you, for I had felt singularly lonely all day, and was glad

to shake a friend by the hand. What you took for displeasure was only surprise."

"Surprise? Ah, yes! I don't wonder that you were surprised to see me walking unmolested and openly in the

streets of Pariswhereas you had heard of me as a dangerous conspirator, eh ?and as a man who has the

"I knew that you had made several noble efforts to rescue the unfortunate King and Queen from the hands of

"All of which efforts were unsuccessful," assented de Batz imperturbably, "every one of them having been

either betrayed by some dd confederate or ferreted out by some astute spy eager for gain. Yes, my friend, I

made several efforts to rescue King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette from the scaffold, and every time I

was foiled, and yet here I am, you see, unscathed and free. I walk about the streets boldly, and talk to my

"I have been prudent," retorted de Batz. "I have taken the trouble to make friends there where I thought I

"Yes, I know," rejoined St. Just, with the tone of sarcasm still more apparent in his voice now. " You have

"Any amount," said the other complacently, "and a great deal of it sticks to the grimy fingers of these

patriotic makers of revolutions. Thus do I ensure my own safety. I buy it with the Emperor's money, and thus

Again St. Just was silent. What could he say? Instinctively now, as the fleshy personality of the Gascon

Royalist seemed to spread itself out and to fill the tiny box with his ambitious schemes and his farreaching

plans, Armand's thoughts flew back to that other plotter, the man with the pure and simple aims, the man

whose slender fingers had never handled alien gold, but were ever there ready stretched out to the helpless

and the weak, whilst his thoughts were only of the help that he might give them, but never of his own safety.

De Batz, however, seemed blandly unconscious of any such disparaging thoughts in the mind of his young

friend, for he continued quite amiably, even though a note of anxiety seemed to make itself felt now in his

"We advance slowly, but step by step, my good St. Just," he said. "I have not been able to save the monarchy

in the person of the King or the Queen, but I may yet do it in the person of the Dauphin."

That involuntary murmur, scarcely audible, so soft was it, seemed in some way to satisfy de Batz, for the

keenness of his gaze relaxed, and his fat fingers ceased their nervous, intermittent tattoo on the ledge of the

"Yes ! the Dauphin," he said, nodding his head as if in answer to his own thoughts, "or rather, let me say, the

reigning King of FranceLouis XVII, by the grace of Godthe most precious life at present upon the

"You are right there, friend de Batz," assented Armand fervently, "the most precious life, as you say, and one

Scarce were those two little words out of St. Just's mouth than he repented of them. He bit his lip, and with a

"Ah, friend Armand," he said, "you were not cut out for diplomacy, nor yet for intrigue. So then," he added

more seriously, "that gallant hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, has hopes of rescuing our young King from the

clutches of Simon the cobbler and of the herd of hyenas on the watch for his attenuated little corpse, eh?"

"No. But I say it. Nay! nay! do not blame yourself, my overloyal young friend. Could I, or any one else,

doubt for a moment that sooner or later your romantic hero would turn his attention to the most pathetic sight

in the whole of Europethe childmartyr in the Temple prison? The wonder were to me if the Scarlet

Pimpernel ignored our little King altogether for the sake of his subjects. No, no; do not think for a moment

that you have betrayed your friend's secret to me. When I met you so luckily today I guessed at once that you

were here under the banner of the enigmatical little red flower, and, thus guessing, I even went a step further

in my conjecture. The Scarlet Pimpernel is in Paris now in the hope of rescuing Louis XVII from the Temple

"And yet, my friend, I do neither the one now nor mean to do the other in the future," said de Batz placidly. "I

"Everything; though you, Armand, despite that you are a Frenchman too, do not look through my spectacles.

Louis XVII is King of France, my good St. Just; he must owe his freedom and his life to us Frenchmen, and

"That is sheer madness, man," retorted Armand. "Would you have the child perish for the sake of your own

"You may call them selfish if you will; all patriotism is in a measure selfish. What does the rest of the world

care if we are a republic or a monarchy, an oligarchy or hopeless anarchy? We work for ourselves and to

"That is another matter. I cannot get money in France, so I get it where I can; but I can arrange for the escape

of Louis XVII is King of France, my good St. Just; he must of France should belong the honour and glory of

For the third time now St. Just allowed the conversation to drop; he was gazing wideeyed, almost appalled

at this impudent display of wellnigh ferocious selfishness and vanity. De Batz, smiling and complacent, was

leaning back in his chair, looking at his young friend with perfect contentment expressed in every line of his

pockmarked face and in the very attitude of his wellfed body. It was easy enough now to understand the

remarkable immunity which this man was enjoying, despite the many foolhardy plots which he hatched, and

A regular braggart and empty windbag, he had taken but one good care, and that was of his own skin. Unlike

other less fortunate Royalists of France, he neither fought in the country nor braved dangers in town. He

played a safer gamecrossed the frontier and constituted himself agent of Austria; he succeeded in gaining

the Emperor's money for the good of the Royalist cause, and for his own most especial benefit.

Even a less astute man of the world than was Armand St. Just would easily have guessed that de Batz' desire

to be the only instrument in the rescue of the poor little Dauphin from the Temple was not actuated by

patriotism, but solely by greed. Obviously there was a rich reward waiting for him in Vienna the day that he

brought Louis XVII safely into Austrian territory; that reward he would miss if a meddlesome Englishman

interfered in this affair. Whether in this wrangle he risked the life of the childKing or not mattered to him

not at all. It was de Batz who was to get the reward, and whose welfare and prosperity mattered more than the

St. Just would have given much to be back in his lonely squalid lodgings now. Too late did he realise how

wise had been the dictum which had warned him against making or renewing friendships in France.

Men had changed with the times. How terribly they had changed! Personal safety had become a fetish with

mosta goal so difficult to attain that it had to be fought for and striven for, even at the expense of humanity

Selfishnessthe mere, coldblooded insistence for selfadvancement ruled supreme. De Batz, surfeited

with foreign money, used it firstly to ensure his own immunity, scattering it to right and left to still the

What was left over he used for the purpose of pitting the bloodthirsty demagogues one against the other,

making of the National Assembly a gigantic bearden, wherein wild beasts could rend one another limb from

In the meanwhile, what cared hehe said it himselfwhether hundreds of innocent martyrs perished

miserably and uselessly? They were the necessary food whereby the Revolution was to be satiated and de

Batz' schemes enabled to mature. The most precious life in Europe even was only to be saved if its price went

Times had indeed changed an entire nation. St. Just felt as sickened with this selfseeking Royalist as he did

with the savage brutes who struck to right or left for their own delectation. He was meditating immediate

flight back to his lodgings, with a hope of finding there a word for him from the chiefa word to remind him

that men did live nowadays who had other aims besides their own advancementother ideals besides the

The curtain had descended on the first act, and traditionally, as the works of M. de Moliere demanded it, the

three knocks were heard again without any interval. St. Just rose ready with a pretext for parting with his

friend. The curtain was being slowly drawn up on the second act, and disclosed Alceste in wrathful

Alceste's opening speech is short. Whilst the actor spoke it Armand had his back to the stage; with hand

outstretched, he was murmuring what he hoped would prove a polite excuse for thus leaving his amiable host

De Batzvexed and impatienthad not by any means finished with his friend yet. He thought that his

specious argumentsdelivered with boundless convictionhad made some impression on the mind of the

young man. That impression, however, he desired to deepen, and whilst Armand was worrying his brain to

find a plausible excuse for going away, de Batz was racking his to find one for keeping him here.

Then it was that the wayward demon Chance intervened. Had St. Just risen but two minutes earlier, had his

active mind suggested the desired excuse more readily, who knows what unspeakable sorrow, what

heartrending misery, what terrible shame might have been spared both him and those for whom he cared?

Those two minutes did he but know itdecided the whole course of his future life. The excuse hovered on

his lips, de Batz reluctantly was preparing to bid him goodbye, when Celimene, speaking commonplace

words enough in answer to her quarrelsome lover, caused him to drop the hand which he was holding out to

It was an exquisite voice that had spokena voice mellow and tender, with deep tones in it that betrayed

latent power. The voice had caused Armand to look, the lips that spoke forged the first tiny link of that chain

It is difficult to say if such a thing really exists as love at first sight. Poets and romancists will have us believe

that it does; idealists swear by it as being the only true love worthy of the name.

I do not know if I am prepared to admit their theory with regard to Armand St. Just. Mlle. Lange's exquisite

voice certainly had charmed him to the extent of making him forget his mistrust of de Batz and his desire to

get away. Mechanically almost he sat down again, and leaning both elbows on the edge of the box, he rested

his chin in his hand, and listened. The words which the late M. de Moliere puts into the mouth of Celimene

are trite and flippant enough, yet every time that Mlle. Lange's lips moved Armand watched her, entranced.

There, no doubt, the matter would have ended: a young man fascinated by a pretty woman on the stage'tis

a small matter, and one from which there doth not often spring a weary trail of tragic circumstances. Armand,

who had a passion for music, would have worshipped at the shrine of Mlle. Lange's perfect voice until the

curtain came down on the last act, had not his friend de Batz seen the keen enchantment which the actress had

Now de Batz was a man who never allowed an opportunity to slip by, if that opportunity led towards the

furtherance of his own desires. He did not want to lose sight of Armand just yet, and here the good demon

He waited quietly until the fall of the curtain at the end of Act II.; then, as Armand, with a sigh of delight,

leaned back in his chair, and closing his eyes appeared to be living the last halfhour all over again, de Batz

"She has a perfect voiceit was exquisite melody to the ear," replied Armand. "I was conscious of little

"She is a beautiful woman, nevertheless," continued de Batz with a smile. "During the next act, my good St.

Armand did as he was bidden. The whole appearance of Mlle. Lange seemed in harmony with her voice. She

was not very tall, but eminently graceful, with a small, oval face and slender, almost childlike figure, which

appeared still more so above the wide hoops and draped panniers of the fashions of Moliere's time.

Whether she was beautiful or not the young man hardly knew. Measured by certain standards, she certainly

was not so, for her mouth was not small, and her nose anything but classical in outline. But the eyes were

brown, and they had that halfveiled look in themshaded with long lashes that seemed to make a perpetual

tender appeal to the masculine heart: the lips, too, were full and moist, and the teeth dazzling white.

Yes!on the whole we might easily say that she was exquisite, even though we did not admit that she was

Painter David has made a sketch of her; we have all seen it at the Musee Carnavalet, and all wondered why

There are five acts in "Le Misanthrope," during which Celimene is almost constantly on the stage. At the end

"I have the honour of personal acquaintanceship with Mlle. Lange. An you care for an introduction to her, we

Did prudence then whisper, "Desist"? Did loyalty to the leader murmur, "Obey"? It were indeed difficult to

say. Armand St. Just was not fiveandtwenty, and Mlle. Lange's melodious voice spoke louder than the

He thanked de Batz warmly, and during the last halfhour, while the misanthropical lover spurned repentant

Celimene, he was conscious of a curious sensation of impatience, a tingling of his nerves, a wild, mad

longing to hear those full moist lips pronounce his name, and have those large brown eyes throw their

The greenroom was crowded when de Batz and St. Just arrived there after the performance. The older man

cast a hasty glance through the open door. The crowd did not suit his purpose, and he dragged his companion

hurriedly away from the contemplation of Mlle. Lange, sitting in a far corner of the room, surrounded by an

admiring throng, and by innumerable floral tributes offered to her beauty and to her success.

De Batz without a word led the way back towards the stage. Here, by the dim light of tallow candles fixed in

sconces against the surrounding walls, the sceneshifters were busy moving dropscenes, back cloths and

wings, and paid no heed to the two men who strolled slowly up and down silently, each wrapped in his own

Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his head bent forward on his chest; but every

now and again he threw quick, apprehensive glances round him whenever a firm step echoed along the empty

"Are we wise to wait here?" he asked, speaking to himself rather than to his companion.

He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz had impressed themselves upon his mind:

From the greenroom a separate foyer and exit led directly out into the street. Gradually the sound of many

voices, the loud laughter and occasional snatches of song which for the past halfhour had proceeded from

that part of the house, became more subdued and more rare. One by one the friends of the artists were leaving

the theatre, after having paid the usual banal compliments to those whom they favoured, or presented the

The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the ones who could no longer command a court of

admirers round them. They all filed out of the greenroom and crossed the stage to where, at the back, a

narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their socalled dressingroomstiny, dark cubicles, illlighted,

unventilated, where some halfdozen of the lesser stars tumbled over one another while removing wigs and

Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal impatience. Mlle. Lange was the last to leave the

greenroom. For some time, since the crowd had become thinner round her, Armand had contrived to catch

glimpses of her slight, elegant figure. A short passage led from the stage to the greenroom door, which was

wide open, and at the corner of this passage the young man had paused from time to time in his walk, gazing

with earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl's head, with its wig of powdered curls that

De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks in the direction of the crowd that

prevented her leaving the greenroom. He did watch Armand, howevernoted his eager look, his brisk and

alert movements, the obvious glances of admiration which he cast in the direction of the young actress, and

The best part of an hour had gone by since the fall of the curtain before Mlle. Lange finally dismissed her

many admirers, and de Batz had the satisfaction of seeing her running down the passage, turning back

occasionally in order to bid gay "goodnights" to the loiterers who were loath to part from her. She was a

child in all her movements, quite unconscious of self or of her own charms, but frankly delighted with her

success. She was still dressed in the ridiculous hoops and panniers pertaining to her part, and the powdered

peruke hid the charm of her own hair; the costume gave a certain stilted air to her unaffected personality,

In her arms she held a huge sheaf of sweetscented narcissi, the spoils of some favoured spot far away in the

South. Armand thought that never in his life had he seen anything so winsome or so charming.

Having at last said the positively final adieu, Mlle. Lange with a happy little sigh turned to run down the

She came face to face with Armand, and gave a sudden little gasp of terror. It was not good these days to

But already de Batz had quickly joined his friend, and his smooth, pleasant voice, and podgy, beringed hand

"You were so surrounded in the greenroom, mademoiselle," he said courteously, "I did not venture to press

in among the crowd of your admirers. Yet I had the great wish to present my respectful congratulations in

"Ah! c'est ce cher de Batz!" exclaimed mademoiselle gaily, in that exquisitely rippling voice of hers. "And

"Hushshsh!" he whispered, holding her small bemittened hand in his, and putting one finger to his lips

"Bah!" she retorted lightly, even though her full lips trembled now as she spoke and belied her very words.

You need have no fear whilst you are in this part of the house. It is an understood thing that the Committee of

General Security does not send its spies behind the curtain of a theatre. Why, if all of us actors and actresses

were sent to the guillotine there would be no play on the morrow. Artistes are not replaceable in a few hours;

those that are in existence must perforce be spared, or the citizens who govern us now would not know where

But though she spoke so airily and with her accustomed gaiety, it was easily perceived that even on this

childish mind the dangers which beset every one these days had already imprinted their mark of suspicion

"Come into my dressingroom," she said. "I must not tarry here any longer, for they will be putting out the

She led the way across the stage towards the wooden stairs. Armand, who during this brief colloquy between

his friend and the young girl had kept discreetly in the background, felt undecided what to do. But at a

peremptory sign from de Batz he, too, turned in the wake of the gay little lady, who ran swiftly up the rickety

steps, humming snatches of popular songs the while, and not turning to see if indeed the two men were

She had the sheaf of narcissi still in her arms, and the door of her tiny dressingroom being open, she ran

straight in and threw the flowers down in a confused, sweetscented mass upon the small table that stood at

one end of the room, littered with pots and bottles, letters, mirrors, powderpuffs, silk stockings, and cambric

Then she turned and faced the two men, a merry look of unalterable gaiety dancing in her eyes.

"Shut the door, mon ami," she said to de Batz, "and after that sit down where you can, so long as it is not on

While de Batz did as he was told, she turned to Armand and said with a pretty tone of interrogation in her

"St. Just, at your service, mademoiselle," said Armand, bowing very low in the most approved style obtaining

"A kinsman of citizen St. Just, whom no doubt you know, mademoiselle," he exclaimed.

"My friend Armand St. Just," interposed de Batz, "is practically a newcomer in Paris. He lives in England

"In England?" she exclaimed. "Oh! do tell me all about England. I would love to go there. Perhaps I may

have to go some day. Oh! do sit down, de Batz," she continued, talking rather volubly, even as a delicate

blush heightened the colour in her cheeks under the look of obvious admiration from Armand St. Just's

She swept a handful of delicate cambric and silk from off a chair, making room for de Batz' portly figure.

Then she sat upon the sofa, and with an inviting gesture and a call from the eyes she bade Armand sit down

next to her. She leaned back against the cushions, and the table being close by, she stretched out a hand and

once more took up the bunch of narcissi, and while she talked to Armand she held the snowwhite blooms

quite close to her faceso close, in fact, that he could not see her mouth and chin, only her dark eyes shone

"Tell me all about England," she reiterated, settling herself down among the cushions like a spoilt child who

Armand was vexed that de Batz was sitting there. He felt he could have told this dainty little lady quite a

good deal about England if only his pompous, fat friend would have had the good sense to go away.

As it was, he felt unusually timid and gauche, not quite knowing what to say, a fact which seemed to amuse

"I am very fond of England," he said lamely; "my sister is married to an Englishman, and I myself have taken

"Oh! you need not fear to admit it, my good Armand; Mademoiselle Lange, has many friends among the

"Yes, of course," she replied lightly; "I have friends everywhere. Their political views have nothing to do

with me. Artistes, I think, should have naught to do with politics. You see, citizen St. Just, I never inquired of

you what were your views. Your name and kinship would proclaim you a partisan of citizen Robespierre, yet

I find you in the company of M. de Batz; and you tell me that you live in England."

"He is no partisan of citizen Robespierre," again interposed de Batz; "in fact, mademoiselle, I may safely tell

you, I think, that my friend has but one ideal on this earth, whom he has set up in a shrine, and whom he

"How romantic!" she said, and she looked straight at Armand. "Tell me, monsieur, is your ideal a woman or a

She took a deep draught of sweet, intoxicating scent from the narcissi, and his gaze once more brought

blushes to her cheeks. De Batz' goodhumoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted access of confusion.

"That was well turned, friend Armand," he said lightly; "but I assure you, mademoiselle, that before I brought

"I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificant flowerthe Scarlet Pimpernel," replied de

"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" she ejaculated, dropping the flowers suddenly, and gazing on Armand with wide,

He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt at sitting so close to this charming little

lady, and feeling that in a measure his presence and his personality interested her. But he felt irritated with de

Batz, and angered at what he considered the latter's indiscretion. To him the very name of his leader was

almost a sacred one; he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who only care to name the idol of their dreams

with bated breath, and only in the ears of those who would understand and sympathise.

Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with mademoiselle he could have told her all about the

Scarlet Pimpernel, knowing that in her he would find a ready listener, a helping and a loving heart; but as it

"Oh! do tell me all about him. You know quite a number of us in France have the greatest possible admiration

for your national hero. We know, of course, that he is an enemy of our Government but, oh! we feel that

he is not an enemy of France because of that. We are a nation of heroes, too, monsieur," she added with a

pretty, proud toss of the head; "we can appreciate bravery and resource, and we love the mystery that

surrounds the personality of your Scarlet Pimpernel. But since you know him, monsieur, tell me what is he

Armand was smiling again. He was yielding himself up wholly to the charm which emanated from this young

girl's entire being, from her gaiety and her unaffectedness, her enthusiasm, and that obvious artistic

temperament which caused her to feel every sensation with superlative keenness and thoroughness.

"At risk of falling forever under the ban of your displeasure, mademoiselle, I would still remain silent on that

She gazed on him with obvious astonishment. It was quite an unusual thing for this spoilt darling of an

"How tiresome and pedantic!" she said, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders and a moue of discontent. "And,

oh! how ungallant! You have learnt ugly, English ways, monsieur; for there, I am told, men hold their

womenkind in very scant esteem. There!" she added, turning with a mock air of hopelessness towards de

Batz, "am I not a most unlucky woman? For the past two years I have used my best endeavours to catch sight

of that interesting Scarlet Pimpernel; here do I meet monsieur, who actually knows him (so he says), and he is

so ungallant that he even refuses to satisfy the first cravings of my just curiosity."

"Citizen St. Just will tell you nothing now, mademoiselle," rejoined de Batz with his goodhumoured laugh;

"it is my presence, I assure you, which is setting a seal upon his lips. He is, believe me, aching to confide in

you, to share in your enthusiasm, and to see your beautiful eyes glowing in response to his ardour when he

describes to you the exploits of that prince of heroes. En teteatete one day, you will, I know, worm every

Mademoiselle made no comment on thisthat is to say, no audible commentbut she buried the whole of

her face for a few seconds among the flowers, and Armand from amongst those flowers caught sight of a pair

She said nothing more about the Scarlet Pimpernel or about England just then, but after awhile she began

talking of more indifferent subjects: the state of the weather, the price of food, the discomforts of her own

house, now that the servants had been put on perfect equality with their masters.

Armand soon gathered that the burning questions of the day, the horrors of massacres, the raging turmoil of

politics, had not affected her very deeply as yet. She had not troubled her pretty head very much about the

social and humanitarian aspect of the present seething revolution. She did not really wish to think about it at

all. An artiste to her fingertips, she was spending her young life in earnest work, striving to attain perfection

in her art, absorbed in study during the day, and in the expression of what she had learnt in the evenings.

The terrors of the guillotine affected her a little, but somewhat vaguely still. She had not realised that any

dangers could assail her whilst she worked for the artistic delectation of the public.

It was not that she did not understand what went on around her, but that her artistic temperament and her

environment had kept her aloof from it all. The horrors of the Place de la Revolution made her shudder, but

only in the same way as the tragedies of M. Racine or of Sophocles which she had studied caused her to

shudder, and she had exactly the same sympathy for poor Queen Marie Antoinette as she had for Mary Stuart,

Once de Batz mentioned the Dauphin, but mademoiselle put up her hand quickly and said in a trembling

"Do not speak of the child to me, de Batz. What can I, a lonely, hardworking woman, do to help him? I try

not to think of him, for if I did, knowing my own helplessness, I feel that I could hate my countrymen, and

speak my bitter hatred of them across the footlights; which would be more than foolish," she added naively,

"for it would not help the child, and I should be sent to the guillotine. But oh sometimes I feel that I would

gladly die if only that poor little childmartyr were restored to those who love him and given back once more

to joy and happiness. But they would not take my life for his, I am afraid," she concluded, smiling through

Soon after this she dismissed her two visitors. De Batz, well content with the result of this evening's

entertainment, wore an urbane, bland smile on his rubicund face. Armand, somewhat serious and not a little

in love, made the handkiss with which he took his leave last as long as he could.

"You will come and see me again, citizen St. Just?" she asked after that preliminary leavetaking.

"Well, then, come tomorrow. I shall be free towards four o'clock. Square du Roule. You cannot miss the

The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they took final leave of her, spoke the gratitude

It was close on midnight when the two friends finally parted company outside the doors of the theatre. The

night air struck with biting keenness against them when they emerged from the stuffy, overheated building,

and both wrapped their caped cloaks tightly round their shoulders. Armandmore than ever nowwas

anxious to rid himself of de Batz. The Gascon's platitudes irritated him beyond the bounds of forbearance,

and he wanted to be alone, so that he might think over the events of this night, the chief event being a little

lady with an enchanting voice and the most fascinating brown eyes he had ever seen.

Selfreproach, too, was fighting a fairly even fight with the excitement that had been called up by that same

pair of brown eyes. Armand for the past four or five hours had acted in direct opposition to the earnest advice

given to him by his chief; he had renewed one friendship which had been far better left in oblivion, and he

had made an acquaintance which already was leading him along a path that he felt sure his comrade would

disapprove. But the path was so profusely strewn with scented narcissi that Armand's sensitive conscience

Looking neither to right nor left, he made his way very quickly up the Rue Richelieu towards the Montmartre

De Batz stood and watched him for as long as the dim lights of the street lamps illumined his slim,

soberlyclad figure; then he turned on his heel and walked off in the opposite direction.

His florid, pockmarked face wore an air of contentment not altogether unmixed with a kind of spiteful

"So, my pretty Scarlet Pimpernel," he muttered between his closed lips, "you wish to meddle in my affairs, to

have for yourself and your friends the credit and glory of snatching the golden prize from the clutches of

these murderous brutes. Well, we shall see! We shall see which is the wiliestthe French ferret or the

He walked deliberately away from the busy part of the town, turning his back on the river, stepping out

The streets which he had to traverse were silent and deserted, save occasionally where a drinking or an eating

house had its swingdoors still invitingly open. From these places, as de Batz strode rapidly by, came sounds

of loud voices, rendered raucous by outdoor oratory; volleys of oaths hurled irreverently in the midst of

impassioned speeches; interruptions from rowdy audiences that vied with the speaker in invectives and

blasphemies; wordy warfares that ended in noisy vituperations; accusations hurled through the air heavy

De Batz took no heed of these as he passed, anxious only that the crowd of eatinghouse politicians did not,

as often was its wont, turn out pelemele into the street, and settle its quarrel by the weight of fists. He did

not wish to be embroiled in a street fight, which invariably ended in denunciations and arrests, and was glad

when presently he had left the purlieus of the Palais Royal behind him, and could strike on his left toward the

From the dim distance far away came at intervals the mournful sound of a roll of muffled drums, half veiled

by the intervening hubbub of the busy night life of the great city. It proceeded from the Place de la

Revolution, where a company of the National Guard were on night watch round the guillotine. The dull,

intermittent notes of the drum came as a reminder to the free people of France that the watchdog of a

vengeful revolution was alert night and day, never sleeping, ever wakeful, "beating up game for the

guillotine," as the new decree framed today by the Government of the people had ordered that it should do.

From time to time now the silence of this lonely street was broken by a sudden cry of terror, followed by the

clash of arms, the inevitable volley of oaths, the call for help, the final moan of anguish. They were the

everrecurring brief tragedies which told of denunciations, of domiciliary search, of sudden arrests, of an

agonising desire for life and for freedomfor life under these same horrible conditions of brutality and of

servitude, for freedom to breathe, if only a day or two longer, this air, polluted by filth and by blood.

De Batz, hardened to these scenes, paid no heed to them. He had heard it so often, that cry in the night,

followed by deathlike silence; it came from comfortable bourgeois houses, from squalid lodgings, or lonely

culdesac, wherever some hunted quarry was run to earth by the newlyorganised spies of the Committee

Five and thirty livres for every head that falls trunkless into the basket at the foot of the guillotine! Five and

thirty pieces of silver, now as then, the price of innocent blood. Every cry in the night, every call for help,

meant game for the guillotine, and five and thirty livres in the hands of a Judas.

And de Batz walked on unmoved by what he saw and heard, swinging his cane and looking satisfied. Now he

struck into the Place de la Victoire, and looked on one of the openair camps that had recently been

established where men, women, and children were working to provide arms and accoutrements for the

The people of France were up in arms against tyranny; and on the open places of their mighty city they were

encamped day and night forging those arms which were destined to make them free, and in the meantime

were bending under a yoke of tyranny more complete, more grinding and absolute than any that the most

Here by the light of resin torches, at this late hour of the night, raw lads were being drilled into soldiers,

halfnaked under the cutting blast of the north wind, their knees shaking tinder them, their arms and legs blue

with cold, their stomachs empty, and their teeth chattering with fear; women were sewing shirts for the great

improvised army, with eyes straining to see the stitches by the flickering light of the torches, their throats

parched with the continual inhaling of smokeladen air; even children, with weak, clumsy little fingers, were

picking rags to be woven into cloth again all, all these slaves were working far into the night, tired, hungry,

and cold, but working unceasingly, as the country had demanded it: "the people of France in arms against

tyranny!" The people of France had to set to work to make arms, to clothe the soldiers, the defenders of the

And from this crowd of peoplemen, women, and childrenthere came scarcely a sound, save raucous

whispers, a moan or a sigh quickly suppressed. A grim silence reigned in this thicklypeopled camp; only the

crackling of the torches broke that silence now and then, or the flapping of canvas in the wintry gale. They

worked on sullen, desperate, and starving, with no hope of payment save the miserable rations wrung from

poor tradespeople or miserable farmers, as wretched, as oppressed as themselves; no hope of payment, only

The people of France in arms against tyranny were not allowed to forget that grim taskmaster with the two

great hands stretched upwards, holding the knife which descended mercilessly, indiscriminately on necks that

A grim look of gratified desire had spread over de Batz' face as he skirted the openair camp. Let them toil,

let them groan, let them starve! The more these clouts suffer, the more brutal the heel that grinds them down,

the sooner will the Emperor's money accomplish its work, the sooner will these wretches be clamoring for the

To him everything now was for the best: the tyranny, the brutality, the massacres. He gloated in the

holocausts with as much satisfaction as did the most bloodthirsty Jacobin in the Convention. He would with

his own hands have wielded the guillotine that worked too slowly for his ends. Let that end justify the means,

was his motto. What matter if the future King of France walked up to his throne over steps made of headless

The ground beneath de Batz' feet was hard and white with the frost. Overhead the pale, wintry moon looked

There, had been but little snow as yet this year, and the cold was intense. On his right now the Cimetiere des

SS. Innocents lay peaceful and still beneath the wan light of the moon. A thin covering of snow lay evenly

alike on grass mounds and smooth stones. Here and there a broken cross with chipped arms still held

pathetically outstretched, as if in a final appeal for human love, bore mute testimony to senseless excesses

But here within the precincts of the dwelling of the eternal Master a solemn silence reigned; only the cold

north wind shook the branches of the yew, causing them to send forth a melancholy sigh into the night, and to

And round the precincts of the lonely graveyard, and down narrow streets or open places, the night watchmen

went their rounds, lanthorn in hand, and every five minutes their monotonous call rang clearly out in the

We may take it that de Batz did not philosophise overmuch on what went on around him. He had walked

swiftly up the Rue St. Martin, then turning sharply to his right he found himself beneath the tall, frowning

walls of the Temple prison, the grim guardian of so many secrets, such terrible despair, such unspeakable

Here, too, as in the Place de la Revolution, an intermittent roll of muffled drums proclaimed the

everwatchful presence of the National Guard. But with that exception not a sound stirred round the grim and

stately edifice; there were no cries, no calls, no appeals around its walls. All the crying and wailing was shut

Dim and flickering lights shone behind several of the small windows in the facade of the huge labyrinthine

building. Without any hesitation de Batz turned down the Rue du Temple, and soon found himself in front of

the main gates which gave on the courtyard beyond. The sentinel challenged him, but he had the password,

With a surly gesture the guard pointed to the heavy bellpull up against the gate, and de Batz pulled it with

all his might. The long clang of the brazen bell echoed and reechoed round the solid stone walls. Anon a

tiny judas in the gate was cautiously pushed open, and a peremptory voice once again challenged the

De Batz, more peremptorily this time, asked for citizen Heron, with whom he had immediate and important

business, and a glimmer of a piece of silver which he held up close to the judas secured him the necessary

The massive gates slowly swung open on their creaking hinges, and as de Batz passed beneath the archway

The concierge's lodge was immediately on his left. Again he was challenged, and again gave the password.

But his face was apparently known here, for no serious hindrance to proceed was put in his way.

A man, whose wide, lean frame was but illcovered by a threadbare coat and ragged breeches, and with

soleless shoes on his feet, was told off to direct the citoyen to citizen Heron's rooms. The man walked slowly

along with bent knees and arched spine, and shuffled his feet as he walked; the bunch of keys which he

carried rattled ominously in his long, grimy hands; the passages were badly lighted, and he also carried a

Closely followed by de Batz, he soon turned into the central corridor, which is open to the sky above, and

was spectrally alight now with flagstones and walls gleaming beneath the silvery sheen of the moon, and

On the left, heavily barred windows gave on the corridor, as did here and there the massive oaken doors, with

their gigantic hinges and bolts, on the steps of which squatted groups of soldiers wrapped in their cloaks, with

wild, suspicious eyes beneath their capotes, peering at the midnight visitor as he passed.

There was no thought of silence here. The very walls seemed alive with sounds, groans and tears, loud wails

and murmured prayers; they exuded from the stones and trembled on the frostladen air.

Occasionally at one of the windows a pair of white hands would appear, grasping the heavy iron bar, trying to

shake it in its socket, and mayhap, above the hands, the dim vision of a haggard face, a man's or a woman's,

trying to get a glimpse of the outside world, a final look at the sky, before the last journey to the place of

death tomorrow. Then one of the soldiers, with a loud, angry oath, would struggle to his feet, and with the

buttend of his gun strike at the thin, wan fingers till their hold on the iron bar relaxed, and the pallid face

A quick, impatient sigh escaped de Batz' lips. He had skirted the wide courtyard in the wake of his guide, and

from where he was he could see the great central tower, with its tiny windows lighted from within, the grim

walls behind which the descendant of the world's conquerors, the bearer of the proudest name in Europe, and

wearer of its most ancient crown, had spent the last days of his brilliant life in abject shame, sorrow, and

degradation. The memory had swiftly surged up before him of that night when he all but rescued King Louis

and his family from this same miserable prison: the guard had been bribed, the keeper corrupted, everything

He had failed then and had tried again, and again had failed; a fortune had been his reward if he had

succeeded. He had failed, but even now, when his footsteps echoed along the flagged courtyard, over which

an unfortunate King and Queen had walked on their way to their last ignominious Calvary, he hugged himself

with the satisfying thought that where he had failed at least no one else had succeeded.

Whether that meddlesome English adventurer, who called himself the Scarlet Pimpernel, had planned the

rescue of King Louis or of Queen Marie Antoinette at any time or notthat he did not 'know; but on one

point at least he was more than ever determined, and that was that no power on earth should snatch from him

"I would sooner see the child perish, if I cannot save him myself," was the burning thought in this man's

tortuous brain. "And let that accursed Englishman look to himself and to his dd confederates," be added,

A winding, narrow stone stair, another length or two of corridor, and his guide's shuffling footsteps paused

beside a low ironstudded door let into the solid stone. De Batz dismissed his illclothed guide and pulled

The bell gave forth a dull and broken clang, which seemed like an echo of the wails of sorrow that peopled

De Batza thoroughly unimaginative personwaited patiently beside the door until it was opened from

within, and he was confronted by a tall stooping figure, wearing a greasy coat of snuffbrown cloth, and

holding high above his head a lanthorn that threw its feeble light on de Batz' jovial face and form.

"It is even I, citizen Heron," he said, breaking in swiftly on the other's ejaculation of astonishment, which

threatened to send his name echoing the whole length of corridors and passages, until round every corner of

the labyrinthine house of sorrow the murmur would be borne on the wings of the cold night breeze: "Citizen

He banged the heavy door to behind his visitor; and de Batz, who seemed to know his way about the place,

walked straight across the narrow landing to where a smaller door stood invitingly open.

He stepped boldly in, the while citizen Heron put the lanthorn down on the floor of the couloir, and then

It was a narrow, illventilated place, with but one barred window that gave on the courtyard. An

evilsmelling lamp hung by a chain from the grimy ceiling, and in a corner of the room a tiny iron stove shed

There was but little furniture: two or three chairs, a table which was littered with papers, and a

cornercupboardthe open doors of which revealed a miscellaneous collectionbundles of papers, a tin

saucepan, a piece of cold sausage, and a couple of pistols. The fumes of stale tobaccosmoke hovered in the

air, and mingled most unpleasantly with those of the lamp above, and of the mildew that penetrated through

Heron pointed to one of the chairs, and then sat down on the other, close to the table, on which he rested his

elbow. He picked up a shortstemmed pipe, which he had evidently laid aside at the sound of the bell, and

In the meanwhile de Batz had made himself as much at home in this uncomfortable room as he possibly

could. He had deposited his hat and cloak on one rickety rushbottomed chair, and drawn another close to the

fire. He sat down with one leg crossed over the other, his podgy beringed hand wandering with loving

He was nothing if not complacent, and his complacency seemed highly to irritate his friend Heron.

"Well, what is it?" reiterated the latter, drawing his visitor's attention roughly to himself by banging his fist

on the table. "Out with it! What do you want? Why have you come at this hour of the night to compromise

"Easy, easy, my friend," responded de Batz imperturbably; "waste not so much time in idle talk. Why do I

usually come to see you? Surely you have had no cause to complain hitherto of the unprofitableness of my

"They will have to be still more profitable to me in the future," growled the other across the table. "I have

"I know you have," said de Batz suavely. "The new decree? What? You may denounce whom you please,

search whom you please, arrest whom you please, and send whom you please to the Supreme Tribunal

"Is it in order to tell me all this that you have come to see me at this hour of the night?" queried Heron with a

"No; I came at this hour of the night because I surmised that in the future you and your hellhounds would be

so busy all day 'beating up game for the guillotine' that the only time you would have at the disposal of your

friends would be the late hours of the night. I saw you at the theatre a couple of hours ago, friend Heron; I

"Rather," retorted de Batz blandly, "shall we say, what do YOU want, citizen Heron?"

Heron pushed his chair brusquely aside and strode across the narrow room deliberately facing the portly

figure of de Batz, who with head slightly inclined on one side, his small eyes narrowed till they appeared

mere slits in his pockmarked face, was steadily and quite placidly contemplating this inhuman monster who

had this very day been given uncontrolled power over hundreds of thousands of human lives.

Heron was one of those tall men who look mean in spite of their height. His head was small and narrow, and

his hair, which was sparse and lank, fell in untidy strands across his forehead. He stooped slightly from the

neck, and his chest, though wide, was hollow between the shoulders. But his legs were big and bony, slightly

The face was thin and the cheeks sunken; the eyes, very large and prominent, had a look in them of cold and

ferocious cruelty, a look which contrasted strangely with the weakness and petty greed apparent in the mouth,

which was flabby, with full, very red lips, and chin that sloped away to the long thin neck.

Even at this moment as he gazed on de Batz the greed and the cruelty in him were fighting one of those

"I don't know," he said slowly, "that I am prepared to treat with you any longer. You are an intolerable bit of

vermin that has annoyed the Committee of General Security for over two years now. It would be excessively

"Pleasant, perhaps, but immeasurably foolish," rejoined de Batz coolly; "you would only get thirtyfive livres

"Why? I am very modest. I don't ask a great deal. Let your hounds keep off my scent."

"Oh! Never mind about the others. I am not bargaining about them. Let them look after themselves."

"Under torture, I know," rejoined de Batz placidly, holding his podgy hands to the warm glow of the fire.

"For you have started torture in your house of Justice now, eh, friend Heron? You and your friend the Public

"Oh, nothing, nothing! I was even proposing to pay you three thousand five hundred livres for the privilege of

"Three thousand five hundred!" ejaculated Heron involuntarily, and this time even his eyes lost their cruelty;

"Two little zeros added to the thirtyfive, which is all you would get for handing me over to your accursed

Tribunal," said de Batz, and, as if thoughtlessly, his hand wandered to the inner pocket of his coat, and a

slight rustle as of thin crisp paper brought drops of moisture to the lips of Heron.

"Leave me alone for three weeks and the money is yours," concluded de Batz pleasantly.

There was silence in the room now. Through the narrow barred window the steely rays of the moon fought

with the dim yellow light of the oil lamp, and lit up the pale face of the Committee's agent with its lines of

"Well! is it a bargain?" asked de Batz at last in his usual smooth, oily voice, as he half drew from out his

pocket that tempting little bundle of crisp printed paper. "You have only to give me the usual receipt for the

"It is dangerous, I tell you. That receipt, if it falls into some cursed meddler's hands, would send me straight

"The receipt could only fall into alien hands," rejoined de Batz blandly, "if I happened to be arrested, and

even in that case they could but fall into those of the chief agent of the Committee of General Security, and

he hath name Heron. You must take some risks, my friend. I take them too. We are each in the other's hands.

For a moment or two longer Heron appeared to be hesitating whilst de Batz watched him with keen

intentness. He had no doubt himself as to the issue. He had tried most of these patriots in his own golden

crucible, and had weighed their patriotism against Austrian money, and had never found the latter wanting.

He had not been here tonight if he were not quite sure. This inveterate conspirator in the Royalist cause

never took personal risks. He looked on Heron now, smiling to himself the while with perfect satisfaction.

"Very well," said the Committee's agent with sudden decision, "I'll take the money. But on one condition."

"Call him what you like," said Heron, taking a step nearer to de Batz, and from his great height glowering

down in fierce hatred and rage upon his accomplice; "call the young devil what you like, but leave us to deal

"You and your like are always plotting to get him out of here. I won't have it. I tell you I won't have it. If the

brat disappears I am a dead man. Robespierre and his gang have told me as much. So you leave him alone, or

I'll not raise a finger to help you, but will lay my own hands on your accursed neck."

He looked so ferocious and so merciless then, that despite himself, the selfish adventurer, the careless

selfseeking intriguer, shuddered with a quick wave of unreasoning terror. He turned away from Heron's

piercing gaze, the gaze of a hyena whose prey is being snatched from beneath its nails. For a moment he

He heard the other man's heavy footsteps cross and recross the narrow room, and was conscious of the long

curved shadow creeping up the mildewed wall or retreating down upon the carpetless floor.

Suddenly, without any warning he felt a grip upon his shoulder. He gave a start and almost uttered a cry of

alarm which caused Heron to laugh. The Committee's agent was vastly amused at his friend's obvious access

of fear. There was nothing that he liked better than that he should inspire dread in the hearts of all those with

"I am just going on my usual nocturnal round," he said abruptly. "Come with me, citizen de Batz."

A certain grim humour was apparent in his face as he proffered this invitation, which sounded like a rough

command. As de Batz seemed to hesitate he nodded peremptorily to him to follow. Already he had gone into

the hall and picked up his lanthorn. From beneath his waistcoat he drew forth a bunch of keys, which he

"Come, citizen," he said roughly. "I wish to show you the one treasure in this house which your dd fingers

Mechanically de Batz rose at last. He tried to be master of the terror which was invading his very bones. He

would not own to himself even that he was afraid, and almost audibly he kept murmuring to himself that he

Heron would never touch him. The spy's avarice, his greed of money were a perfect safeguard for any man

who had the control of millions, and Heron knew, of course, that he could make of this inveterate plotter a

comfortable source of revenue for himself. Three weeks would soon be over, and fresh bargains could be

Heron was still waiting at the door, even whilst de Batz wondered what this nocturnal visitation would reveal

to him of atrocity and of outrage. He made a final effort to master his nervousness, wrapped his cloak tightly

Once more he was being led through the interminable corridors of the gigantic building. Once more from the

narrow, barred windows close by him he heard the heartbreaking sighs, the moans, the curses which spoke

Heron was walking on ahead of him, preceding him by some fifty metres or so, his long legs covering the

distances more rapidly than de Batz could follow them. The latter knew his way well about the old prison.

Few men in Paris possessed that accurate knowledge of its intricate passages and its network of cells and

He himself could have led Heron to the doors of the tower where the little Dauphin was being kept

imprisoned, but unfortunately he did not possess the keys that would open all the doors which led to it. There

were sentinels at every gate, groups of soldiers at each end of every corridor, the greatnow

emptycourtyards, thronged with prisoners in the daytime, were alive with soldiery even now. Some walked

up and down with fixed bayonet on shoulder, others sat in groups on the stone copings or squatted on the

Heron was recognised everywhere the moment he appeared, and though in these days of equality no one

presented arms, nevertheless every guard stood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened a gate for the

Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him to the presence of the martyred little King.

Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding the other. De Batz walked leisurely,

thoughtfully, taking stock of everything he sawthe gates, the barriers, the positions of sentinels and

warders, of everything in fact that might prove a help or a hindrance presently, when the great enterprise

would be hazarded. At laststill in the wake of Heronhe found himself once more behind the main

entrance gate, underneath the archway on which gave the guichet of the concierge.

Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: two were doing sentinel outside the guichet,

Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge's lodge, then, as it was not immediately opened

The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron's door slowly struggled to his feet. He had been

squatting somewhere in the gloom, and had been roused by Heron's rough command. He slouched forward

"Take this lanthorn, then," said the chief agent with a snarl directed at the sleeping concierge, "and come

"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his boots," muttered the man, with an evil

leer as he spat contemptuously on the floor; "an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this ... twenty cells to sweep

out every day ... and boots to clean for every aristo of a concierge or warder who demands it.... Is that work

"Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont," retorted Heron dryly, "you may go when you like, you know

"Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I have had fourteen days of this convict

He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no further heed to him, turned abruptly

"En avant, corporal!" he said; "bring four men with you ... we go up to the tower."

The small procession was formed. On ahead the lanthornbearer, with arched spine and shaking knees,

dragging shuffling footsteps along the corridor, then the corporal with two of his soldiers, then Heron closely

Heron had given the bunch of keys to the man Dupont. The latter, on ahead, holding the lanthorn aloft,

opened one gate after another. At each gate he waited for the little procession to file through, then he

Up two or three flights of winding stairs set in the solid stone, and the final heavy door was reached.

De Batz was meditating. Heron's precautions for the safeguarding of the most precious life in Europe were

more complete than he had anticipated. What lavish liberality would be required! what superhuman ingenuity

and boundless courage in order to break down all the barriers that had been set up round that young life that

Of these three requisites the corpulent, complacent intriguer possessed only the first in a considerable degree.

He could be exceedingly liberal with the foreign money which he had at his disposal. As for courage and

ingenuity, he believed that he possessed both, but these qualities had not served him in very good stead in the

attempts which he had made at different times to rescue the unfortunate members of the Royal Family from

prison. His overwhelming egotism would not admit for a moment that in ingenuity and pluck the Scarlet

Pimpernel and his English followers could outdo him, but he did wish to make quite sure that they would not

Heron's impatient call roused him from these meditations. The little party had come to a halt outside a

At a sign from the chief agent the soldiers stood at attention. He then called de Batz and the lanthornbearer

He took a key from his breeches pocket, and with his own hand unlocked the massive door. He curtly ordered

the lanthornbearer and de Batz to go through, then he himself went in, and finally once more relocked the

Now the three men were standing in a square antechamber, dank and dark, devoid of furniture save for a large

cupboard that filled the whole of one wall; the others, mildewed and stained, were covered with a greyish

Heron crossed this antechamber, and with his knuckles rapped against a small door opposite.

From the inner room came the sound of voices, a man's and a woman's, and now, as if in response to Heron's

call, the shrill tones of a child. There was some shuffling, too, of footsteps, and some pushing about of

furniture, then the door was opened, and a gruff voice invited the belated visitors to enter.

The atmosphere in this further room was so thick that at first de Batz was only conscious of the evil smells

that pervaded it; smells which were made up of the fumes of tobacco, of burning coke, of a smoky lamp, and

Heron had stepped briskly in, closely followed by de Batz. The man Dupont with a mutter of satisfaction put

down his lanthorn and curled himself up in a corner of the antechamber. His interest in the spectacle so

De Batz looked round him with keen curiosity with which disgust was ready enough to mingle.

The room itself might have been a large one; it was almost impossible to judge of its size, so crammed was it

with heavy and light furniture of every conceivable shape and type. There was a monumental wooden

bedstead in one corner, a huge sofa covered in black horsehair in another. A large table stood in the centre of

the room, and there were at least four capacious armchairs round it. There were wardrobes and cabinets, a

diminutive washstand and a huge pierglass, there were innumerable boxes and packingcases,

canebottomed chairs and whatnots everywhere. The place looked like a depot for secondhand furniture.

In the midst of all the litter de Batz at last became conscious of two people who stood staring at him and at

Heron. He saw a man before him, somewhat fleshy of build, with smooth, mousecoloured hair brushed

away from a central parting, and ending in a heavy curl above each ear; the eyes were wide open and pale in

colour, the lips unusually thick and with a marked downward droop. Close beside him stood a

youngishlooking woman, whose unwieldy bulk, however, and pallid skin revealed the sedentary life and the

Both appeared to regard Heron with a certain amount of awe, and de Batz with a vast measure of curiosity.

Suddenly the woman stood aside, and in the far corner of the room there was displayed to the Gascon

Royalist's cold, calculating gaze the pathetic figure of the uncrowned King of France.

"How is it Capet is not yet in bed?" queried Heron as soon as he caught sight of the child.

"He wouldn't say his prayers this evening," replied Simon with a coarse laugh, "and wouldn't drink his

medicine. Bah!" he added with a snarl, "this is a place for dogs and not for human folk."

"If you are not satisfied, mon vieux," retorted Heron curtly, "you can send in your resignation when you like.

The excobbler gave another surly growl and expectorated on the floor in the direction where stood the child.

The boy in the meanwhile seemed to take but little notice of the vulgar insults put upon him by his guardian.

He stood, a quaint, impassive little figure, more interested apparently in de Batz, who was a stranger to him,

than in the three others whom he knew. De Batz noted that the child looked well nourished, and that he was

warmly clad in a rough woollen shirt and cloth breeches, with coarse grey stockings and thick shoes; but he

also saw that the clothes were indescribably filthy, as were the child's hands and face. The golden curls,

among which a young and queenly mother had once loved to pass her slender perfumed fingers, now hung

bedraggled, greasy, and lank round the little face, from the lines of which every trace of dignity and of

There was no look of the martyr about this child now, even though, mayhap, his small back had often smarted

under his vulgar tutor's rough blows; rather did the pale young face wear the air of sullen indifference, and an

abject desire to please, which would have appeared heartbreaking to any spectator less selfseeking and

Madame Simon had called him to her while her man and the citizen Heron were talking, and the child went

readily enough, without any sign of fear. She took the corner of her coarse dirty apron in her hand, and wiped

"I can't keep him clean," she said with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders and a look at de Batz. "There

now," she added, speaking once more to the child, "drink like a good boy, and say your lesson to please

She took a glass from the table, which was filled with a clear liquid that de Batz at first took to be water, and

"Mon Dieu! but no, citizen," exclaimed the woman, "it is good strong eau de vie, the best that can be

procured. Capet likes it reallydon't you, Capet? It makes you happy and cheerful, and sleep well of nights.

Why, you had a glassful yesterday and enjoyed it. Take it now," she added in a quick whisper, seeing that

Simon and Heron were in close conversation together; "you know it makes papa angry if you don't have at

The child wavered for a moment longer, making a quaint little grimace of distaste. But at last he seemed to

make up his mind that it was wisest to yield over so small a matter, and he took the glass from Madame

And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St. Louis quaffing a glass of raw spirit at the bidding of a rough

cobbler's wife, whom he called by the fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman!

Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction. He chuckled audibly when the child drank the

spirit, and called Heron's attention to him, whilst a look of triumph lit tip his wide, pale eyes.

"And now, mon petit," he said jovially, "let the citizen hear you say your prayers!"

He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal of enjoyment for the visitor from what was

coming. From a heap of litter in a corner of the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet adorned with a

tricolour cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, which had once been white, and had golden fleurdelys

All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiously coarse. He banged against the furniture

as he moved about the room, kicking a footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair. De Batz

instinctively thought of the perfumed stillness of the rooms at Versailles, of the army of elegant highborn

ladies who had ministered to the wants of this child, who stood there now before him, a cap on his yellow

hair, and his shoulder held up to his ear with that gesture of careless indifference peculiar to children when

Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag which Henri IV had borne before him at

Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted in the face of the armies of Europe. The son of the Bourbons was spitting

on their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its tattered folds. With shrill cracked voice he sang the Carmagnole,

"Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a la lanterne!" until de Batz himself felt inclined to stop his ears and to rush from

Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France by the grace of God, the child of the

Bourbons, the eldest son of the Church, was stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, which he had

been taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he danced, his eyes shone with the unnatural light kindled in

them by the intoxicating liquor; with one slender hand he waved the red cap with the tricolour cockade, and

Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with obvious pride, and a kind of rough

maternal affection. Simon was gazing on Heron for approval, and the latter nodded his bead, murmuring

The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs wide apart, and feet firmly planted on the

De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man's private character was, he had been born a

gentleman, and his every instinct revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene had positively sickened

"How now, citizen?" queried the Committee's agent with a sneer. "Are you not satisfied with what you see?"

"Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden chair," interposed Simon the cobbler with a

"'Tis the heat of the room," stammered de Batz, who was fumbling with the lock of the door; "my head began

"Spit on their accursed flag, then, like a good patriot, like Capet," retorted Simon gruffly. "Here, Capet, my

son," he added, pulling the boy by the arm with a rough gesture, "get thee to bed; thou art quite drunk enough

By way of a caress he tweaked the boy's ear and gave him a prod in the back with his bent knee. He was not

wilfully unkind, for just now he was not angry with the lad; rather was he vastly amused with the effect

As to the lad, the intensity of excitement in him was immediately followed by an overwhelming desire for

sleep. Without any preliminary of undressing or of washing, he tumbled, just as he was, on to the sofa.

Madame Simon, with quite pleasing solicitude, arranged a pillow under his head, and the very next moment

"'Tis well, citoyen Simon," said Heron in his turn, going towards the door. "I'll report favourably on you to

the Committee of Public Security. As for the citoyenne, she had best be more careful," he added, turning to

the woman Simon with a snarl on his evil face. "There was no cause to arrange a pillow under the head of

that vermin's spawn. Many good patriots have no pillows to put under their heads. Take that pillow away; and

Citoyenne Simon made no reply. Some sort of retort had apparently hovered on her lips, but had been

checked, even before it was uttered, by a peremptory look from her husband. Simon the cobbler, snarling in

speech but obsequious in manner, prepared to accompany the citizen agent to the door.

De Batz was taking a last look at the sleeping child; the uncrowned King of France was wrapped in a drunken

sleep, with the last spoken insult upon his dead mother still hovering on his childish lips.

"That is the way we conduct our affairs, citizen," said Heron gruffly, as he once more led his guest back into

It was his turn to be complacent now. De Batz, for once in his life cowed by what he had seen, still wore a

"We are good patriots," retorted Heron, "and the tyrant's spawn leads but the life that hundreds of thousands

of children led whilst his father oppressed the people. Nay! what am I saying? He leads a far better, far

happier life. He gets plenty to eat and plenty of warm clothes. Thousands of innocent children, who have not

the crimes of a despot father upon their conscience, have to starve whilst he grows fat."

The leer in his face was so evil that once more de Batz felt that eerie feeling of terror creeping into his bones.

Here were cruelty and bloodthirsty ferocity personified to their utmost extent. At thought of the Bourbons, or

of all those whom he considered had been in the past the oppressors of the people, Heron was nothing but a

wild and ravenous beast, hungering for revenge, longing to bury his talons and his fangs into the body of

And de Batz knew that even with millions or countless money at his command he could not purchase from

this carnivorous brute the life and liberty of the son of King Louis. No amount of bribery would accomplish

that; it would have to be ingenuity pitted against animal force, the wiliness of the fox against the power of the

"I shall get rid of the Simons," he said; "there's something in that woman's face which I don't trust. They shall

go within the next few hours, or as soon as I can lay my hands upon a better patriot than that mealymouthed

cobbler. And it will be better not to have a woman about the place. Let me seetoday is Thursday, or else

Friday morning. By Sunday I'll get those Simons out of the place. Methought I saw you ogling that woman,"

he added, bringing his bony fist crashing down on the table so that papers, pen, and inkhorn rattled loudly;

De Batz thought it well at this point to finger once more nonchalantly the bundle of crisp paper in the pocket

"Only on that one condition," reiterated Heron in a hoarse voice; "if you try to get at Capet, I'll drag you to

"Always presuming that you can get me, my friend," murmured de Batz, who was gradually regaining his

Already his active mind was busily at work. One or two things which he had noted in connection with his

visit to the Dauphin's prison had struck him as possibly useful in his schemes. But he was disappointed that

Heron was getting rid of the Simons. The woman might have been very useful and more easily got at than a

man. The avarice of the French bourgeoise would have proved a promising factor. But this, of course, would

now be out of the question. At the same time it was not because Heron raved and stormed and uttered cries

like a hyena that he, de Batz, meant to give up an enterprise which, if successful, would place millions into

As for that meddling Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and his crackbrained followers, they must be

effectually swept out of the way first of all. De Batz felt that they were the real, the most likely hindrance to

his schemes. He himself would have to go very cautiously to work, since apparently Heron would not allow

him to purchase immunity for himself in that one matter, and whilst he was laying his plans with necessary

deliberation so as to ensure his own safety, that accursed Scarlet Pimpernel would mayhap snatch the golden

When he thought of that the Gascon Royalist felt just as vindictive as did the chief agent of the Committee of

While these thoughts were coursing through de Batz' head, Heron had been indulging in a volley of

"If that little vermin escapes," he said, "my life will not be worth an hour's purchase. In twentyfour hours I

am a dead man, thrown to the guillotine like those dogs of aristocrats! You say I am a nightbird, citizen. I

tell you that I do not sleep night or day thinking of that brat and the means to keep him safely under my hand.

"Not trusted them!" exclaimed de Batz; "surely you could not find anywhere more inhuman monsters!"

"Inhuman monsters?" snarled Heron. "Bah! they don't do their business thoroughly; we want the tyrant's

spawn to become a true Republican and a patriotaye! to make of him such an one that even if you and your

cursed confederates got him by some hellish chance, he would be no use to you as a king, a tyrant to set

above the people, to set up in your Versailles, your Louvre, to eat off golden plates and wear satin clothes.

You have seen the brat! By the time he is a man he should forget how to eat save with his fingers, and get

roaring drunk every night. That's what we want!to make him so that he shall be no use to you, even if you

did get him away; but you shall not! You shall not, not if I have to strangle him with my own hands."

He picked up his shortstemmed pipe and pulled savagely at it for awhile. De Batz was meditating.

"My friend," he said after a little while, "you are agitating yourself quite unnecessarily, and gravely

jeopardising your prospects of getting a comfortable little income through keeping your fingers off my

"Exactly. You have said that before. But do you not think that you would be far wiser, instead of directing

your undivided attention to my unworthy self, to turn your thoughts a little to one whom, believe me, you

"Himself. Have you not suffered from his activity, friend Heron? I fancy that citizen Chauvelin and citizen

"They ought both to have been guillotined for that blunder last autumn at Boulogne."

"Take care that the same accusation be not laid at your door this year, my friend," commented de Batz

There was a moment's silence, and then de Batz continued with slow and dramatic emphasis:

"Will you sign a receipt for the three thousand five hundred livres, which I am pining to hand over to you, my

Without further words Heron dragged the inkhorn and a sheet of paper towards him, took up a pen, and wrote

a few words rapidly in a loose, scrawly hand. He strewed sand over the writing, then handed it across the

"For that amount of money it is sufficient. If you want an extension you must pay more."

"So be it," assented de Batz coolly, as he folded the paper across. "On the whole a fortnight's immunity in

France these days is quite a pleasant respite. And I prefer to keep in touch with you, friend Heron. I'll call on

He took out a lettercase from his pocket. Out of this he drew a packet of banknotes, which he laid on the

table in front of Heron, then he placed the receipt carefully into the lettercase, and this back into his pocket.

Heron in the meanwhile was counting over the banknotes. The light of ferocity had entirely gone from his

"Well!" he said at last when he had assured himself that the number of notes was quite correct, and he had

transferred the bundle of crisp papers into an inner pocket of his coat"well, what about your friend?"

"I knew him years ago," rejoined de Batz coolly; "he is a kinsman of citizen St. Just. I know that he is one of

"That is for you to find out. I saw him at the theatre, and afterwards in the greenroom; he was making

himself agreeable to the citizeness Lange. I heard him ask for leave to call on her tomorrow at four o'clock.

He watched Heron while the latter scribbled a few words on a scrap of paper, then he quietly rose to go. He

took up his cloak and once again wrapped it round his shoulders. There was nothing more to be said, and he

The leavetaking between the two men was neither cordial nor more than barely courteous. De Batz nodded

to Heron, who escorted him to the outside door of his lodging, and there called loudly to a soldier who was

"Show this citizen the way to the guichet," he said curtly. "Goodnight, citizen," he added finally, nodding to

Ten minutes later the Gascon once more found himself in the Rue du Temple between the great outer walls of

the prison and the silent little church and convent of St. Elizabeth. He looked up to where in the central tower

a small grated window lighted from within showed the place where the last of the Bourbons was being taught

to desecrate the traditions of his race, at the bidding of a mender of shoesa naval officer cashiered for

Such is human nature in its selfsatisfied complacency that de Batz, calmly ignoring the vile part which he

himself had played in the last quarter of an hour of his interview with the Committee's agent, found it in him

Then with a selfrighteous sense of duty performed, and an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, he dismissed

"That meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel will find his hands overfull tomorrow, and mayhap will not interfere

in my affairs for some time to come," he mused; "meseems that that will be the first time that a member of his

precious League has come within the clutches of such unpleasant people as the sleuthhounds of my friend

"Yesterday you were unkind and ungallant. How could I smile when you seemed so stern?"

"Yesterday I was not alone with you. How could I say what lay next my heart, when indifferent ears could

"No, mademoiselle, that is an instinct that comes into birth by the fire of a woman's eyes."

Mademoiselle Lange was sitting upon a small sofa of antique design, with cushions covered in faded silks

heaped round her pretty head. Armand thought that she looked like that carved cameo which his sister

He himself sat on a low chair at some distance from her. He had brought her a large bunch of early violets,

for he knew that she was fond of flowers, and these lay upon her lap, against the opalescent grey of her gown.

She seemed a little nervous and agitated, his obvious admiration bringing a ready blush to her cheeks.

The room itself appeared to Armand to be a perfect frame for the charming picture which she presented. The

furniture in it was small and old; tiny tables of antique VernisMartin, softly faded tapestries, a paletoned

Aubusson carpet. Everything mellow and in a measure pathetic. Mademoiselle Lange, who was an orphan,

lived alone under the duennaship of a middleaged relative, a penniless hangeron of the successful young

actress, who acted as her chaperone, housekeeper, and maid, and kept unseemly or overbold gallants at bay.

She told Armand all about her early life, her childhood in the backshop of Maitre Meziere, the jeweller, who

was a relative of her mother's; of her desire for an artistic career, her struggles with the middleclass

She made no secret of her humble origin, her want of education in those days; on the contrary, she was proud

of what she had accomplished for herself. She was only twenty years of age, and already held a leading place

Armand listened to her chatter, interested in everything she said, questioning her with sympathy and

discretion. She asked him a good deal about himself, and about his beautiful sister Marguerite, who, of

course, had been the most brilliant star in that most brilliant constellation, the Comedie Francaise. She had

never seen Marguerite St. Just act, but, of course, Paris still rang with her praises, and all artlovers regretted

Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England. Mademoiselle professed a vast interest in the

"I had always," she said, "thought it an ugly country, with the noise and bustle of industrial life going on

"Then, in future, mademoiselle," he replied, "must you think of it as one carpeted with verdure, where in the

spring the orchard trees covered with delicate blossom would speak to you of fairyland, where the dewy grass

stretches its velvety surface in the shadow of ancient monumental oaks, and ivycovered towers rear their

"Ah, mademoiselle, what can I tell you that you do not already know? The Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who

has devoted his entire existence to the benefit of suffering mankind. He has but one thought, and that is for

"But they do say, monsieur, that philanthropy plays but a sorry part in your hero's schemes. They aver that he

looks on his own efforts and the adventures through which he goes only in the light of sport."

"Like all Englishmen, mademoiselle, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a little ashamed of sentiment. He would deny

its very existence with his lips, even whilst his noble heart brimmed over with it. Sport? Well! mayhap the

sporting instinct is as keen as that of charitythe race for lives, the tussle for the rescue of human creatures,

"They fear him in France, monsieur. He has saved so many whose death had been decreed by the Committee

"Of every rightminded woman in France, monsieur. Oh!" she added with a pretty gesture of enthusiasm,

clasping her hands together, and looking at Armand with large eyes filled with tears, "if your noble Scarlet

Pimpernel will do aught to save that poor innocent lamb, I would indeed bless him in my heart, and help him

"May God's saints bless you for those words, mademoiselle," he said, whilst, carried away by her beauty, her

charm, her perfect femininity, he stooped towards her until his knee touched the carpet at her feet. "I had

begun to lose my belief in my poor misguided country, to think all men in France vile, and all women base. I

could thank you on my knees for your sweet words of sympathy, for the expression of tender motherliness

that came into your eyes when you spoke of the poor forsaken Dauphin in the Temple."

She did not restrain her tears; with her they came very easily, just as with a child, and as they gathered in her

eyes and rolled down her fresh cheeks they iii no way marred the charm of her face. One hand lay in her lap

fingering a diminutive bit of cambric, which from time to time she pressed to her eyes. The other she had

The scent of the violets filled the room. It seemed to emanate from her, a fitting attribute of her young,

wholly unsophisticated girlhood. The citizen was goodly to look at; he was kneeling at her feet, and his lips

Armand was young and he was an idealist. I do not for a moment imagine that just at this moment he was

deeply in love. The stronger feeling had not yet risen up in him; it came later when tragedy encompassed him

and brought passion to sudden maturity. Just now he was merely yielding himself up to the intoxicating

moment, with all the abandonment, all the enthusiasm of the Latin race. There was no reason why he should

not bend the knee before this exquisite little cameo, that by its very presence was giving him an hour of

Outside the world continued its hideous, relentless way; men butchered one another, fought and hated. Here

in this small oldworld salon, with its faded satins and bits of ivorytinted lace, the outer universe had never

really penetrated. It was a tiny worldquite apart from the rest of mankind, perfectly peaceful and absolutely

If Armand had been allowed to depart from here now, without having been the cause as well as the chief

actor in the events that followed, no doubt that Mademoiselle Lange would always have remained a charming

memory with him, an exquisite bouquet of violets pressed reverently between the leaves of a favourite book

of poems, and the scent of spring flowers would in after years have ever brought her dainty picture to his

He was murmuring pretty words of endearment; carried away by emotion, his arm stole round her waist; he

felt that if another tear came like a dewdrop rolling down her cheek he must kiss it away at its very source.

Passion was not sweeping them off their feetnot yet, for they were very young, and life had not as yet

But they yielded to one another, to the springtime of their life, calling for Love, which would come presently

Even as Armand's glowing face was at last lifted up to hers asking with mute lips for that first kiss which she

already was prepared to give, there came the loud noise of men's heavy footsteps tramping up the old oak

stairs, then some shouting, a woman's cry, and the next moment Madame Belhomme, trembling, wideeyed,

"Jeanne! Jeanne! My child! It is awful! It is awful! Mon Dieumon Dieu! What is to become of us?"

She was moaning and lamenting even as she ran in, and now she threw her apron over her face and sank into

Neither Mademoiselle nor Armand had stirred. They remained like graven images, he on one knee, she with

large eyes fixed upon his face. They had neither of them looked on the old woman; they seemed even now

unconscious of her presence. But their ears had caught the sound of that measured tramp of feet up the stairs

of the old house, and the halt upon the landing; they had heard the brief words of command:

They knew quite well what it all meant; they had not wandered so far in the realms of romance that

realitythe grim, horrible reality of the momenthad not the power to bring them back to earth.

That peremptory call to open in the name of the people was the prologue these days to a drama which had but

two concluding acts: arrest, which was a certainty; the guillotine, which was more than probable. Jeanne and

Armand, these two young people who but a moment ago had tentatively lifted the veil of life, looked straight

into each other's eyes and saw the hand of death interposed between them: they looked straight into each

other's eyes and knew that nothing but the hand of death would part them now. Love had come with its

attendant, Sorrow; but he had come with no uncertain footsteps. Jeanne looked on the man before her, and he

It was Jeanne Lange who spoke, but her voice was no longer that of an irresponsible child; it was firm, steady

and hard. Though she spoke to the old woman, she did not look at her; her luminous brown eyes rested on the

"Aunt Marie!" she repeated more peremptorily, for the old woman, with her apron over her head, was still

"Open, in the name of the people!" came in a loud harsh voice once more from the other side of the front

"Aunt Marie, as you value your life and mine, pull yourself together," said Jeanne firmly.

"What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do?" moaned Madame Belhomme. But she had dragged the apron

away from her face, and was looking with some puzzlement at meek, gentle little Jeanne, who had suddenly

become so strange, so dictatorial, all unlike her habitual somewhat diffident self.

"You need not have the slightest fear, Aunt Marie, if you will only do as I tell you," resumed Jeanne quietly;

"if you give way to fear, we are all of us undone. As you value your life and mine," she now repeated

The girl's firmness, her perfect quietude had the desired effect. Madame Belhomme, though still shaken up

with sobs of terror, made a great effort to master herself; she stood up, smoothed down her apron, passed her

"If you do not open quietly they will force the door open within the next two minutes," interposed Jeanne

calmly. "Go quietly and open the door. Try and hide your fears, grumble in an audible voice at being

interrupted in your cooking, and tell the soldiers at once that they will find mademoiselle in the boudoir. Go,

for God's sake!" she added, whilst suppressed emotion suddenly made her young voice vibrate; "go, before

Madame Belhomme, impressed and cowed, obeyed like an automaton. She turned and marched fairly straight

out of the room. It was not a minute too soon. From outside had already come the third and final summons:

Madame Belhomme's heavy footsteps were heard crossing the antechamber. Armand still knelt at Jeanne's

"Try and understand," she said with wonderful calm, "and do as I tell you. Aunt Marie has obeyed. Will you

"Then a lovescene," she entreated. "Surely you know one. Rodrigue and Chimene! Surelysurely," she

urged, even as tears of anguish rose into her eyes, "you mustyou must, or, if not that, something else.

They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, had gone to the door and opened it;

even her wellfeigned grumblings could now be heard and the rough interrogations from the soldiery.

Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her part remarkably well.

"Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!" she went on grumbling and muttering.

"Oh, thinkthink!" murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, her hot little hand grasping his so tightly

that her nails were driven into his flesh. "You must know something, that will doanythingfor dear life's

All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, and even as the door of the boudoir was

thrown violently open Armandstill on his knees, but with one hand pressed to his heart, the other stretched

upwards to the ceiling in the most approved dramatic style, was loudly declaiming:

"Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour, Pour venger sa maitresse il a quitte le jour!"

"No, no, my good cousin," she said with a pretty moue of disdain, "that will never do! You must not thus

emphasise the end of every line; the verses should flow more evenly, as thus...."

Heron had paused at the door. It was he who had thrown it openhe who, followed by a couple of his

sleuthhounds, had thought to find here the man denounced by de Batz as being one of the followers of that

irrepressible Scarlet Pimpernel. The obviously Parisian intonation of the man kneeling in front of citizeness

Lange in an attitude no ways suggestive of personal admiration, and coolly reciting verses out of a play, had

"What does this mean?" he asked gruffly, striding forward into the room and glaring first at mademoiselle,

"Why, if it isn't citizen Heron!" she cried, jumping up with a dainty movement of coquetry and

embarrassment. "Why did not Aunt Marie announce you? ... It is indeed remiss of her, but she is so

illtempered on baking days I dare not even rebuke her. Won't you sit down, citizen Heron? And you,

cousin," she added, looking down airily on Armand, "I pray you maintain no longer that foolish attitude."

The febrileness of her manner, the glow in her cheeks were easily attributable to natural shyness in face of

this unexpected visit. Heron, completely bewildered by this little scene, which was so unlike what he

expected, and so unlike those to which he was accustomed in the exercise of his horrible duties, was

practically speechless before the little lady who continued to prattle along in a simple, unaffected manner.

"Cousin," she said to Armand, who in the meanwhile had risen to his knees, "this is citizen Heron, of whom

you have heard me speak. My cousin Belhomme," she continued, once more turning to Heron, "is fresh from

the country, citizen. He hails from Orleans, where he has played leading parts in the tragedies of the late

citizen Corneille. But, ah me! I fear that he will find Paris audiences vastly more critical than the good

Orleanese. Did you hear him, citizen, declaiming those beautiful verses just now? He was murdering them,

Then only did it seem as if she realised that there was something amiss, that citizen Heron had come to visit

her, not as an admirer of her talent who would wish to pay his respects to a successful actress, but as a person

She gave a quaint, nervous little laugh, and murmured in the tones of a frightened child:

"La, citizen, how glum you look! I thought you had come to compliment me on my latest success. I saw you

at the theatre last night, though you did not afterwards come to see me in the greenroom. Why! I had a

regular ovation! Look at my flowers!" she added more gaily, pointing to several bouquets in vases about the

room. "Citizen Danton brought me the violets himself, and citizen Santerre the narcissi, and that laurel

She was so artless, so simple, and so natural that Heron was completely taken off his usual mental balance.

He had expected to find the usual setting to the dramatic episodes which he was wont to conductscreaming

women, a man either at bay, sword in hand, or hiding in a linen cupboard or up a chimney.

Now everything puzzled him. De Batzhe was quite surehad spoken of an Englishman, a follower of the

Scarlet Pimpernel; every thinking French patriot knew that all the followers of the Scarlet Pimpernel were

Armandwho deadly danger had primed in his improvised rolewas striding up and down the room

"Joignez tous vos efforts contre un espoir si doux Pour en venir a bout, c'est trop peu que de vous."

"No! no!" said mademoiselle impatiently; "you must not make that ugly pause midway in the last line: 'pour

She mimicked Armand's diction so quaintly, imitating his stride, his awkward gesture, and his faulty

phraseology with such funny exaggeration that Heron laughed in spite of himself.

"So that is a cousin from Orleans, is it?" he asked, throwing his lanky body into an armchair, which creaked

"Yes! a regular gabywhat?" she said archly. "Now, citizen Heron, you must stay and take coffee with me.

Aunt Marie will be bringing it in directly. Hector," she added, turning to Armand, "come down from the

This certainly was the first time in the whole of his experience that Heron had been asked to stay and drink

coffee with the quarry he was hunting down. Mademoiselle's innocent little ways, her desire for the

prolongation of his visit, further addled his brain. De Batz had undoubtedly spoken of an Englishman, and the

Perhaps had the denunciation come from any one else but de Batz, Heron might have acted and thought more

circumspectly; but, of course, the chief agent of the Committee of General Security was more suspicious of

the man from whom he took a heavy bribe than of any one else in France. The thought had suddenly crossed

his mind that mayhap de Batz had sent him on a fool's errand in order to get him safely out of the way of the

The thought took shape, crystallised, caused him to see a rapid vision of de Batz sneaking into his lodgings

and stealing his keys, the guard being slack, careless, inattentive, allowing the adventurer to pass barriers that

Now Heron was sure of it; it was all a conspiracy invented by de Batz. He had forgotten all about his theories

that a man under arrest is always safer than a man that is free. Had his brain been quite normal, and not

obsessed, as it always was now by thoughts of the Dauphin's escape from prison, no doubt he would have

been more suspicious of Armand, but all his worst suspicions were directed against de Batz. Armand seemed

He jumped to his feet, curtly declining mademoiselle's offers of hospitality. He wanted to get away at once.

Actors and actresses were always, by tacit consent of the authorities, more immune than the rest of the

community. They provided the only amusement in the intervals of the horrible scenes around the scaffolds;

Jeanne the while was gaily prattling on, her luminous eyes fixed upon the allpowerful enemy, striving to

read his thoughts, to understand what went on behind those cruel, prominent eyes, the chances that Armand

She knew, of course, that the visit was directed against Armandsome one had betrayed him, that odious de

Batz mayhapand she was fighting for Armand's safety, for his life. Her armoury consisted of her presence

of mind, her cool courage, her selfcontrol; she used all these weapons for his sake, though at times she felt

as if the strain on her nerves would snap the thread of life in her. The effort seemed more than she could bear.

But she kept up her part, rallying Heron for the shortness of his visit, begging him to tarry for another five

minutes at least, throwing outwith subtle feminine intuitionjust those very hints anent little Capet's

"I felt so honoured last night, citizen," she said coquettishly, "that you even forgot little Capet in order to

"Forget him!" retorted Heron, smothering a curse, "I never forget the vermin. I must go back to him; there are

too many cats nosing round my mouse. Good day to you, citizeness. I ought to have brought flowers, I know;

"Je te crois," she said with a grave nod of the head; "but do come to the theatre tonight. I am playing

"Yes, yes, I'll comemayhap, mayhapbut I'll go nowglad to have seen you, citizeness. Where does

"Good. Let him report himself tomorrow morning at the Conciergerie, and get his certificate of safety. It is a

"Very well, then. Hector and I will come together, and perhaps Aunt Marie will come too. Don't send us to

maman guillotine yet awhile, citizen," she said lightly; "you will never get such another Camille, nor yet so

She was gay, artless to the last. She accompanied Heron to the door herself, chaffing him about his escort.

"You are an aristo, citizen," she said, gazing with wellfeigned admiration on the two sleuthhounds who

stood in wait in the anteroom; "it makes me proud to see so many citizens at my door. Come and see me play

Camillecome tonight, and don't forget the greenroom doorit will always be kept invitingly open for

She bobbed him a curtsey, and he walked out, closely followed by his two men; then at last she closed the

door behind them. She stood there for a while, her ear glued against the massive panels, listening for their

measured tread down the oak staircase. At last it rang more sharply against the flagstones of the courtyard

below; then she was satisfied that they had gone, and went slowly back to the boudoir.

The tension on her nerves relaxed; there was the inevitable reaction. Her knees were shaking under her, and

But Armand was already near her, down on both his knees this time, his arms clasping the delicate form that

"Oh! you must go out of Paris at onceat once," she said through sobs which no longer would be kept back.

"He'll returnI know that he will returnand you will not be safe until you are back in England."

But he could not think of himself or of anything in the future. He had forgotten Heron, Paris, the world; he

"I owe my life to you!" he murmured. "Oh, how beautiful you arehow brave! How I love you!"

It seemed that he had always loved her, from the moment that first in his boyish heart he had set up an ideal

to worship, and then, last night, in the box of the theatrehe had his back turned toward the stage, and was

ready to goher voice had called him back; it had held him spellbound; her voice, and also her eyes.... He

did not know then that it was Love which then and there had enchained him. Oh, how foolish he had been!

for now he knew that he had loved her with all his might, with all his soul, from the very instant that his eyes

He babbled alongincoherentlyin the intervals of covering her hands and the hem of her gown with

kisses. He stooped right down to the ground and kissed the arch of her instep; he had become a devotee

worshipping at the shrine of his saint, who had performed a great and a wonderful miracle.

Armand the idealist had found his ideal in a woman. That was the great miracle which the woman herself had

performed for him. He found in her all that he had admired most, all that he had admired in the leader who

hitherto had been the only personification of his ideal. But Jeanne possessed all those qualities which had

roused his enthusiasm in the noble hero whom he revered. Her pluck, her ingenuity, her calm devotion which

But Jeanne did not know. She could not tell. Her nerves now were somewhat unstrung, and the tears that

always came so readily to her eyes flowed quite unchecked. She could not very well move, for he held her

knees imprisoned in his arms, but she was quite content to remain like this, and to yield her hands to him so

Indeed, she did not know at what precise moment love for him had been born in her heart. Last night, perhaps

... she could not say ... but when they parted she felt that she must see him again ... and then today ... perhaps

it was the scent of the violets ... they were so exquisitely sweet ... perhaps it was his enthusiasm and his talk

about England ... but when Heron came she knew that she must save Armand's life at all cost ... that she

Thus these two children philosophised, trying to understand the mystery of the birth of Love. But they were

only children; they did not really understand. Passion was sweeping them off their feet, because a common

danger had bound them irrevocably to one another. The womanly instinct to save and to protect had given the

young girl strength to bear a difficult part, and now she loved him for the dangers from which she had

The hours sped on; there was so much to say, so much that was exquisite to listen to. The shades of evening

were gathering fast; the room, with its paletoned hangings and faded tapestries, was sinking into the arms of

gloom. Aunt Marie was no doubt too terrified to stir out of her kitchen; she did not bring the lamps, but the

darkness suited Armand's mood, and Jeanne was glad that the gloaming effectually hid the perpetual blush in

In the evening air the dying flowers sent their heady fragrance around. Armand was intoxicated with the

perfume of violets that clung to Jeanne's fingers, with the touch of her satin gown that brushed his cheek,

No noise from the ugly outer world reached this secluded spot. In the tiny square outside a street lamp had

been lighted, and its feeble rays came peeping in through the lace curtains at the window. They caught the

dainty silhouette of the young girl, playing with the loose tendrils of her hair around her forehead, and

outlining with a thin band of light the contour of neck and shoulder, making the satin of her gown shimmer

Armand rose from his knees. Her eyes were calling to him, her lips were ready to yield.

He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips; her skin was fragrant as the flowers of spring, the tears on her cheeks

Aunt Marie came in at last, carrying the lamp. She found them sitting side by side, like two children, hand in

hand, mute with the eloquence which comes from boundless love. They were under a spell, forgetting even

But she asked no other question, even when the lamp showed up quite clearly the glowing cheeks of Jeanne

and the ardent eyes of Armand. In her heart, long since atrophied, there were a few memories, carefully put

Neither Jeanne nor Armand noticed what she did; the spell had been broken, but the dream lingered on; they

did not see Aunt Marie putting the room tidy, and then quietly tiptoeing out by the door.

But through the dream, reality was struggling for recognition. After Armand had asked for the hundredth

time: "Tu m'aimes?" and Jeanne for the hundredth time had replied mutely with her eyes, her fears for him

Something had awakened her from her trancea heavy footstep, mayhap, in the street below, the distant roll

of a drum, or only the clash of steel saucepans in Aunt Marie's kitchen. But suddenly Jeanne was alert, and

"Your life," she saidfor he had called her his life just then, "your lifeand I was forgetting that it is still in

"Then I pray you, I entreat you, guard it well for my sakemake all haste to leave Paris ... oh, this I beg of

you!" she continued more earnestly, seeing the look of demur in his eyes; "every hour you spend in it brings

"But I am safe here," she urged; "quite, quite safe, I assure you. I am only a poor actress, and the Government

takes no heed of us mimes. Men must be amused, even between the intervals of killing one another. Indeed,

indeed, I should be far safer here now, waiting quietly for awhile, while you make preparations to go ... My

There was logic in what she said. And yet how could he leave her? now that he had found this perfect

womanthis realisation of his highest ideals, how could he go and leave her in this awful Paris, with brutes

like Heron forcing their hideous personality into her sacred presence, threatening that very life he would

"Listen, sweetheart," he said after awhile, when presently reason struggled back for first place in his mind.

"Will you allow me to consult with my chief, with the Scarlet Pimpernel, who is in Paris at the present

moment? I am under his orders; I could not leave France just now. My life, my entire person are at his

disposal. I and my comrades are here under his orders, for a great undertaking which he has not yet unfolded

to us, but which I firmly believe is framed for the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple."

"No, no!" she said quickly and earnestly; "as far as you are concerned, Armand, that has now become an

impossibility. Some one has betrayed you, and you are henceforth a marked man. I think that odious de Batz

had a hand in Heron's visit of this afternoon. We succeeded in putting these spies off the scent, but only for a

moment ... within a few hoursless perhapsHeron will repent him of his carelessness; he'll come backI

know that he will come back. He may leave me, personally, alone; but he will be on your track; he'll drag you

to the Conciergerie to report yourself, and there your true name and history are bound to come to light. If you

succeed in evading him, he will still be on your track. If the Scarlet Pimpernel keeps you in Paris now, your

Her voice had become quite hard and trenchant as she said these last words; womanlike, she was already

prepared to hate the man whose mysterious personality she had hitherto admired, now that the life and safety

"You must not be afraid for me, Jeanne," he urged. "The Scarlet Pimpernel cares for all his followers; he

She was unconvinced, almost jealous now of his enthusiasm for that unknown man. Already she had taken

full possession of Armand; she had purchased his life, and he had given her his love. She would share neither

"It is only for a little while, sweetheart," he reiterated again and again. "I could not, anyhow, leave Paris

whilst I feel that you are here, maybe in danger. The thought would be horrible. I should go mad if I had to

Then he talked again of England, of his life there, of the happiness and peace that were in store for them both.

"We will go to England together," he whispered, "and there we will be happy together, you and I. We will

have a tiny house among the Kentish hills, and its walls will be covered with honeysuckle and roses. At the

back of the house there will be an orchard, and in May, when the fruitblossom is fading and soft spring

breezes blow among the trees, showers of sweetscented petals will envelop us as we walk along, falling on

Still wish it! He would gladly go tomorrow if she would come with him. But, of course, that could not be

arranged. She had her contract to fulfil at the theatre, then there would be her house and furniture to dispose

of, and there was Aunt Marie.... But, of course, Aunt Marie would come too.... She thought that she could get

away some time before the spring; and he swore that he could not leave Paris until she came with him.

It seemed a terrible deadlock, for she could not bear to think of him alone in those awful Paris streets, where

she knew that spies would always be tracking him. She had no illusions as to the impression which she had

made on Heron; she knew that it could only be a momentary one, and that Armand would henceforth be in

At last she promised him that she would take the advice of his chief; they would both be guided by what he

said. Armand would confide in him tonight, and if it could be arranged she would hurry on her preparations

"In the meanwhile, that cruel man must not risk your dear life," she said. "Remember, Armand, your life

"Shshsh!" he said earnestly. "Dear heart, you must not speak like that of the man whom, next to your

"You think of him more than of me. I shall scarce live until I know that you are safely out of Paris."

Though it was horrible to part, yet it was best, perhaps, that he should go back to his lodgings now, in case

Heron sent his spies back to her door, and since he meant to consult with his chief. She had a vague hope that

if the mysterious hero was indeed the noblehearted man whom Armand represented him to be, surely he

would take compassion on the anxiety of a sorrowing woman, and release the man she loved from bondage.

"At the stagedoor of the theatre at one o'clock,"she said at last. "We shall have finished rehearsal. Slip into

the guichet of the concierge. I will tell him to admit you, and send my dresser to meet you there; she will

bring you along to my room, where we shall be undisturbed for at least half an hour."

He had perforce to be content with that, though he would so much rather have seen her here again, where the

faded tapestries and softtoned hangings made such a perfect background for her delicate charm. He had

every intention of confiding in Blakeney, and of asking his help for getting Jeanne out of Paris as quickly as

Thus this perfect hour was past; the most pure, the fullest of joy that these two young people were ever

destined to know. Perhaps they felt within themselves the consciousness that their great love would rise anon

to yet greater, fuller perfection when Fate had crowned it with his halo of sorrow. Perhaps, too, it was that

Armand never could say definitely afterwards whither he went when he left the Square du Roule that

evening. No doubt he wandered about the streets for some time in an absent, mechanical way, paying no heed

His mind was full of Jeanne, her beauty, her courage, her attitude in face of the hideous bloodhound who had

come to pollute that charming oldworld boudoir by his loathsome presence. He recalled every word she

I suppose that it was the pangs of hunger that first recalled him to himself. It was close on eight o'clock now,

and he had fed on his imaginingsfirst on anticipation, then on realisation, and lastly on memoryduring

the best part of the day. Now he awoke from his daydream to find himself tired and hungry, hut fortunately

He was somewhere near the Madeleinea quarter he knew well. Soon he saw in front of him a small

eatinghouse which looked fairly clean and orderly. He pushed open its swingdoor, and seeing an empty

The place made no impression upon his memory. He could not have told you an hour later where it was

situated, who had served him, what he had eaten, or what other persons were present in the diningroom at

Having eaten, however, he felt more like his normal selfmore conscious of his actions. When he finally left

the eatinghouse, he realised, for instance, that it was very colda fact of which he had for the past few

hours been totally unaware. The snow was falling in thin close flakes, and a biting northeasterly wind was

blowing those flakes into his face and down his collar. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him. It was a

He struck quickly into the Rue St. Honore, avoiding the great open places where the grim horrors of this

magnificent city in revolt against civilisation were displayed in all their grim nakednesson the Place de la

Revolution the guillotine, on the Carrousel the openair camps of workers under the lash of slavedrivers

And Armand had to think of Jeanne in the midst of all these horrors. She was still a petted actress today, but

who could tell if on the morrow the terrible law of the "suspect" would not reach her in order to drag her

before a tribunal that knew no mercy, and whose sole justice was a condemnation?

The young man hurried on; he was anxious to be among his own comrades, to hear his chief's pleasant voice,

to feel assured that by all the sacred laws of friendship Jeanne henceforth would become the special care of

Blakeney lodged in a small house situated on the Quai de l'Ecole, at the back of St. Germain l'Auxerrois,

from whence he had a clear and uninterrupted view across the river, as far as the irregular block of buildings

The same towerclock that two centuries ago had tolled the signal for the massacre of the Huguenots was

even now striking nine. Armand slipped through the halfopen porte cochere, crossed the narrow dark

courtyard, and ran up two flights of winding stone stairs. At the top of these, a door on his right allowed a

thin streak of light to filtrate between its two folds. An iron bell handle hung beside it; Armand gave it a pull.

Two minutes later he was amongst his friends. He heaved a great sigh of content and relief. The very

atmosphere here seemed to be different. As far as the lodging itself was concerned, it was as bare, as devoid

of comfort as those sort of placessocalled chambres garniesusually were in these days. The chairs

looked rickety and uninviting, the sofa was of black horsehair, the carpet was threadbare, and in places in

actual holes; but there was a certain something in the air which revealed, in the midst of all this squalor, the

To begin with, the place was spotlessly clean; the stove, highly polished, gave forth a pleasing warm glow,

even whilst the window, slightly open, allowed a modicum of fresh air to enter the room. In a rough

earthenware jug on the table stood a large bunch of Christmas roses, and to the educated nostril the slight

scent of perfumes that hovered in the air was doubly pleasing after the fetid air of the narrow streets.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was there, also my Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings. They greeted Armand with

"Where is Blakeney?" asked the young man as soon as he had shaken his friends by the hand.

"Present!" came in loud, pleasant accents from the door of an inner room on the right.

And there he stood under the lintel of the door, the man against whom was raised the giant hand of an entire

nationthe man for whose head the revolutionary government of France would gladly pay out all the

savings of its Treasurythe man whom human bloodhounds were tracking, hot on the scentfor whom the

Was he unconscious of it, or merely careless? His closest friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, could not say. Certain

it is that, as he now appeared before Armand, picturesque as ever in perfectly tailored clothes, with priceless

lace at throat and wrists, his slender fingers holding an enamelled snuffbox and a handkerchief of delicate

cambric, his whole personality that of a dandy rather than a man of action, it seemed impossible to connect

him with the foolhardy escapades which had set one nation glowing with enthusiasm and another clamouring

But it was the magnetism that emanated from him that could not be denied; the light that now and then, swift

as summer lightning, flashed out from the depths of the blue eyes usually veiled by heavy, lazy lids, the

sudden tightening of firm lips, the setting of the square jaw, which in a momentbut only for the space of a

Just now there was none of that in the debonnair, easygoing man of the world who advanced to meet his

friend. Armand went quickly up to him, glad to grasp his hand, slightly troubled with remorse, no doubt, at

the recollection of his adventure of today. It almost seemed to him that from beneath his halfclosed lids

Blakeney had shot a quick inquiring glance upon him. The quick flash seemed to light up the young man's

It was all over in a moment, and Armand thought that mayhap his conscience had played him a trick: there

was nothing apparent in himof this he was surethat could possibly divulge his secret just yet.

"I am rather late, I fear," he said. "I wandered about the streets in the late afternoon and lost my way in the

They all pulled chairs closely round the fire, except Blakeney, who preferred to stand. He waited awhile until

They understood. All of them had guessed it, almost before the summons came that had brought them to Paris

two days ago. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had left his young wife because of that, and Armand had demanded it as a

right to join hands in this noble work. Blakeney had not left France for over three months now. Backwards

and forwards between Paris, or Nantes, or Orleans to the coast, where his friends would meet him to receive

those unfortunates whom one man's wholehearted devotion had rescued from death; backwards and

forwards into the very hearts of those cities wherein an army of sleuthhounds were on his track, and the

Now it was about the Dauphin. They all waited, breathless and eager, the fire of a noble enthusiasm burning

in their hearts. They waited in silence, their eyes fixed on the leader, lest one single word from him should

The full magnetism of the man was apparent now. As he held these four men at this moment, he could have

held a crowd. The man of the worldthe fastidious dandyhad shed his mask; there stood the leader, calm,

serene in the very face of the most deadly danger that had ever encompassed any man, looking that danger

fully in the face, not striving to belittle it or to exaggerate it, but weighing it in the balance with what there

was to accomplish: the rescue of a martyred, innocent child from the hands of fiends who were destroying his

"Everything, I think, is prepared," resumed Sir Percy after a slight pause. "The Simons have been summarily

dismissed; I learned that today. They remove from the Temple on Sunday next, the nineteenth. Obviously

that is the one day most likely to help us in our operations. As far as I am concerned, I cannot make any

hardandfast plans. Chance at the last moment will have to dictate. But from every one of you I must have

cooperation, and it can only be by your following my directions implicitly that we can even remotely hope

He crossed and recrossed the room once or twice before he spoke again, pausing now and again in his walk in

front of a large map of Paris and its environs that hung upon the wall, his tall figure erect, his hands behind

his back, his eyes fixed before him as if he saw right through the walls of this squalid room, and across the

darkness that overhung the city, through the grim bastions of the mighty building far away, where the

descendant of an hundred kings lived at the mercy of human fiends who worked for his abasement.

The man's face now was that of a seer and a visionary; the firm lines were set and rigid as those of an image

carved in stonethe statue of heartwhole devotion, with the selfimposed task beckoning sternly to follow,

"The way, I think, in which we could best succeed would be this," he resumed after a while, sitting now on

the edge of the table and directly facing his four friends. The light from the lamp which stood upon the table

behind him fell full upon those four glowing faces fixed eagerly upon him, but he himself was in shadow, a

massive silhouette broadly cut out against the lightcoloured map on the wall beyond.

"I remain here, of course, until Sunday," he said, "and will closely watch my opportunity, when I can with the

greatest amount of safety enter the Temple building and take possession of the child. I shall, of course choose

the moment when the Simons are actually on the move, with their successors probably coming in at about the

same time. God alone knows," he added earnestly, "how I shall contrive to get possession of the child; at the

He paused a moment, and suddenly his grave face seemed flooded with sunshine, a kind of lazy merriment

"La!" he said lightly, "on one point I am not at all in the dark, and that is that His Majesty King Louis XVII

will come out of that ugly house in my company next Sunday, the nineteenth day of January in this year of

grace seventeen hundred and ninetyfour; and this, too, do I knowthat those murderous blackguards shall

not lay hands on me whilst that precious burden is in my keeping. So I pray you, my good Armand, do not

look so glum," he added with his pleasant, merry laugh; "you'll need all your wits about you to help us in our

"In one moment I will tell you. I want you all to understand the situation first. The child will be out of the

Temple on Sunday, but at what hour I know not. The later it will be the better would it suit my purpose, for I

cannot get him out of Paris before evening with any chance of safety. Here we must risk nothing; the child is

far better off as he is now than he would be if he were dragged back after an abortive attempt at rescue. But at

this hour of the night, between nine and ten o'clock, I can arrange to get him out of Paris by the Villette gate,

and that is where I want you, Ffoulkes, and you, Tony, to be, with some kind of covered cart, yourselves in

any disguise your ingenuity will suggest. Here are a few certificates of safety; I have been making a

He dived into the wide pocket of his coat and drew forth a number of cards, greasy, muchfingered

documents of the usual pattern which the Committee of General Security delivered to the free citizens of the

new republic, and without which no one could enter or leave any town or country commune without being

"Choose your own identity for the occasion, my good friend," he said lightly; "and you too, Tony. You may

be stonemasons or coalcarriers, chimneysweeps or farmlabourers, I care not which so long as you look

sufficiently grimy and wretched to be unrecognisable, and so long as you can procure a cart without arousing

Ffoulkes turned over the cards, and with a laugh handed them over to Lord Tony. The two fastidious

gentlemen discussed for awhile the respective merits of a chimneysweep's uniform as against that of a

"You can carry more grime if you are a sweep," suggested Blakeney; "and if the soot gets into your eyes it

"But soot adheres more closely," argued Tony solemnly, "and I know that we shan't get a bath for at least a

"After a week soot might become permanent," mused Sir Andrew, wondering what, under the circumstance,

"If you are both so fastidious," retorted Blakeney, shrugging his broad shoulders, "I'll turn one of you into a

reddleman, and the other into a dyer. Then one of you will be bright scarlet to the end of his days, as the

reddle never comes off the skin at all, and the other will have to soak in turpentine before the dye will consent

He laughed like a schoolboy in anticipation of a prank, and held his scented handkerchief to his nose. My

Lord Hastings chuckled audibly, and Tony punched him for this unseemly display of mirth.

Armand watched the little scene in utter amazement. He had been in England over a year, and yet he could

not understand these Englishmen. Surely they were the queerest, most inconsequent people in the world, Here

were these men, who were engaged at this very moment in an enterprise which for coolheaded courage and

foolhardy daring had probably no parallel in history. They were literally taking their lives in their hands, in

all probability facing certain death; and yet they now sat chaffing and fighting like a crowd of thirdform

schoolboys, talking utter, silly nonsense, and making foolish jokes that would have shamed a Frenchman in

his teens. Vaguely he wondered what fat, pompous de Batz would think of this discussion if he could

overhear it. His contempt, no doubt, for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his followers would be increased tenfold.

Then at last the question of the disguise was effectually dismissed. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Anthony

Dewhurst had settled their differences of opinion by solemnly agreeing to represent two overgrimy and

overheated coalheavers. They chose two certificates of safety that were made out in the names of Jean

"Though you don't look at all like an Achille, Tony," was Blakeney's parting shot to his friend.

Then without any transition from this schoolboy nonsense to the serious business of the moment, Sir Andrew

Blakeney rose and turned to the map against the wall, Ffoulkes and Tony following him. They stood close to

his elbow whilst his slender, nervy hand wandered along the shiny surface of the varnished paper. At last he

"Here you see," he said, "is the Villette gate. Just outside it a narrow street on the right leads down in the

direction of the canal. It is just at the bottom of that narrow street at its junction with the towpath there that I

want you two and the cart to be. It had better be a coalcar by the way; they will be unloading coal close by

there tomorrow," he added with one of his sudden irrepressible outbursts of merriment. "You and Tony can

exercise your muscles coalheaving, and incidentally make yourselves known in the neighbourhood as good

"We had better take up our parts at once then," said Tony. "I'll take a fond farewell of my clean shirt

"Yes, you will not see one again for some time, my good Tony. After your hard day's work tomorrow you

will have to sleep either inside your cart, if you have already secured one, or under the arches of the canal

"I hope you have an equally pleasant prospect for Hastings," was my Lord Tony's grim comment.

It was easy to see that he was as happy as a schoolboy about to start for a holiday. Lord Tony was a true

sportsman. Perhaps there was in him less sentiment for the heroic work which he did under the guidance of

his chief than an inherent passion for dangerous adventures. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, on the other hand, thought

perhaps a little less of the adventure, but a great deal of the martyred child in the Temple. He was just as

buoyant, just as keen as his friend, but the leaven of sentiment raised his sporting instincts to perhaps a higher

"Well, now, to recapitulate," he said, in turn following with his finger the indicated route on the map. "Tony

and I and the coalcart will await you on this spot, at the corner of the towpath on Sunday evening at nine

"The usual one," replied Sir Percy, "the seamew's cry thrice repeated at brief intervals. But now," he

continued, turning to Armand and Hastings, who had taken no part in the discussion hitherto, "I want your

"The coalcart, with its usual miserable nag, will carry us a distance of fifteen or sixteen kilometres, but no

more. My purpose is to cut along the north of the city, and to reach St. Germain, the nearest point where we

can secure good mounts. There is a farmer just outside the commune; his name is Achard. He has excellent

horses, which I have borrowed before now; we shall want five, of course, and he has one powerful beast that

will do for me, as I shall have, in addition to my own weight, which is considerable, to take the child with me

on the pillion. Now you, Hastings and Armand, will have to start early tomorrow morning, leave Paris by

the Neuilly gate, and from there make your way to St. Germain by any conveyance you can contrive to

obtain. At St. Germain you must at once find Achard's farm; disguised as labourers you will not arouse

suspicion by so doing. You will find the farmer quite amenable to money, and you must secure the best

horses you can get for our own use, and, if possible, the powerful mount I spoke of just now. You are both

excellent horsemen, therefore I selected you amongst the others for this special errand, for you two, with the

five horses, will have to come and meet our coalcart some seventeen kilometres out of St. Germain, to

where the first signpost indicates the road to Courbevoie. Some two hundred metres down this road on the

right there is a small spinney, which will afford splendid shelter for yourselves and your horses. We hope to

be there at about one o'clock after midnight of Monday morning. Now, is all that quite clear, and are you both

"It is quite clear," exclaimed Hastings placidly; "but I, for one, am not at all satisfied."

"Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, you incorrigible grumbler," laughed Sir Percy

goodhumouredly. "Let me tell you that if you start tomorrow from Paris in that spirit you will run your

head and Armand's into a noose long before you reach the gate of Neuilly. I cannot allow either of you to

cover your faces with too much grime; an honest farm labourer should not look overdirty, and your chances

of being discovered and detained are, at the outset, far greater than those which Ffoulkes and Tony will

Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was unfolding his plan for him and for Lord

Hastingsa plan which practically was a commandhe had sat with his arms folded across his chest, his

head sunk upon his breast. When Blakeney had asked if they were satisfied, he had taken no part in Hastings'

Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy's eyes were fixed upon him, and they seemed to

scorch into his soul. He made a great effort to appear eager like the others, and yet from the first a chill had

He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked his chief fully in the face.

"You MUST leave at daybreak," replied Blakeney with a slight, almost imperceptible emphasis on the word

of command. "When the gates are first opened, and the workpeople go to and fro at their work, that is the

safest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as soon as may be, or the farmer may not have a sufficiency of

horses available at a moment's notice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings' British

accent should not betray you both. Also you might not get a conveyance for St. Germain immediately. We

Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked astonished. Armand had but asked a

simple question, and Blakeney's reply seemed almost like a rebukeso circumstantial too, and so

explanatory. He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that the merest wish, the slightest hint

from him was understood by his band of devoted followers, that the long explanation of his orders which he

Hastings was the first to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the party.

"We leave at daybreak, of course," he said, "as soon as the gates are open. We can, I know, get one of the

carriers to give us a lift as far as St. Germain. There, how do we find Achard?"

"Good. Then we bespeak five horses for the next day, find lodgings in the village that night, and make a fresh

"Yes. One of you will have two horses on the lead, the other one. Pack some fodder on the empty saddles and

start at about ten o'clock. Ride straight along the main road, as if you were making back for Paris, until you

come to four crossroads with a signpost pointing to Courbevoie. Turn down there and go along the road

until you meet a close spinney of firtrees on your right. Make for the interior of that. It gives splendid

shelter, and you can dismount there and give the horses a feed. We'll join you one hour after midnight. The

"I think I understand. Anyhow, it's not difficult, and we'll be as careful as maybe."

He was looking at Armand as he said this; but the young man had not made a movement during this brief

colloquy between Hastings and the chief. He still sat with arms folded, his head falling on his breast.

Silence had fallen on them all. They all sat round the fire buried in thought. Through the open window there

came from the quay beyond the hum of life in the openair camp; the tramp of the sentinels around it, the

words of command from the drillsergeant, and through it all the moaning of the wind and the beating of the

A whole world of wretchedness was expressed by those sounds! Blakeney gave a quick, impatient sigh, and

going to the window he pushed it further open, and just then there came from afar the muffled roll of drums,

"Sound advice," said Blakeney lightly. "Shall we also go to sleep? What say you alleh?"

He had with that sudden rapidity characteristic of his every action, already thrown off the serious air which he

had worn a moment ago when giving instructions to Hastings. His usual debonnair manner was on him once

again, his laziness, his careless insouciance. He was even at this moment deeply engaged in flicking off a

grain of dust from the immaculate Mechlin ruff at his wrist. The heavy lids had fallen over the telltale eyes

as if weighted with fatigue, the mouth appeared ready for the laugh which never was absent from it very long.

It was only Ffoulkes's devoted eyes that were sharp enough to pierce the mask of lighthearted gaiety which

enveloped the soul of his leader at the present moment. He sawfor the first time in all the years that he had

known Blakeneya frown across the habitually smooth brow, and though the lips were parted for a laugh,

With that intuition born of wholehearted friendship Sir Andrew guessed what troubled Percy. He had caught

the look which the latter had thrown on Armand, and knew that some explanation would have to pass

between the two men before they parted tonight. Therefore he gave the signal for the breaking up of the

"No, my good fellow, nothing," replied Sir Percy. "I do not know how you all feel, but I am demmed

"You know where to find them. In the room below. Ffoulkes has the key. Wigs and all are there. But don't

He spoke jerkily, more curtly than was his wont. Hastings and Tony thought that he was tired. They rose to

"Well, now, Armand, what is it?" asked Blakeney, the moment the footsteps of his friends had died away

"You guessed, then, that there was ... something?" said the younger man, after a slight hesitation.

Armand rose, pushing the chair away from him with an impatient nervy gesture. Burying his hands in the

pockets of his breeches, he began striding up and down the room, a dark, troubled expression in his face, a

Blakeney had once more taken up his favourite position, sitting on the corner of the table, his broad shoulders

interposed between the lamp and the rest of the room. He was apparently taking no notice of Armand, but

Suddenly the young man paused in his restless walk and stood in front of his friendan earnest, solemn,

Sir Percy made no reply. He was contemplating the polish which he had just succeeded in producing on his

"I must stay here for a while longer," continued Armand firmly. "I may not be able to return to England for

some weeks. You have the three others here to help you in your enterprise outside Paris. I am entirely at your

Still no comment from Blakeney, not a look from beneath the fallen lids. Armand continued, with a slight

"You must want some one to help you here on Sunday. I am entirely at your service ... here or anywhere in

Blakeney was apparently satisfied at last with the result of his polishing operations. He rose, gave a slight

"Good night, my dear fellow," he said pleasantly; "it is time we were all abed. I am so demmed fatigued."

"I have said a great many words, my good fellow. I have said 'good night,' and remarked that I was demmed

He was standing beside the door which led to his bedroom, and now he pushed it open with his hand.

"Percy, you cannot go and leave me like this!" reiterated Armand with rapidly growing irritation.

"Without a wordwithout a sign. What have I done that you should treat me like a child, unworthy even of

Blakeney had turned back and was now facing him, towering above the slight figure of the younger man. His

face had lost none of its gracious air, and beneath their heavy lids his eyes looked down not unkindly on his

"Would you have preferred it, Armand," he said quietly, "if I had said the word that your ears have heard

"What sign would you have had me make?" continued Sir Percy, his pleasant voice falling calm and mellow

on the younger man's supersensitive consciousness: "That of branding you, Marguerite's brother, as a liar and

"Blakeney!" retorted the other, as with flaming cheeks and wrathful eyes he took a menacing step toward his

"Every right, my friend. Do I not hold your oath? ... Are you not prepared to break it?"

"I'll not break my oath to you. I'll serve and help you in every way you can command ... my life I'll give to the

cause ... give me the most dangerousthe most difficult task to perform.... I'll do itI'll do it gladly."

"Bah! To leave Paris in order to engage horses, while you and the others do all the work. That is neither

"It will be difficult for you, Armand, because your head Is not sufficiently cool to foresee serious

eventualities and to prepare against them. It is dangerous, because you are a man in love, and a man in love is

"You yourself, my good fellow. Had you not told me so at the outset," he continued, still speaking very

quietly and deliberately and never raising his voice, "I would even now be standing over you, dogwhip in

hand, to thrash you as a defaulting coward and a perjurer .... Bah!" he added with a return to his habitual

bonhomie, "I would no doubt even have lost my temper with you. Which would have been purposeless and

A violent retort had sprung to Armand's lips. But fortunately at that very moment his eyes, glowing with

anger, caught those of Blakeney fixed with lazy goodnature upon his. Something of that irresistible dignity

which pervaded the whole personality of the man checked Armand's hotheaded words on his lips.

"She is in no danger," said Blakeney simply, "since she saved the life of my friend."

The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just's very soul. Despite the tumult of passion which was raging in his

heart, he was conscious again of the magnetic power which bound so many to this man's service. The words

he had saidsimple though they werehad sent a thrill through Armand's veins. He felt himself disarmed.

His resistance fell before the subtle strength of an unbendable will; nothing remained in his heart but an

He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. Blakeney went up to

"There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over yonder the son of kings is being done to death by

"You say she saved your life ... then you were in danger ... Heron and his spies have been on your track your

track leads to mine, and I have sworn to save the Dauphin from the hands of thieves.... A man in love,

Armand, is a deadly danger among us.... Therefore at daybreak you must leave Paris with Hastings on your

"My good fellow," said Blakeney earnestly, "in that admirable lexicon which the League of the Scarlet

"You would be offering a tainted name and tarnished honour to the woman you pretend to love."

"Honour, my good Armand, is often cruel and seldom human. He is a godlike taskmaster, and we who call

"And to gratify the selfish desire of immature passion, you would wish to see me jeopardise the life of those

"God knows how you have gained their allegiance, Blakeney. To me now you are selfish and callous."

"There is the difficult task you craved for, Armand," was all the answer that Blakeney made to the taunt"

But this Armand could not brook. He had spoken hotly, impetuously, smarting under the discipline which

thwarted his desire, but his heart was loyal to the chief whom he had reverenced for so long.

"Forgive me, Percy," he said humbly; "I am distracted. I don't think I quite realised what I was saying. I trust

you, of course ... implicitly ... and you need not even fear ... I shall not break my oath, though your orders

now seem to me needlessly callous and selfish.... I will obey ... you need not be afraid."

"Of course, you do not understand ... you cannot. To you, your honour, the task which you have set yourself,

has been your only fetish.... Love in its true sense does not exist for you.... I see it now ... you do not know

Blakeney made no reply for the moment. He stood in the centre of the room, with the yellow light of the lamp

falling full now upon his tall powerful frame, immaculately dressed in perfectlytailored clothes, upon his

long, slender hands half hidden by filmy lace, and upon his face, across which at this moment a heavy strand

of curly hair threw a curious shadow. At Armand's words his lips had imperceptibly tightened, his eyes had

narrowed as if they tried to see something that was beyond the range of their focus.

Across the smooth brow the strange shadow made by the hair seemed to find a reflex from within. Perhaps

the reckless adventurer, the careless gambler with life and liberty, saw through the walls of this squalid room,

across the wide, icebound river, and beyond even the gloomy pile of buildings opposite, a cool, shady

garden at Richmond, a velvety lawn sweeping down to the river's edge, a bower of clematis and roses, with a

carved stone seat half covered with moss. There sat an exquisitely beautiful woman with great sad eyes fixed

on the fardistant horizon. The setting sun was throwing a halo of gold all round her hair, her white hands

She gazed out beyond the river, beyond the sunset, toward an unseen bourne of peace and happiness, and her

lovely face had in it a look of utter hopelessness and of sublime selfabnegation. The air was still. It was late

autumn, and all around her the russet leaves of beech and chestnut fell with a melancholy hushshsh about

She was alone, and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.

Suddenly a sigh escaped the man's tightlypressed lips. With a strange gesture, wholly unusual to him, he

"Mayhap you are right, Armand," he said quietly; "mayhap I do not know what it is to love."

Armand turned to go. There was nothing more to be said. He knew Percy well enough by now to realise the

finality of his pronouncements. His heart felt sore, but he was too proud to show his hurt again to a man who

did not understand. All thoughts of disobedience he had put resolutely aside; he had never meant to break his

oath. All that he had hoped to do was to persuade Percy to release him from it for awhile.

That by leaving Paris he risked to lose Jeanne he was quite convinced, but it is nevertheless a true fact that in

spite of this he did not withdraw his love and trust from his chief. He was under the influence of that same

magnetism which enchained all his comrades to the will of this man; and though his enthusiasm for the great

"I will find the others downstairs," was all he said, "and will arrange with Hastings for tomorrow. Good

"Her name is Jeanne Lange," said St. Just half reluctantly. He had not meant to divulge his secret quite so

"She is beautiful, Percy, and she is an angel.... Think of my sister Marguerite ... she, too, was an actress....

The two men grasped one another by the hand. Armand's eyes proffered a last desperate appeal. But

Blakeney's eyes were impassive and unrelenting, and Armand with a quick sigh finally took his leave.

For a long while after he had gone Blakeney stood silent and motionless in the middle of the room. Armand's

The walls had fallen away from around himthe window, the river below, the Temple prison had all faded

Now he was no longer in Paris; he heard nothing of the horrors that even at this hour of the night were raging

around him; he did not hear the call of murdered victims, of innocent women and children crying for help; he

did not see the descendant of St. Louis, with a red cap on his baby head, stamping on the fleurdelys, and

heaping insults on the memory of his mother. All that had faded into nothingness.

He was in the garden at Richmond, and Marguerite was sitting on the stone seat, with branches of the rambler

He was sitting on the ground at her feet, his head pillowed in her lap, lazily dreaming. whilst at his feet the

river wound its graceful curves beneath overhanging willows and tall stately elms.

A swan came sailing majestically down the stream, and Marguerite, with idle, delicate hands, threw some

crumbs of bread into the water. Then she laughed, for she was quite happy, and anon she stooped, and he felt

the fragrance of her lips as she bent over him and savoured the perfect sweetness of her caress. She was

happy because her husband was by her side. He had done with adventures, with risking his life for others'

The man, the dreamer, the idealist that lurked behind the adventurous soul, lived an exquisite dream as he

gazed upon that vision. He closed his eyes so that it might last all the longer, so that through the open

window opposite he should not see the great gloomy walls of the labyrinthine building packed to overflowing

with innocent men, women, and children waiting patiently and with a smile on their lips for a cruel and

unmerited death; so that he should not see even through the vista of houses and of streets that grim Temple

prison far away, and the light in one of the tower windows, which illumined the final martyrdom of a

Thus he stood for fully five minutes, with eyes deliberately closed and lips tightly set. Then the neighbouring

towerclock of St. Germain l'Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight. Blakeney woke from his dream.

The walls of his lodging were once more around him, and through the window the ruddy light of some torch

He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the night. On the quay, a little to the left, the

outdoor camp was just breaking tip for the night. The people of France in arms against tyranny were allowed

to put away their work for the day and to go to their miserable homes to gather rest in sleep for the morrow.

A band of soldiers, rough and brutal in their movements, were hustling the women and children. The little

ones, weary, sleepy, and cold, seemed too dazed to move. One woman had two little children clinging to her

skirts; a soldier suddenly seized one of them by the shoulders and pushed it along roughly in front of him to

get it out of the way. The woman struck at the soldier in a stupid, senseless, useless way, and then gathered

In a moment she was surrounded. Two soldiers seized her, and two more dragged the children away from her.

She screamed and the children cried, the soldiers swore and struck out right and left with their bayonets.

There was a general melee, calls of agony rent the air, rough oaths drowned the shouts of the helpless. Some

And Blakeney from his window looked down upon the scene. He no longer saw the garden at Richmond, the

lazilyflowing river, the bowers of roses; even the sweet face of Marguerite, sad and lonely, appeared dim

He looked across the icebound river, past the quay where rough soldiers were brutalising a number of

wretched defenceless women, to that grim Chatelet prison, where tiny lights shining here and there behind

barred windows told the sad tale of weary vigils, of watches through the night, when dawn would bring

And it was not Marguerite's blue eyes that beckoned to him now, it was not her lips that called, but the wan

face of a child with matted curls hanging above a greasy forehead, and small hands covered in grime that had

The night that Armand St. Just spent tossing about on a hard, narrow bed was the most miserable, agonising

one he had ever passed in his life. A kind of fever ran through him, causing his teeth to chatter and the veins

Physically he certainly was ill; the mental strain caused by two great conflicting passions had attacked his

bodily strength, and whilst his brain and heart fought their battles together, his aching limbs found no repose.

His love for Jeanne! His loyalty to the man to whom he owed his life, and to whom he had sworn allegiance

These superacute feelings seemed to be tearing at his very heartstrings, until he felt that he could no longer lie

He rose long before daybreak, with tired back and burning eyes, but unconscious of any pain save that which

The weather, fortunately, was not quite so colda sudden and very rapid thaw had set in; and when after a

hurried toilet Armand, carrying a bundle under his arm, emerged into the street, the mild south wind struck

It was then pitch dark. The street lamps had been extinguished long ago, and the feeble January sun had not

The streets of the great city were absolutely deserted at this hour. It lay, peaceful and still, wrapped in its

mantle of gloom. A thin rain was falling, and Armand's feet, as he began to descend the heights of

Montmartre, sank ankle deep in the mud of the road. There was but scanty attempt at pavements in this

outlying quarter of the town, and Armand had much ado to keep his footing on the uneven and intermittent

stones that did duty for roads in these parts. But this discomfort did not trouble him just now. One

thoughtand one alonewas clear in his mind: he must see Jeanne before he left Paris.

He did not pause to think how he could accomplish that at this hour of the day. All he knew was that he must

obey his chief, and that he must see Jeanne. He would see her, explain to her that he must leave Paris

immediately, and beg her to make her preparations quickly, so that she might meet him as soon as maybe,

He did not feel that he was being disloyal by trying to see Jeanne. He had thrown prudence to the winds, not

realising that his imprudence would and did jeopardise, not only the success of his chief's plans, but also his

life and that of his friends. He had before parting from Hastings last night arranged to meet him in the

neighbourhood of the Neuilly Gate at seven o'clock; it was only six now. There was plenty of time for him to

rouse the concierge at the house of the Square du Roule, to see Jeanne for a few moments, to slip into

Madame Belhomme's kitchen, and there into the labourer's clothes which he was carrying in the bundle under

The Square du Roule is shut off from the Rue St. Honore, on which it abuts, by tall iron gates, which a few

years ago, when the secluded little square was a fashionable quarter of the city, used to be kept closed at

night, with a watchman in uniform to intercept midnight prowlers. Now these gates had been rudely torn

away from their sockets, the iron had been sold for the benefit of the everempty Treasury, and no one cared

if the homeless, the starving, or the evildoer found shelter under the porticoes of the houses, from whence

No one challenged Armand when he turned into the square, and though the darkness was intense, he made his

So far he had been wonderfully lucky. The foolhardiness with which he had exposed his life and that of his

friends by wandering about the streets of Paris at this hour without any attempt at disguise, though carrying

one under his arm, had not met with the untoward fate which it undoubtedly deserved. The darkness of the

night and the thin sheet of rain as it fell had effectually wrapped his progress through the lonely streets in

their beneficent mantle of gloom; the soft mud below had drowned the echo of his footsteps. If spies were on

his track, as Jeanne had feared and Blakeney prophesied, he had certainly succeeded in evading them.

He pulled the concierge's bell, and the latch of the outer door, manipulated from within, duly sprang open in

response. He entered, and from the lodge the concierge's voice emerging, muffled from the depths of pillows

and blankets, challenged him with an oath directed at the unseemliness of the hour.

"Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand boldly, as without hesitation he walked quickly past the lodge making

It seemed to him that from the concierge's room loud vituperations followed him, but he took no notice of

these; only a short flight of stairs and one more door separated him from Jeanne.

He did not pause to think that she would in all probability be still in bed, that he might have some difficulty

in rousing Madame Belhomme, that the latter might not even care to admit him; nor did he reflect on the

glaring imprudence of his actions. He wanted to see Jeanne, and she was the other side of that wall.

"He, citizen! Hola! Here! Curse you! Where are you?" came in a gruff voice to him from below.

He had mounted the stairs, and was now on the landing just outside Jeanne's door. He pulled the bellhandle,

and heard the pleasing echo of the bell that would presently wake Madame Belhomme and bring her to the

The concierge, a stout, elderly man, wrapped in a blanket, his feet thrust in slippers, and carrying a guttering

He held the candle up so that its feeble flickering rays fell on Armand's pale face, and on the damp cloak

"What are you doing there?" reiterated the concierge with another oath from his prolific vocabulary.

"As you see, citizen," replied Armand politely, "I am ringing Mademoiselle Lange's front door bell."

"Then you have come to the wrong house, citizen," said the concierge with a rude laugh.

"She is not herequoi!" retorted the concierge, who now turned deliberately on his heel. "Go and look for

He shuffled off in the direction of the stairs. Armand was vainly trying to shake himself free from a sudden,

He gave another vigorous pull at the hell, then with one bound he overtook the concierge, who was preparing

His voice sounded quite strange in his own ear; his throat felt parched, and he had to moisten his lips with his

"Whenlate yesterday evening. Where?here in her room. How?by the agents of the Committee of

General Security. She and the old woman! Basta! that's all I know. Now I am going back to bed, and you

clear out of the house. You are making a disturbance, and I shall be reprimanded. I ask you, is this a decent

Armand stood on the landing like a man who has been stunned by a blow on the head. His limbs were

paralysed. He could not for the moment have moved or spoken if his life had depended on a sign or on a

word. His brain was reeling, and he had to steady himself with his hand against the wall or he would have

fallen headlong on the floor. He had lived in a whirl of excitement for the past twentyfour hours; his nerves

during that time had been kept at straining point. Passion, joy, happiness, deadly danger, and moral fights had

worn his mental endurance threadbare; want of proper food and a sleepless night had almost thrown his

physical balance out of gear. This blow came at a moment when he was least able to bear it.

Jeanne had been arrested! Jeanne was in the hands of those brutes, whom he, Armand, had regarded

yesterday with insurmountable loathing! Jeanne was in prisonshe was arrestedshe would be tried,

The thought was so awful that it brought him to the verge of mania. He watched as in a dream the form of the

concierge shuffling his way down the oak staircase; his portly figure assumed Gargantuan proportions, the

candle which he carried looked like the dancing flames of hell, through which grinning faces, hideous and

Then suddenly everything was dark. The light had disappeared round the bend of the stairs; grinning faces

and ghoulish visions vanished; he only saw Jeanne, his dainty, exquisite Jeanne, in the hands of those brutes.

He saw her as he had seen a year and a half ago the victims of those bloodthirsty wretches being dragged

before a tribunal that was but a mockery of justice; he heard the quick interrogatory, and the responses from

her perfect lips, that exquisite voice of hers veiled by tones of anguish. He heard the condemnation, the rattle

of the tumbril on the illpaved streets saw her there with hands clasped together, her eyes

Like a wild creature driven forth he started to run down the stairs, past the concierge, who was just entering

his lodge, and who now turned in surly anger to watch this man running away like a lunatic or a fool, out by

the front door and into the street. In a moment he was out of the little square; then like a hunted hare he still

ran down the Rue St. Honore, along its narrow, interminable length. His hat had fallen from his head, his hair

was wild all round his face, the rain weighted the cloak upon his shoulders; but still he ran.

His feet made no noise on the muddy pavement. He ran on and on, his elbows pressed to his sides, panting,

Jeanne was arrested. He did not know where to look for her, but he did know whither he wanted to go now as

It was still dark, but Armand St. Just was a born Parisian, and he knew every inch of this quarter, where he

and Marguerite had years ago lived. Down the Rue St. Honore, he had reached the bottom of the interminably

long street at last. He had kept just a sufficiency of reasonor was it merely blind instinct?to avoid the

places where the night patrols of the National Guard might be on the watch. He avoided the Place du

Carrousel, also the quay, and struck sharply to his right until he reached the facade of St. Germain

Another effort; round the corner, and there was the house at last. He was like the hunted creature now that has

run to earth. Up the two flights of stone stairs, and then the pull at the bell; a moment of tense anxiety, whilst

panting, gasping, almost choked with the sustained effort and the strain of the past halfhour, he leaned

Then the wellknown firm step across the rooms beyond, the open door, the hand upon his shoulder.

He had not actually fainted, but the exertion of that long run had rendered him partially unconscious He knew

now that be was safe, that he was sitting in Blakeney's room, and that something hot and vivifying was being

"Percy, they have arrested her!" he said, panting, as soon as speech returned to his paralysed tongue.

With infinite care and gentleness Blakeney arranged some cushions under Armand's head, turned the sofa

towards the fire, and anon brought his friend a cup of hot coffee, which the latter drank with avidity.

He was really too exhausted to speak. He had contrived to tell Blakeney, and now Blakeney knew, so

everything would be all right. The inevitable reaction was asserting itself; the muscles had relaxed, the nerves

were numbed, and Armand lay back on the sofa with eyes half closed, unable to move, yet feeling his

strength gradually returning to him, his vitality asserting itself, all the feverish excitement of the past

Through his halfclosed eyes he could see his brotherinlaw moving about the room. Blakeney was fully

dressed. In a sleepy kind of way Armand wondered if he had been to bed at aH; certainly his clothes set on

him with their usual welltailored perfection, and there was no suggestion in his brisk step and alert

Now he was standing by the open window. Armand, from where he lay, could see his broad shoulders sharply

outlined against the grey background of the hazy winter dawn. A wan light was just creeping up from the east

He roused himself with one vigorous effort from his lethargy, feeling quite ashamed of himself and of this

breakdown of his nervous system. He looked with frank admiration on Sir Percy, who stood immovable and

silent by the windowa perfect tower of strength, serene and impassive, yet kindly in distress.

"Percy," said the young man, "I ran all the way from the top of the Rue St. Honore. I was only breathless. I

Without a word Blakeney closed the window and came across to the sofa; he sat down beside Armand, and to

all outward appearances he was nothing now but a kind and sympathetic listener to a friend's tale of woe. Not

a line in his face or a look in his eyes betrayed the thoughts of the leader who had been thwarted at the outset

of a dangerous enterprise, or of the man, accustomed to command, who had been so flagrantly disobeyed.

Armand, unconscious of all save of Jeanne and of her immediate need, put an eager hand on Percy's arm.

"Heron and his hellhounds went back to her lodgings last night," he said, speaking as if he were still a little

out of breath. "They hoped to get me, no doubt; not finding me there, they took her. Oh, my God!"

It was the first time that he had put the whole terrible circumstance into words, and it seemed to gain in

reality by the recounting. The agony of mind which he endured was almost unbearable; he hid his face in his

"Last night when you left me. I went down to the Square du Roule. I arrived there just too late."

"Percy!" exclaimed Armand, whose pale face had suddenly flushed scarlet, "you did that?last night

"Of course," interposed the other calmly; "had I not promised you to keep watch over her? When I heard the

news it was already too late to make further inquiries, but when you arrived just now I was on the point of

starting out, in order to find out in what prison Mademoiselle Lange is being detained. I shall have to go

soon, Armand, before the guard is changed at the Temple and the Tuileries. This is the safest time, and God

The flush of shame deepened in St. Just's cheek. There had not been a hint of reproach in the voice of his

chief, and the eyes which regarded him now from beneath the halfclosed lids showed nothing but lazy

In a moment now Armand realised all the harm which his recklessness had done, was still doing to the work

of the League. Every one of his actions since his arrival in Paris two days ago had jeopardised a plan or

endangered a life: his friendship with de Batz, his connection with Mademoiselle Lange, his visit to her

yesterday afternoon, the repetition of it this morning, culminating in that wild run through the streets of Paris,

when at any moment a spy lurking round a corner might either have barred his way, or, worse still, have

followed him to Blakeney's door. Armand, without a thought of any one save of his beloved, might easily this

morning have brought an agent of the Committee of General Security face to face with his chief.

"Pshaw, man!" retorted Blakeney lightly; "there is naught to forgive, only a great deal that should no longer

be forgotten; your duty to the others, for instance, your obedience, and your honour."

Blakeney laughed, his own lighthearted careless laugh, which so often before now had helped to hide what

he really felt from the eyes of the indifferent, and even from those of his friends.

"No! no!" he said lightly, "we agreed last night, did we not? that in matters of sentiment I am a coldblooded

fish. But will you at any rate concede that I am a man of my word? Did I not pledge it last night that

Mademoiselle Lange would be safe? I foresaw her arrest the moment I heard your story. I hoped that I might

reach her before that brute Heron's return; unfortunately he forestalled me by less than half an hour.

Mademoiselle Lange has been arrested, Armand; but why should you not trust me on that account? Have we

not succeeded, I and the others, in worse cases than this one? They mean no harm to Jeanne Lange," he added

emphatically; "I give you my word on that. They only want her as a decoy. It is you they want. You through

her, and me through you. I pledge you my honour that she will be safe. You must try and trust me, Armand. It

is much to ask, I know, for you will have to trust me with what is most precious in the world to you; and you

"Firstly, you must be outside Paris within the hour. Every minute that you spend inside the city now is full of

dangeroh, no! not for you," added Blakeney, checking with a goodhumoured gesture Armand's words of

"Is under my charge?" interposed the other calmly. "That should not be so very difficult. Come," he added,

placing a kindly hand on the other's shoulder, "you shall not find me such an inhuman monster after all. But I

must think of the others, you see, and of the child whom I have sworn to save. But I won't send you as far as

St. Germain. Go down to the room below and find a good bundle of rough clothes that will serve you as a

disguise, for I imagine that you have lost those which you had on the landing or the stairs of the house in the

Square du Roule. In a tin box with the clothes downstairs you will find the packet of miscellaneous

certificates of safety. Take an appropriate one, and then start out immediately for Villette. You understand?"

"Yes! You'll find them probably unloading coal by the canal. Try and get private speech with them as early as

may be, and tell Tony to set out at once for St. Germain, and to join Hastings there, instead of you, whilst you

"La, my good fellow," said Blakeney gaily, "you may safely trust Tony to go where I send him. Do you but

do as I tell you, and leave him to look after himself. And now," he added, speaking more earnestly, "the

sooner you get out of Paris the better it will be for us all. As you see, I am only sending you to La Villette,

because it is not so far, but that I can keep in personal touch with you. Remain close to the gates for an hour

after nightfall. I will Contrive before they close to bring you news of Mademoiselle Lange."

Armand said no more. The sense of shame in him deepened with every word spoken by his chief. He felt how

untrustworthy he had been, how undeserving of the selfless devotion which Percy was showing him even

now. The words of gratitude died on his lips; he knew that they would be unwelcome. These Englishmen

were so devoid of sentiment, he thought, and his brotherinlaw, with all his unselfish and heroic deeds, was,

But Armand was a nobleminded man, and with the true sporting instinct in him, despite the fact that he was

a creature of nerves, highly strung and imaginative. He could give ungrudging admiration to his chief, even

He tried to imbue himself with the same spirit that actuated my Lord Tony and the other members of the

League. How gladly would he have chaffed and made senseless schoolboy jokes like those whichin face of

their hazardous enterprise and the dangers which they all ranhad horrified him so much last night.

But somehow he knew that jokes from him would not ring true. How could he smile when his heart was

brimming over with his love for Jeanne, and with solicitude on her account? He felt that Percy was regarding

him with a kind of indulgent amusement; there was a look of suppressed merriment in the depths of those

So he braced up his nerves, trying his best to look cool and unconcerned, but he could not altogether hide

"I have given you my word, Armand," said Blakeney in answer to the unspoken prayer; "cannot you try and

trust meas the others do? Then with sudden transition he pointed to the map behind him.

"Remember the gate of Villette, and the corner by the towpath. Join Ffoulkes as soon as may be and send

"Goodbye, my dear fellow. Slip on your disguise as quickly as you can, and be out of the house in a quarter

He accompanied Armand through the anteroom, and finally closed the door on him. Then he went back to

his room and walked up to the window, which he threw open to the humid morning air. Now that he was

alone the look of trouble on his face deepened to a dark, anxious frown, and as he looked out across the river

And now the shades of evening had long since yielded to those of night. The gate of La Villette, at the

northeast corner of the city, was about to close. Armand, dressed in the rough clothes of a labouring man, was

leaning against a low wall at the angle of the narrow street which abuts on the canal at its further end; from

this point of vantage he could command a view of the gate and of the life and bustle around it.

He was dogtired. After the emotions of the past twentyfour hours, a day's hard manual toil to which he was

unaccustomed had caused him to ache in every limb. As soon as he had arrived at the canal wharf in the early

morning he had obtained the kind of casual work that ruled about here, and soon was told off to unload a

cargo of coal which had arrived by barge overnight. He had setto with a will, half hoping to kill his anxiety

by dint of heavy bodily exertion. During the course of the morning he had suddenly become aware of Sir

Andrew Ffoulkes and of Lord Anthony Dewhurst working not far away from him, and as fine a pair of

It was not very difficult in the midst of the noise and activity that reigned all about the wharf for the three

men to exchange a few words together, and Armand soon communicated the chief's new instructions to my

Lord Tony, who effectually slipped away from his work some time during the day. Armand did not even see

Just before five o'clock in the afternoon the labourers were paid off. It was then too dark to continue work.

Armand would have liked to talk to Sir Andrew, if only for a moment. He felt lonely and desperately anxious.

He had hoped to tire out his nerves as well as his body, but in this he had not succeeded. As soon as he had

given up his tools, his brain began to work again more busily than ever. It followed Percy in his

peregrinations through the city, trying to discover where those brutes were keeping Jeanne.

That task had suddenly loomed up before Armand's mind with all its terrible difficulties. How could

Percya marked man if ever there was onego from prison to prison to inquire about Jeanne? The very

idea seemed preposterous. Armand ought never to have consented to such an insensate plan. The more he

thought of it, the more impossible did it seem that Blakeney could find anything out.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was nowhere to be seen. St. Just wandered about in the dark, lonely streets of this

outlying quarter vainly trying to find the friend in whom he could confide, who, no doubt, would reassure

him as to Blakeney's probable movements in Paris. Then as the hour approached for the closing of the city

gates Armand took up his stand at an angle of the street from whence he could see both the gate on one side

of him and the thin line of the canal intersecting the street at its further end.

Unless Percy came within the next five minutes the gates would be closed and the difficulties of crossing the

barrier would be increased a hundredfold. The market gardeners with their covered carts filed out of the gate

one by one; the labourers on foot were returning to their homes; there was a group of stonemasons, a few

roadmakers, also a number of beggars, ragged and filthy, who herded somewhere in the neighbourhood of

In every form, under every disguise, Armand hoped to discover Percy. He could not stand still for very long,

There were a good many idlers about at this hour; some men who had finished their work, and meant to spend

an hour or so in one of the drinking shops that abounded in the neighbourhood of the wharf; others who liked

to gather a small knot of listeners around them, whilst they discoursed on the politics of the day, or rather

raged against the Convention, which was all made up of traitors to the people's welfare.

Armand, trying manfully to play his part, joined one of the groups that stood gaping round a street orator. He

shouted with the best of them, waved his cap in the air, and applauded or hissed in unison with the majority.

But his eyes never wandered for long away from the gate whence Percy must come now at any

At what precise moment the awful doubt took birth in his mind the young man could not afterwards have

said. Perhaps it was when he heard the roll of drums proclaiming the closing of the gates, and witnessed the

Percy had not come. He could not come now, and he (Armand) would have the night to face without news of

Jeanne. Something, of course, had detained Percy; perhaps he had been unable to get definite information

about Jeanne; perhaps the information which he had obtained was too terrible to communicate.

If only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had been there, and Armand had had some one to talk to, perhaps then he would

have found sufficient strength of mind to wait with outward patience, even though his nerves were on the

Darkness closed in around him, and with the darkness came the full return of the phantoms that had assailed

him in the house of the Square du Roule when first he had heard of Jeanne's arrest. The open place facing the

gate had transformed itself into the Place de la Revolution, the tall rough post that held a flickering oil lamp

had become the gaunt arm of the guillotine, the feeble light of the lamp was the knife that gleamed with the

And Armand saw himself, as in a vision, one of a vast and noisy throngthey were all pressing round him so

that he could not move; they were brandishing caps and tricolour flags, also pitchforks and scythes. He had

seen such a crowd four years ago rushing towards the Bastille. Now they were all assembled here around him

Suddenly a distant rattle caught his subconscious ear: the rattle of wheels on rough cobblestones.

Immediately the crowd began to cheer and to shout; some sang the "Ca ira!" and others screamed:

He saw it all quite plainly, for the darkness had vanished, and the vision was more vivid than even reality

could have been. The rattle of wheels grew louder, and presently the cart debouched on the open place.

Men and women sat huddled up in the cart; but in the midst of them a woman stood, and her eyes were fixed

upon Armand. She wore her palegrey satin gown, and a white kerchief was folded across her bosom. Her

brown hair fell in loose soft curls all round her head. She looked exactly like the exquisite cameo which

Marguerite used to wear. Her hands were tied with cords behind her back, but between her fingers she held a

Armand saw it all. It was, of course, a vision, and he knew that it was one, but he believed that the vision was

prophetic. No thought of the chief whom he had sworn to trust and to obey came to chase away these

imaginings of his fevered fancy. He saw Jeanne, and only Jeanne, standing on the tumbril and being led to the

guillotine. Sir Andrew was not there, and Percy had not come. Armand believed that a direct message had

Therefore he forgot his promisehis oath; he forgot those very things which the leader had entreated him to

rememberhis duty to the others, his loyalty, his obedience. Jeanne had first claim on him. It were the act of

Now he blamed himself severely for having quitted Paris. Even Percy must have thought him a coward for

obeying quite so readily. Maybe the command had been but a test of his courage, of the strength of his love

A hundred conjectures flashed through his brain; a hundred plans presented themselves to his mind. It was

not for Percy, who did not know her, to save Jeanne or to guard her. That task was Armand's, who

worshipped her, and who would gladly die beside her if he failed to rescue her from threatened death.

Resolution was not slow in coming. A tower clock inside the city struck the hour of six, and still no sign of

The guard challenged him, but he presented the certificate. There was an agonising moment when the card

was taken from him, and he was detained in the guardroom while it was being examined by the sergeant in

But the certificate was in good order, and Armand, covered in coaldust, with the perspiration streaming

down his face, did certainly not look like an aristocrat in disguise. It was never very difficult to enter the great

city; if one wished to put one's head in the lion's mouth, one was welcome to do so; the difficulty came when

Armand, after five minutes of tense anxiety, was allowed to cross the barrier, but his certificate of safety was

detained. He would have to get another from the Committee of General Security before he would be allowed

Blakeney was not at his lodgings when Armand arrived there that evening, nor did he return, whilst the young

man haunted the precincts of St. Germain l'Auxerrois and wandered along the quays hours and hours at a

stretch, until he nearly dropped under the portico of a house, and realised that if he loitered longer he might

lose consciousness completely, and be unable on the morrow to be of service to Jeanne.

He dragged his weary footsteps back to his own lodgings on the heights of Montmartre. He had not found

Percy, he had no news of Jeanne; it seemed as if hell itself could hold no worse tortures than this intolerable

He threw himself down on the narrow palliasse and, tired nature asserting herself, at last fell into a heavy,

dreamless torpor, like the sleep of a drunkard, deep but without the beneficent aid of rest.

It was broad daylight when he awoke. The pale light of a damp, wintry morning filtered through the grimy

panes of the window. Armand jumped out of bed, aching of limb but resolute of mind. There was no doubt

that Percy had failed in discovering Jeanne's whereabouts; but where a mere friend had failed a lover was

The rough clothes which he had worn yesterday were the only ones he had. They would, of course, serve his

purpose better than his own, which he had left at Blakeney's lodgings yesterday. In half an hour he was

He went to a humble eating house of which he knew, and there, having ordered some hot coffee with a hunk

It was quite a usual thing these days for relatives and friends of prisoners to go wandering about from prison

to prison to find out where the loved ones happened to be detained. The prisons were over full just now;

convents, monasteries, and public institutions had all been requisitioned by the Government for the housing

of the hundreds of socalled traitors who had been arrested on the barest suspicion, or at the mere

There were the Abbaye and the Luxembourg, the erstwhile convents of the Visitation and the SacreCoeur,

the cloister of the Oratorians, the Salpetriere, and the St. Lazare hospitals, and there was, of course, the

Temple, and, lastly, the Conciergerie, to which those prisoners were brought whose trial would take place

Persons under arrest at some of the other prisons did sometimes come out of them alive, but the Conciergerie

Therefore Armand's idea was to visit the Conciergerie first. The sooner he could reassure himself that Jeanne

was not in immediate danger the better would he be able to endure the agony of that heartbreaking search,

If Jeanne was not in the Conciergerie, then there might be some hope that she was only being temporarily

detained, and through Armand's excited brain there had already flashed the thought that mayhap the

These thoughts, and the making of plans, fortified him mentally and physically; he even made a great effort

to eat and drink, knowing that his bodily strength must endure if it was going to he of service to Jeanne.

He reached the Quai de l'Horloge soon after nine. The grim, irregular walls of the Chatelet and the house of

Justice loomed from out the mantle of mist that lay on the river banks. Armand skirted the square

He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls and corridors of the Tribunal, to which the

public had access whenever the court was sitting. The sittings began at ten, and already the usual crowd of

idlers were assemblingmen and women who apparently had no other occupation save to come day after

day to this theatre of horrors and watch the different acts of the heartrending dramas that were enacted here

Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and anon moved slowly up the gigantic flight

of stone steps, talking lightly on indifferent subjects. There was quite a goodly sprinkling of workingmen

amongst this crowd, and Armand in his toilstained clothes attracted no attention.

Suddenly a word reached his earjust a name flippantly spoken by spiteful lipsand it changed the whole

trend of his thoughts. Since he had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of Jeanne, andin

connection with herof Percy and his vain quest of her. Now that name spoken by some one unknown

"Capet!" the nameintended as an insult, but actually merely irrelevantwhereby the uncrowned little

Armand suddenly recollected that today was Sunday, the 19th of January. He had lost count of days and of

dates lately, but the name, "Capet," had brought everything back: the child in the Temple; the conference in

Blakeney's lodgings; the plans for the rescue of the boy. That was to take place todaySunday, the 19th.

The Simons would be moving from the Temple, at what hour Blakeney did not know, but it would be today,

Now Armand understood everything; a great wave of bitterness swept over his soul. Percy had forgotten

Jeanne! He was busy thinking of the child in the Temple, and whilst Armand had been eating out his heart

with anxiety, the Scarlet Pimpernel, true only to his mission, and impatient of all sentiment that interfered

with his schemes, had left Jeanne to pay with her life for the safety of the uncrowned King.

But the bitterness did not last long; on the contrary, a kind of wild exultation took its place. If Percy had

forgotten, then Armand could stand by Jeanne alone. It was better so! He would save the loved one; it was his

duty and his right to work for her sake. Never for a moment did he doubt that he could save her, that his life

The crowd around him was moving up the monumental steps, and Armand went with the crowd. It lacked but

a few minutes to ten now; soon the court would begin to sit. In the olden days, when he was studying for the

law, Armand had often wandered about at will along the corridors of the house of Justice. He knew exactly

where the different prisons were situated about the buildings, and how to reach the courtyards where the

To watch those aristos who were awaiting trial and death taking their recreation in these courtyards had

become one of the sights of Paris. Country cousins on a visit to the city were brought hither for

entertainment. Tall iron gates stood between the public and the prisoners, and a row of sentinels guarded

these gates; but if one was enterprising and eager to see, one could glue one's nose against the ironwork and

watch the cidevant aristocrats in threadbare clothes trying to cheat their horror of death by acting a farce of

All this Armand knew, and on this he counted. For a little while he joined the crowd in the Salle des Pas

Perdus, and wandered idly up and down the majestic colonnaded hall. He even at one time formed part of the

throng that watched one of those quick tragedies that were enacted within the great chamber of the court. A

number of prisoners brought in, in a batch; hurried interrogations, interrupted answers, a quick indictment,

monstrous in its flaring injustice, spoken by FoucquierTinville, the public prosecutor, and listened to in all

The accused had walked down the Champs Elysees without wearing a tricolour cockade; the other had

invested some savings in an English industrial enterprise; yet another had sold public funds, causing them to

Sometimes from one of these unfortunates led thus wantonly to butchery there would come an excited

protest, or from a woman screams of agonised entreaty. But these were quickly silenced by rough blows from

the buttends of muskets, and condemnations wholesale sentences of deathwere quickly passed amidst

the cheers of the spectators and the howls of derision from infamous jury and judge.

Oh! the mockery of it allthe awful, the hideous ignominy, the blot of shame that would forever sully the

historic name of France. Armand, sickened with horror, could not bear more than a few minutes of this

monstrous spectacle. The same fate might even now be awaiting Jeanne. Among the next batch of victims to

this sacrilegious butchery he might suddenly spy his beloved with her pale face and cheeks stained with her

He fled from the great chamber, keeping just a sufficiency of presence of mind to join a knot of idlers who

were drifting leisurely towards the corridors. He followed in their wake and soon found himself in the long

Galerie des Prisonniers, along the flagstones of which two days ago de Batz had followed his guide towards

On his left now were the arcades shut off from the courtyard beyond by heavy iron gates. Through the

ironwork Armand caught sight of a number of women walking or sitting in the courtyard. He heard a man

next to him explaining to his friend that these were the female prisoners who would be brought to trial that

day, and he felt that his heart must burst at the thought that mayhap Jeanne would be among them.

He elbowed his way cautiously to the front rank. Soon he found himself beside a sentinel who, with a

goodhumoured jest, made way for him that he might watch the aristos. Armand leaned against the grating,

At first he could scarcely distinguish one woman from another amongst the crowd that thronged the

courtyard, and the close ironwork hindered his view considerably. The women looked almost like phantoms

in the grey misty air, gliding slowly along with noiseless tread on the flagstones.

Presently, however, his eyes, which mayhap were somewhat dim with tears, became more accustomed to the

hazy grey light and the moving figures that looked so like shadows. He could distinguish isolated groups

now, women and girls sitting together under the colonnaded arcades, some reading, others busy, with

trembling fingers, patching and darning a poor, torn gown. Then there were others who were actually chatting

and laughing together, andoh, the pity of it! the pity and the shame!a few children, shrieking with

And, between them all, in and out like the children at play, unseen, yet familiar to all, the spectre of Death,

Armand's very soul was in his eyes. So far he had not yet caught sight of his beloved, and slowlyvery

"Have you a sweetheart among these aristos, citizen?" he asked. "You seem to be devouring them with your

Armand, with his rough clothes soiled with coaldust, his face grimy and streaked with sweat, certainly

looked to have but little in common with the cidevant aristos who formed the hulk of the groups in the

courtyard. He looked up; the soldier was regarding him with obvious amusement, and at sight of Armand's

The man was not speaking altogether unkindly. Armand, devoured with the maddening desire to know, threw

the last fragment of prudence to the wind. He assumed a more careless air, trying to look as like a country

"I would like to find out," he said, "but I don't know where to inquire. My sweetheart has certainly left her

home," he added lightly; "some say that she has been false to me, but I think that, mayhap, she has been

"Well, then, you gaby," said the soldier goodhumouredly, "go straight to La Tournelle; you know where it

Armand knew well enough, but thought it more prudent to keep up the air of the ignorant lout.

"Straight down that first corridor on your right," explained the other, pointing in the direction which he had

indicated, "you will find the guichet of La Tournelle exactly opposite to you. Ask the concierge for the

It is a new decree framed for safeguarding the liberty of the people. But if you do not press half a livre in the

hand of the concierge," he added, speaking confidentially, "you will find that the register will not be quite

"Half a livre!" exclaimed Armand, striving to play his part to the end. "How can a poor devil of a labourer

"Well! a few sous will do in that case; a few sous are always welcome these hard times."

Armand took the hint, and as the crowd had drifted away momentarily to a further portion of the corridor, he

Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have covered the distance that separated him from

the guichet there with steps flying like the wind, but, commending himself for his own prudence, he walked

as slowly as he could along the interminable corridor, past the several minor courts of justice, and skirting the

At last, having struck sharply to his left and ascended a short flight of stairs, he found himself in front of the

guicheta narrow wooden box, wherein the clerk in charge of the prison registers sat nominally at the

But to Armand's almost overwhelming chagrin he found the place entirely deserted. The guichet was closed

down; there was not a soul in sight. The disappointment was doubly keen, coming as it did in the wake of

hope that had refused to be gainsaid. Armand himself did not realise how sanguine he had been until he

discovered that he must wait and wait againwait for hours, all day mayhap, before he could get definite

He wandered aimlessly in the vicinity of that silent, deserted, cruel spot, where a closed trapdoor seemed to

shut off all his hopes of a speedy sight of Jeanne. He inquired of the first sentinels whom he came across at

what hour the clerk of the registers would be back at his post; the soldiers shrugged their shoulders and could

give no information. Then began Armand's aimless wanderings round La Tournelle, his fruitless inquiries, his

wild, excited search for the hidebound official who was keeping from him the knowledge of Jeanne.

He went back to his sentinel wellwisher by the women's courtyard, but found neither consolation nor

It apparently was not the hour when the prison registers were placed at the disposal of the public. After much

fruitless inquiry, Armand at last was informed by a bon bourgeois, who was wandering about the house of

Justice and who seemed to know its multifarious rules, that the prison registers all over Paris could only be

There was nothing for it but to wait. Armand, whose temples were throbbing, who was footsore, hungry, and

wretched, could gain nothing by continuing his aimless wanderings through the labyrinthine building. For

close upon another hour he stood with his face glued against the ironwork which separated him from the

female prisoners' courtyard. Once it seemed to him as if from its further end he caught the sound of that

exquisitely melodious voice which had rung forever in his ear since that memorable evening when Jeanne's

dainty footsteps had first crossed the path of his destiny. He strained his eyes to look in the direction whence

the voice had come, but the centre of the courtyard was planted with a small garden of shrubs, and Armand

could not see across it. At last, driven forth like a wandering and lost soul, he turned back and out into the

streets. The air was mild and damp. The sharp thaw had persisted through the day, and a thin, misty rain was

But of this Armand was wholly unconscious. He walked along the quay holding his cap in his hand, so that

How he contrived to kill those long, weary hours he could not afterwards have said. Once he felt very hungry,

and turned almost mechanically into an eatinghouse, and tried to eat and drink. But most of the day he

wandered through the streets, restlessly, unceasingly, feeling neither chill nor fatigue. The hour before six

o'clock found him on the Quai de l'Horloge in the shadow of the great towers of the Hall of Justice, listening

for the clang of the clock that would sound the hour of his deliverance from this agonising torture of

He found his way to La Tournelle without any hesitation. There before him was the wooden box, with its

guichet open at last, and two stands upon its ledge, on which were placed two huge leatherbound books.

Though Armand was nearly an hour before the appointed time, he saw when he arrived a number of people

standing round the guichet. Two soldiers were there keeping guard and forcing the patient, longsuffering

It was a curious crowd that stood there, in single file, as if waiting at the door of the cheaper part of a theatre;

men in substantial cloth clothes, and others in ragged blouse and breeches; there were a few women, too, with

black shawls on their shoulders and kerchiefs round their wan, tearstained faces.

They were all silent and absorbed, submissive under the rough handling of the soldiery, humble and

deferential when anon the clerk of the registers entered his box, and prepared to place those fateful books at

the disposal of those who had lost a loved onefather, brother, mother, or wifeand had come to search

From inside his box the clerk disputed every inquirer's right to consult the books; he made as many

difficulties as he could, demanding the production of certificates of safety, or permits from the section. He

was as insolent as he dared, and Armand from where he stood could see that a continuous if somewhat thin

stream of coppers flowed from the hands of the inquirers into those of the official.

It was quite dark in the passage where the long queue continued to swell with amazing rapidity. Only on the

ledge in front of the guichet there was a guttering tallow candle at the disposal of the inquirers.

Now it was Armand's turn at last. By this time his heart was beating so strongly and so rapidly that he could

not have trusted himself to speak. He fumbled in his pocket, and without unnecessary preliminaries he

produced a small piece of silver, and pushed it towards the clerk, then he seized on the register marked

The clerk had with stolid indifference pocketed the halflivre; he looked on Armand over a pair of large

bonerimmed spectacles, with the air of an old hawk that sees a helpless bird and yet is too satiated to eat. He

was apparently vastly amused at Armand's trembling hands, and the clumsy, aimless way with which he

"What day and hour was she arrested?" said the man, thrusting his beaklike nose closer to Armand's face.

Evidently the piece of silver had done its work well; he meant to be helpful to this country lout.

The clerk's hands did not in character gainsay the rest of his appearance; they were long and thin, with nails

that resembled the talons of a hawk. Armand watched them fascinated as from above they turned over rapidly

the pages of the book; then one long, grimy finger pointed to a row of names down a column.

Armand's vision was blurred. He could scarcely see. The row of names was dancing a wild dance in front of

his eyes; perspiration stood out on his forehead, and his breath came in quick, stertorous gasps.

He never knew afterwards whether he actually saw Jeanne's name there in the book, or whether his fevered

brain was playing his aching senses a cruel and mocking trick. Certain it is that suddenly amongst a row of

indifferent names hers suddenly stood clearly on the page, and to him it seemed as if the letters were writ out

583. Lange, Jeanne, aged twenty, actress. Square du Roule No.5. Suspected of harbouring traitors and

He saw nothing more, for suddenly it seemed to him as if some one held a vivid scarlet veil in front of his

eyes, whilst a hundred clawlike hands were tearing at his heart and at his throat.

A rough voice seemed to be speaking these words; rough hands apparently were pushing him out of the way,

and some one snatched the candle out of his hand; but nothing was real. He stumbled over a corner of a loose

flagstone, and would have fallen, but something seemed to catch bold of him and to lead him away for a little

Jeanne was a prisoner in the Temple; then his place was in the prison of the Temple, too. It could not be very

difficult to run one's head into the noose that caught so many necks these days. A few cries of "Vive le roi!"

or "A bas la republique!" and more than one prison door would gape invitingly to receive another guest.

The hot blood had rushed into Armand's head. He did not see clearly before him, nor did he hear distinctly.

There was a buzzing in his ears as of myriads of mocking birds' wings, and there was a veil in front of his

eyesa veil through which he saw faces and forms flitting ghostlike in the gloom, men and women jostling

or being jostled, soldiers, sentinels; then long, interminable corridors, more crowd and more soldiers, winding

stairs, courtyards and gates; finally the open street, the quay, and the river beyond.

An incessant hammering went on in his temples, and that veil never lifted from before his eyes. Now it was

lurid and red, as if stained with blood; anon it was white like a shroud but it was always there.

Through it he saw the PontauChange, which he crossed, then far down on the Quai de l'Ecole to the left

the corner house behind St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where Blakeney lodgedBlakeney, who for the sake of a

Through it he saw the network of streets which separated him from the neighbourhood of the Temple, the

gardens of ruined habitations, the closelyshuttered and barred windows of ducal houses, then the mean

streets, the crowded drinking bars, the tumbledown shops with their dilapidated awnings.

He saw with eyes that did not see, heard the tumult of daily life round him with ears that did not hear. Jeanne

was in the Temple prison, and when its grim gates closed finally for the night, heArmand, her chevalier,

her lover, her defenderwould be within its walls as near to cell No. 29 as bribery, entreaty, promises would

Ah! there at last loomed the great building, the pointed bastions cut through the surrounding gloom as with a

He was hatless, and his clothes were saturated with moisture. He tried to pass, but crossed bayonets barred

Armand fought like a madman; he wanted to reach that gate. He shouted, he laughed, and he cried, until one

Armand fell backwards, stunned by the blow; his foot slipped on the wet pavement. Was he indeed drunk, or

was he dreaming? He put his hand up to his forehead; it was wet, but whether with the rain or with blood he

did not know; but for the space of one second he tried to collect his scattered wits.

Then, as he looked round dazed, feeling a firm, pleasant grip on his arm, the same quiet voice continued

"Perhaps you do not remember me, citizen St. Just. I had not the honour of the same close friendship with

you as I had with your charming sister. My name is Chauvelin. Can I be of any service to you?"

Chauvelin! The presence of this man here at this moment made the events of the past few days seem more

absolutely like a dream. Chauvelin!the most deadly enemy he, Armand, and his sister Marguerite had in

the world. Chauvelin!the evil genius that presided over the Secret Service of the Republic. Chauvelinthe

aristocrat turned revolutionary, the diplomat turned spy, the baffled enemy of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

He stood there vaguely outlined in the gloom by the feeble rays of an oil lamp fixed into the wall just above.

The moisture on his sable clothes glistened in the flickering light like a thin veil of crystal; it clung to the rim

of his hat, to the folds of his cloak; the ruffles at his throat and wrist hung limp and soiled.

He had released Armand's arm, and held his hands now underneath his cloak; his pale, deepset eyes rested

"I had an idea, somehow," continued Chauvelin calmly, "that you and I would meet during your sojourn in

Paris. I heard from my friend Heron that you had been in the city; he, unfortunately, lost your track almost as

soon as he had found it, and I, too, had begun to fear that our mutual and ever enigmatical friend, the Scarlet

Pimpernel, had spirited you away, which would have been a great disappointment to me."

Now he once more took hold of Armand by the elbow, but quite gently, more like a comrade who is glad to

have met another, and is preparing to enjoy a pleasant conversation for a while. He led the way back to the

gate, the sentinel saluting at sight of the tricolour scarf which was visible underneath his cloak. Under the

It was quiet and private here. The group of soldiers stood at the further end of the archway, but they were out

of hearing, and their forms were only vaguely discernible in the surrounding darkness.

Armand had followed his enemy mechanically like one bewitched and irresponsible for his actions. When

Chauvelin paused he too stood still, not because of the grip on his arm, but because of that curious numbing

Vague, confused thoughts were floating through his brain, the most dominant one among them being that

Fate had effectually ordained everything for the best. Here was Chauvelin, a man who hated him, who, of

course, would wish to see him dead. Well, surely it must be an easier matter now to barter his own life for

that of Jeanne; she had only been arrested on suspicion of harbouring him, who was a known traitor to the

Republic; then, with his capture and speedy death, her supposed guilt would, he hoped, be forgiven. These

people could have no illwill against her, and actors and actresses were always leniently dealt with when

possible. Then surely, surely, he could serve Jeanne best by his own arrest and condemnation, than by

In the meanwhile Chauvelin shook the damp from off his cloak, talking all the time in his own peculiar,

"And my dear friend, Sir Percy Blakeney? I had hoped to meet him in Paris. Ah! but no doubt he has been

busy very busy; but I live in hopesI live in hopes. See how kindly Chance has treated me," he continued in

the same bland and mocking tones. "I was taking a stroll in these parts, scarce hoping to meet a friend, when,

passing the posterngate of this charming hostelry, whom should I see but my amiable friend St. Just striving

to gain admission. But, la! here am I talking of myself, and I am not reassured as to your state of health.

You felt faint just now, did you not? The air about this building is very dank and close. I hope you feel better

Whilst Chauvelin talked he had drawn Armand after him into the lodge of the concierge. The young man now

made a great effort to pull himself vigorously together and to steady his nerves.

He had his wish. He was inside the Temple prison now, not far from Jeanne, and though his enemy was older

and less vigorous than himself, and the door of the concierge's lodge stood wide open, he knew that he was

indeed as effectually a prisoner already as if the door of one of the numerous cells in this gigantic building

This knowledge helped him to recover his complete presence of mind. No thought of fighting or trying to

escape his fate entered his head for a moment. It had been useless probably, and undoubtedly it was better so.

If he only could see Jeanne, and assure himself that she would be safe in consequence of his own arrest, then,

Above all now he wanted to be cool and calculating, to curb the excitement which the Latin blood in him

called forth at every mention of the loved one's name. He tried to think of Percy, of his calmness, his easy

banter with an enemy; he resolved to act as Percy would act under these circumstances.

Firstly, he steadied his voice, and drew his wellknit, slim figure upright. He called to mind all his friends in

England, with their rigid manners, their impassiveness in the face of trying situations. There was Lord Tony,

for instance, always ready with some boyish joke, with boyish impertinence always hovering on his tongue.

Armand tried to emulate Lord Tony's manner, and to borrow something of Percy's calm impudence.

"Citizen Chauvelin," he said, as soon as he felt quite sure of the steadiness of his voice and the calmness of

his manner, "I wonder if you are quite certain that that light grip which you have on my arm is sufficient to

keep me here walking quietly by your side instead of knocking you down, as I certainly feel inclined to do,

"H'm!" said Chauvelin, who made pretence to ponder over this difficult problem; "like you, citizen St. Just, I

"Fairly easily," rejoined the other; "but there is the guard; it is numerous and strong in this building, and"

"The gloom would help me; it is dark in the corridors, and a desperate man takes risks, remember"

"My sister Marguerite is not here, citizen Chauvelin. You cannot barter my life for that of your enemy."

"No! no! no!" rejoined Chauvelin blandly; "not for that of my enemy, I know, but"

"Mademoiselle Lange," continued Armand with all the egoistic ardour of the lover who believes that the

"Forgotten, man?forgotten that those murderous dogs have arrested her?the best, the purest, this vile,

degraded country has ever produced. She sheltered me one day just for an hour. I am a traitor to the

RepublicI own it. I'll make full confession; but she knew nothing of this. I deceived her; she is quite

innocent, you understand? I'll make full confession, but you must set her free."

He had gradually worked himself up again to a state of feverish excitement. Through the darkness which

"Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other placidly; "you seem to imagine that I have something to do with

the arrest of the lady in whom you take so deep an interest. You forget that now I am but a discredited servant

of the Republic whom I failed to serve in her need. My life is only granted me out of pity for my efforts,

"Only to denounce you, perhaps. I am still an agent of the Committee of General Security."

"Then all is for the best!" exclaimed St. Just eagerly. "You shall denounce me to the Committee. They will be

glad of my arrest, I assure you. I have been a marked man for some time. I had intended to evade arrest and to

work for the rescue of Mademoiselle Lange; but I will give tip all thought of thatI will deliver myself into

your hands absolutely; nay, more, I will give you my most solemn word of honour that not only will I make

no attempt at escape, but that I will not allow any one to help me to do so. I will be a passive and willing

"It does! it does!" rejoined Armand, whose excitement was at feverpitch. "My arrest, my condemnation, my

death, will be of vast deal more importance to you than that of a young and innocent girl against whom

unlikely charges would have to be tricked up, and whose acquittal mayhap public feeling might demand. As

for me, I shall be an easy prey; my known counterrevolutionary principles, my sister's marriage with a

"And your enigmatical friend would not attempt your rescue. C'est entendu," said Chauvelin with his wonted

blandness. "Then, my dear, enthusiastic young friend, shall we adjourn to the office of my colleague, citizen

Heron, who is chief agent of the Committee of General Security, and will receive yourdid you say

confession?and note the conditions under which you place yourself absolutely in the hands of the Public

Armand was too full of schemes, too full of thoughts of Jeanne to note the tone of quiet irony with which

Chauvelin had been speaking all along. With the unreasoning egoism of youth he was quite convinced that

his own arrest, his own affairs were as important to this entire nation in revolution as they were to himself. At

moments like these it is difficult to envisage a desperate situation clearly, and to a young man in love the fate

of the beloved never seems desperate whilst he himself is alive and ready for every sacrifice for her sake.

"My life for hers" is the sublime if often foolish battlecry that has so often resulted in wholesale

destruction. Armand at this moment, when he fondly believed that he was making a bargain with the most

astute, most unscrupulous spy this revolutionary Government had in its payArmand just then had

absolutely forgotten his chief, his friends, the league of mercy and help to which he belonged.

Enthusiasm and the spirit of selfsacrifice were carrying him away. He watched his enemy with glowing eyes

Chauvelin, without another word, beckoned to him to follow. He led the way out of the lodge, then, turning

sharply to his left, he reached the wide quadrangle with the covered passage running right round it, the same

Armand, with a light heart and springy step, followed him as if he were going to a feast where he would meet

Jeanne, where he would kneel at her feet, kiss her hands, and lead her triumphantly to freedom and to

Chauvelin no longer made any pretence to hold Armand by the arm. By temperament as well as by profession

a spy, there was one subject at least which he had mastered thoroughly: that was the study of human nature.

Though occasionally an exceptionally complex mental organisation baffled himas in the case of Sir Percy

Blakeneyhe prided himself, and justly, too, on reading natures like that of Armand St. Just as he would an

The excitable disposition of the Latin races he knew out and out; he knew exactly how far a sentimental

situation would lead a young Frenchman like Armand, who was by disposition chivalrous, and by

temperament essentially passionate. Above all things, he knew when and how far he could trust a man to do

Therefore he walked along contentedly now, not even looking back to see whether St. Just was following

His thoughts only dwelt on the young enthusiastin his mind he called him the young foolin order to

weigh in the balance the mighty possibilities that would accrue from the present sequence of events. The

fixed idea ever working in the man's scheming brain had already transformed a vague belief into a certainty.

That the Scarlet Pimpernel was in Paris at the present moment Chauvelin had now become convinced. How

far he could turn the capture of Armand St. Just to the triumph of his own ends remained to be seen.

But this he did know: the Scarlet Pimpernelthe man whom he had learned to know, to dread, and even in a

grudging manner to admirewas not like to leave one of his followers in the lurch. Marguerite's brother in

the Temple would be the surest decoy for the elusive meddler who still, and in spite of all care and

Chauvelin could hear Armand's light, elastic footsteps resounding behind him on the flagstones. A world of

intoxicating possibilities surged up before him. Ambition, which two successive dire failures had atrophied in

his breast, once more rose up buoyant and hopeful. Once he had sworn to lay the Scarlet Pimpernel by the

heels, and that oath was not yet wholly forgotten; it had lain dormant after the catastrophe of Boulogne, but

with the sight of Armand St. Just it had reawakened and confronted him again with the strength of a likely

The courtyard looked gloomy and deserted. The thin drizzle which still fell from a persistently leaden sky

effectually held every outline of masonry, of column, or of gate hidden as beneath a shroud. The corridor

which skirted it all round was illlighted save by an occasional oillamp fixed in the wall.

But Chauvelin knew his way well. Heron's lodgings gave on the second courtyard, the Square du Nazaret,

and the way thither led past the main square tower, in the top floor of which the uncrowned King of France

eked out his miserable existence as the plaything of a rough cobbler and his wife.

Just beneath its frowning bastions Chauvelin turned back towards Armand. He pointed with a careless hand

"We have got little Capet in there," he said dryly. "Your chivalrous Scarlet Pimpernel has not ventured in

Armand was silent. He had no difficulty in looking unconcerned; his thoughts were so full of Jeanne that he

cared but little at this moment for any Bourbon king or for the destinies of France.

Now the two men reached the postern gate. A couple of sentinels were standing by, but the gate itself was

open, and from within there came the sound of bustle and of noise, of a good deal of swearing, and also of

The guardroom gave on the left of the gate, and the laughter came from there. It was brilliantly lighted, and

Armand, peering in, in the wake of Chauvelin, could see groups of soldiers sitting and standing about. There

was a table in the centre of the room, and on it a number of jugs and pewter mugs, packets of cards, and

But the bustle did not come from the guardroom; it came from the landing and the stone stairs beyond.

Chauvelin, apparently curious, had passed through the gate, and Armand followed him. The light from the

open door of the guardroom cut sharply across the landing, making the gloom beyond appear more dense

and almost solid. From out the darkness, fitfully intersected by a lanthorn apparently carried to and fro,

moving figures loomed out ghostlike and weirdly gigantic. Soon Armand distinguished a number of large

objects that encumbered the landing, and as he and Chauvelin left the sharp light of the guardroom 'behind

them, he could see that the large objects were pieces of furniture of every shape and size; a wooden

bedsteaddismantledleaned against the wall, a black horsehair sofa blocked the way to the tower stairs,

and there were numberless chairs and several tables piled one on the top of the other.

In the midst of this litter a stout, flabbycheeked man stood, apparently giving directions as to its removal to

"Yes, thank the Lord!if there be a Lord!" retorted the other curtly. "Is that you, citizen Chauvelin?"

"In person, citizen. I did not know you were leaving quite so soon. Is citizen Heron anywhere about?"

"Just left," replied Simon. "He had a last look at Capet just before my wife locked the brat up in the inner

A man carrying a chest, empty of its drawers, on his back now came stumbling down the tower staircase.

"We had better begin to load up the cart," she called to her husband in a highpitched querulous voice; "the

She looked suspiciously at Chauvelin and at Armand, and when she encountered the former's bland,

unconcerned gaze she suddenly shivered and drew her black shawl closer round her shoulders.

"Bah!" she said, "I shall be glad to get out of this Godforsaken hole. I hate the very sight of these walls."

"Indeed, the citizeness does not look over robust in health," said Chauvelin with studied politeness. "The stay

in the tower did not, mayhap, bring forth all the fruits of prosperity which she had anticipated."

"I don't know what you mean, citizen," she said with a shrug of her wide shoulders.

"Oh! I meant nothing," rejoined Chauvelin, smiling. "I am so interested in your removal; busy man as I am, it

"Dupont, the manofallwork, from the concierge," said Simon curtly. "Citizen Heron would not allow any

"He is all safe. Citizen Heron came to see him, and then he told me to lock the little vermin up in the inner

room. Citizen Cochefer had just arrived by that time, and he has remained in charge."

During all this while the man with the chest on his back was waiting for orders. Bent nearly double, he was

"Two sous have I got to pay every ten minutes to the lad who holds my nag," he said, muttering under his

"You'll have to give me a hand with that," said the man. "Wait a bit; I'll just see that everything is all right in

"Take something with you then as you are going down," said Madame Simon in her querulous voice.

The man picked up a basket of linen that stood in the angle by the door. He hoisted it on his back and

"How did Capet like parting from his papa and maman?" asked Chauvelin with a laugh.

"H'm!" growled Simon laconically. "He will find out soon enough how well off he was under our care."

"No. But they will be here directly. Citizen Cochefer is upstairs mounting guard over Capet."

"Well, goodbye, Papa Simon," concluded Chauvelin jovially. "Citizeness, your servant!

He bowed with unconcealed irony to the cobbler's wife, and nodded to Simon, who expressed by a volley of

motley oaths his exact feelings with regard to all the agents of the Committee of General Security.

"Six months of this penal servitude have we had," he said roughly, "and no thanks or pension. I would as

The man Dupont had returned. Stolidly, after the fashion of his kind, he commenced the removal of citizen

Simon's goods. He seemed a clumsy enough creature, and Simon and his wife had to do most of the work

Chauvelin watched the moving forms for a while, then he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh of

Heron was not at his lodgings when, at last, after vigorous pulls at the bell, a great deal of waiting and much

cursing, Chauvelin, closely followed by Armand, was introduced in the chief agent's office.

The soldier who acted as servant said that citizen Heron had gone out to sup, but would surely be home again

by eight o'clock. Armand by this time was so dazed with fatigue that he sank on a chair like a log, and

Anon Heron came home. He nodded to Chauvelin, and threw but a cursory glance on Armand.

"Five minutes, citizen," he said, with a rough attempt at an apology. "I am sorry to keep you waiting, but the

new commissaries have arrived who are to take charge of Capet. The Simons have just gone, and I want to

assure myself that everything is all right in the Tower. Cochefer has been in charge, but I like to cast an eye

He went out again, slamming the door behind him. His heavy footsteps were heard treading the flagstones of

the corridor, and gradually dying away in the distance. Armand had paid no heed either to his entrance or to

his exit. He was only conscious of an intense weariness, and would at this moment gladly have laid his head

A whitefaced clock on the wall ticked off the seconds one by one. From the street below came the muffled

sounds of wheeled traffic on the soft mud of the road; it was raining more heavily now, and from time to time

a gust of wind rattled the small windows in their dilapidated frames, or hurled a shower of heavy drops

The heat from the stove had made Armand drowsy; his head fell forward on his chest. Chauvelin, with his

Suddenly Armand startedwide awake now. Hurried footsteps on the flagstones outside, a hoarse shout, a

banging of heavy doors, and the next moment Heron stood once more on the threshold of the room. Armand,

with wideopened eyes, gazed on him in wonder. The whole appearance of the man had changed. He looked

ten years older, with lank, dishevelled hair hanging matted over a moist forehead, the cheeks ashenwhite,

the full lips bloodless and hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows of yellow teeth that shook against

Chauvelin had paused in his restless walk, He gazed on his colleague, a frown of puzzlement on his pale, set

"Capet!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had taken in every detail of Heron's altered appearance, and seen the

Heron could not speak; his teeth were chattering in his mouth, and his tongue seemed paralysed. Chauvelin

went up to him. He was several inches shorter than his colleague, but at this moment he seemed to be

towering over him like an avenging spirit. He placed a firm hand on the other's bowed shoulders.

But for the moment the man was speechless. An almost maniacal fear seemed to hold him in its grip. With an

A bottle and glass were found in the cupboard. It was St. Just who poured out the brandy and held it to

Heron's lips. Chauvelin was once more pacing up and down the room in angry impatience.

"Pull yourself together, man," he said roughly after a while, "and try and tell me what has occurred."

Heron had sunk into a chair. He passed a trembling hand once or twice over his forehead.

"Capet has disappeared," he murmured; "he must have been spirited away while the Simons were moving

Heron spoke in a toneless voice, hardly above a whisper, and like one whose throat is dry and mouth parched.

But the brandy had revived him somewhat, and his eyes lost their former glassy look.

"I was just leaving the Tower when he arrived. I spoke to him at the door. I had seen Capet safely installed in

the room, and gave orders to the woman Simon to let citizen Cochefer have a look at him, too, and then to

lock up the brat in the inner room and install Cochefer in the antechamber on guard. I stood talking to

Cochefer for a few moments in the antechamber. The woman Simon and the manofallwork,

Dupontwhom I know wellwere busy with the furniture. There could not have been any one else

concealed about the placethat I'll swear. Cochefer, after he took leave of me, went straight into the room;

he found the woman Simon in the act of turning the key in the door of the inner chamber. I have locked Capet

in there,' she said, giving the key to Cochefer; 'he will be quite safe until tonight; when the other

"Yes, he did! He made the woman reopen the door and peeped in over her shoulder. She said the child was

asleep. He vows that he saw the child lying fully dressed on a rug in the further corner of the room. The

room, of course, was quite empty of furniture and only lighted by one candle, but there was the rug and the

"The commissaries were all thereCochefer and Lasniere, Lorinet and Legrand. We went into the inner

room, and I had a candle in my hand. We saw the child lying on the rug, just as Cochefer had seen him, and

for a while we took no notice of it. Then some oneI think it was Lorinetwent to have a closer look at the

brat. He took up the candle and went up to the rug. Then he gave a cry, and we all gathered round him. The

There was silence now in the narrow room, while the whitefaced clock continued to tick off each

succeeding second of time. Heron had once more buried his head in his hands; a tremblinglike an attack of

agueshook his wide, bony shoulders. Armand had listened to the narrative with glowing eyes and a beating

heart. The details which the two Terrorists here could not probably understand he had already added to the

He was back in thought now in the small lodging in the rear of St. Germain l'Auxerrois; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes

was there, and my Lord Tony and Hastings, and a man was striding up and down the room, looking out into

the great space beyond the river with the eyes of a seer, and a firm voice said abruptly:

"Have you any suspicions?" asked Chauvelin now, pausing in his walk beside Heron, and once more placing

"Suspicions!" exclaimed the chief agent with a loud oath. "Suspicions! Certainties, you mean. The man sat

here but two days ago, in that very chair, and bragged of what he would do. I told him then that if he

And his long, talonlike fingers, with their sharp, grimy nails, closed and unclosed like those of feline

"Of whom? Of whom but that accursed de Batz? His pockets are bulging with Austrian money, with which,

"It is false!" roared Heron, who already at the suggestion was foaming at the mouth, and had jumped up from

"False, is it?" retorted Chauvelin calmly; "then be not so quick, friend Heron, in slashing out with senseless

denunciations right and left. You'll gain nothing by denouncing any one just now. This is too intricate a

matter to be dealt with a sledgehammer. Is any one up in the Tower at this moment?" he asked in quiet,

"Yes. Cochefer and the others are still there. They are making wild schemes to cover their treachery.

Cochefer is aware of his own danger, and Lasniere and the others know that they arrived at the Tower several

hours too late. They are all at fault, and they know it. As for that de Batz," he continued with a voice rendered

raucous with bitter passion, "I swore to him two days ago that he should not escape me if he meddled with

Capet. I'm on his track already. I'll have him before the hour of midnight, and I'll torture himyes! I'll

torture himthe Tribunal shall give me leave. We have a dark cell down below here where my men know

how to apply tortures worse than the rackwhere they know just how to prolong life long enough to make it

But Chauvelin abruptly silenced the wretch with a curt command; then, without another word, he walked

In thought Armand followed him. The wild desire was suddenly born in him to run away at this moment,

while Heron, wrapped in his own meditations, was paying no heed to him. Chauvelin's footsteps had long ago

died away in the distance; it was a long way to the upper floor of the Tower, and some time would be spent,

too, in interrogating the commissaries. This was Armand's opportunity. After all, if he were free himself he

might more effectually help to rescue Jeanne. He knew, too, now where to join his leader. The corner of the

street by the canal, where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes would be waiting with the coalcart; then there was the

spinney on the road to St. Germain. Armand hoped that, with good luck, he might yet overtake his comrades,

He had forgotten that now he had no certificate of safety, that undoubtedly he would be stopped at the gates

at this hour of the night; that his conduct proving suspect he would in all probability he detained, and,

mayhap, be brought back to this selfsame place within an hour. He had forgotten all that, for the primeval

instinct for freedom had suddenly been aroused. He rose softly from his chair and crossed the room. Heron

paid no attention to him. Now he had traversed the antechamber and unlatched the outer door.

Immediately a couple of bayonets were crossed in front of him, two more further on ahead scintillated feebly

in the flickering light. Chauvelin had taken his precautions. There was no doubt that Armand St. Just was

With a sigh of disappointment he went back to his place beside the fire. Heron had not even moved whilst he

had made this futile attempt at escape. Five minutes later Chauvelin reentered the room.

"You can leave de Batz and his gang alone, citizen Heron," said Chauvelin, as soon as he had closed the door

Heron growled out a few words of incredulity. But Chauvelin shrugged his shoulders and looked with

unutterable contempt on his colleague. Armand, who was watching him closely, saw that in his hand he held

"Do not waste your time, citizen," he said, "in raging against an empty windbag. Arrest de Batz if you like,

With nervous, slightly shaking fingers he set to work to smooth out the scrap of paper which he held. His hot

hands had soiled it and pounded it until it was a mere rag and the writing on it illegible. But, such as it was,

"It is that accursed Englishman who has been at work again," he said more calmly; "I guessed it the moment I

heard your story. Set your whole army of sleuthhounds on his track, citizen; you'll need them all."

Heron picked up the scrap of torn paper and tried to decipher the writing on it by the light from the lamp. He

seemed almost dazed now with the awful catastrophe that had befallen him, and the fear that his own

As for Armandeven in the midst of his own troubles, and of his own anxiety for Jeanne, he felt a proud

exultation in his heart. The Scarlet Pimpernel had succeeded; Percy had not failed in his selfimposed

undertaking. Chauvelin, whose piercing eyes were fixed on him at that moment, smiled with contemptuous

"As you will find your hands overfull for the next few hours, citizen Heron," he said, speaking to his

colleague and nodding in the direction of Armand, "I'll not trouble you with the voluntary confession this

young citizen desired to make to you. All I need tell you is that he is an adherent of the Scarlet PimpernelI

Heron roused himself from the maze of gloomy thoughts that were again paralysing his tongue. He turned

"We have got one of them, then?" he murmured incoherently, babbling like a drunken man.

"M'yes!" replied Chauvelin lightly; "but it is too late now for a formal denunciation and arrest. He cannot

leave Paris anyhow, and all that your men need to do is to keep a close lookout on him. But I should send

Heron muttered something more, which, however, Armand did not understand. Chauvelin's words were still

ringing in his ear. Was he, then, to be set free tonight? Free in a measure, of course, since spies were to be

set to watch himbut free, nevertheless? He could not understand Chauvelin's attitude, and his own

selflove was not a little wounded at the thought that he was of such little account that these men could

afford to give him even this provisional freedom. And, of course, there was still Jeanne.

"I must, therefore, bid you goodnight, citizen," Chauvelin was saying in his bland, gently ironical manner.

"You will be glad to return to your lodgings. As you see, the chief agent of the Committee of General

Security is too much occupied just now to accept the sacrifice of your life which you were prepared so

"I do not understand you, citizen," retorted Armand coldly, "nor do I desire indulgence at your hands. You

have arrested an innocent woman on the trumpedup charge that she was harbouring me. I came here

"But the hour is somewhat late, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin urbanely. "The lady in whom you take so fervent

an interest is no doubt asleep in her cell at this hour. It would not be fitting to disturb her now. She might not

find shelter before morning, and the weather is quite exceptionally unpropitious."

"Then, sir," said Armand, a little bewildered, "am I to understand that if I hold myself at your disposition

"No doubt, sirno doubt," replied Chauvelin with more than his accustomed blandness; "if you will hold

yourself entirely at our disposition, Mademoiselle Lange will be set free tomorrow. I think that we can

safely promise that, citizen Heron, can we not?" he added, turning to his colleague.

But Heron, overcome with the stress of emotions, could only murmur vague, unintelligible words.

"No, I will not do that. Give me an unconditional certificate of safety and I will believe you."

"I believe my capture to be of more importance to you than that of Mademoiselle Lange," said Armand

"I will use the certificate of safety for myself or one of my friends if you break your word to me anent

"H'm! the reasoning is not illogical, citizen," said Chauvelin, whilst a curious smile played round the corners

of his thin lips. "You are quite right. You are a more valuable asset to us than the charming lady who, I hope,

will for many a day and year to come delight pleasureloving Paris with her talent and her grace."

"Well, it will all depend on you, sir! Here," he added, coolly running over some papers on Heron's desk until

he found what he wanted, "is an absolutely unconditional certificate of safety. The Committee of General

Security issue very few of these. It is worth the cost of a human life. At no barrier or gate of any city can such

a certificate be disregarded, nor even can it be detained. Allow me to hand it to you, citizen, as a pledge of

Smiling, urbane, with a curious look that almost expressed amusement lurking in his shrewd, pale eyes,

The young man studied it very carefully before he slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat.

"In the course of tomorrow. I myself will call on you and redeem that precious document in person. You, on

the other hand, will hold yourself at my disposition. That's understood, is it not?"

"Oh! do not trouble," interposed Chauvelin, with a polite bow; "we can find that out for ourselves."

Heron had taken no part in this colloquy. Now that Armand prepared to go he made no attempt to detain him,

or to question his colleague's actions. He sat by the table like a log; his mind was obviously a blank to all else

With bleary, halfveiled eyes he followed Armand's progress through the room, and seemed unaware of the

loud slamming of the outside door. Chauvelin had escorted the young man past the first line of sentry, then he

"Your certificate will, you will find, open every gate to you. Goodnight, citizen. A demain."

Armand's slim figure disappeared in the gloom. Chauvelin watched him for a few moments until even his

footsteps had died away in the distance; then he turned back towards Heron's lodgings.

"A nous deux," he muttered between tightly clenched teeth; "a nous deux once more, my enigmatical Scarlet

It was an exceptionally dark night, and the rain was falling in torrents. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, wrapped in a

piece of sacking, had taken shelter right underneath the coalcart; even then he was getting wet through to

He had worked hard for two days coalheaving, and the night before he had found a cheap, squalid lodging

where at any rate he was protected from the inclemencies of the weather; but tonight he was expecting

Blakeney at the appointed hour and place. He had secured a cart of the ordinary ramshackle pattern used for

carrying coal. Unfortunately there were no covered ones to be obtained in the neighbourhood, and equally

unfortunately the thaw had set in with a blustering wind and diving rain, which made waiting in the open air

But for all these discomforts Sir Andrew Ffoulkes cared not one jot. In England, in his magnificent Suffolk

home, he was a confirmed sybarite, in whose service every description of comfort and luxury had to be

enrolled. Here tonight in the rough and tattered clothes of a coalheaver, drenched to the skin, and crouching

under the body of a cart that hardly sheltered him from the rain, he was as happy as a schoolboy out for a

He had no means of ascertaining the time. So many of the churchbells and clock towers had been silenced

recently that not one of those welcome sounds penetrated to the dreary desolation of this canal wharf, with its

abandoned carts standing ghostlike in a row. Darkness had set in very early in the afternoon, and the heavers

For about an hour after that a certain animation had still reigned round the wharf, men crossing and going,

one or two of the barges moving in or out alongside the quay. But for some time now darkness and silence

had been the masters in this desolate spot, and that time had seemed to Sir Andrew an eternity. He had

hobbled and tethered his horse, and stretched himself out at full length under the cart. Now and again he had

crawled out from under this uncomfortable shelter and walked up and down in ankledeep mud, trying to

restore circulation in his stiffened limbs; now and again a kind of torpor had come over him, and he had

fallen into a brief and restless sleep. He would at this moment have given half his fortune for knowledge of

But through all this weary waiting he was never for a moment in doubt. Unlike Armand St. Just, he had the

simplest, most perfect faith in his chief. He had been Blakeney's constant companion in all these adventures

for close upon four years now; the thought of failure, however vague, never once entered his mind.

He was only anxious for his chief's welfare. He knew that he would succeed, but he would have liked to have

spared him much of the physical fatigue and the nerveracking strain of these hours that lay between the

daring deed and the hope of safety. Therefore he was conscious of an acute tingling of his nerves, which went

on even during the brief patches of fitful sleep, and through the numbness that invaded his whole body while

Then, quite suddenly, he felt wakeful and alert; quite a whileeven before he heard the welcome signalhe

knew, with a curious, subtle sense of magnetism, that the hour had come, and that his chief was somewhere

Then he heard the crya seamew's callrepeated thrice at intervals, and five minutes later something

"Here, help me to lift the child into the cart. He is asleep, and has been a dead weight on my arm for close on

With tender care the two men lifted the sleeping little King of France into the rickety cart. Blakeney laid his

cloak over him, and listened for awhile to the slow regular breathing of the child.

It was characteristic of these two men that not a word about the adventure itself, about the terrible risks and

dangers of the past few hours, was exchanged between them. The child was here and was safe, and Blakeney

knew the whereabouts of St. Justthat was enough for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, the most devoted follower, the

Ffoulkes now went to the horse, detached the nosebag, and undid the nooses of the hobble and of the tether.

And in unbroken silence they both got into the cart; Blakeney sitting on its floor beside the child, and

The wheels of the cart and the slow jogtrot of the horse made scarcely any noise in the mud of the roads,

what noise they did make was effectually drowned by the soughing of the wind in the bare branches of the

Sir Andrew had studied the topography of this desolate neighbourhood well during the past twentyfour

hours; he knew of a detour that would enable him to avoid the La Villette gate and the neighbourhood of the

"It must be close on ten now," replied Sir Percy. "Push your nag along, old man. Tony and Hastings will be

It was very difficult to see clearly even a metre or two ahead, but the road was a straight one, and the old nag

seemed to know it almost as well and better than her driver. She shambled along at her own pace, covering

the ground very slowly for Ffoulkes's burning impatience. Once or twice he had to get down and lead her

over a rough piece of ground. They passed several groups of dismal, squalid houses, in some of which a dim

light still burned, and as they skirted St. Ouen the church clock slowly tolled the hour of midnight.

But for the greater part of the way derelict, uncultivated spaces of terrains vagues, and a few isolated houses

lay between the road and the fortifications of the city. The darkness of the night, the late hour, the soughing

of the wind, were all in favour of the adventurers; and a coalcart slowly trudging along in this

neighbourhood, with two labourers sitting in it, was the least likely of any vehicle to attract attention.

Past Clichy, they had to cross the river by the rickety wooden bridge that was unsafe even in broad daylight.

They were not far from their destination now. Half a dozen kilometres further on they would be leaving

Courbevoie on their left, and then the signpost would come in sight. After that the spinney just off the road,

and the welcome presence of Tony, Hastings, and the horses. Ffoulkes got down in order to make sure of the

way. He walked at the horse's head now, fearful lest he missed the crossroads and the signpost.

The horse was getting overtired; it had covered fifteen kilometres, and it was close on three o'clock of

Another hour went by in absolute silence. Ffoulkes and Blakeney took turns at the horse's head. Then at last

they reached the crossroads; even through the darkness the signpost showed white against the surrounding

"This looks like it," murmured Sir Andrew. He turned the horse's head sharply towards the left, down a

narrower road, and leaving the signpost behind him. He walked slowly along for another quarter of an hour,

He got down from the cart, and while Ffoulkes remained beside the horse, he plunged into the gloom. A

moment later the cry of the seamew rang out three times into the air. It was answered almost immediately.

The spinney lay on the right of the road. Soon the soft sounds that to a trained ear invariably betray the

presence of a number of horses reached Ffoulkes' straining senses. He took his old nag out of the shafts, and

the shabby harness from off her, then he turned her out on the piece of waste land that faced the spinney.

Some one would find her in the morning, her and the cart with the shabby harness laid in it, and, having

wondered if all these things had perchance dropped down from heaven, would quietly appropriate them, and

Blakeney in the meanwhile had lifted the sleeping child out of the cart. Then he called to Sir Andrew and led

Unlike Ffoulkes, my Lord Tony wanted to hear all about the adventure of this afternoon. A thorough

sportsman, he loved a good story of hairbreadth escapes, of dangers cleverly avoided, risks taken and

"Just in ten words, Blakeney," he urged entreatingly; "how did you actually get the boy away?"

"Next time we meet, Tony," he begged; "I am so demmed fatigued, and there's this beastly rain"

"No, nonow! while Hastings sees to the horses. I could not exist long without knowing, and we are well

"Well, then, since you will have it," he began with a laugh, which despite the weariness and anxiety of the

past twentyfour hours had forced itself to his lips, "I have been sweeper and manofallwork at the

"Indeed, you old sybarite, whilst you were enjoying yourself heaving coal on the canal wharf, I was

scrubbing floors, lighting fires, and doing a number of odd jobs for a lot of demmed murdering villains, and

"he added under his breath" incidentally, too, for our league. Whenever I had an hour or two off duty I

"I had just had a bathsorely needed, I can tell you. I had been cleaning boots half the day, but I had heard

that the Simons were removing from the Temple on the Sunday, and had obtained an order from them to help

"Well, then everything worked out splendidly. You see by that time I was a wellknown figure in the

Temple. Heron knew me well. I used to be his lanthornbearer when at nights he visited that poor mite in his

prison. It was 'Dupont, here! Dupont there!' all day long. 'Light the fire in the office, Dupont! Dupont, brush

my coat! Dupont, fetch me a light!' When the Simons wanted to move their household goods they called

loudly for Dupont. I got a covered laundry cart, and I brought a dummy with me to substitute for the child.

Simon himself knew nothing of this, but Madame was in my pay. The dummy was just splendid, with real

hair on its head; Madame helped me to substitute it for the child; we laid it on the sofa and covered it over

with a rug, even while those brutes Heron and Cochefer were on the landing outside, and we stuffed His

Majesty the King of France into a linen basket. The room was badly lighted, and any one would have been

deceived. No one was suspicious of that type of trickery, so it went off splendidly. I moved the furniture of

the Simons out of the Tower. His Majesty King Louis XVII was still concealed in the linen basket. I drove

the Simons to their new lodgingsthe man still suspects nothingand there I helped them to unload the

furniturewith the exception of the linen basket, of course. After that I drove my laundry cart to a house I

knew of and collected a number of linen baskets, which I had arranged should be in readiness for me. Thus

loaded up I left Paris by the Vincennes gate, and drove as far as Bagnolet, where there is no road except past

the octroi, where the officials might have proved unpleasant. So I lifted His Majesty out of the basket and we

walked on hand in hand in the darkness and the rain until the poor little feet gave out. Then the little

fellowwho has been wonderfully plucky throughout, indeed, more a Capet than a Bourbonsnuggled up

in my arms and went fast asleep, andandwell, I think that's all, for here we are, you see."

"But if Madame Simon had not been amenable to bribery?" suggested Lord Tony after a moment's silence.

"If during the removal of the furniture Heron had remained resolutely in the room?"

"Then, again, I should have had to think of something else; but remember that in life there is always one

supreme moment when Chancewho is credited to have but one hair on her headstands by you for a brief

space of time; sometimes that space is infinitesimalone minute, a few secondsjust the time to seize

Chance by that one hair. So I pray you all give me no credit in this or any other matter in which we all work

together, but the quickness of seizing Chance by the hair during the brief moment when she stands by my

side. If Madame Simon had been unamenable, if Heron had remained in the room all the time, if Cochefer

had had two looks at the dummy instead of onewell, then, something else would have helped me,

something would have occurred; somethingI know not whatbut surely something which Chance meant

to be on our side, if only we were quick enough to seize itand so you see how simple it all is."

So simple, in fact, that it was sublime. The daring, the pluck, the ingenuity and, above all, the superhuman

heroism and endurance which rendered the hearers of this simple narrative, simply told, dumb with

"How soon was the hue and cry for the child about the streets?" asked Tony, after a moment's silence.

"It was not out when I left the gates of Paris," said Blakeney meditatively; "so quietly has the news of the

escape been kept, that I am wondering what devilry that brute Heron can be after. And now no more

chattering," he continued lightly; "all to horse, and you, Hastings, have a care. The destinies of France,

"I am not going with you. I entrust the child to you. For God's sake guard him well! Ride with him to Mantes.

You should arrive there at about ten o'clock. One of you then go straight to No.9 Rue la Tour. Ring the bell;

an old man will answer it. Say the one word to him, 'Enfant'; he will reply, 'De roi!' Give him the child, and

"But you, Blakeney?" reiterated Tony with a note of deep anxiety in his fresh young voice.

"They'll not leave a stone unturned to find youthey know by now, believe me, that your hand did this

"It's no use, Tony. Armand is in Paris. I saw him in the corridor of the Temple prison in the company of

The others were silent. What was the use of arguing? One of themselves was in danger. Armand St. Just, the

brother of Marguerite Blakeney! Was it likely that Percy would leave him in the lurch.

"Yes! I want Hastings and Tony to take the child to Mantes, then to make all possible haste for Calais, and

there to keep in close touch with the DayDream; the skipper will contrive to open communication. Tell him

"And now to horse, both of you," he added gaily. "Hastings, when you are ready, I will hand up the child to

Nothing more was said after that. The orders were given, there was nothing to do but to obey; and the

uncrowned King of France was not yet out of danger. Hastings and Tony led two of the horses out of the

spinney; at the roadside they mounted, and then the little lad for whose sake so much heroism, such selfless

devotion had been expended, was hoisted up, still half asleep, on the pillion in front of my Lord Hastings.

"Keep your arm round him," admonished Blakeney; "your horse looks quiet enough. But put on speed as far

The two men pressed their heels to their horses' flanks, the beasts snorted and pawed the ground anxious to

start. There were a few whispered farewells, two loyal hands were stretched out at the last, eager to grasp the

Then horses and riders disappeared in the utter darkness which comes before the dawn.

Blakeney and Ffoulkes stood side by side in silence for as long as the pawing of hoofs in the mud could reach

"Well, for the present, my dear fellow, I want you to take one of the three horses we have left in the spinney,

and put him into the shafts of our old friend the coalcart; then I am afraid that you must go back the way we

"Continue to heave coal on the canal wharf by La Villette; it is the best way to avoid attention. After your

day's work keep your cart and horse in readiness against my arrival, at the same spot where you were last

night. If after having waited for me like this for three consecutive nights you neither see nor hear anything

from me, go back to England and tell Marguerite that in giving my life for her brother I gave it for her!"

"I spoke differently to what I usually do, is that it?" he interposed, placing his firm hand on his friend's

shoulder. "I am degenerating, Ffoulkesthat's what it is. Pay no heed to it. I suppose that carrying that

sleeping child in my arms last night softened some nerves in my body. I was so infinitely sorry for the poor

mite, and vaguely wondered if I had not saved it from one misery only to plunge it in another. There was such

a fateful look on that wan little face, as if destiny had already writ its veto there against happiness. It came on

me then how futile were our actions, if God chooses to interpose His will between us and our desires."

Almost as he left off speaking the rain ceased to patter down against the puddles in the road. Overhead the

clouds flew by at terrific speed, driven along by the blustering wind. It was less dark now, and Sir Andrew,

peering through the gloom, could see his leader's face. It was singularly pale and hard, and the deepset lazy

eyes had in them just that fateful look which he himself had spoken of just now.

"Yes. He should have trusted me, as I had trusted him. He missed me at the Villette gate on Friday, and

without a thought left meleft us all in the lurch; he threw himself into the lion's jaws, thinking that he could

help the girl he loved. I knew that I could save her. She is in comparative safety even now. The old woman,

Madame Belhomme, had been freely released the day after her arrest, but Jeanne Lange is still in the house in

the Rue de Charonne. You know it, Ffoulkes. I got her there early this morning. It was easy for me, of course:

'Hola, Dupont! my boots, Dupont!' 'One moment, citizen, my daughter' 'Curse thy daughter, bring me my

boots!' and Jeanne Lange walked out of the Temple prison her hand in that of that lout Dupont."

"No. I have not seen him since that early morning on Saturday when he came to tell me that she had been

arrested. Having sworn that he would obey me, he went to meet you and Tony at La Villette, but returned to

Paris a few hours later, and drew the undivided attention of all the committees on Jeanne Lange by his

senseless, foolish inquiries. But for his action throughout the whole of yesterday I could have smuggled

Jeanne out of Paris, got her to join you at Villette, or Hastings in St. Germain. But the barriers were being

closely watched for her, and I had the Dauphin to think of. She is in comparative safety; the people in the Rue

de Charonne are friendly for the moment; but for how long? Who knows? I must look after her of course.

And Armand! Poor old Armand! The lion's jaws have snapped over him, and they hold him tight. Chauvelin

and his gang are using him as a decoy to trap me, of course. All that had not happened if Armand had trusted

He sighed a quick sigh of impatience, almost of regret. Ffoulkes was the one man who could guess the bitter

disappointment that this had meant. Percy had longed to be back in England soon, back to Marguerite, to a

Now Armand's actions had retarded all that; they were a deliberate bar to the future as it had been mapped out

In this case, too, he had been prepared, but not for the want of trust which had brought on disobedience akin

to disloyalty. That absolutely unforeseen eventuality had changed Blakeney's usual irresponsible gaiety into a

With an anxious sigh, Sir Andrew turned away from his chief and went hack to the spinney to select for his

own purpose one of the three horses which Hastings and Tony had unavoidably left behind.

"And you, Blakeneyhow will you go back to that awful Paris?" he said, when he had made his choice and

"I don't know yet," replied Blakeney, "but it would not be safe to ride. I'll reach one of the gates on this side

of the city and contrive to slip in somehow. I have a certificate of safety in my pocket in case I need it.

"We'll leave the horses here," he said presently, whilst he was helping Sir Andrew to put the horse in the

shafts of the coalcart; "they cannot come to much harm. Some poor devil might steal them, in order to

escape from those vile brutes in the city. If so, God speed him, say I. I'll compensate my friend the farmer of

St. Germain for their loss at an early opportunity. And now, goodbye, my dear fellow! Some time tonight,

if possible, you shall hear direct news of meif not, then tomorrow or the day after that. Goodbye, and

He jumped into the cart and gathered up the reins. His heart was heavy as lead, and a strange mist had

gathered in his eyes, blurring the last dim vision which he had of his chief standing all alone in the gloom, his

broad, magnificent figure looking almost weirdly erect and defiant, his head thrown back, and his kind, lazy

Blakeney had more than one piedaterre in Paris, and never stayed longer than two or three days in any of

these. It was not difficult for a single man, be he labourer or bourgeois, to obtain a night's lodging, even in

these most troublous times, and in any quarter of Paris, provided the rentout of all proportion to the

Emigration and, above all, the enormous deathroll of the past eighteen months, had emptied the apartment

houses of the great city, and those who had rooms to let were only too glad of a lodger, always providing they

The laws framed by these same committees now demanded that all keepers of lodging or apartment houses

should within twentyfour hours give notice at the bureau of their individual sections of the advent of new

lodgers, together with a description of the personal appearance of such lodgers, and an indication of their

presumed civil status and occupation. But there was a margin of twentyfour hours, which could on pressure

be extended to fortyeight, and, therefore, any one could obtain shelter for fortyeight hours, and have no

questions asked, provided he or she was willing to pay the exorbitant sum usually asked under the

Thus Blakeney had no difficulty in securing what lodgings he wanted when he once more found himself

The thought of Hastings and Tony speeding on towards Mantes with the royal child safely held in Hastings'

arms had kept his spirits buoyant and caused him for a while to forget the terrible peril in which Armand St.

Blakeney was a man of abnormal physique and iron nerve, else he could never have endured the fatigues of

the past twentyfour hours, from the moment when on the Sunday afternoon he began to play his part of

furnitureremover at the Temple, to that when at last on Monday at noon he succeeded in persuading the

sergeant at the Maillot gate that he was an honest stonemason residing at Neuilly, who was come to Paris in

After that matters became more simple. Terribly footsore, though he would never have admitted it, hungry

and weary, he turned into an unpretentious eatinghouse and ordered some dinner. The place when he

entered was occupied mostly by labourers and workmen, dressed very much as he was himself, and quite as

grimy as he had become after having driven about for hours in a laundrycart and in a coalcart, and having

walked twelve kilometres, some of which he had covered whilst carrying a sleeping child in his arms.

Thus, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., the friend and companion of the Prince of Wales, the most fastidious fop the

salons of London and Bath had ever seen, was in no way distinguishable outwardly from the tattered,

halfstarved, dirty, and outatelbows products of this fraternising and equalising Republic.

He was so hungry that the illcooked, badlyserved meal tempted him to eat; and he ate on in silence,

seemingly more interested in boiled beef than in the conversation that went on around him. But he would not

have been the keen and daring adventurer that he was if he did not all the while keep his ears open for any

fragment of news that the desultory talk of his fellowdiners was likely to yield to him.

Politics were, of course, discussed; the tyranny of the sections, the slavery that this free Republic had brought

on its citizens. The names of the chief personages of the day were all mentioned in turns FocquierTinville,

Santerre, Danton, Robespierre. Heron and his sleuthhounds were spoken of with execrations quickly

Blakeney could not help but infer that Chauvelin, Heron and the commissaries in charge were keeping the

He could hear nothing of Armand's fate, of course. The arrestif arrest there had beenwas not like to be

bruited abroad just now. Blakeney having last seen Armand in Chauvelin's company, whilst he himself was

moving the Simons' furniture, could not for a moment doubt that the young man was imprisoned,unless,

indeed, he was being allowed a certain measure of freedom, whilst his every step was being spied on, so that

At thought of that all weariness seemed to vanish from Blakeney's powerful frame. He set his lips firmly

He had been in as tight a corner as this before now; at Boulogne his beautiful Marguerite had been used as a

decoy, and twentyfour hours later he had held her in his arms on board his yacht the DayDream. As he

The battle mayhap would this time be against greater odds than before, but Blakeney had no fear that they

In the afternoon Blakeney started off in search of lodgings for the night. He found what would suit him in the

Rue de l'Arcade, which was equally far from the House of Justice as it was from his former lodgings. Here he

would be safe for at least twentyfour hours, after which he might have to shift again. But for the moment the

landlord of the miserable apartment was overwilling to make no fuss and ask no questions, for the sake of

Having taken possession of his new quarters and snatched a few hours of sound, welldeserved rest, until the

time when the shades of evening and the darkness of the streets would make progress through the city

somewhat more safe, Blakeney sallied forth at about six o'clock having a threefold object in view.

Primarily, of course, the threefold object was concentrated on Armand. There was the possibility of finding

out at the young man's lodgings in Montmartre what had become of him; then there were the usual inquiries

that could be made from the registers of the various prisons; and, thirdly, there was the chance that Armand

had succeeded in sending some kind of message to Blakeney's former lodgings in the Rue St. Germain

On the whole, Sir Percy decided to leave the prison registers alone for the present. If Armand had been

actually arrested, he would almost certainly be confined in the Chatelet prison, where he would be closer to

Blakeney set his teeth and murmured a good, sound, British oath when he thought of those interrogatories.

Armand St. Just, highly strung, a dreamer and a bundle of nerveshow he would suffer under the mental

rack of questions and crossquestions, cleverlylaid traps to catch information from him unawares!

His next objective, then, was Armand's former lodging, and from six o'clock until close upon eight Sir Percy

haunted the slopes of Montmartre, and more especially the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Croix Blanche,

where Armand had lodged these former days. At the house itself he could not inquire as yet; obviously it

would not have been safe; tomorrow, perhaps, when he knew more, but not tonight. His keen eyes had

already spied at least two figures clothed in the rags of outofwork labourers like himself, who had hung

with suspicious persistence in this same neighbourhood, and who during the two hours that he had been in

observation had never strayed out of sight of the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche.

That these were two spies on the watch was, of course, obvious; but whether they were on the watch for St.

Just or for some other unfortunate wretch it was at this stage impossible to conjecture.

Then, as from the Tour des Dames close by the clock solemnly struck the hour of eight, and Blakeney

prepared to wend his way back to another part of the city, he suddenly saw Armand walking slowly up the

The young man did not look either to right or left; he held his head forward on his chest, and his hands were

hidden underneath his cloak. When he passed immediately under one of the street lamps Blakeney caught

sight of his face; it was pale and drawn. Then he turned his head, and for the space of two seconds his eyes

across the narrow street encountered those of his chief. He had the presence of mind not to make a sign or to

utter a sound; he was obviously being followed, but in that brief moment Sir Percy had seen in the young

"What have those brutes been up to with him, I wonder?" he muttered between clenched teeth.

Armand soon disappeared under the doorway of the same house where he had been lodging all along. Even as

he did so Blakeney saw the two spies gather together like a pair of slimy lizards, and whisper excitedly one to

another. A third man, who obviously had been dogging Armand's footsteps, came up and joined them after a

Blakeney could have sworn loudly and lustily, had it been possible to do so without attracting attention. The

whole of Armand's history in the past twentyfour hours was perfectly clear to him. The young man had been

His every step was being watched, and he still thought Jeanne Lange in immediate danger of death. The look

of despair in his face proclaimed these two facts, and Blakeney's heart ached for the mental torture which his

friend was enduring. He longed to let Armand know that the woman he loved was in comparative safety.

Jeanne Lange first, and then Armand himself; and the odds would be very heavy against the Scarlet

Pimpernel! But that Marguerite should not have to mourn an only brother, of that Sir Percy made oath.

He now turned his steps towards his own former lodgings by St. Germain l'Auxerrois. It was just possible that

Armand had succeeded in leaving a message there for him. It was, of course, equally possible that when he

did so Heron's men had watched his movements, and that spies would be stationed there, too, on the watch.

But that risk must, of course, be run. Blakeney's former lodging was the one place that Armand would know

of to which he could send a message to his chief, if he wanted to do so. Of course, the unfortunate young man

could not have known until just now that Percy would come back to Paris, but he might guess it, or wish it, or

only vaguely hope for it; he might want to send a message, he might long to communicate with his

brotherinlaw, and, perhaps, feel sure that the latter would not leave him in the lurch.

With that thought in his mind, Sir Percy was not likely to give up the attempt to ascertain for himself whether

Armand had tried to communicate with him or not. As for spieswell, he had dodged some of them often

enough in his timethe risks that he ran tonight were no worse than the ones to which he had so

Still keeping up the slouchy gait peculiar to the outatelbows working man of the day, hugging the houses

as he walked along the streets, Blakeney made slow progress across the city. But at last he reached the facade

of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and turning sharply to his right he soon came in sight of the house which he had

We all know that houseall of us who are familiar with the Paris of those terrible days. It stands quite

detacheda vast quadrangle, facing the Quai de l'Ecole and the river, backing on the Rue St. Germain

l'Auxerrois, and shouldering the Carrefour des Trois Manes. The portecochere, socalled, is but a narrow

Blakeney made his way cautiously right round the house; he peered up and down the quay, and his keen eyes

tried to pierce the dense gloom that hung at the corners of the Pont Neuf immediately Opposite. Soon he

assured himself that for the present, at any rate, the house was not being watched.

Armand presumably had not yet left a message for him here; but he might do so at any time now that he knew

Blakeney made up his mind to keep this house in sight. This art of watching he had acquired to a masterly

extent, and could have taught Heron's watchdogs a remarkable lesson in it. At night, of course, it was a

comparatively easy task. There were a good many unlighted doorways along the quay, whilst a street lamp

was fixed on a bracket in the wall of the very house which he kept in observation.

Finding temporary shelter under various doorways, or against the dank walls of the houses, Blakeney set

himself resolutely to a few hours' weary waiting. A thin, drizzly rain fell with unpleasant persistence, like a

damp mist, and the thin blouse which he wore soon became wet through and clung hard and chilly to his

It was close on midnight when at last he thought it best to give up his watch and to go back to his lodgings for

a few hours' sleep; but at seven o'clock the next morning he was back again at his post.

The portecochere of his former lodginghouse was not yet open; he took up his stand close beside it. His

woollen cap pulled well over his forehead, the grime cleverly plastered on his hair and face, his lower jaw

thrust forward, his eyes looking lifeless and bleary, all gave him an expression of sly villainy, whilst the short

clay pipe struck at a sharp angle in his mouth, his hands thrust into the pockets of his ragged breeches, and his

bare feet in the mud of the road, gave the final touch to his representation of an outofwork,

He had not very long to wait. Soon the portecochere of the house was opened, and the concierge came out

with his broom, making a show of cleaning the pavement in front of the door. Five minutes later a lad, whose

clothes consisted entirely of rags, and whose feet and head were bare, came rapidly up the street from the

quay, and walked along looking at the houses as he went, as if trying to decipher their number. The cold grey

dawn was just breaking, dreary and damp, as all the past days had been. Blakeney watched the lad as he

approached, the small, naked feet falling noiselessly on the cobblestones of the road. When the boy was quite

close to him and to the house, Blakeney shifted his position and took the pipe out of his mouth.

"Yes," said the palefaced little creature; "I have a message to deliver at No. 9 Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois.

"Oh, no, citizen!" said the lad, into whose pale, circled eyes a look of terror had quickly appeared. "It is for

With an instinct which he somehow felt could not err at this moment, Blakeney knew that the message was

one from Armand to himself; a written message, too, sinceinstinctively when he spokethe boy clutched

at his thin shirt, as if trying to guard something precious that had been entrusted to him.

"I will deliver the message myself, sonny," said Blakeney gruffly. "I know the citizen for whom it is

"Oh! I would not give it to the concierge," said the boy. "I would take it upstairs myself."

"My son," retorted Blakeney, "let me tell you this. You are going to give that message up to me and I will put

Blakeney, with all his sympathy aroused for this poor palefaced lad, put on the airs of a ruffianly bully. He

did not wish that message to be taken indoors by the lad, for the concierge might get hold of it, despite the

boy's protests and tears, and after that Blakeney would perforce have to disclose himself before it would be

given up to him. During the past week the concierge had been very amenable to bribery. Whatever suspicions

he had had about his lodger he had kept to himself for the sake of the money which he received; but it was

impossible to gauge any man's trend of thought these days from one hour to the next. Somethingfor aught

Blakeney knewmight have occurred in the past twentyfour hours to change an amiable and

Fortunately, the concierge had once more gone within; there was no one abroad, and if there were, no one

"Allons!" he said gruffly, "give me the letter, or that five livres goes back into my pocket."

The thin little hand fumbled under the rags, but it reappeared again empty, whilst a faint blush spread over the

"The other citizen also gave me five livres," he said humbly. "He lodges in the house where my mother is

concierge. It is in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. He has been very kind to my mother. I would rather do as he

"Bless the lad," murmured Blakeney under his breath; "his loyalty redeems many a crime of this

He took his hand out of his breeches pocket; between two very dirty fingers he held a piece of gold. The other

He pulled at the ragged blouse, and a scrap of soiled paper soon fell into his hand. The lad began to cry.

"Here," said Blakeney, thrusting the piece of gold into the thin small palm, "take this home to your mother,

and tell your lodger that a big, rough man took the letter away from you by force. Now run, before I kick you

The lad, terrified out of his poor wits, did not wait for further commands; he took to his heels and ran, his

small hand clutching the piece of gold. Soon he had disappeared round the corner of the street.

Blakeney did not at once read the paper; he thrust it quickly into his breeches pocket and slouched away

slowly down the street, and thence across the Place du Carrousel, in the direction of his new lodgings in the

It was only when he found himself alone in the narrow, squalid room which he was occupying that he took

Percy, you cannot forgive me, nor can I ever forgive myself, but if you only knew what I have suffered for

the past two days you would, I think, try and forgive. I am free and yet a prisoner; my every footstep is

dogged. What they ultimately mean to do with me I do not know. And when I think of Jeanne I long for the

power to end mine own miserable existence. Percy! she is still in the hands of those fiends.... I saw the prison

the day that you left Paris; tomorrow, tonight mayhap, they will try her, condemn her, torture her, and I

dare not go to see you, for I would only be bringing spies to your door. But will you come to me, Percy? It

should be safe in the hours of the night, and the concierge is devoted to me. Tonight at ten o'clock she will

leave the portecochere unlatched. If you find it so, and if on the ledge of the window immediately on your

left as you enter you find a candle alight, and beside it a scrap of paper with your initials S. P. traced on it,

then it will be quite safe for you to come up to my room. It is on the second landinga door on your

rightthat too I will leave on the latch. But in the name of the woman you love best in all the world come at

once to me then, and hear in mind, Percy, that the woman I love is threatened with immediate death, and that

I am powerless to save her. Indeed, believe me, I would gladly die even now hut for the thought of Jeanne,

whom I should be leaving in the hands of those fiends. For God's sake, Percy, remember that Jeanne is all the

"Poor old Armand," murmured Blakeney with a kindly smile directed at the absent friend, "he won't trust me

even now. He won't trust his Jeanne in my hands. Well," he added after a while, "after all, I would not entrust

At halfpast ten that same evening, Blakeney, still clad in a workman's tattered clothes, his feet Bare so that

The portecochere of the house where Armand lodged had been left on the latch; not a soul was in sight.

Peering cautiously round, he slipped into the house. On the ledge of the window, immediately on his left

when he entered, a candle was left burning, and beside it there was a scrap of paper with the initials S. P.

roughly traced in pencil. No one challenged him as he noiselessly glided past it, and up the narrow stairs that

led to the upper floor. Here, too, on the second landing the door on the right had been left on the latch. He

As is usual even in the meanest lodgings in Paris houses, a small antechamber gave between the front door

and the main room. When Percy entered the antechamber was unlighted, but the door into the inner room

beyond was ajar. Blakeney approached it with noiseless tread, and gently pushed it open.

That very instant he knew that the game was up; he heard the footsteps closing up behind him, saw Armand,

deathly pale, leaning against the wall in the room in front of him, and Chauvelin and Heron standing guard

The next moment the room and the antechamber were literally alive with soldierstwenty of them to arrest

It was characteristic of that man that when hands were laid on him from every side he threw back his head

and laughedlaughed mirthfully, lightheartedly, and the first words that escaped his lips were:

"The odds are against you, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin to him in English, whilst Heron at the further end of the

"By the Lord, sir," said Percy with perfect sangfroid, "I do believe that for the moment they are."

"Have done, my menhave done!" he added, turning goodhumouredly to the soldiers round him. "I never

fight against overwhelming odds. Twenty to one, eh? I could lay four of you out easily enough, perhaps even

But a kind of savage lust seemed to have rendered these men temporarily mad, and they were being egged on

by Heron. The mysterious Englishman, about whom so many eerie tales were told! Well, he had supernatural

powers, and twenty to one might be nothing to him if the devil was on his side. Therefore a blow on his

forearm with the buttend of a bayonet was useful for disabling his right hand, and soon the left arm with a

The vein of luck had given out. The gambler had staked more than usual and had lost; but he knew how to

"Those dd brutes are trussing me like a fowl," he murmured with irrepressible gaiety at the last.

Then the wrench on his bruised arms as they were pulled roughly back by the cords caused the veil of

"And Jeanne was safe, Armand," he shouted with a last desperate effort; "those devils have lied to you and

tricked you into this ... Since yesterday she is out of prison ... in the house ... you know ...."

And this occurred on Tuesday, January 21st, in the year 1794, or, in accordance with the new calendar, on the

It is chronicled in the Moniteur of the 3rd Pluviose that, "on the previous evening, at halfpast ten of the

clock, the Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, who for three years has conspired against the safety

of the Republic, was arrested through the patriotic exertions of citizen Chauvelin, and conveyed to the

Conciergerie, where he now liessick, but closely guarded. Long live the Republic!"

Marguerite, sitting in the dusk beside the fire in her small boudoir, shivered a little as she drew her scarf

Edwards, the butler, entered with the lamp. The room looked peculiarly cheery now, with the delicate white

panelling of the wall glowing tinder the soft kiss of the flickering firelight and the steadier glow of the

"Has the courier not arrived yet, Edwards?" asked Marguerite, fixing the impassive face of the welldrilled

"Yes, m'lady. And the forenoon is his time. But there have been heavy rains, and the roads must be rare

"Yes, I suppose so," she said listlessly. "That will do, Edwards. No, don't close the shutters. I'll ring

The man went out of the room as automatically as he had come. He closed the door behind him, and

She picked up the book which she had fingered idly before the light gave out. She tried once more to fix her

attention on this tale of love and adventure written by Mr. Fielding; but she had lost the thread of the story,

With an impatient gesture she threw down the book and passed her hand across her eyes, then seemed

She rose and went to the window. The air outside had been singularly mild all day; the thaw was persisting,

Marguerite threw open the casement and sat down on the wide sill, leaning her head against the

windowframe, and gazing out into the fast gathering gloom. From far away, at the foot of the gently sloping

lawns, the river murmured softly in the night; in the borders to the right and left a few snowdrops still showed

like tiny white specks through the surrounding darkness. Winter had begun the process of slowly shedding its

mantle, coquetting with Spring, who still lingered in the land of Infinity. Gradually the shadows drew closer

and closer; the reeds and rushes on the river bank were the first to sink into their embrace, then the big cedars

on the lawn, majestic and defiant, but yielding still unconquered to the power of night.

The tiny stars of snowdrop blossoms vanished one by one, and at last the cool, grey ribbon of the river

Only the south wind lingered on, soughing gently in the drowsy reeds, whispering among the branches of the

Marguerite seemed to open out her lungs to its breath. It had come all the way from France, and on its wings

had brought something of Percya murmur as if he had spokena memory that was as intangible as a

She shivered again, though of a truth it was not cold. The courier's delay had completely unsettled her nerves.

Twice a week he came especially from Dover, and always he brought some message, some token which

Percy had contrived to send from Paris. They were like tiny scraps of dry bread thrown to a starving woman,

but they did just help to keep her heart alivethat poor, aching, disappointed heart that so longed for

The man whom she loved with all her soul, her mind and her body, did not belong to her; he belonged to

suffering humanity over there in terrorstricken France, where the cries of the innocent, the persecuted, the

He had been away three months now, during which time her starving heart had fed on its memories, and the

happiness of a brief visit from him six weeks ago, whenquite unexpectedlyhe had appeared before her

... home between two desperate adventures that had given life and freedom to a number of innocent people,

and nearly cost him hisand she had lain in his arms in a swoon of perfect happiness.

But be had gone away again as suddenly as he had come, and for six weeks now she had lived partly in

anticipation of the courier with messages from him, and partly on the fitful joy engendered by these

messages. Today she had not even that, and the disappointment seemed just now more than she could bear.

She felt unaccountably restless, and could she but have analysed her feelingshad she dared so to doshe

would have realised that the weight which oppressed her heart so that she could hardly breathe, was one of

She closed the window and returned to her seat by the fire, taking up her hook with the strong resolution not

to allow her nerves to get the better of her. But it was difficult to pin one's attention down to the adventures of

Master Tom Jones when one's mind was fully engrossed with those of Sir Percy Blakeney.

The sound of carriage wheels on the gravelled forecourt in the front of the house suddenly awakened her

drowsy senses. She threw down the book, and with trembling hands clutched the arms of her chair, straining

her ears to listen. A carriage at this hourand on this damp winter's evening! She racked her mind

Lady Ffoulkes was in London, she knew. Sir Andrew, of course, was in Paris. His Royal Highness, ever a

faithful visitor, would surely not venture out to Richmond in this inclement weatherand the courier always

There was a murmur of voices; that of Edwards, mechanical and placid, could be heard quite distinctly

"I'm sure that her ladyship will be at home for you, m'lady. But I'll go and ascertain."

"Suzanne!" she called "my little Suzanne! I thought you were in London. Come up quickly! In the

Suzanne flew into her arms, holding the friend whom she loved so well close and closer to her heart, trying to

"Come inside, my darling," said Marguerite. "Why, how cold your little hands are!"

She was on the point of turning back to her boudoir, drawing Lady Ffoulkes by the hand, when suddenly she

caught sight of Sir Andrew, who stood at a little distance from her, at the top of the stairs.

Then she paused. The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving them dry and parted. She suddenly felt as if

some fearful talons had gripped her heart and were tearing at it with sharp, long nails; the blood flew from her

She backed into the room, still holding Suzanne's hand, and drawing her in with her. Sir Andrew followed

them, then closed the door behind him. At last the word escaped Marguerite's parched lips:

Suzanne put her loving arms round her friend and drew her down into the chair by the fire. She knelt at her

feet on the hearthrug, and pressed her own burning lips on Marguerite's icycold hands. Sir Andrew stood

There was silence in the pretty whitepanelled room for a while. Marguerite sat with her eyes closed,

"Tell me!" she said at last, and her voice was toneless and dull, like one that came from the depths of a

grave"tell meexactly everything. Don't be afraid. I can bear it. Don't be afraid."

Sir Andrew remained standing, with bowed head and one hand resting on the table. In a firm, clear voice he

told her the events of the past few days as they were known to him. All that he tried to hide was Armand's

disobedience, which, in his heart, he felt was the primary cause of the catastrophe. He told of the rescue of

the Dauphin from the Temple, the midnight drive in the coalcart, the meeting with Hastings and Tony in the

spinney. He only gave vague explanations of Armand's stay in Paris which caused Percy to go back to the

city, even at the moment when his most daring plan had been so successfully carried through.

"Armand, I understand, has fallen in love with a beautiful woman in Paris, Lady Blakeney," he said, seeing

that a strange, puzzled look had appeared in Marguerite's pale face. "She was arrested the day before the

rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple. Armand could not join us. He felt that he could not leave her. I am

"I had been ordered to go back to La Villette, and there to resume my duties as a labourer in the daytime,

and to wait for Percy during the night. The fact that I had received no message from him for two days had

made me somewhat worried, but I have such faith in him, such belief in his good luck and his ingenuity, that

I would not allow myself to be really anxious. Then on the third day I heard the news."

"That the Englishman who was known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had been captured in a house in the Rue de Ia

"In the Montmartre quarter. Armand lodged there. Percy, I imagine, was working to get him away; and those

"Alas, none! I went to the house in the Rue de la Croix Blanche. Armand had disappeared. I succeeded in

inducing the concierge to talk. She seems to have been devoted to her lodger. Amidst tears she told me some

"Yestell me everythingdon't be afraid," she reiterated with the same dull monotony.

"It appears that early on the Tuesday morning the son of the conciergea lad about fifteenwas sent off by

her lodger with a message to No. 9 Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. That was the house where Percy was staying

all last week, where he kept disguises and so on for us all, and where some of our meetings were held. Percy

evidently expected that Armand would try and communicate with him at that address, for when the lad

arrived in front of the house he was accostedso he saysby a big, rough workman, who browbeat him

into giving up the lodger's letter, and finally pressed a piece of gold into his hand. The workman was

Blakeney, of course. I imagine that Armand, at the time that he wrote the letter, must have been under the

belief that Mademoiselle Lange was still in prison; he could not know then that Blakeney had already got her

into comparative safety. In the letter he must have spoken of the terrible plight in which he stood, and also of

his fears for the woman whom he loved. Percy was not the man to leave a comrade in the lurch! He would not

be the man whom we all love and admire, whose word we all obey, for whose sake we would gladly all of us

give our lifehe would not be that man if he did not brave even certain dangers in order to be of help to

those who call on him. Armand called and Percy went to him. He must have known that Armand was being

spied upon, for Armand, alas! was already a marked man, and the watchdogs of those infernal committees

were already on his heels. Whether these sleuthhounds had followed the son of the concierge and seen him

give the letter to the workman in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois, or whether the concierge in the Rue de Ia

Croix Blanche was nothing but a spy of Heron's, or, again whether the Committee of General Security kept a

company of soldiers in constant alert in that house, we shall, of course, never know. All that I do know is that

Percy entered that fatal house at halfpast ten, and that a quarter of an hour later the concierge saw some of

the soldiers descending the stairs, carrying a heavy burden. She peeped out of her lodge, and by the light in

the corridor she saw that the heavy burden was the body of a man bound closely with ropes: his eyes were

closed, his clothes were stained with blood. He was seemingly unconscious. The next day the official organ

of the Government proclaimed the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and there was a public holiday in honour

Marguerite had listened to this terrible narrative dryeyed and silent. Now she still sat there, hardly conscious

of what went on around herof Suzanne's tears, that fell unceasingly upon her fingersof Sir Andrew, who

had sunk into a chair, and buried his head in his hands. She was hardly conscious that she lived; the universe

But, nevertheless, she was the first to return to the active realities of the present.

"Sir Andrew," she said after a while, "tell me, where are my Lords Tony and Hastings?"

"At Calais, madam," he replied. "I saw them there on my way hither. They had delivered the Dauphin safely

into the hands of his adherents at Mantes, and were awaiting Blakeney's further orders, as he had commanded

"Yes, for us, Sir Andrew," she replied, whilst the ghost of a smile flitted across her drawn face; "you had

"Ah! I know what you would say, Sir Andrew. You will speak of dangers, of risks, of death, mayhap; you

will tell me that I as a woman can do nothing to help my husbandthat I could be but a hindrance to him,

just as I was in Boulogne. But everything is so different now. Whilst those brutes planned his capture he was

clever enough to outwit them, but now they have actually got him, think you they'll let him escape? They'll

watch him night and day, my friend, just as they watched the unfortunate Queen; but they'll not keep him

months, weeks, or even days in prisoneven Chauvelin now will no longer attempt to play with the Scarlet

Pimpernel. They have him, and they will hold him until such time as they take him to the guillotine."

Her voice broke in a sob; her selfcontrol was threatening to leave her. She was but a woman, young and

passionately in love with the man who was about to die an ignominious death, far away from his country, his

"I cannot let him die alone, Sir Andrew; he will be longing for me, andand, after all, there is you, and my

Lord Tony, and Lord Hastings and the others; surelysurely we are not going to let him die, not like that,

"You are right, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew earnestly; "we are not going to let him die, if human agency

can do aught to save him. Already Tony, Hastings and I have agreed to return to Paris. There are one or two

hidden places in and around the city known only to Percy and to the members of the League where he must

find one or more of us if he succeeds in getting away. All the way between Paris and Calais we have places of

refuge, places where any of us can hide at a given moment; where we can find disguises when we want them,

or horses in an emergency. No! no! we are not going to despair, Lady Blakeney; there are nineteen of us

prepared to lay down our lives for the Scarlet Pimpernel. Already I, as his lieutenant, have been selected as

the leader of as determined a gang as has ever entered on a work of rescue before. We leave for Paris

tomorrow, and if human pluck and devotion can destroy mountains then we'll destroy them. Our watchword

He knelt beside her chair and kissed the cold fingers which, with a sad little smile, she held out to him.

Suzanne had risen to her feet when her husband knelt; now he stood up beside her. The dainty young woman

"See how selfish I am," said Marguerite. "I talk calmly of taking your husband from you, when I myself

"My husband will go where his duty calls him," said Suzanne with charming and simple dignity. "I love him

with all my heart, because he is brave and good. He could not leave his comrade, who is also his chief, in the

lurch. God will protect him, I know. I would not ask him to play the part of a coward."

Her brown eyes glowed with pride. She was the true wife of a soldier, and with all her dainty ways and

childlike manners she was a splendid woman and a staunch friend. Sir Percy Blakeney bad saved her entire

family from death, the Comte and Comtesse de Tournai, the Vicomte, her brother, and she herself all owed

"There is but little danger for us, I fear me," said Sir Andrew lightly; "the revolutionary Government only

wants to strike at a head, it cares nothing for the limbs. Perhaps it feels that without our leader we are enemies

not worthy of persecution. If there are any dangers, so much the better," he added; "but I don't anticipate any,

unless we succeed in freeing our chief; and having freed him, we fear nothing more."

"The same applies to me, Sir Andrew," rejoined Marguerite earnestly. "Now that they have captured Percy,

those human fiends will care naught for me. If you succeed in freeing Percy I, like you, will have nothing

"Take me with you, Sir Andrew," she entreated; "do not condemn me to the awful torture of weary waiting,

day after day, wondering, guessing, never daring to hope, lest hope deferred be more hard to bear than dreary

Then as Sir Andrew, very undecided, yet half inclined to yield, stood silent and irresolute, she pressed her

"I would not he in the way, Sir Andrew; I would know how to efface myself so as not to interfere with your

plans. But, oh!" she added, while a quivering note of passion trembled in her voice, "can't you see that I must

"You would do an inhuman and a cruel act," said Suzanne with seriousness that sat quaintly on her baby face,

"if you did not afford your protection to Marguerite, for I do believe that if you did not take her with you

Marguerite thanked her friend with her eyes. Suzanne was a child in nature, but she had a woman's heart. She

loved her husband, and, therefore, knew and understood what Marguerite must be suffering now.

Sir Andrew no longer could resist the unfortunate woman's earnest pleading. Frankly, he thought that if she

remained in England while Percy was in such deadly peril she ran the grave risk of losing her reason before

the terrible strain of suspense. He knew her to be a woman of courage, and one capable of great physical

endurance; and really he was quite honest when he said that he did not believe there would be much danger

for the headless League of the Scarlet Pimpernel unless they succeeded in freeing their chief. And if they did

succeed, then indeed there would be nothing to fear, for the brave and loving wife who, like every true

woman does, and has done in like circumstances since the beginning of time, was only demanding with

passionate insistence the right to share the fate, good or ill, of the man whom she loved.

Sir Andrew had just come in. He was trying to get a little warmth into his halffrozen limbs, for the cold had

set in again, and this time with renewed vigour, and Marguerite was pouring out a cup of hot coffee which

she had been brewing for him. She had not asked for news. She knew that he had none to give her, else he

"I'll just try one more place this evening," he said as soon as he had swallowed some of the hot coffee"a

restaurant in the Rue de la Harpe; the members of the Cordeliers' Club often go there for supper, and they are

"It seems very strange that they are so slow in bringing him to trial," said Marguerite in that dull, toneless

voice which had become habitual to her. "When you first brought me the awful news that ... I made sure that

they would bring him to trial at once, and was in terror lest we arrived here too late toto see him."

"With regard to him I am at a still greater loss," he said: "I cannot find his name on any of the prison

registers, and I know that he is not in the Conciergerie. They have cleared out all the prisoners from there;

"Poor Armand I" she sighed; "it must be almost worse for him than for any of us; it was his first act of

She spoke sadly but quietly. Sir Andrew noted that there was no bitterness in her tone. But her very quietude

was heartbreaking; there was such an infinity of despair in the calm of her eyes.

"Well! though we cannot understand it all, Lady Blakeney," he said with forced cheerfulness, "we must

"Hope!" she exclaimed with a world of pathos in her sigh, her large eyes dry and circled, fixed with

Ffoulkes turned his head away, pretending to busy himself with the coffeemaking utensils. He could not

bear to see that look of hopelessness in her face, for in his heart he could not find the wherewithal to cheer

her. Despair was beginning to seize on him too, and this he would not let her see.

They had been in Paris three days now, and it was six days since Blakeney had been arrested. Sir Andrew and

Marguerite had found temporary lodgings inside Paris, Tony and Hastings were just outside the gates, and all

along the route between Paris and Calais, at St. Germain, at Mantes, in the villages between Beauvais and

Amiens, wherever money could obtain friendly help, members of the devoted League of the Scarlet

Ffoulkes had ascertained that Percy was kept a close prisoner in the Conciergerie, in the very rooms occupied

by Marie Antoinette during the last months of her life. He left poor Marguerite to guess how closely that

elusive Scarlet Pimpernel was being guarded, the precautions surrounding him being even more minute than

But of Armand he could glean no satisfactory news, only the negative probability that he was not detained in

any of the larger prisons of Paris, as no register which he, Ffoulkes, so laboriously consulted bore record of

Haunting the restaurants and drinking booths where the most advanced Jacobins and Terrorists were wont to

meet, be had learned one or two details of Blakeney's incarceration which he could not possibly impart to

Marguerite. The capture of the mysterious Englishman known as the Scarlet Pimpernel had created a great

deal of popular satisfaction; but it was obvious that not only was the public mind not allowed to associate that

capture with the escape of little Capet from the Temple, but it soon became clear to Ffoulkes that the news of

On one occasion he had succeeded in spying on the Chief Agent of the Committee of General Security,

whom he knew by sight, while the latter was sitting at dinner in the company of a stout, florid man with

Sir Andrew marvelled who this man might be. Heron spoke to him in ambiguous phrases that would have

been unintelligible to any one who did not know the circumstances of the Dauphin's escape and the part that

the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had played in it. But to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, whocleverly disguised

as a farrier, grimy after his day's workwas straining his ears to listen whilst apparently consuming huge

slabs of boiled beef, it soon became dear that the chief agent and his fat friend were talking of the Dauphin

"He won't hold out much longer, citizen," the chief agent was saying in a confident voice; "our men are

absolutely unremitting in their task. Two of them watch him night and day; they look after him well, and

practically never lose sight of him, but the moment he tries to get any sleep one of them rushes into the cell

with a loud banging of bayonet and sabre, and noisy tread on the flagstones, and shouts at the top of his

voice: 'Now then, aristo, where's the brat? Tell us now, and you shall he down and go to sleep.' I have done it

myself all through one day just for the pleasure of it. It's a little tiring for you to have to shout a good deal

now, and sometimes give the cursed Englishman a good shakeup. He has had five days of it, and not one

wink of sleep during that timenot one single minute of restand he only gets enough food to keep him

alive. I tell you he can't last. Citizen Chauvelin had a splendid idea there. It will all come right in a day or

"Yes!" retorted Heron with a grim laugh and a leer of savagery that made his gaunt face look positively

hideous"you would have given out after three days, friend de Batz, would you not? And I warned you,

didn't I? I told you if you tampered with the brat I would make you cry in mercy to me for death."

"And I warned you," said the other imperturbably, "not to worry so much about me, but to keep your eyes

"I am keeping my eyes open for you, nevertheless, my friend. If I thought you knew where the vermin's

"You would put me on the same rack that you or your precious friend, Chauvelin, have devised for the

Englishman. But I don't know where the lad is. If I did I would not be in Paris."

"I know that," assented Heron with a sneer; "you would soon be after the rewardover in Austria,

what?but I have your movements tracked day and night, my friend. I dare say you are as anxious as we are

as to the whereabouts of the child. Had he been taken over the frontier you would have been the first to hear

of it, eh? No," he added confidently, and as if anxious to reassure himself, "my firm belief is that the original

idea of these confounded Englishmen was to try and get the child over to England, and that they alone know

where he is. I tell you it won't be many days before that very withered Scarlet Pimpernel will order his

followers to give little Capet up to us. Oh! they are hanging about Paris some of them, I know that; citizen

Chauvelin is convinced that the wife isn't very far away. Give her a sight of her husband now, say I, and she'll

The man laughed like some hyena gloating over its prey. Sir Andrew nearly betrayed himself then. He had to

dig his nails into his own flesh to prevent himself from springing then and there at the throat of that wretch

whose monstrous ingenuity had invented torture for the fallen enemy far worse than any that the cruelties of

So they would not let him sleep! A simple idea born in the brain of a fiend. Heron had spoken of Chauvelin

as the originator of the devilry; a man weakened deliberately day by day by insufficient food, and the horrible

process of denying him rest. It seemed inconceivable that human, sentient beings should have thought of such

a thing. Perspiration stood up in beads on Sir Andrew's brow when he thought of his friend, brought down by

want of sleep to what? His physique was splendidly powerful, but could it stand against such racking

torment for long? And the clear, the alert mind, the scheming brain, the reckless daringhow soon would

Ffoulkes had to smother a cry of horror, which surely must have drawn the attention of that fiend on himself

had he not been so engrossed in the enjoyment of his own devilry. As it is, he ran out of the stuffy

For an hour after that he wandered about the streets, not daring to face Marguerite, lest his eyes betrayed

That was twentyfour hours ago. Today he had learnt little else. It was generally known that the

Englishman was in the Conciergerie prison, that he was being closely watched, and that his trial would come

on within the next few days; but no one seemed to know exactly when. The public was getting restive,

demanding that trial and execution to which every one seemed to look forward as to a holiday. In the

meanwhile the escape of the Dauphin had been kept from the knowledge of the public; Heron and his gang,

fearing for their lives, had still hopes of extracting from the Englishman the secret of the lad's hidingplace,

and the means they employed for arriving at this end was worthy of Lucifer and his host of devils in hell.

From other fragments of conversation which Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had gleaned that same evening, it seemed

to him that in order to hide their defalcations Heron and the four commissaries in charge of little Capet had

substituted a deaf and dumb child for the escaped little prisoner. This miserable small wreck of humanity was

reputed to be sick and kept in a darkened room, in bed, and was in that condition exhibited to any member of

the Convention who had the right to see him. A partition had been very hastily erected in the inner room once

occupied by the Simons, and the child was kept behind that partition, and no one was allowed to come too

near to him. Thus the fraud was succeeding fairly well. Heron and his accomplices only cared to save their

skins, and the wretched little substitute being really ill, they firmly hoped that he would soon die, when no

doubt they would bruit abroad the news of the death of Capet, which would relieve them of further

That such ideas, such thoughts, such schemes should have engendered in human minds it is almost

impossible to conceive, and yet we know from no less important a witness than Madame Simon herself that

the child who died in the Temple a few weeks later was a poor little imbecile, a deaf and dumb child brought

hither from one of the asylums and left to die in peace. There was nobody but kindly Death to take him out of

his misery, for the giant intellect that had planned and carried out the rescue of the uncrowned King of

France, and which alone might have had the power to save him too, was being broken on the rack of enforced

That same evening Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, having announced his intention of gleaning further news of

Armand, if possible, went out shortly after seven o'clock, promising to be home again about nine.

Marguerite, on the other hand, had to make her friend a solemn promise that she would try and eat some

supper which the landlady of these miserable apartments had agreed to prepare for her. So far they had been

left in peaceful occupation of these squalid lodgings in a tumbledown house on the Quai de la Ferraille,

facing the house of Justice, the grim walls of which Marguerite would watch with wideopen dry eyes for as

Even now, though the darkness had set in, and snow, falling in close, small flakes, threw a thick white veil

over the landscape, she sat at the open window long after Sir Andrew had gone out, watching the few small

flicks of light that blinked across from the other side of the river, and which came from the windows of the

Chatelet towers. The windows of the Conciergerie she could not see, for these gave on one of the inner

courtyards; but there was a melancholy consolation even in the gazing on those walls that held in their cruel,

It seemed so impossible to think of Percythe laughterloving, irresponsible, lighthearted adventureras

the prey of those fiends who would revel in their triumph, who would crush him, humiliate him, insult

himye gods alive! even torture him, perhapsthat they might break the indomitable spirit that would

Surely, surely God would never allow such monstrous infamy as the deliverance of the noble soaring eagle

into the hands of those preying jackals! Margueritethough her heart ached beyond what human nature

could endure, though her anguish on her husband's account was doubled by that which she felt for her

brothercould not bring herself to give up all hope. Sir Andrew said it rightly; while there was life there was

hope. While there was life in those vigorous limbs, spirit in that daring mind, how could puny, rampant beasts

gain the better of the immortal soul? As for Armandwhy, if Percy were free she would have no cause to

She sighed a sigh of deep, of passionate regret and longing. If she could only see her husband; if she could

only look for one second into those laughing, lazy eyes, wherein she alone knew how to fathom the infinity of

passion that lay within their depths; if she could but once feel hisardent kiss on her lips, she could more

easily endure this agonising suspense, and wait confidently and courageously for the issue.

She turned away from the window, for the night was getting bitterly cold. From the tower of St. Germain

l'Auxerrois the clock slowly struck eight. Even as the last sound of the historic bell died away in the distance

She thought it was her landlady, come up with more wood, mayhap, for the fire, so she did not turn to the

door when she heard it being slowly opened, then closed again, and presently a soft tread on the threadbare

"May I crave your kind attention, Lady Blakeney?" said a harsh voice, subdued to tones of ordinary courtesy.

She quickly repressed a cry of terror. How well she knew that voice! When last she heard it it was at

Boulogne, dictating that infamous letterthe weapon wherewith Percy had so effectually foiled his enemy.

She turned and faced the man who was her bitterest foehers in the person of the man she loved.

He stood in the full light of the lamp, his trim, small figure boldly cut out against the dark wall beyond. He

wore the usual sablecoloured clothes which he affected, with the primlyfolded jabot and cuffs edged with

Without waiting for permission from her he quietly and deliberately placed his hat and cloak on a chair. Then

he turned once more toward her, and made a movement as if to advance into the room; but instinctively she

He shrugged his shoulders, and the shadow of a smile, that had neither mirth nor kindliness in it, hovered

"As you will," she replied slowly, keeping her wideopen eyes fixed upon him as does a frightened bird upon

"And may I crave a few moments of your undivided attention, Lady Blakeney?" he continued, taking a chair,

and so placing it beside the table that the light of the lamp when he sat remained behind him and his face was

"It is," he replied curtly, "if you desire to see and speak with your husbandto be of use to him before it is

She sank into a chair, not heeding whether the light of the lamp fell on her face or not, whether the lines in

her haggard cheeks, or her teardimmed eyes showed plainly the sorrow and despair that had traced them.

She had nothing to hide from this man, the cause of all the tortures which she endured. She knew that neither

courage nor sorrow would move him, and that hatred for Percy personal deadly hatred for the man who

"Perhaps, Lady Blakeney," he began after a slight pause and in his smooth, even voice, "it would interest you

to hear how I succeeded in procuring for myself this pleasure of an interview with you?"

"Exactly. We have been on your track for three days, and yesterday evening an unguarded movement on the

He was in an eatinghouse, cleverly disguised, I own, trying to glean information, no doubt as to the probable

fate of Sir Percy Blakeney. As chance would have it, my friend Heron, of the Committee of General Security,

chanced to be discussing with reprehensible opennessercertainwhat shall I say?certain measures

which, at my advice, the Committee of Public Safety have been forced to adopt with a view to"

"A truce on your smoothtongued speeches, citizen Chauvelin," she interposed firmly. "Sir Andrew Ffoulkes

has told me naught of thisso I pray you speak plainly and to the point, if you can."

"As you please," he said. "Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, hearing certain matters of which I will tell you anon, made a

movement which betrayed him to one of our spies. At a word from citizen Heron this man followed on the

heels of the young farrier who had shown such interest in the conversation of the Chief Agent. Sir Andrew, I

imagine, burning with indignation at what he had heard, was perhaps not quite so cautious as he usually is.

Anyway, the man on his track followed him to this door. It was quite simple, as you see. As for me, I had

guessed a week ago that we would see the beautiful Lady Blakeney in Paris before long. When I knew where

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes lodged, I had no difficulty in guessing that Lady Blakeney would not be far off."

"And what was there in citizen Heron's conversation last night," she asked quietly, "that so aroused Sir

"Oh! it is very simple. Let me tell you, Lady Blakeney, exactly how matters stand. Sir Percy

Blakeneybefore lucky chance at last delivered him into our handsthought fit, as no doubt you know, to

"A child. I know it, sirthe son of a murdered father whom you and your friends were slowly doing to

"That is as it may be, Lady Blakeney," rejoined Chauvelin calmly; "but it was none of Sir Percy Blakeney's

business. This, however, he chose to disregard. He succeeded in carrying little Capet from the Temple, and

Chauvelin made no immediate reply; his pale, inscrutable eyes were fixed upon her face, and the smile of

"That, again, is as it may be," he said suavely; "but anyhow for the moment we have the upper hand. Sir

Percy is in the Conciergerie, guarded day and night, more closely than Marie Antoinette even was guarded."

"And he laughs at your bolts and bars, sir," she rejoined proudly. "Remember Calais, remember Boulogne.

"Yes; but for the moment laughter is on our side. Still we are willing to forego even that pleasure, if Sir Percy

"Again some infamous letter?" she asked with bitter contempt; "some attempt against his honour?"

"No, no, Lady Blakeney," he interposed with perfect blandness. "Matters are so much simpler now, you see.

We hold Sir Percy at our mercy. We could send him to the guillotine tomorrow, but we might be

willingremember, I only say we mightto exercise our prerogative of mercy if Sir Percy Blakeney will on

"Is a very natural one. He took Capet away from us, and it is but credible that he knows at the present

moment exactly where the child is. Let him instruct his followersand I mistake not, Lady Blakeney, there

are several of them not very far from Paris just nowlet him, I say, instruct these followers of his to return

the person of young Capet to us, and not only will we undertake to give these same gentlemen a safe conduct

back to England, but we even might be inclined to deal somewhat less harshly with the gallant Scarlet

"I don't think that I quite understand," she said after a moment or two, whilst he waited calmly until her

outbreak of hysterical mirth had subsided. "You want my husbandthe Scarlet Pimpernel, citizento

deliver the little King of France to you after he has risked his life to save the child out of your clutches? Is

"It is," rejoined Chauvelin complacently, "just what we have been saying to Sir Percy Blakeney for the past

"Let me explain, Lady Blakeney," said Chauvelin, now with measured emphasis. He put both elbows on the

table and leaned well forward, peering into her face, lest one of its varied expressions escaped him. "Just now

you taunted me with my failure in Calais, and again at Boulogne, with a proud toss of the head, which I own

is excessive becoming; you threw the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel in my face like a challenge which I no

longer dare to accept. 'The Scarlet Pimpernel,' you would say to me, 'stands for loyalty, for honour, and for

indomitable courage. Think you he would sacrifice his honour to obtain your mercy? Remember Boulogne

and your discomfiture!' All of which, dear lady, is perfectly charming and womanly and enthusiastic, and I,

bowing my humble head, must own that I was fooled in Calais and baffled in Boulogne. But in Boulogne I

made a grave mistake, and one from which I learned a lesson, which I am putting into practice now."

He paused a while as if waiting for her reply. His pale, keen eyes had already noted that with every phrase he

uttered the lines in her beautiful face became more hard and set. A look of horror was gradually spreading

over it, as if the icycold hand of death had passed over her eyes and cheeks, leaving them rigid like stone.

"In Boulogne," resumed Chauvelin quietly, satisfied that his words were hitting steadily at her heart"in

Boulogne Sir Percy and I did not fight an equal fight. Fresh from a pleasant sojourn in his own magnificent

home, full of the spirit of adventure which puts the essence of life into a man's veins, Sir Percy Blakeney's

splendid physique was pitted against my feeble powers. Of course I lost the battle. I made the mistake of

"Sir Percy Blakeney has been in the prison of the Conciergerie for exactly one week, Lady Blakeney," he

replied, speaking very slowly, and letting every one of his words sink individually into her mind. "Even

before he had time to take the bearings of his cell or to plan on his own behalf one of those remarkable

escapes for which he is so justly famous, our men began to work on a scheme which I am proud to say

originated with myself. A week has gone by since then, Lady Blakeney, and during that time a special

company of prison guard, acting under the orders of the Committee of General Security and of Public Safety,

have questioned the prisoner unremittinglyunremittingly, rememberday and night. Two by two these

men take it in turns to enter the prisoner's cell every quarter of an hourlately it has had to be more

oftenand ask him the one question, 'Where is little Capet?' Up to now we have received no satisfactory

reply, although we have explained to Sir Percy that many of his followers are honouring the neighbourhood

of Paris with their visit, and that all we ask for from him are instructions to those gallant gentlemen to bring

young Capet back to us. It is all very simple, unfortunately the prisoner is somewhat obstinate. At first, even,

the idea seemed to amuse him; he used to laugh and say that he always had the faculty of sleeping with his

eyes open. But our soldiers are untiring in their efforts, and the want of sleep as well as of a sufficiency of

food and of fresh air is certainly beginning to tell on Sir Percy Blakeney's magnificent physique. I don't think

that it will be very long before he gives way to our gentle persuasions; and in any case now, I assure you,

dear lady, that we need not fear any attempt on his part to escape. I doubt if he could walk very steadily

Marguerite had sat quite silent and apparently impassive all the while that Chauvelin had been speaking; even

now she scarcely stirred. Her face expressed absolutely nothing but deep puzzlement. There was a frown

between her brows, and her eyes, which were always of such liquid blue, now looked almost black. She was

trying to visualise that which Chauvelin had put before her: a man harassed day and night, unceasingly,

unremittingly, with one question allowed neither respite nor sleephis brain, soul, and body fagged out at

every hour, every moment of the day and night, until mind and body and soul must inevitably give way under

anguish ten thousand times more unendurable than any physical torment invented by monsters in barbaric

That man thus harassed, thus fagged out, thus martyrised at all hours of the day and night, was her husband,

Torture? Oh, no! these were advanced and civilised times that could afford to look with horror on the

excesses of medieval days. This was a revolution that made for progress, and challenged the opinion of the

world. The cells of the Temple of La Force or the Conciergerie held no secret inquisition with iron maidens

and racks and thumbscrews; but a few men had put their tortuous brains together, and had said one to

another: "We want to find out from that man where we can lay our hands on little Capet, so we won't let him

sleep until he has told us. It is not tortureoh, no! Who would dare to say that we torture our prisoners? It is

only a little horseplay, worrying to the prisoner, no doubt; but, after all, he can end the unpleasantness at any

moment. He need but to answer our question, and he can go to sleep as comfortably as a little child. The want

of sleep is very trying, the want of proper food and of fresh air is very weakening; the prisoner must give way

So these fiends had decided it between them, and they had put their idea into execution for one whole week.

Marguerite looked at Chauvelin as she would on some monstrous, inscrutable Sphinx, marveling if

Godeven in His angercould really have created such a fiendish brain, or, having created it, could allow

Even now she felt that he was enjoying the mental anguish which he had put upon her, and she saw his thin,

"So you came tonight to tell me all this?" she asked as soon as she could trust herself to speak. Her impulse

was to shriek out her indignation, her horror of him, into his face. She longed to call down God's eternal curse

upon this fiend; but instinctively she held herself in check. Her indignation, her words of loathing would only

"Your pardon, Lady Blakeney," he said with all his habitual blandness; "my object in coming to see you

tonight was twofold. Methought that I was acting as your friend in giving you authentic news of Sir Percy,

"Then I pray you command me. I will grant you the permission whenever you wish to go."

"You are in the hope, citizen," she said, "that I will do my best to break my husband's spirit by my tears or my

"Not necessarily," he replied pleasantly. "I assure you that we can manage to do that ourselves, in time."

"You devil!" The cry of pain and of horror was involuntarily wrung from the depths of her soul. "Are you not

"No," he said lightly; "I am not afraid, Lady Blakeney. You see, I do not happen to believe in God. Come!"

he added more seriously, "have I not proved to you that my offer is disinterested? Yet I repeat it even now. If

you desire to see Sir Percy in prison, command me, and the doors shall be open to you."

She waited a moment, looking him straight and quite dispassionately in the face; then she said coldly:

"Just as you wish. I would have to go and see my friend Heron first, and arrange with him for your visit."

"C'est entendu. Will you be at the main entrance of the Conciergerie at halfpast nine? You know it,

perhapsno? It is in the Rue de la Barillerie, immediately on the right at the foot of the great staircase of the

"Of the house of Justice!" she exclaimed involuntarily, a world of bitter contempt in her cry. Then she added

He took up his hat and coat and bowed ceremoniously to her. Then he turned to go. At the door a cry from

"My interview with the prisoner," she said, vainly try mg, poor soul! to repress that quiver of anxiety in her

"Oh, yes! Of course," he replied with a reassuring smile. "Au revoir, Lady Blakeney! Halfpast nine,

She could no longer trust herself to look on him as he finally took his departure. She was afraidyes,

absolutely afraid that her fortitude would give waymeanly, despicably, uselessly give way; that she would

suddenly fling herself at the feet of that sneering, inhuman wretch, that she would pray, imploreHeaven

above! what might she not do in the face of this awful reality, if the last lingering shred of vanishing reason,

Therefore she forced herself not to look on that departing, sableclad figure, on that evil face, and those

hands that held Percy's fate in their cruel grip; but her ears caught the welcome sound of his departurethe

opening and shutting of the door, his light footstep echoing down the stone stairs.

When at last she felt that she was really alone she uttered a loud cry like a wounded doe, and falling on her

knees she buried her face in her hands in a passionate fit of weeping. Violent sobs shook her entire frame; it

seemed as if an overwhelming anguish was tearing at her heartthe physical pain of it was almost

unendurable. And yet even through this paroxysm of tears her mind clung to one root idea: when she saw

Percy she must be brave and calm, be able to help him if he wanted her, to do his bidding if there was

anything that she could do, or any message that she could take to the others. Of hope she had none. The last

lingering ray of it had been extinguished by that fiend when he said, "We need not fear that he will escape. I

Marguerite, accompanied by Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, walked rapidly along the quay. It lacked ten minutes to

the half hour; the night was dark and bitterly cold. Snow was still falling in sparse, thin flakes, and lay like a

crisp and glittering mantle over the parapets of the bridges and the grim towers of the Chatelet prison.

They walked on silently now. All that they had wanted to say to one another had been said inside the squalid

room of their lodgings when Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had come home and learned that Chauvelin had been.

"They are killing him by inches, Sir Andrew," had been the heartrending cry which burst from Marguerite's

oppressed heart as soon as her hands rested in the kindly ones of her best friend. "Is there aught that we can

There was, of course, very little that could be done. One or two fine steel files which Sir Andrew gave her to

conceal beneath the folds of her kerchief; also a tiny dagger with sharp, poisoned blade, which for a moment

she held in her hand hesitating, her eyes filling with tears, her heart throbbing with unspeakable sorrow.

Then slowlyvery slowlyshe raised the small, deathdealing instrument to her lips, and reverently kissed

"Can you think of anything else, Sir Andrew, that he might want?" she asked. "I have money in plenty, in

Sir Andrew sighed, and turned away from her so as to hide the hopelessness which he felt. Since three days

now be had been exhausting every conceivable means of getting at the prison guard with bribery and

corruption. But Chauvelin and his friends had taken excellent precautions. The prison of the Conciergerie,

situated as it was in the very heart of the labyrinthine and complicated structure of the Chatelet and the house

of Justice, and isolated from every other group of cells in the building, was inaccessible save from one

narrow doorway which gave on the guardroom first, and thence on the inner cell beyond. Just as all attempts

to rescue the late unfortunate Queen from that prison had failed, so now every attempt to reach the

The guardroom was filled with soldiers day and night; the windows of the inner cell, heavily barred, were

too small to admit of the passage of a human body, and they were raised twenty feet from the corridor below.

Sir Andrew had stood in the corridor two days ago, he bad looked on the window behind which he knew that

his friend must be eating out his noble heart in a longing for liberty, and he had realised then that every effort

"Courage, Lady Blakeney," he said to Marguerite, when anon they had crossed the Pont au Change, and were

wending their way slowly along the Rue de la Barillerie; "remember our proud dictum: the Scarlet Pimpernel

never fails! and also this, that whatever messages Blakeney gives you for us, whatever he wishes us to do, we

are to a man ready to do it, and to give our lives for our chief. Courage! Something tells me that a man like

Percy is not going to die at the hands of such vermin as Chauvelin and his friends."

They had reached the great iron gates of the house of Justice. Marguerite, trying to smile, extended her

"I'll not be far," he said. "When you come out do not look to the right or left, but make straight for home; I'll

not lose sight of you for a moment, and as soon as possible will overtake you. God bless you both."

He pressed his lips on her cold little hand, and watched her tall, elegant figure as she passed through the great

gates until the veil of falling snow hid her from his gaze. Then with a deep sigh of bitter anguish and sorrow

Marguerite found the gate at the bottom of the monumental stairs open when she arrived. Chauvelin was

"We are prepared for your visit, Lady Blakeney," he said, "and the prisoner knows that you are coming."

He led the way down one of the numerous and interminable corridors of the building, and she followed

briskly, pressing her hand against her bosom there where the folds of her kerchief hid the steel files and the

Even in the gloom of these illlighted passages she realised that she was surrounded by guards. There were

soldiers everywhere; two had stood behind the door when first she entered, and had immediately closed it

with a loud clang behind her; and all the way down the corridors, through the halflight engendered by feebly

flickering lamps, she caught glimpses of the white facings on the uniforms of the town guard, or occasionally

the glint of steel of a bayonet. Presently Chauvelin paused beside a door, which he had just reached. His hand

was on the latch, for it did not appear to be locked, and he turned toward Marguerite.

"I am very sorry, Lady Blakeney," he said in simple, deferential tones, "that the prison authorities, who at my

request are granting you this interview at such an unusual hour, have made a slight condition to your visit."

"You must forgive me," he said, as if purposely evading her question, "for I give you my word that I had

nothing to do with a regulation that you might justly feel was derogatory to your dignity. If you will kindly

He pushed open the door, and stood aside ceremoniously in order to allow her to pass in. She looked on him

with deep puzzlement and a look of dark suspicion in her eyes. But her mind was too much engrossed with

the thought of her meeting with Percy to worry over any trifle that mightas her enemy had

"I will wait for you here. And, I pray you, if you have aught to complain of summon me at once."

Then he closed the door behind her. The room in which Marguerite now found herself was a small

unventilated quadrangle, dimly lighted by a hanging lamp. A woman in a soiled cotton gown and lank grey

hair brushed away from a parchmentlike forehead rose from the chair in which she had been sitting when

Marguerite entered, and put away some knitting on which she had apparently been engaged.

"I was to tell you, citizeness," she said the moment the door had been closed and she was alone with

Marguerite, "that the prison authorities have given orders that I should search you before you visit the

She repeated this phrase mechanically like a child who has been taught to say a lesson by heart. She was a

stoutish middleaged woman, with that pasty, flabby skin peculiar to those who live in want of fresh air; but

her small, dark eyes were not unkindly, although they shifted restlessly from one object to another as if she

"That you should search me!" reiterated Marguerite slowly, trying to understand.

"Yes," replied the woman. "I was to tell you to take off your clothes, so that I might look them through and

through. I have often had to do this before when visitors have been allowed inside the prison, so it is no use

your trying to deceive me in any way. I am very sharp at finding out if any one has papers, or files or ropes

concealed in an underpetticoat. Come," she added more roughly, seeing that Marguerite had remained

motionless in the middle of the room; "the quicker you are about it the sooner you will be taken to see the

These words had their desired effect. The proud Lady Blakeney, inwardly revolting at the outrage, knew that

resistance would be worse than useless. Chauvelin was the other side of the door. A call from the woman

would bring him to her assistance, and Marguerite was only longing to hasten the moment when she could be

She took off her kerchief and her gown and calmly submitted to the woman's rough hands as they wandered

with sureness and accuracy to the various pockets and folds that might conceal prohibited articles. The

woman did her work with peculiar stolidity; she did not utter a word when she found the tiny steel files and

placed them on a table beside her. In equal silence she laid the little dagger beside them, and the purse which

contained twenty gold pieces. These she counted in front of Marguerite and then replaced them in the purse.

Her face expressed neither surprise, nor greed nor pity. She was obviously beyond the reach of bribery just

a machine paid by the prison authorities to do this unpleasant work, and no doubt terrorised into doing it

When she had satisfied herself that Marguerite had nothing further concealed about her person, she allowed

her to put her dress on once more. She even offered to help her on with it. When Marguerite was fully dressed

she opened the door for her. Chauvelin was standing in the passage waiting patiently. At sight of Marguerite,

whose pale, set face betrayed nothing of the indignation which she felt, he turned quick, inquiring eyes on the

Chauvelin made no comment. He received the information quite placidly, as if it had no special interest for

Marguerite followed him, and two minutes later he stood beside a heavy nailstudded door that had a small

Two soldiers of the National Guard were on sentry at the door, two more were pacing up and down outside it,

arid had halted when citizen Chauvelin gave his name and showed his tricolour scarf of office. From behind

There was the sound of grounding of arms, of the drawing of bolts and the turning of a key in a complicated

lock. The prison was kept locked from within, and very heavy bars had to be moved ere the ponderous door

Two steps led up into the guardroom. Marguerite mounted them with the same feeling of awe and almost of

The guardroom itself was more brilliantly lighted than the corridor outside. The sudden glare of two or three

lamps placed about the room caused her momentarily to close her eyes that were aching with many shed and

unshed tears. The air was rank and heavy with the fumes of tobacco, of wine and stale food. A large barred

When Marguerite felt strong enough to look around her, she saw that the room was filled with soldiers. Some

were sitting, others standing, others lay on rugs against the wall, apparently asleep. There was one who

appeared to be in command, for with a word he checked the noise that was going on in the room when she

He turned to an opening in the wall on the left, the stonelintel of a door, from which the door itself had been

removed; an iron bar ran across the opening, and this the sergeant now lifted, nodding to Marguerite to go

Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who allowed Marguerite through the barrier into the

prisoner's cell? Had the wan face of this beautiful woman stirred within his heart the last chord of gentleness

that was not wholly atrophied by the constant cruelties, the excesses, the mercilessness which his service

Perhaps some recollection of former years, when first he served his King and country, recollection of wife or

sister or mother pleaded within him in favour of this sorelystricken woman with the look of unspeakable

Certain it is that as soon as Marguerite passed the barrier he put himself on guard against it with his back to

After the glaring light of the guardroom the cell seemed dark, and at first she could hardly see. The whole

length of the long, narrow cubicle lay to her left, with a slight recess at its further end, so that from the

threshold of the doorway she could not see into the distant corner. Swift as a lightning flash the remembrance

came back to her of proud Marie Antoinette narrowing her life to that dark corner where the insolent eyes of

Marguerite stepped further into the room. Gradually by the dim light of an oil lamp placed upon a table in the

recess she began to distinguish various objects: one or two chairs, another table, and a small but very

Just for a few seconds she only saw these inanimate things, then she became conscious of Percy's presence.

He sat on a chair, with his left arm halfstretched out upon the table, his bead hidden in the bend of the

Marguerite did not utter a cry; she did not even tremble. Just for one brief instant she closed her eyes, so as to

gather up all her courage before she dared to look again. Then with a steady and noiseless step she came quite

close to him. She knelt on the flagstones at his feet and raised reverently to her lips the hand that hung

He gave a start; a shiver seemed to go right through him; he half raised his head and murmured in a hoarse

She put her arms round him and pillowed her head upon his breast. He turned his head slowly toward her, and

"My beloved," he said, "I knew that you would come." His arms closed round her. There was nothing of

lifelessness or of weariness in the passion of that embrace; and when she looked up again it seemed to her as

if that first vision which she had had of him with weary head bent, and wan, haggard face was not reality,

only a dream born of her own anxiety for him, for now the hot, ardent blood coursed just as swiftly as ever

through his veins, as if lifestrong, tenacious, pulsating lifethrobbed with unabated vigour in those

massive limbs, and behind that square, clear brow as though the body, but half subdued, had transferred its

vanishing strength to the kind and noble heart that was beating with the fervour of selfsacrifice.

"Percy," she said gently, "they will only give us a few moments together. They thought that my tears would

He held her glance with his own, with that close, intent look which binds soul to soul, and in his deep blue

"La! little woman," he said with enforced lightness, even whilst his voice quivered with the intensity of

passion engendered by her presence, her nearness, the perfume of her hair, "how little they know you, eh?

Your brave, beautiful, exquisite soul, shining now through your glorious eyes, would defy the machinations

of Satan himself and his horde. Close your dear eyes, my love. I shall go mad with joy if I drink their beauty

He held her face between his two hands, and indeed it seemed as if he could not satiate his soul with looking

into her eyes. In the midst of so much sorrow, such misery and such deadly fear, never had Marguerite felt

quite so happy, never had she felt him so completely her own. The inevitable bodily weakness, which of

necessity had invaded even his splendid physique after a whole week's privations, had made a severe breach

in the invincible barrier of selfcontrol with which the soul of the inner man was kept perpetually hidden

And yet the agony of seeing the lines of sorrow so plainly writ on the beautiful face of the woman he

worshipped must have been the keenest that the bold adventurer had ever experienced in the whole course of

his reckless life. It was heand he alonewho was making her suffer; her for whose sake he would gladly

have shed every drop of his blood, endured every torment, every misery and every humiliation; her whom he

worshipped only one degree less than he worshipped his honour and the cause which he had made his own.

Yet, in spite of that agony, in spite of the heartrending pathos of her pale wan face, and through the anguish

of seeing her tears, the ruling passionstrong in deaththe spirit of adventure, the mad, wild,

"Dear heart," he said with a quaint sigh, whilst he buried his face in the soft masses of her hair, "until you

He was laughing, and the old look of boyish love of mischief illumined his haggard face.

"Is it not lucky, dear heart," he said a moment or two later, "that those brutes do not leave me unshaved? I

could not have faced you with a week's growth of beard round my chin. By dint of promises and bribery I

have persuaded one of that rabble to come and shave me every morning. They will not allow me to handle a

razor myself. They are afraid I should cut my throator one of theirs. But mostly I am too dd sleepy to

"I knowI know, dear," he murmured, "what a brute I am! Ah, God did a cruel thing the day that He threw

me in your path. To think that oncenot so very long agowe were drifting apart, you and I. You would

Then as he saw that his bantering tone pained her, he covered her hands with kisses, entreating her

"Dear heart," he said merrily, "I deserve that you should leave me to rot in this abominable cage. They

haven't got me yet, little woman, you know; I am not yet deadonly dd sleepy at times. But I'll cheat

"How, Percyhow?" she moaned, for her heart was aching with intolerable pain; she knew better than he did

the precautions which were being taken against his escape, and she saw more clearly than he realised it

himself the terrible barrier set up against that escape by ever encroaching physical weakness.

"Well, dear," he said simply, "to tell you the truth I have not yet thought of that allimportant 'how.' I had to

wait, you see, until you came. I was so sure that you would come! I have succeeded in putting on paper all

my instructions for Ffoulkes and the others. I will give them to you anon. I knew that you would come, and

that I could give them to you; until then I had but to think of one thing, and that was of keeping body and soul

together. My chance of seeing you was to let them have their will with me. Those brutes were sure, sooner or

later, to bring you to me, that you might see the caged fox worn down to imbecility, eh? That you might add

He laughed lightly with an unstrained note of gaiety, only Marguerite's sensitive ears caught the faint tone of

"Once I know that the little King of France is safe," he said, "I can think of how best to rob those dd

Then suddenly his manner changed. He still held her with one arm closely to, him, but the other now lay

across the table, and the slender, emaciated hand was tightly clutched. He did not look at her, but straight

ahead; the eyes, unnaturally large now, with their deep purple rims, looked far ahead beyond the stone walls

The passionate lover, hungering for his beloved, had vanished; there sat the man with a purpose, the man

whose firm hand had snatched men and women and children from death, the reckless enthusiast who tossed

For a while he sat thus, while in his drawn and haggard face she could trace every line formed by his

thoughtsthe frown of anxiety, the resolute setting of the lips, the obstinate look of will around the firm jaw.

"My beautiful one," he said softly, "the moments are very precious. God knows I could spend eternity thus

with your dear form nestling against my heart. But those dd murderers will only give us half an hour, and I

want your help, my beloved, now that I am a helpless cur caught in their trap. Will you listen attentively, dear

"It means going from hence today, dear heart, and perhaps not meeting again. Hushshsh, my beloved," he

said, tenderly placing his thin hand over her mouth, from which a sharp cry of pain had wellnigh escaped;

"your exquisite soul will be with me always. Trytry not to give way to despair. Why! your love alone,

which I see shining from your dear eyes, is enough to make a man cling to life with all his might. Tell me!

The next instant he was kneeling on the floor and his hands were wandering over the small, irregular

flagstones immediately underneath the table. Marguerite had risen to her feet; she watched her husband with

intent and puzzled eyes; she saw him suddenly pass his slender fingers along a crevice between two

flagstones, then raise one of these slightly and from beneath it extract a small bundle of papers, each carefully

He gave a quick glance toward the doorway. That corner of his cell, the recess wherein stood the table, was

invisible to any one who had not actually crossed the threshold. Reassured that his movements could not have

"Dear heart," he whispered, "I want to place these papers in your care. Look upon them as my last will and

testament. I succeeded in fooling those brutes one day by pretending to be willing to accede to their will.

They gave me pen and ink and paper and wax, and I was to write out an order to my followers to bring the

Dauphin hither. They left me in peace for one quarter of an hour, which gave me time to write three

lettersone for Armand and the other two for Ffoulkes, and to hide them under the flooring of my cell. You

He paused, and that, ghost of a smile once more hovered round his lips. He was thinking of that day when he

had fooled Heron and Chauvelin into the belief that their devilry had succeeded, and that they had brought the

reckless adventurer to his knees. He smiled at the recollection of their wrath when they knew that they had

been tricked, and after a quarter of an hour s anxious waiting found a few sheets of paper scribbled over with

incoherent words or satirical verse, and the prisoner having apparently snatched ten minutes' sleep, which

But of this he told Marguerite nothing, nor of the insults and the humiliation which he had had to bear in

consequence of that trick. He did not tell her that directly afterwards the order went forth that the prisoner

was to be kept on bread and water in the future, nor that Chauvelin had stood by laughing and jeering while ...

No! he did not tell her all that; the recollection of it all had still the power to make him laugh; was it not all a

part and parcel of that great gamble for human lives wherein he had held the winning cards himself for so

"Yes!" Chauvelin had replied, "our turn at last. And you will not bend my fine English gentleman, we'll break

It was the thought of it all, of that hand to hand, will to will, spirit to spirit struggle that lighted up his haggard

face even now, gave him a fresh zest for life, a desire to combat and to conquer in spite of all, in spite of the

odds that had martyred his body but left the mind, the will, the power still unconquered.

He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her fingers tightly in his, and compelling her gaze

"This first letter is for Ffoulkes," he said. "It relates to the final measures for the safety of the Dauphin. They

are my instructions to those members of the League who are in or near Paris at the present moment. Ffoulkes,

I know, must be with youhe was not likely, God bless his loyalty, to let you come to Paris alone. Then give

this letter to him, dear heart, at once, tonight, and tell him that it is my express command that he and the

"But the Dauphin surely is safe now," she urged. "Ffoulkes and the others are here in order to help you."

"To help me, dear heart?" he interposed earnestly. "God alone can do that now, and such of my poor wits as

"I have waited a week, until this hour when I could place this packet in your hands; another ten days should

"Percy," she exclaimed in an agony of horror, "you cannot endure this another dayand live!"

"Nay!" he said in a tone that was almost insolent in its proud defiance, "there is but little that a man cannot do

an he sets his mind to it. For the rest, 'tis in God's hands!" he added more gently. "Dear heart! you swore that

you would be brave. The Dauphin is still in France, and until he is out of it he will not really be safe; his

friends wanted to keep him inside the country. God only knows what they still hope; had I been free I should

not have allowed him to remain so long; now those good people at Mantes will yield to my letter and to

Ffoulkes' earnest appeal they will allow one of our League to convey the child safely out of France, and I'll

wait here until I know that he is safe. If I tried to get away now, and succeededwhy, Heaven help us! the

hue and cry might turn against the child, and he might be captured before I could get to him. Dear heart! dear,

dear heart! try to understand. The safety of that child is bound with mine honour, but I swear to you, my

sweet love, that the day on which I feel that that safety is assured I will save mine own skinwhat there is

"Percy!" she cried with a sudden outburst of passionate revolt, "you speak as if the safety of that child were of

more moment than your own. Ten days!but, God in Heaven! have you thought how I shall live these ten

days, whilst slowly, inch by inch, you give your dear, your precious life for a forlorn cause?

"I am very tough, m'dear," he said lightly; "'tis not a question of life. I shall only be spending a few more very

Her eyes spoke the reply; her eyes veiled with tears, that wandered with heartbreaking anxiety from the

hollow circles round his own to the lines of weariness about the firm lips and jaw. He laughed at her

"You cheat yourself, Percy," she rejoined with quiet earnestness. "Every day that you spend immured

between these walls, with that ceaseless nerveracking torment of sleeplessness which these devils have

devised for the breaking of your willevery day thus spent diminishes your power of ultimately saving

yourself. You see, I speak calmlydispassionatelyI do not even urge my claims upon your life. But what

you must weigh in the balance is the claim of all those for whom in the past you have already staked your

life, whose lives you have purchased by risking your own. What, in comparison with your noble life, is that

of the puny descendant of a line of decadent kings? Why should it be sacrificedruthlessly, hopelessly

sacrificed that a boy might live who is as nothing to the world, to his countryeven to his own people?"

She had tried to speak calmly, never raising her voice beyond a whisper. Her hands still clutched that paper,

which seemed to sear her fingers, the paper which she felt held writ upon its smooth surface the

But his look did not answer her firm appeal; it was fixed far away beyond the prison walls, on a lonely

country road outside Paris, with the rain falling in a thin drizzle, and leaden clouds overhead chasing one

"Poor mite," he murmured softly; "he walked so bravely by my side, until the little feet grew weary; then he

nestled in my arms and slept until we met Ffoulkes waiting with the cart. He was no King of France just then,

Marguerite bowed her head in silence. There was nothing more that she could say, no plea that she could

urge. Indeed, she had understood, as he had begged her to understand. She understood that long ago he had

mapped out the course of his life, and now that that course happened to lead up a Calvary of humiliation and

of suffering he was not likely to turn back, even though, on the summit, death already was waiting and

beckoning with no uncertain hand; not until he could murmur, in the wake of the great and divine sacrifice

"But the Dauphin is safe enough now," was all that she said, after that one moment's silence when her heart,

too, had offered up to God the supreme abnegation of self, and calmly faced a sorrow which threatened to

"Yes!" he rejoined quietly, "safe enough for the moment. But he would be safer still if he were out of France.

I had hoped to take him one day with me to England. But in this plan damnable Fate has interfered. His

adherents wanted to get him to Vienna, and their wish had best be fulfilled now. In my instructions to

Ffoulkes I have mapped out a simple way for accomplishing the journey. Tony will be the one best suited to

lead the expedition, and I want him to make straight for Holland; the Northern frontiers are not so closely

watched as are the Austrian ones. There is a faithful adherent of the Bourbon cause who lives at Delft, and

who will give the shelter of his name and home to the fugitive King of France until he can be conveyed to

Vienna. He is named Nauudorff. Once I feel that the child is safe in his hands I will look after myself, never

He paused, for his strength, which was only factitious, born of the excitement that Marguerite's presence had

called forth, was threatening to give way. His voice, though he had spoken in a whisper all along, was very

"If those friends had only thought of denying me food instead of sleep," he murmured involuntarily, "I could

Then with characteristic swiftness his mood changed in a moment. His arms closed round Marguerite once

"Heaven forgive me for a selfish brute," he said, whilst the ghost of a smile once more lit up the whole of his

face. "Dear soul, I must have forgotten your sweet presence, thus brooding over my own troubles, whilst your

loving heart has a graver burdenGod help me!than it can possibly bear. Listen, my beloved, for I don't

know how many minutes longer they intend to give us, and I have not yet spoken to you about Armand"

A twinge of remorse had gripped her. For fully ten minutes now she had relegated all thoughts of her brother

"We have no news of Armand," she said. "Sir Andrew has searched all the prison registers. Oh! were not my

heart atrophied by all that it has endured this past sennight it would feel a final throb of agonising pain at

A curious look, which even her loving eyes failed to interpret, passed like a shadow over her husband's face.

But the shadow lifted in a moment, and it was with a reassuring smile that he said to her:

"Dear heart! Armand is comparatively safe for the moment. Tell Ffoulkes not to search the prison registers

for him, rather to seek out Mademoiselle Lange. She will know where to find Armand."

"Jeanne Lange!" she exclaimed with a world of bitterness in the tone of her voice, "the girl whom Armand

loved, it seems, with a passion greater than his loyalty. Oh! Sir Andrew tried to disguise my brother's folly,

but I guessed what he did not choose to tell me. It was his disobedience, his want of trust, that brought this

"Do not blame him overmuch, dear heart. Armand was in love, and love excuses every sin committed in its

name. Jeanne Lange was arrested and Armand lost his reason temporarily. The very day on which I rescued

the Dauphin from the Temple I had the good fortune to drag the little lady out of prison. I had given my

promise to Armand that she should he safe, and I kept my word. But this Armand did not knowor else"

He checked himself abruptly, and once more that strange, enigmatical look crept into his eyes.

"I took Jeanne Lange to a place of comparative safety," he said after a slight pause, "but since then she has

"Yes. Chauvelin himself brought me the news," he replied with a quick, mirthless laugh, wholly unlike his

usual lighthearted gaiety. "He had to ask me where to find Jeanne, for I alone knew where she was. As for

Armand, they'll not worry about him whilst I am here. Another reason why I must bide a while longer. But in

the meanwhile, dear, I pray you find Mademoiselle Lange; she lives at No. 5 Square du Roule. Through her I

know that you can get to see Armand. This second letter," he added, pressing a smaller packet into her hand,

"is for him. Give it to him, dear heart; it will, I hope, tend to cheer him. I fear me the poor lad frets; yet he

only sinned because he loved, and to me he will always be your brotherthe man who held your affection

for all the years before I came into your life. Give him this letter, dear; they are my instructions to him, as the

others are for Ffoulkes; but tell him to read them when he is all alone. You will do that, dear heart, will you

Great joy, and the expression of intense relief, lit up his face, whilst his eyes spoke the gratitude which he

"Then there is one thing more," he said. "There are others in this cruel city, dear heart, who have trusted me,

and whom I must not failMarie de Marmontel and her brother, faithful servants of the late queen; they

were on the eve of arrest when I succeeded in getting them to a place of comparative safety; and there are

others there, too all of these poor victims have trusted me implicitly. They are waiting for me there, trusting

in my promise to convey them safely to England. Sweetheart, you must redeem my promise to them. You

"Then go, dear, tomorrow, in the late afternoon, to No. 98, Rue de Charonne. It is a narrow house at the

extreme end of that long street which abuts on the fortifications. The lower part of the house is occupied by a

dealer in rags and old clothes. He and his wife and family are wretchedly poor, but they are kind, good souls,

and for a consideration and a minimum of risk to themselves they will always render service to the English

milors, whom they believe to be a band of inveterate smugglers. Ffoulkes and all the others know these

people and know the house; Armand by the same token knows it too. Marie de Marmontel and her brother are

there, and several others; the old Comte de Lezardiere, the Abbe de Firmont; their names spell suffering,

loyalty, and hopelessness. I was lucky enough to convey them safely to that hidden shelter. They trust me

implicitly, dear heart. They are waiting for me there, trusting in my promise to them. Dear heart, you will go,

"Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old clothes dealer will supply the necessary

disguises; he has a covered cart which he uses for his business, and which you can borrow from him.

Ffoulkes will drive the little party to Achard's farm in St. Germain, where other members of the League

should be in waiting for the final journey to England. Ffoulkes will know how to arrange for everything; he

was always my most able lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appoint Hastings to lead the party.

But you, dear heart, must do as you wish. Achard's farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: if ...

I knowI know, dear," he added with infinite tenderness. "See I do not even suggest that you should leave

me. Ffoulkes will be with you, and I know that neither he nor you would go even if I commanded. Either

Achard's farm, or even the house in the Rue de Charonne, would he quite safe for you, dear, under Ffoulkes's

protection, until the time when I myself can carry you backyou, my precious burdento England in mine

own arms, or until ... Hushshsh, dear heart," he entreated, smothering with a passionate kiss the low moan

of pain which had escaped her lips; "it is all in God's hands now; I am in a tight cornertighter than ever I

have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those brutes have not yet paid the full price for my life. Tell me,

dear heart, that you have understoodthat you will do all that I asked. Tell me again, my dear, dear love; it

"I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I promise on your precious life to do what you

He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment there came from the guardroom beyond the

"Three minutes, you devils," murmured Blakeney between set teeth, whilst a sudden light which even

Marguerite's keen gaze failed to interpret leapt into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter into her hand.

Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were close one to the other, so near to him did he

draw her, so tightly did he hold her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers were pressed firmly on

"Put this in your kerchief, my beloved," he whispered. "Let it rest on your exquisite bosom where I so love to

pillow my head. Keep it there until the last hour when it seems to you that nothing more can come between

me and shame .... Hushshsh, dear," he added with passionate tenderness, checking the hot protest that at

the word "shame" had sprung to her lips, "I cannot explain more fully now. I do not know what may happen.

I am only a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutes might not devise for bringing the untamed

adventurer to his knees. For the next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, on his way to

safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to me. I can from between these four walls follow him and

his escort step by step. Well, dear, I am but a man, already brought to shameful weakness by mere physical

discomfortthe want of sleepsuch a trifle after all; but in case my reason tottered God knows what I

might dothen give this packet to Ffoulkesit contains my final instructionsand he will know how to

act. Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open the packet unless unless mine own dishonour seems to

you imminentunless I have yielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one of the others

orders to exchange the Dauphin's life for mine; then, when mine own handwriting hath proclaimed me a

coward, then and then only, give this packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that when you and he

have mastered its contents you will act exactly as I have commanded. Promise me that, dear, in your own

His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable reaction after the long and sustained effort,

"Dear heart," he murmured, "do not look on me with those dear, scared eyes of yours. If there is aught that

puzzles you in what I said, try and trust me a while longer. Remember, I must save the Dauphin at all costs;

mine honour is bound with his safety. What happens to me after that matters but little, yet I wish to live for

He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The haggard look had completely vanished from

his face, the eyes were lighted up from within, the very soul of reckless daring and immortal gaiety illumined

"Do not look so sad, little woman," he said with a strange and sudden recrudescence of power; "those dd

The effort had been too prolongedweakened nature reasserted her rights and he lost consciousness.

Marguerite, helpless and almost distraught with grief, had yet the strength of mind not to call for assistance.

She pillowed the loved one's head upon her breast, she kissed the dear, tired eyes, the poor throbbing temples.

The unutterable pathos of seeing this man, who was always the personification of extreme vitality, energy,

and boundless endurance and pluck, lying thus helpless, like a tired child, in her arms, was perhaps the

saddest moment of this day of sorrow. But in her trust she never wavered for one instant. Much that he had

said had puzzled her; but the word "shame" coming from his own lips as a comment on himself never caused

her the slightest pang of fear. She had quickly hidden the tiny packet in her kerchief. She would act point by

point exactly as he had ordered her to do, and she knew that Ffoulkes would never waver either.

Her heart ached wellnigh to breaking point. That which she could not understand had increased her anguish

tenfold. If she could only have given way to tears she could have borne this final agony more easily. But the

solace of tears was not for her; when those loved eyes once more opened to consciousness they should see

There had been silence for a few minutes in the little cell. The soldiery outside, inured to their hideous duty,

thought no doubt that the time had come for them to interfere. The iron bar was raised and thrown back with

a loud crash, the buttends of muskets were grounded against the floor, and two soldiers made noisy irruption

"Hola, citizen! Wake up," shouted one of the men; "you have not told us yet what you have done with

Marguerite uttered a cry of horror. Instinctively her arms were interposed between the unconscious man and

"He has fainted," she said, her voice quivering with indignation. "My God! are you devils that you have not

The men shrugged their shoulders, and both laughed brutally. They had seen worse sights than these, since

they served a Republic that ruled by bloodshed and by terror. They were own brothers in callousness and

cruelty to those men who on this selfsame spot a few months ago had watched the daily agony of a martyred

Queen, or to those who had rushed into the Abbaye prison on that awful day in September, and at a word

from their infamous leaders had put eighty defenceless prisonersmen, women, and childrento the sword.

"Tell him to say what he has done with Capet," said one of the soldiers now, and this rough command was

accompanied with a coarse jest that sent the blood flaring up into Marguerite's pale cheeks.

The brutal laugh, the coarse words which accompanied it, the insult flung at Marguerite, had penetrated to

Blakeney's slowly returning consciousness. With sudden strength, that appeared almost supernatural, he

jumped to his feet, and before any of the others could interfere he had with clenched fist struck the soldier a

The man staggered back with a curse, the other shouted for help; in a moment the narrow place swarmed with

soldiers; Marguerite was roughly torn away from the prisoner's side, and thrust into the far corner of the cell,

from where she only saw a confused mass of blue coats and white belts, andtowering for one brief moment

above what seemed to her fevered fancy like a veritable sea of headsthe pale face of her husband, with

"Remember!" he shouted, and his voice for that brief moment rang out clear and sharp above the din.

Then he disappeared behind the wall of glistening bayonets, of blue coats and uplifted arms; mercifully for

her she remembered nothing more very clearly. She felt herself being dragged out of the cell, the iron bar

being thrust down behind her with a loud clang. Then in a vague, dreamy state of semiunconsciousness she

saw the heavy bolts being drawn back from the outer door, heard the grating of the key in the monumental

lock, and the next moment a breath of fresh air brought the sensation of renewed life into her.

"I am sorry, Lady Blakeney," said a harsh, dry voice close to her; "the incident at the end of your visit was

She turned away, sickened with horror at thought of contact with this wretch. She had heard the heavy oaken

door swing to behind her on its ponderous hinges, and the key once again turn in the lock. She felt as if she

had suddenly been thrust into a coffin, and that clods of earth were being thrown upon her breast, oppressing

Had she looked for the last time on the man whom she loved beyond everything else on earth, whom she

worshipped more ardently day by day? Was she even now carrying within the folds of her kerchief a message

Mechanically she followed Chauvelin down the corridor and along the passages which she had traversed a

brief halfhour ago. From some distant church tower a clock tolled the hour of ten. It had then really only

been little more than thirty brief minutes since first she had entered this grim building, which seemed less

stony than the monsters who held authority within it ; to her it seemed that centuries had gone over her head

during that time. She felt like an old woman, unable to straighten her back or to steady her limbs; she could

only dimly see some few paces ahead the trim figure of Chauvelin walking with measured steps, his hands

held behind his back, his head thrown up with what looked like triumphant defiance.

At the door of the cubicle where she had been forced to submit to the indignity of being searched by a

wardress, the latter was now standing, waiting with characteristic stolidity. In her hand she held the steel files,

She emptied the purse into her own hand, and solemnly counted out the twenty pieces of gold. She was about

to replace them all into the purse, when Marguerite pressed one of them back into her wrinkled hand.

"Nineteen will be enough, citizeness," she said; "keep one for yourself, not only for me, but for all the poor

women who come here with their heart full of hope, and go hence with it full of despair."

The woman turned calm, lacklustre eyes on her, and silently pocketed the gold piece with a grudgingly

Chauvelin during this brief interlude, had walked thoughtlessly on ahead. Marguerite, peering down the

length of the narrow corridor, spied his sableclad figure some hundred metres further on as it crossed the

She was about to follow, when it seemed to her as if some one was moving in the darkness close beside her.

The wardress was even now in the act of closing the door of her cubicle, and there were a couple of soldiers

who were disappearing from view round one end of the passage, whilst Chauvelin's retreating form was lost

There was no light close to where she herself was standing, and the blackness around her was as impenetrable

as a veil; the sound of a human creature moving and breathing close to her in this intense darkness acted

There was a more distinct movement among the shadows this time, as of a swift tread on the flagstones of the

corridor. All else was silent round, and now she could plainly hear those footsteps running rapidly down the

passage away from her. She strained her eyes to see more clearly, and anon in one of the dim circles of light

on ahead she spied a man's figureslender and darkly cladwalking quickly yet furtively like one pursued.

Her first instinct was to call to him; the second checked that call upon her lips.

Percy had said that Armand was in no danger; then why should he be sneaking along the dark corridors of

Certainly, even at a distance, her brother's movements suggested to Marguerite that he was in danger of being

seen. He cowered in the darkness, tried to avoid the circles of light thrown by the lamps in the passage. At all

costs Marguerite felt that she must warn him that the way he was going now would lead him straight into

Feeling sure that he would recognise her voice, she made pretence to turn back to the cubicle through the

door of which the wardress had already disappeared, and called out as loudly as she dared:

But Armandwho surely must have hearddid not pause at the sound. Rather was he walking on now

more rapidly than before. In less than a minute he would be reaching the spot where Chauvelin stood waiting

for Marguerite. That end of the corridor, however, received no light from any of the lamps; strive how she

Blindly, instinctively, she ran forward, thinking only to reach Armand, and to warn him to turn back before it

was too late; before he found himself face to face with the most bitter enemy he and his nearest and dearest

had ever had. But as she at last came to a halt at the end of the corridor, panting with the exertion of running

and the fear for Armand, she almost fell up against Chauvelin, who was standing there alone and

imperturbable, seemingly having waited patiently for her. She could only dimly distinguish his face, the sharp

features and thin cruel mouth, but she feltmore than she actually sawhis cold steely eyes fixed with a

But of Armand there was no sign, and shepoor soul!had difficulty in not betraying the anxiety which

she felt for her brother. Had the flagstones swallowed him up? A door on the right was the only one that gave

on the corridor at this point; it led to the concierge's lodge, and thence out into the courtyard. Had Chauvelin

been dreaming, sleeping with his eyes open, whilst he stood waiting for her, and had Armand succeeded in

slipping past him under cover of the darkness and through that door to safety that lay beyond these prison

Marguerite, miserably agitated, not knowing what to think, looked somewhat wildeyed on Chauvelin; he

"Is there aught else that I can do for you, citizeness? This is your nearest way out. No doubt Sir Andrew will

Then as shenot daring either to reply or to questionwalked straight up to the door, he hurried forward,

"I trust that your visit has pleased you, Lady Blakeney," he said suavely. "At what hour do you desire to

"Tomorrow?" she reiterated in a vague, absent manner, for she was still dazed with the strange incident of

"Yes. You would like to see Sir Percy again tomorrow, would you not? I myself would gladly pay him a

visit from time to time, but he does not care for my company. My colleague, citizen Heron, on the other hand,

calls on him four times in every twentyfour hours; he does so a few moments before the changing of the

guard, and stays chatting with Sir Percy until after the guard is changed, when he inspects the men and

satisfies himself that no traitor has crept in among them. All the men are personally known to him, you see.

These hours are at five in the morning and again at eleven, and then again at five and eleven in the evening.

My friend Heron, as you see, is zealous and assiduous, and, strangely enough, Sir Percy does not seem to

view his visit with any displeasure. Now at any other hour of the day, Lady Blakeney, I pray you command

me and I will arrange that citizen Heron grant you a second interview with the prisoner."

Marguerite had only listened to Chauvelin's lengthy speech with half an ear; her thoughts still dwelt on the

past halfhour with its bitter joy and its agonising pain; and fighting through her thoughts of Percy there was

the recollection of Armand which so disquieted her. But though she had only vaguely listened to what

Madly she longed to accept his suggestion. The very thought of seeing Percy on the morrow was solace to her

aching heart; it could feed on hope tonight instead of on its own bitter pain. But even during this brief

moment of hesitancy, and while her whole being cried out for this joy that her enemy was holding out to her,

even then in the gloom ahead of her she seemed to see a vision of a pale face raised above a crowd of

swaying heads, and of the eyes of the dreamer searching for her own, whilst the last sublime cry of perfect

The promise which she had given him, that would she fulfil. The burden which he had laid on her shoulders

she would try to bear as heroically as he was bearing his own. Aye, even at the cost of the supreme sorrow of

But in spite of sorrow, in spite of anguish so terrible that she could not imagine Death itself to have a more

cruel sting, she wished above all to safeguard that final, attenuated thread of hope which was wound round

She wanted, above all, not to arouse Chauvelin's suspicions by markedly refusing to visit the prisoner

againsuspicions that might lead to her being searched once more and the precious packet filched from her.

"I thank you, citizen, for your solicitude on my behalf, but you will understand, I think, that my visit to the

prisoner has been almost more than I could bear. I cannot tell you at this moment whether tomorrow I

"As you please," he replied urbanely. "But I pray you to remember one thing, and that is"

He paused a moment while his restless eyes wandered rapidly over her face, trying, as it were, to get at the

soul of this woman, at her innermost thoughts, which he felt were hidden from him.

"That it rests with you, Lady Blakeney, to put an end to the present situation."

"Surely you can persuade Sir Percy's friends not to leave their chief in durance vile. They themselves could

"And you hopedyou still hope that by placing before me the picture of your own fiendish cruelty against

my husband you will induce me to act the part of a traitor towards him and a coward before his followers?"

"Oh!" he said deprecatingly, "the cruelty now is no longer mine. Sir Percy's release is in your hands, Lady

Blakeneyin that of his followers. I should only be too willing to end the present intolerable situation. You

She smothered the cry of horror that had risen to her lips. The man's coldblooded sophistry was threatening

She would no longer trust herself to speak, but made a quick movement towards the door.

He shrugged his shoulders as if the matter were now entirely out of his control. Then he opened the door for

her to pass out, and as her skirts brushed against him he bowed with studied deference, murmuring a cordial

"And remember, Lady Blakeney," he added politely, "that should you at any time desire to communicate with

Then as her tall, graceful figure disappeared in the outside gloom he passed his thin hand over his mouth as if

"The second visit will work wonders, I think, my fine lady," he murmured under his breath.

It was close on midnight now, and still they sat opposite one another, he the friend and she the wife, talking

Marguerite had tried to tell Sir Andrew everything; bitter as it was to put into actual words the pathos and

misery which she had witnessed, yet she would hide nothing from the devoted comrade whom she knew

Percy would trust absolutely. To him she repeated every word that Percy had uttered, described every

inflection of his voice, those enigmatical phrases which she had not understood, and together they cheated

"I am not going to despair, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew firmly; "and, moreover, we are not going to

disobey. I would stake my life that even now Blakeney has some scheme in his mind which is embodied in

the various letters which he has given you, and whichHeaven help us in that case!we might thwart by

disobedience. Tomorrow in the late afternoon I will escort you to the Rue de Charonne. It is a house that we

all know well, and which Armand, of course, knows too. I had already inquired there two days ago to

ascertain whether by chance St. Just was not in hiding there, but Lucas, the landlord and oldclothes dealer,

Marguerite told him about her swift vision of Armand in the dark corridor of the house of Justice.

"Can you understand it, Sir Andrew?" she asked, fixing her deep, luminous eyes inquiringly upon him.

"No, I cannot," he said, after an almost imperceptible moment of hesitancy; "but we shall see him

tomorrow. I have no doubt that Mademoiselle Lange will know where to find him; and now that we know

where she is, all our anxiety about him, at any rate, should soon be at an end."

He rose and made some allusion to the lateness of the hour. Somehow it seemed to her that her devoted friend

was trying to hide his innermost thoughts from her. She watched him with an anxious, intent gaze.

"Can you understand it all, Sir Andrew?" she reiterated with a pathetic note of appeal.

"No, no!" he said firmly. "On my soul, Lady Blakeney, I know no more of Armand than you do yourself. But

I am sure that Percy is right. The boy frets because remorse must have assailed him by now. Had he but

But he could not frame the whole terrible proposition in words. Bitterly as he himself felt on the subject of

Armand, he would not add yet another burden to this devoted woman's heavy load of misery.

"It was Fate, Lady Blakeney," he said after a while. "Fate! a damnable fate which did it all. Great God! to

think of Blakeney in the hands of those brutes seems so horrible that at times I feel as if the whole thing were

a nightmare, and that the next moment we shall both wake hearing his merry voice echoing through this

He tried to cheer her with words of hope that he knew were but chimeras. A heavy weight of despondency lay

on his heart. The letter from his chief was hidden against his breast; he would study it anon in the privacy of

his own apartment so as to commit every word to memory that related to the measures for the ultimate safety

of the childKing. After that it would have to be destroyed, lest it fell into inimical hands.

Soon he bade Marguerite goodnight. She was tired out, body and soul, and heher faithful

friendvaguely wondered how long she would be able to withstand the strain of so much sorrow, such

When at last she was alone Marguerite made brave efforts to compose her nerves so as to obtain a certain

modicum of sleep this night. But, strive how she might, sleep would not come. How could it, when before her

wearied brain there rose constantly that awful vision of Percy in the long, narrow cell, with weary head bent

The fear obsessed her that his mind might give way; for the mental agony of such intense weariness must be

wellnigh impossible to bear. In the dark, as she sat hour after hour at the open window, looking out in the

direction where through the veil of snow the grey walls of the Chatelet prison towered silent and grim, she

seemed to see his pale, drawn face with almost appalling reality; she could see every line of it, and could

How long would the ghostly glimmer of merriment still linger in the eyes? When would the hoarse, mirthless

laugh rise to the lips, that awful laugh that proclaims madness? Oh! she could have screamed now with the

awfulness of this haunting terror. Ghouls seemed to be mocking her out of the darkness, every flake of snow

that fell silently on the windowsill became a grinning face that taunted and derided; every cry in the silence

of the night, every footstep on the quay below turned to hideous jeers hurled at her by tormenting fiends.

She closed the window quickly, for she feared that she would go mad. For an hour after that she walked up

and down the room making violent efforts to control her nerves, to find a glimmer of that courage which she

The morning found her fagged out, but more calm. Later on she managed to drink some coffee, and having

"I promised Percy to go to the Rue de Charonne in the late afternoon," she said. "I have some hours to spare,

He, of course, begged to be allowed to accompany her, and anon they were walking together quickly up

toward the Faubourg St. Honore. The snow had ceased falling, but it was still very cold, but neither

Marguerite nor Sir Andrew were conscious of the temperature or of any outward signs around them. They

walked on silently until they reached the torndown gates of the Square du Roule; there Sir Andrew parted

from Marguerite after having appointed to meet her an hour later at a small eatinghouse he knew of where

they could have some food together, before starting on their long expedition to the Rue de Charonne.

Five minutes later Marguerite Blakeney was shown in by worthy Madame Belhomme, into the quaint and

pretty drawingroom with its softtoned hangings and oldworld air of faded grace. Mademoiselle Lange

was sitting there, in a capacious armchair, which encircled her delicate figure with its framework of dull old

She was ostensibly reading when Marguerite was announced, for an open book lay on a table beside her; but

it seemed to the visitor that mayhap the young girl's thoughts had played truant from her work, for her pose

was listless and apathetic, and there was a look of grave trouble upon the childlike face.

She rose when Marguerite entered, obviously puzzled at the unexpected visit, and somewhat awed at the

"I must crave your pardon, mademoiselle," said Lady Blakeney as soon as the door had once more closed on

Madame Belhomme, and she found herself alone with the young girl. "This visit at such an early hour must

A swift blush rushed to the girl's pale cheeks; her brown eyes expressed unadulterated joy. Marguerite, who

was studying her closely, was conscious that her poor aching heart went out to this exquisite child, the faroff

Jeanne, a little shy, a little confused and nervous in her movements, was pulling a chair close to the fire,

begging Marguerite to sit. Her words came out all the while in short jerky sentences, and from time to time

"You will forgive me, mademoiselle," said Marguerite, whose simple and calm manner quickly tended to

soothe Jeanne Lange's confusion; "but I was so anxious about my brotherI do not know where to find

"No, alas! I have not seen him this past fortnight, since you, mademoiselle, came into his life; but many of

The soft blush had now overspread the whole of the girl's face, even down to her graceful neck. She waited to

"Armand and I were very young children when we lost our parents," said Marguerite softly, "and we were all

in all to each other then. And until I married he was the man I loved best in all the world."

"He loves England too. At first he always talked of my going there with him as his wife, and of the happiness

"Perhaps he feels that now you know all about it, and that you understand each other with regard to the

Jeanne sat opposite to Marguerite on a low stool by the fire. Her elbows were resting on her knees, and her

face just now was halfhidden by the wealth of her brown curls. She looked exquisitely pretty sitting like

this, with just the suggestion of sadness in the listless pose. Marguerite had come here today prepared to

hate this young girl, who in a few brief days had stolen not only Armand's heart, but his allegiance to his

chief, and his trust in him. Since last night, when she had seen her brother sneak silently past her like a thief

But hatred and anger had melted at the sight of this child. Marguerite, with the perfect understanding born of

love itself, had soon realised the charm which a woman like Mademoiselle Lange must of necessity exercise

over a chivalrous, enthusiastic nature like Armand's. The sense of protectionthe strongest perhaps that

exists in a good man's heartwould draw him irresistibly to this beautiful child, with the great, appealing

eyes, and the look of pathos that pervaded the entire face. Marguerite, looking in silence on thedainty

picture before her, found it in her heart to forgive Armand for disobeying his chief when those eyes beckoned

How could he, how could any chivalrous man endure the thought of this delicate, fresh flower lying crushed

and drooping in the hands of monsters who respected neither courage nor purity? And Armand had been

more than human, or mayhap less, if he had indeed consented to leave the fate of the girl whom he had sworn

It seemed almost as if Jeanne was conscious of the fixity of Marguerite's gaze, for though she did not turn to

"Mademoiselle Lange," said Marguerite gently, "do you not feel that you can trust me?"

She held out her two hands to the girl, and Jeanne slowly turned to her. The next moment she was kneeling at

Marguerite's feet, and kissing the beautiful kind hands that had been stretched out to her with such sisterly

"Indeed, indeed, I do trust you," she said, and looked with teardimmed eyes in the pale face above her. "I

have longed for some one in whom I could confide. I have been so lonely lately, and Armand"

With an impatient little gesture she brushed away the tears which had gathered in her eyes.

"Oh, nothing to grieve me!" replied the young girl eagerly, "for he is kind and good, and chivalrous and

noble. Oh, I love him with all my heart! I loved him from the moment that I set eyes on him, and then he

came to see meperhaps you know! And he talked so beautiful about England, and so nobly about his leader

"It was that day that citizen Heron came with his soldiers! Oh! you do not know citizen Heron. He is the most

cruel man in France. In Paris he is hated by every one, and no one is safe from his spies. He came to arrest

Armand, but I was able to fool him and to save Armand. And after that," she added with charming naivete, "I

felt as if, having saved Armand's life, he belonged to meand his love for me had made me his."

"Then I was arrested," she continued after a slight pause, and at the recollection of what she had endured then

She hid her face in her hands, whilst a few sobs shook her whole frame; then she resumed more calmly:

"I had seen nothing of Armand. I wondered where he was, and I knew that he would be eating out his heart

with anxiety for me. But God was watching over me. At first I was transferred to the Temple prison, and

there a kind creaturea sort of manofall work in the prison took compassion on me. I do not know how

he contrived it, but one morning very early he brought me some filthy old rags which he told me to put on

quickly, and when I had done that he bade me follow him. Oh! he was a very dirty, wretched man himself,

but he must have had a kind heart. He took me by the hand and made me carry his broom and brushes.

Nobody took much notice of us, the dawn was only just breaking, and the passages were very dark and

deserted; only once some soldiers began to chaff him about me: 'C'est ma fillequoi?' he said roughly. I

very nearly laughed then, only I had the good sense to restrain myself, for I knew that my freedom, and

perhaps my life, depended on my not betraying myself. My grimy, tattered guide took me with him right

through the interminable corridors of that awful building, whilst I prayed fervently to God for him and for

myself. We got out by one of the service stairs and exit, and then he dragged me through some narrow streets

until we came to a corner where a covered cart stood waiting. My kind friend told me to get into the cart, and

then he bade the driver on the box take me straight to a house in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois. Oh! I was

infinitely grateful to the poor creature who had helped me to get out of that awful prison, and I would gladly

have given him some money, for I am sure he was very poor; but I had none by me. He told me that I should

be quite safe in the house in the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and begged me to wait there patiently for a few

days until I heard from one who had my welfare at heart, and who would further arrange for my safety."

Marguerite had listened silently to this narrative so naively told by this child, who obviously had no idea to

whom she owed her freedom and her life. While the girl talked, her mind could follow with unspeakable

pride and happiness every phase of that scene in the early dawn, when that mysterious, ragged

manofallwork, unbeknown even to the woman whom he was saving, risked his own noble life for the

"And did you never see again the kind man to whom you owe your life?" she asked.

"No!" replied Jeanne. "I never saw him since; but when I arrived at the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois I was

told by the good people who took charge of me that the ragged manofallwork had been none other than

the mysterious Englishman whom Armand reveres, he whom they call the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"No. Only three days. The third day I received a communique from the Committee of General Security,

together with an unconditional certificate of safety. It meant that I was freequite free. Oh! I could scarcely

believe it. I laughed and I cried until the people in the house thought that I had gone mad. The past few days

"Yes. They told him that I was free. And he came here to see me. He often comes; he will be here anon."

"But are you not afraid on his account and your own? He ishe must be still'suspect'; a wellknown

"No! oh, no! Armand is in no danger. He, too, has an unconditional certificate of safety."

"An unconditional certificate of safety?" asked Marguerite, whilst a deep frown of grave puzzlement

"It means that he is free to come and go as he likes; that neither he nor I have anything to fear from Heron

and his awful spies. Oh! but for that sad and careworn look on Armand's face we could be so happy; but he is

so unlike himself. He is Armand and yet another; his look at times quite frightens me."

"Yet you know why he is so sad," said Marguerite in a strange, toneless voice which she seemed quite unable

to control, for that tonelessness came from a terrible sense of suffocation, of a feeling as if her heartstrings

"Yes, I know," said Jeanne half hesitatingly, as if knowing, she was still unconvinced.

"His chief, his comrade, the friend of whom you speak, the Scarlet Pimpernel, who risked his life in order to

Marguerite had spoken with sudden vehemence. There was almost an appeal in her voice now, as if she were

trying not to convince Jeanne only, but also herself, of something that was quite simple, quite

straightforward, and yet which appeared to be receding from her, an intangible something, a spirit that was

gradually yielding to a force as yet unborn, to a phantom that had not yet emerged from out chaos.

But Jeanne seemed unconscious of all this. Her mind was absorbed in Armand, the man whom she loved in

"Oh, yes!" she said with a deep, sad sigh, whilst the everready tears once more gathered in her eyes,

"Armand is very unhappy because of him. The Scarlet Pimpernel was his friend; Armand loved and revered

him. Did you know," added the girl, turning large, horrorfilled eyes on Marguerite, "that they want some

"Can you wonder, then, that Armand is unhappy. Oh! last night, after he went from me, I cried for hours, just

because he had looked so sad. He no longer talks of happy England, of the cottage we were to have, and of

the Kentish orchards in May. He has not ceased to love me, for at times his love seems so great that I tremble

with a delicious sense of fear. But oh! his love for me no longer makes him happy."

Her head had gradually sunk lower and lower on her breast, her voice died down in a murmur broken by

heartrending sighs. Every generous impulse in Marguerite's noble nature prompted her to take that sorrowing

child in her arms, to comfort her if she could, to reassure her if she had the power. But a strange icy feeling

had gradually invaded her heart, even whilst she listened to the simple unsophisticated talk of Jeanne Lange.

Her hands felt numb and clammy, and instinctively she withdrew away from the near vicinity of the girl. She

felt as if the room, the furniture in it, even the window before her were dancing a wild and curious dance, and

that from everywhere around strange whistling sounds reached her ears, which caused her head to whirl and

Jeanne had buried her head in her hands. She was cryingsoftly, almost humbly at first, as if half ashamed

of her grief; then, suddenly it seemed, as if she could not contain herself any longer, a heavy sob escaped her

throat and shook her whole delicate frame with its violence. Sorrow no longer would be gainsaid, it insisted

on physical expressionthat awful tearing of the heartstrings which leaves the body numb and panting with

In a moment Marguerite had forgotten; the dark and shapeless phantom that had knocked at the gate of her

soul was relegated back into chaos. It ceased to be, it was made to shrivel and to burn in the great seething

cauldron of womanly sympathy. What part this child had played in the vast cataclysm of misery which had

dragged a noblehearted enthusiast into the dark torturechamber, whence the only outlet led to the

guillotine, sheMarguerite Blakeney did not know; what part Armand, her brother, had played in it, that

she would not dare to guess; all that she knew was that here was a loving heart that was filled with paina

young, inexperienced soul that was having its first tussle with the grim realities of life and every motherly

She rose and gently drew the young girl up from her knees, and then closer to her; she pillowed the

griefstricken head against her shoulder, and murmured gentle, comforting words into the tiny ear.

"I have news for Armand," she whispered, "that will comfort him, a messagea letter from his friend. You

will see, dear, that when Armand reads it he will become a changed man; you see, Armand acted a little

foolishly a few days ago. His chief had given him orders which he disregardedhe was so anxious about

youhe should have obeyed; and now, mayhap, he feels that his disobedience may have been thethe

innocent cause of much misery to others; that is, no doubt, the reason why he is so sad. The letter from his

"Do you really think so, madame?" murmured Jeanne, in whose tearstained eyes the indomitable

And for the moment she was absolutely sincere. The phantom had entirely vanished. She would even, had he

dared to reappear, have mocked and derided him for his futile attempt at turning the sorrow in her heart to a

The two women, both so young still, but each of them with a mark of sorrow already indelibly graven in her

heart, were clinging to one another, bound together by the strong bond of sympathy. And but for the sadness

of it all it were difficult to conjure up a more beautiful picture than that which they presented as they stood

side by side; Marguerite, tall and stately as an exquisite lily, with the crown of her ardent hair and the glory of

her deep blue eyes, and Jeanne Lange, dainty and delicate, with the brown curls and the childlike droop of

Thus Armand saw them when, a moment or two later, entered unannounced. He had pushed open the door

and looked on the two women silently for a second or two; on the girl whom he loved so dearly, for whose

sake he had committed the great, the unpardonable sin which would send him forever henceforth, Cainlike,

a wanderer on the face of the earth; and the other, his sister, her whom a Judas act would condemn to lonely

He could have cried out in an agony of remorse, and it was the groan of acute soul anguish which escaped his

Even though many things that Jeanne Lange had said had prepared her for a change in her brother, she was

immeasurably shocked by his appearance. He had always been slim and rather below the average in height,

but now his usually upright and trim figure seemed to have shrunken within itself; his clothes hung baggy on

his shoulders, his hands appeared waxen and emaciated, but the greatest change was in his face, in the wide

circles round the eyes, that spoke of wakeful nights, in the hollow cheeks, and the mouth that had wholly

Percy after a week's misery immured in a dark and miserable prison, deprived of food and rest, did not look

Marguerite's heart reproached her for what she felt had been neglect, callousness on her part. Mutely, within

herself, she craved his forgiveness for the appearance of that phantom which should never have come forth

And the loving arms that had guided his baby footsteps long ago, the tender hands that had wiped his boyish

"I have a message for you, dear," she said gently"a letter from him. Mademoiselle Jeanne allowed me to

Silently, like a little shy mouse, Jeanne had slipped out of the room. Her pure love for Armand had ennobled

every one of her thoughts, and her innate kindliness and refinement had already suggested that brother and

sister would wish to be alone. At the door she had turned and met Armand's look. That look had satisfied her;

she felt that in it she had read the expression of his love, and to it she had responded with a glance that spoke

As soon as the door had closed on Jeanne Lange, Armand, with an impulse that refused to be checked, threw

himself into his sister's arms. The present, with all its sorrows, its remorse and its shame, had sunk away;

only the past remainedthe unforgettable past, when Marguerite was "little mother"the soother, the

comforter, the healer, the everwilling receptacle wherein he had been wont to pour the burden of his

Conscious that she could not know everythingnot yet, at any ratehe gave himself over to the rapture of

this pure embrace, the last time, mayhap, that those fond arms would close round him in unmixed tenderness,

the last time that those fond lips would murmur words of affection and of comfort.

Tomorrow those same lips would, perhaps, curse the traitor, and the small hand be raised in wrath, pointing

"Little mother," he whispered, babbling like a child, "it is good to see you again."

"And I have brought you a message from Percy," she said, "a letter which he begged me to give you as soon

She nodded silently, unable to speak. Not now, not when her nerves were strung to breaking pitch, would she

trust herself to speak of that awful yesterday. She groped in the folds of her gown and took the packet which

"There is quite a good deal there for you to read, dear," she said. "Percy begged me to give you this, and then

She pressed the packet into his hand. Armand's face was ashen pale. He clung to her with strange, nervous

tenacity; the paper which he held in one hand seemed to Sear his fingers as with a brandingiron.

"I will slip away now," she said, for strangely enough since Percy's message had been in Armand's hands she

was once again conscious of that awful feeling of iciness round her heart, a sense of numbness that paralysed

"You will make my excuses to Mademoiselle Lange," she said, trying to smile. "When you have read, you

Gently she disengaged herself from Armand's grasp and made for the door. He appeared dazed, staring down

at that paper which was scorching his fingers. Only when her hand was on the latch did he seem to realise

She came straight back to him and took both his wrists in her small hands. She was taller than he, and his

head was slightly bent forward. Thus she towered over him, loving but strong, her great, earnest eyes

"Read your letter, dear," she replied, "and when you have read it, if you care to impart its contents to me,

come tonight to my lodgings, Quai de la Ferraille, above the saddler's shop. But if there is aught in it that

you do not wish me to know, then do not come; I shall understand. Goodbye, dear."

She took his head between her two cold hands, and as it was still bowed she placed a tender kiss, as of a long

Armand sat in the armchair in front of the fire. His head rested against one hand; in the other he held the letter

Twice he had read it now, and already was every word of that minute, clear writing graven upon the

Armand, I know. I knew even before Chauvelin came to me, and stood there hoping to gloat over the

soulagony a man who finds that he has been betrayed by his dearest friend. But that dd reprobate did not

get that satisfaction, for I was prepared. Not only do I know, Armand, but I UNDERSTAND. I, who do not

know what love is, have realised how small a thing is honour, loyalty, or friendship when weighed in the

To save Jeanne you sold me to Heron and his crowd. We are men, Armand, and the word forgiveness has

only been spoken once these past two thousand years, and then it was spoken by Divine lips. But Marguerite

loves you, and mayhap soon you will be all that is left her to love on this earth. Because of this she must

never know .... As for you, Armandwell, God help you! But meseems that the hell which you are enduring

now is ten thousand times worse than mine. I have heard your furtive footsteps in the corridor outside the

grated window of this cell, and would not then have exchanged my hell for yours. Therefore, Armand, and

because Marguerite loves you, I would wish to turn to you in the hour that I need help. I am in a tight corner,

but the hour may come when a comrade's hand might mean life to me. I have thought of you, Armand partly

because having taken more than my life, your own belongs to me, and partly because the plan which I have in

I swore once that never would I risk a comrade's life to save mine own; but matters are so different now ... we

are both in hell, Armand, and I in striving to get out of mine will be showing you a way out of yours.

Will you retake possession of your lodgings in the Rue de la Croix Blanche? I should always know then

where to find you on an emergency. But if at any time you receive another letter from me, be its contents

what they may, act in accordance with the letter, and send a copy of it at once to Ffoulkes or to Marguerite.

Keep in close touch with them both. Tell her I so far forgave your disobedience (there was nothing more) that

I shall have no means of ascertaining definitely whether you will do all that I ask; but somehow, Armand, I

"But, Armand," he repeated, murmuring the words softly tinder his breath, "I know that you will."

Prompted by some indefinable instinct, moved by a force that compelled, he allowed himself to glide from

All the pentup bitterness, the humiliation, the shame of the past few days, surged up from his heart to his

Alone and unwatched, he gave himself over for a few moments to the almost voluptuous delight of giving

free rein to his grief. The hot Latin blood in him, tempestuous in all its passions, was firing his heart and

The calm, selfcentred AngloSaxon temperamentthe almost fatalistic acceptance of failure without

reproach yet without despair, which Percy's letter to him had evidenced in so marked a mannerwas,

mayhap, somewhat beyond the comprehension of this young enthusiast, with pure Gallic blood in his veins,

who was ever wont to allow his most elemental passions to sway his actions. But though he did not altogether

understand, Armand St. Just could fully appreciate. All that was noble and loyal in him rose triumphant from

Soon his mood calmed down, his look grew less wan and haggard. Hearing Jeanne's discreet and mouselike

steps in the next room, he rose quickly and hid the letter in the pocket of his coat.

She came in and inquired anxiously about Marguerite; a hurriedly expressed excuse from him, however,

satisfied her easily enough. She wanted to be alone with Armand, happy to see that he held his head more

erect today, and that the look as of a hunted creature had entirely gone from his eyes.

She ascribed this happy change to Marguerite, finding it in her heart to be grateful to the sister for having

For awhile they remained together, sitting side by side, speaking at times, but mostly silent, seeming to

savour the return of truant happiness. Armand felt like a sick man who has obtained a sudden surcease from

pain. He looked round him with a kind of melancholy delight on this room which he had entered for the first

Those first hours spent at the feet of Jeanne Lange, how exquisite they had been, how fleeting in the

perfection of their happiness! Now they seemed to belong to a far distant past, evanescent like the perfume of

violets, swift in their flight like the winged steps of youth. Blakeney's letter had effectually taken the bitter

sting from out his remorse, but it had increased his already overheavy load of inconsolable sorrow.

Later in the day he turned his footsteps in the direction of the river, to the house in the Quai de la Ferraille

above the saddler's shop. Marguerite had returned alone from the expedition to the Rue de Charonne. Whilst

Sir Andrew took charge of the little party of fugitives and escorted them out of Paris, she came hack to her

lodgings in order to collect her belongings, preparatory to taking up her quarters in the house of Lucas, the

"If you care to impart the contents of the letter to me, come to my lodgings tonight," she had said.

But now the phantom had vanished never to return. Armand was sitting close beside her, and he told her that

the chief had selected him amongst all the others to stand by him inside the walls of Paris until the last.

"I shall mayhap," thus closed that precious document, "have no means of ascertaining definitely whether you

will act in accordance with this letter. But somehow, Armand, I know that you will."

She had only been too eager to be convinced; the dread arid dark suspicion which had been like a hideous

poisoned sting had only vaguely touched her soul; it had not gone in very deeply. How could it, when in its

deathdealing passage it encountered the rampart of tender, almost motherly love?

Armand, trying to read his sister's thoughts in the depths of her blue eyes, found the look in them limpid and

clear. Percy's message to Armand had reassured her just as he had intended that it should do. Fate had dealt

over harshly with her as it was, and Blakeney's remorse for the sorrow which he had already caused her, was

scarcely less keen than Armand's. He did not wish her to bear the intolerable burden of hatred against her

brother; and by binding St. Just close to him at the supreme hour of danger he hoped to prove to the woman

"It takes time to hack them to pieces, perhaps. In this case even you, citizen Chauvelin, said that it would take

It was close on midnight in the guardroom which gave on the innermost cell of the Conciergerie. Heron had

just visited the prisoner as was his wont at this hour of the night. He had watched the changing of the guard,

inspected the nightwatch, questioned the sergeant in charge, and finally he had been on the point of retiring

to his own new quarters in the house of Justice, in the near vicinity of the Conciergerie, when citizen

Chauvelin entered the guardroom unexpectedly and detained his colleague with the peremptory question:

"If you are so near the end, citizen Heron," he now said, sinking his voice to a whisper, "why not make a final

"I wish I could; the anxiety is wearing me out more n him," added with a jerky movement of the head in

Citizen Heron's long limbs were sprawling on a guardroom chair. In this low narrow room he looked like

some giant whose body had been carelessly and loosely put together by a 'prentice hand in the art of

manufacture. His broad shoulders were bent, probably under the weight of anxiety to which he had referred,

and his head, with the lank, shaggy hair overshadowing the brow, was sunk deep down on his chest.

Chauvelin looked on his friend and associate with no small measure of contempt. He would no doubt have

preferred to conclude the present difficult transaction entirely in his own way and alone; but equally there

was no doubt that the Committee of Public Safety did not trust him quite so fully as it used to do before the

fiasco at Calais and the blunders of Boulogne. Heron, on the other hand, enjoyed to its outermost the

confidence of his colleagues; his ferocious cruelty and his callousness were well known, whilst physically,

owing to his great height and bulky if loosely knit frame, he had a decided advantage over his trim and

As far as the bringing of prisoners to trial was concerned, the chief agent of the Committee of General

Security had been given a perfectly free hand by the decree of the 27th Nivose. At first, therefore, he had

experienced no difficulty when he desired to keep the Englishman in close confinement for a time without

hurrying on that summary trial and condemnation which the populace had loudly demanded, and to which

they felt that they were entitled as to a public holiday. The death of the Scarlet Pimpernel on the guillotine

had been a spectacle promised by every demagogue who desired to purchase a few votes by holding out

visions of pleasant doings to come; and during the first few days the mob of Paris was content to enjoy the

But now seventeen days had gone by and still the Englishman was not being brought to trial. The

pleasureloving public was waxing impatient, and earlier this evening, when citizen Heron had shown

himself in the stalls of the national theatre, he was greeted by a crowded audience with decided expressions

It almost looked as if he would have to bring that accursed Englishman to the guillotine without having

wrested from him the secret which he would have given a fortune to possess. Chauvelin, who had also been

present at the theatre, had heard the expressions of discontent; hence his visit to his colleague at this late hour

"Shall I try?" he had queried with some impatience, and a deep sigh of satisfaction escaped his thin lips when

"Let the men make as much noise as they like," he added with an enigmatical smile. "The Englishman and I

Heron growled a surly assent, and without another word Chauvelin turned towards the inner cell. As he

stepped in he allowed the iron bar to fall into its socket behind him. Then he went farther into the room until

the distant recess was fully revealed to him. His tread had been furtive and almost noiseless. Now he paused,

for he had caught sight the prisoner. For a moment he stood quite still, with hands clasped behind his back in

his wonted attitudestill save for a strange, involuntary twitching of his mouth, and the nervous clasping

and interlocking of his fingers behind his back. He was savouring to its utmost fulsomeness the supremest joy

Blakeney sat at the table with one arm resting on it, the emaciated hand tightly clutched, the body leaning

For the moment he was unconscious of Chauvelin's presence, and the latter could gaze on him to the full

Indeed, to all outward appearances there sat a man whom privations of every sort and kind, the want of fresh

air, of proper food, above all, of rest, had worn down physically to a shadow. There was not a particle of

colour in cheeks or lips, the skin was grey in hue, the eyes looked like deep caverns, wherein the glow of

Chauvelin looked on in silence, vaguely stirred by something that he could not define, something that right

through his triumphant satisfaction, his hatred and final certainty of revenge, had roused in him a sense

He gazed on the noiseless figure of the man who had endured so much for an ideal, and as he gazed it seemed

to him as if the spirit no longer dwelt in the body, but hovered round in the dank, stuffy air of the narrow cell

above the head of the lonely prisoner, crowning it with glory that was no longer of this earth.

Of this the lookeron was conscious despite himself, of that and of the fact that stare as he might, and with

perception rendered doubly keen by hate, he could not, in spite of all, find the least trace of mental weakness

in that farseeing gaze which seemed to pierce the prison walls, nor could he see that bodily weakness had

Sir Percy Blakeneya prisoner since seventeen days in close, solitary confinement, halfstarved, deprived

of rest, and of that mental and physical activity which had been the very essence of life to him

hithertomight be outwardly but a shadow of his former brilliant self, but nevertheless he was still that same

elegant English gentleman, that prince of dandies whom Chauvelin had first met eighteen months ago at the

most courtly Court in Europe. His clothes, despite constant wear and the want of attention from a scrupulous

valet, still betrayed the perfection of London tailoring; he had put them on with meticulous care, they were

free from the slightest particle of dust, and the filmy folds of priceless Mechlin still halfveiled the delicate

And in the pale, haggard face, in the whole pose of body and of arm, there was still the expression of that

indomitable strength of will, that reckless daring, that almost insolent challenge to Fate; it was there untamed,

uncrushed. Chauvelin himself could not deny to himself its presence or its force. He felt that behind that

smooth brow, which looked waxlike now, the mind was still alert, scheming, plotting, striving for freedom,

for conquest and for power, and rendered even doubly keen and virile by the ardour of supreme

Chauvelin now made a slight movement and suddenly Blakeney became conscious of his presence, and swift

He rose and stepped forward in the most approved fashion prescribed by the elaborate etiquette of the time.

But Chauvelin smiled grimly and a look of almost animal lust gleamed in his pale eyes, for he had noted that

as he rose Sir Percy had to seek the support of the table, even whilst a dull film appeared to gather over his

The gesture had been quick and cleverly disguised, but it had been there neverthelessthat and the livid hue

that overspread the face as if consciousness was threatening to go. All of which was sufficient still further to

assure the lookeron that that mighty physical strength was giving way at last, that strength which he had

hated in his enemy almost as much as he had hated the thinly veiled insolence of his manner.

"And what procures me, sir, the honour of your visit?" continued Blakeney, who hadat any rate, outwardly

soon recovered himself, and whose voice, though distinctly hoarse and spent, rang quite cheerfully across the

"My desire for your welfare, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin with equal pleasantry.

"La, sir; but have you not gratified that desire already, to an extent which leaves no room for further

solicitude? But I pray you, will you not sit down?" he continued, turning back toward the table. "I was about

to partake of the lavish supper which your friends have provided for me. Will you not share it, sir? You are

most royally welcome, and it will mayhap remind you of that supper we shared together in Calais, eh? when

He laughed, offering his enemy a chair, and pointed with inviting gesture to the hunk of brown bread and the

Chauvelin sat down. He held his lower lip tightly between his teeth, so tightly that a few drops of blood

appeared upon its narrow surface. He was making vigorous efforts to keep his temper under control, for he

would not give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him resent his insolence. He could afford to keep calm

now that victory was at last in sight, now that he knew that he had but to raise a finger, and those smiling,

"Sir Percy," he resumed quietly, "no doubt it affords you a certain amount of pleasure to aim your sarcastic

shafts at me. I will not begrudge you that pleasure; in your present position, sir, your shafts have little or no

"And I shall have but few chances left to aim them at your charming self," interposed Blakeney, who had

drawn another chair close to the table and was now sitting opposite his enemy, with the light of the lamp

falling full on his own face, as if he wished his enemy to know that he had nothing to hide, no thought, no

"Exactly," said Chauvelin dryly. "That being the case, Sir Percy, what say you to no longer wasting the few

chances which are left to you for safety? The time is getting on. You are not, I imagine, quite as hopeful as

you were even a week ago, ... you have never been overcomfortable in this cell, why not end this unpleasant

state of affairs nowonce and for all? You'll not have cause to regret it. My word on it."

"I pray you, sir, forgive me," he said. "Never have I been so dd fatigued. I have not slept for more than a

"A night, sir?" exclaimed Blakeney with what seemed like an echo of his former inimitable laugh. "La! I

"I am afraid we could not arrange for that, but one night would greatly refresh you."

"You are right, sir, you are right; but those dd fellows in the next room make so much noise."

"I would give strict orders that perfect quietude reigned in the guardroom this night," said Chauvelin,

murmuring softly, and there was a gentle purr in his voice, "and that you were left undisturbed for several

hours. I would give orders that a comforting supper be served to you at once, and that everything be done to

"Call it pigheaded, my dear Monsieur Chambertin," retorted Blakeney gaily, "truly you would oblige me."

"Therefore you came," concluded Blakeney airily, "like the good Samaritan to take compassion on me and

my troubles, and to lead me straight away to comfort, a good supper and a downy bed."

"Admirably put, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin blandly; "that is exactly my mission."

"Quite easily, if you, Sir Percy, will yield to the persuasion of my friend citizen Heron."

"Why, yes! He is anxious to know where little Capet is. A reasonable whim, you will own, considering that

"And you, Monsieur Chambertin?" queried Sir Percy with that suspicion of insolence in his manner which

had the power to irritate his enemy even now. "And yourself, sir; what are your wishes in the matter?"

"Mine, Sir Percy?" retorted Chauvelin. "Mine? Why, to tell you the truth, the fate of little Capet interests me

but little. Let him rot in Austria or in our prisons, I care not which. He'll never trouble France overmuch, I

imagine. The teachings of old Simon will not tend to make a leader or a king out of the puny brat whom you

chose to drag out of our keeping. My wishes, sir, are the annihilation of your accursed League, and the lasting

He had spoken more hotly than he had intended, but all the pentup rage of the past eighteen months, the

recollections of Calais and of Boulogne, had all surged up again in his mind, because despite the closeness of

these prison walls, despite the grim shadow of starvation and of death that beckoned so close at hand, he still

Whilst he spoke Blakeney had once more leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table. Now he drew

nearer to him the wooden platter on which reposed that very uninviting piece of dry bread. With solemn

intentness he proceeded to break the bread into pieces; then he offered the platter to Chauvelin.

"I am sorry," he said pleasantly, "that I cannot you more dainty fare, sir, but this is all that your friends have

He crumbled some of the dry bread in his slender fingers, then started munching the crumbs with apparent

relish. He poured out some water into the mug and drank it. Then be said with a light laugh:

"Even the vinegar which that ruffian Brogard served us at Calais was preferable to this, do you not imagine

Chauvelin made no reply. Like a feline creature on the prowl, he was watching the prey that had so nearly

succumbed to his talons. Blakeney's face now was positively ghastly. The effort to speak, to laugh, to appear

unconcerned, was apparently beyond his strength. His cheeks and lips were livid in hue, the skin clung like a

thin layer of wax to the bones of cheek and jaw, and the heavy lids that fell over the eyes had purple patches

To a system in such an advanced state of exhaustion the stale water and dusty bread must have been terribly

nauseating, and Chauvelin himself callous and thirsting for vengeance though he was, could hardly bear to

look calmly on the martyrdom of this man whom he and his colleagues were torturing in order to gain their

An ashen hue, which seemed like the shadow of the hand of death, passed over the prisoner's face. Chauvelin

felt compelled to avert his gaze. A feeling that was almost akin to remorse had stirred a hidden cord in his

heart. The feeling did not lastthe heart had been too long atrophied by the constantly recurring spectacles

of cruelties, massacres, and wholesale hecatombs perpetrated in the past eighteen months in the name of

liberty and fraternity to be capable of a sustained effort in the direction of gentleness or of pity. Any noble

instinct in these revolutionaries had long ago been drowned in a whirlpool of exploits that would forever

sully the records of humanity; and this keeping of a fellowcreature on the rack in order to wring from him a

Judaslike betrayal was but a complement to a record of infamy that had ceased by its very magnitude to

Chauvelin was in no way different from his colleagues; the crimes in which he had had no hand he had

condoned by continuing to serve the Government that had committed them, and his ferocity in the present

case was increased a thousandfold by his personal hatred for the man who had so often fooled and baffled

When he looked round a second or two later that ephemeral fit of remorse did its final vanishing; he had once

more encountered the pleasant smile, the laughing if ashenpale face of his unconquered foe.

"Only a passing giddiness, my dear sir," said Sir Percy lightly. "As you were saying"

At the airilyspoken words, at the smile that accompanied them, Chauvelin had jumped to his feet. There was

something almost supernatural, weird, and impish about the present situation, about this dying man who, like

an impudent schoolboy, seemed to be mocking Death with his tongue in his cheek, about his laugh that

"In the name of God, Sir Percy," he said roughly, as he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the

"Why, sir?" retorted Blakeney, "methought you and your kind did not believe in God."

But even before the words had died upon his lips, Sir Percy, too, had risen to his feet.

"Have done, manhave done," he broke in hoarsely, and despite weakness, despite exhaustion and

weariness, there was such a dangerous look in his hollow eyes as he leaned across the table that Chauvelin

drew back a step or two, andvaguely fearful looked furtively towards the opening into the guardroom.

"Have done," he reiterated for the third time; "do not name her, or by the living God whom you dared to

But Chauvelin, after that first moment of almost superstitious fear, had quickly recovered his sangfroid.

"Little Capet, Sir Percy," he said, meeting the other's threatening glance with an imperturbable smile, "tell me

where to find him, and you may yet live to savour the caresses of the most beautiful woman in England."

He had meant it as a taunt, the final turn of the thumbscrew applied to a dying man, and he had in that

The next moment he had paid to the full the anticipated price. Sir Percy had picked up the pewter mug from

the tableit was halffilled with brackish waterand with a hand that trembled but slightly he hurled it

The heavy mug did not hit citizen Chauvelin; it went crashing against the stone wall opposite. But the water

was trickling from the top of his head all down his eyes and cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders with a look of

benign indulgence directed at his enemy, who had fallen back into his chair exhausted with the effort.

The words came out in gasps. He was like a man only partly conscious. The lips were parted, the eyes closed,

the head leaning against the high back of the chair. For the space of one second Chauvelin feared that his zeal

had outrun his prudence, that he had dealt a deathblow to a man in the last stage of exhaustion, where he

had only wished to fan the flickering flame of life. Hastilyfor the seconds seemed precioushe ran to the

Heron looked up, roused from the semisomnolence in which he had lain for the past halfhour. He

"Bah!" retorted the other with a callous shrug of the shoulders, "you are not going to revive him with brandy,

"No. But you will, citizen Heron," rejoined the other dryly, "for if you do not he'll be dead in an hour!"

He was wide awake enough now; wide awake and shaking with fury. Almost foaming at the mouth and

uttering volleys of the choicest oaths, he elbowed his way roughly through the groups of soldiers who were

crowding round the centre table of the guardroom, smoking and throwing dice or playing cards. They made

way for him as hurriedly as they could, for it was not safe to thwart the citizen agent when he was in a rage.

Heron walked across to the opening and lifted the iron bar. With scant ceremony he pushed his colleague

aside arid strode into the cell, whilst Chauvelin, seemingly not resenting the other's ruffianly manners and

In the centre of the room both men paused, and Heron turned with a surly growl to his friend.

Blakeney was sittingas was his wontclose to the table, with one arm leaning on it, the other, tightly

"Not in an hour, citizen Heron," he said, and his voice flow was scarce above a whisper, "nor yet in two."

"You are a fool, man," said Heron roughly. "You have had seventeen days of this. Are you not sick of it?"

"Seventeen days," reiterated the other, nodding his shaggy head; "you came here on the 2nd of Pluviose,

"The 19th Pluviose?" interposed Sir Percy, and a strange gleam suddenly flashed in his eyes. "Demn it, sir,

Chauvelin, unlike his rough and blundering colleague, had been watching the prisoner very closely for the

last moment or two, conscious of a subtle, undefinable change that had come over the man during those few

seconds while he, Chauvelin, had thought him dying. The pose was certainly the old familiar one, the head

erect, the hand clenched, the eyes looking through and beyond the stone walls; but there was an air of

listlessness in the stoop of the shoulders, andexcept for that one brief gleam just nowa look of more

complete weariness round the hollow eyes! To the keen watcher it appeared as if that sense of living power,

of unconquered will and defiant mind was no longer there, and as if he himself need no longer fear that

almost supersensual thrill which had a while ago kindled in him a vague sense of admirationalmost of

Even as he gazed, Blakeney slowly turned his eyes full upon him. Chauvelin's heart gave a triumphant bound.

With a mocking smile he met the wearied look, the pitiable appeal. His turn had come at lasthis turn to

mock and to exult. He knew that what he was watching now was no longer the last phase of a long and noble

martyrdom; it was the endthe inevitable endthat for which he had schemed and striven, for which he

had schooled his heart to ferocity and callousness that were devilish in their intensity. It was the end indeed,

the slow descent of a soul from the giddy heights of attempted selfsacrifice, where it had striven to soar for

a time, until the body and the will both succumbed together and dragged it down with them into the abyss of

Silence reigned in the narrow cell for a few moments, whilst two human jackals stood motionless over their

A savage triumph gleamed in Chauvelin's eyes, and even Heron, dull and brutal though he was, had become

Blakeney, with a gesture and a sigh of hopeless exhaustion had once more rested both his elbows on the

"Curse you, man!" cried Heron almost involuntarily. "Why in the name of hell did you wait so long?"

Then, as the prisoner made no reply, but only raised his head slightly, and looked on the other two men with

"More than a fortnight has been wasted in useless obstinacy, Sir Percy. Fortunately it is not too late."

He leaned across the table, his eyes were bloodshot with the keenness of his excitement, his voice shook with

"If you'll only not worry me," murmured the prisoner; and the whisper came so laboriously and so low that

both men were forced to bend their ears close to the scarcely moving lips; "if you will let me sleep and rest,

"The peace of the grave, man," retorted Chauvelin roughly; "if you will only speak. Where is Capet?"

"We don't want you to lead us anywhere," growled Heron with a smothered curse; "tell us where Capet is;

"I cannot explain; the way is intricate; the place off the beaten track, unknown except to me and my friends."

Once more that shadow, which was so like the passing of the hand of Death, overspread the prisoner's face;

"He'll die before he can speak," muttered Chauvelin under his breath. "You usually are well provided with

The latter no longer demurred. He saw the danger as clearly as did his colleague. It had been hell's own luck

if the prisoner were to die now when he seemed ready to give in. He produced a flask from the pocket of his

"Beastly stuff," murmured the latter feebly. "I think I'd sooner faintthan drink."

"Capet? where is Capet?" reiterated Heron impatiently. "Onetwo three hundred leagues from here. I

must let one of my friends know; he'll communicate with the others; they must be prepared," replied the

He was like a raging tiger that bad thought to hold its prey and suddenly realised that it was being snatched

from him. He raised his fist, and without doubt the next moment he would Lave silenced forever the lips that

held the precious secret, but Chauvelin fortunately was quick enough to seize his wrist.

"Have a care, citizen," he said peremptorily; "have a care! You called me a fool just now when you thought I

had killed the prisoner. It is his secret we want first; his death can follow afterwards."

"On the guillotine if you'll speak," cried Heron, whose exasperation was getting the better of his selfinterest,

"but if you'll not speak then it shall be starvation in this holeyes, starvation," he growled, showing a row of

large and uneven teeth like those of some mongrel cur, "for I'll have that door walled in tonight, and not

another living soul shall cross this threshold again until your flesh has rotted on your bones and the rats have

The prisoner raised his head slowly, a shiver shook him as if caused by ague, and his eyes, that appeared

"I cannot; I wish to God I could. But I'll take you to him, I swear I will. I'll make my friends give him up to

Heron, whose every instinct of tyranny revolted against this thwarting of his will, would have continued to

heckle the prisoner even now, had not Chauvelin suddenly interposed with an authoritative gesture.

"You'll gain nothing this way, citizen," he said quietly; "the man's mind is wandering; he is probably quite

"He cannot live another twentyfour hours now, and would only grow more and more helpless as time went

"And if I do we'll only prolong this situation indefinitely; and in the meanwhile how do we know that the brat

The prisoner, with his head once more buried in his arms, had fallen into a kind of torpor, the only kind of

sleep that the exhausted system would allow. With a brutal gesture Heron shook him by the shoulder.

"He," he shouted, "none of that, you know. We have not settled the matter of young Capet yet."

Then, as the prisoner made no movement, and the chief agent indulged in one of his favourite volleys of

"I tell you, citizen, that this is no use," he said firmly. "Unless you are prepared to give up all thoughts of

finding Capet, you must try and curb your temper, and try diplomacy where force is sure to fail."

"Diplomacy?" retorted the other with a sneer. "Bah! it served you well at Boulogne last autumn, did it not,

"It has served me better now," rejoined the other imperturbably. "You will own, citizen, that it is my

diplomacy which has placed within your reach the ultimate hope of finding Capet."

"H'm!" muttered the other, "you advised us to starve the prisoner. Are we any nearer to knowing his secret?"

"Yes. By a fortnight of weariness, of exhaustion and of starvation, you are nearer to it by the weakness of the

"But if the cursed Englishman won't speak, and in the meanwhile dies on my hands"

"He won't do that if you will accede to his wish. Give him some good food now, and let him sleep till dawn."

"And at dawn he'll defy me again. I believe now that he has some scheme in his mind, and means to play us a

"That, I imagine, is more than likely," retorted Chauvelin dryly; "though," he added with a contemptuous nod

of the head directed at the huddledup figure of his once brilliant enemy, "neither mind nor body seem to me

to be in a sufficiently active state just now for hatching plot or intrigue; but even ifvaguely floating

through his clouded mindthere has sprung some little scheme for evasion, I give you my word, citizen

Heron, that you can thwart him completely, and gain all that you desire, if you will only follow my advice."

There had always been a great amount of persuasive power in citizen Chauvelin, exenvoy of the

revolutionary Government of France at the Court of St. James, and that same persuasive eloquence did not

fail now in its effect on the chief agent of the Committee of General Security. The latter was made of coarser

stuff than his more brilliant colleague. Chauvelin was like a wily and sleek panther that is furtive in its

movements, that will lure its prey, watch it, follow it with stealthy footsteps, and only pounce on it when it is

least wary, whilst Heron was more like a raging bull that tosses its head in a blind, irresponsible fashion,

rushes at an obstacle without gauging its resisting powers, and allows its victim to slip from beneath its

Still Chauvelin had two heavy black marks against himthose of his failures at Calais and Boulogne. Heron,

rendered cautious both by the deadly danger in which he stood and the sense of his own incompetence to deal

with the present situation, tried to resist the other's authority as well as his persuasion.

"Your advice was not of great use to citizen Collot last autumn at Boulogne," he said, and spat on the ground

"Still, citizen Heron," retorted Chauvelin with unruffled patience, "it is the best advice that you are likely to

get in the present emergency. You have eyes to see, have you not? Look on your prisoner at this moment.

Unless something is done, and at once, too, he will be past negotiating with in the next twentyfour hours;

He put his thin hand once more on his colleague's grubby coatsleeve, he drew him closer to himself away

from the vicinity of that huddled figure, that captive lion, wrapped in a torpid somnolence that looked already

"What will follow, citizen Heron?" he reiterated, sinking his voice to a whisper; "sooner or later some

meddlesome busybody who sits in the Assembly of the Convention will get wind that little Capet is no longer

in the Temple prison, that a pauper child was substituted for him, and that you, citizen Heron, together with

the commissaries in charge, have thus been fooling the nation and its representatives for over a fortnight.

And he made an expressive gesture with his outstretched fingers across his throat.

"You cannot," retorted Chauvelin decisively. "In his present state he is incapable of it, even if he would,

"Yes, I do. But I also know that he is no longer in a physical state to do it. No doubt he thinks that he is. A

man of that type is sure to overvalue his own strength; but look at him, citizen Heron. Surely you must see

Heron now was like a voracious creature that has two victims lying ready for his gluttonous jaws. He was

loath to let either of them go. He hated the very thought of seeing the Englishman being led out of this narrow

cell, where he had kept a watchful eye over him night and day for a fortnight, satisfied that with every day,

every hour, the chances of escape became more improbable and more rare; at the same time there was the

possibility of the recapture of little Capet, a possibility which made Heron's brain reel with the delightful

vista of it, and which might never come about if the prisoner remained silent to the end.

"I wish I were quite sure," he said sullenly, "that you were body and soul in accord with me."

"I am in accord with you, citizen Heron," rejoined the other earnestly"body and soul in accord with you.

Do you not believe that I hate this manaye! hate him with a hatred ten thousand times more strong than

yours? I want his deathHeaven or hell alone know how I long for thatbut what I long for most is his

lasting disgrace. For that I have worked, citizen Heronfor that I advised and helped you. When first you

captured this man you wanted summarily to try him, to send him to the guillotine amidst the joy of the

populace of Paris, and crowned with a splendid halo of martyrdom. That man, citizen Heron, would have

baffled you, mocked you, and fooled you even on the steps of the scaffold. In the zenith of his strength and of

insurmountable good luck you and all your myrmidons and all the assembled guard of Paris would have had

no power over him. The day that you led him out of this cell in order to take him to trial or to the guillotine

would have been that of your hopeless discomfiture. Having once walked out of this cell hale, hearty and

alert, be the escort round him ever so strong, he never would have reentered it again. Of that I am as

convinced as that I am alive. I know the man; you don't. Mine are not the only fingers through which he has

slipped. Ask citizen Collot d'Herbois, ask Sergeant Bibot at the barrier of Menilmontant, ask General Santerre

and his guards. They all have a tale to tell. Did I believe in God or the devil, I should also believe that this

"He is a different man now, citizen Heron. On my advice you placed him on a regime that has counteracted

the supernatural power by simple physical exhaustion, and driven to the four winds the host of demons who

"If only I thought that the recapture of Capet was as vital to you as it is to me," said Heron, still unconvinced.

"The capture of Capet is just as vital to me as it is to you," rejoined Chauvelin earnestly, "if it is brought

He paused, looking intently on his colleague, whose shifty eyes encountered his own. Thus eye to eye the two

"I am sure that you do," responded Chauvelin dryly. "The disgrace of this cursed Scarlet Pimpernel and his

League is as vital to me, and more, as the capture of Capet is to you. That is why I showed you the way how

to bring that meddlesome adventurer to his knees; that is why I will help you now both to find Capet and with

Heron before he spoke again cast one more look on the prisoner. The latter had not stirred; his face was

hidden, but the hands, emaciated, nerveless and waxen, like those of the dead, told a more eloquent tale,

mayhap, then than the eyes could do. The chief agent of the Committee of General Security walked

deliberately round the table until he stood once more close beside the man from whom he longed with

passionate ardour to wrest an allimportant secret. With brutal, grimy hand he raised the head that lay,

sunken and inert, against the table; with callous eyes he gazed attentively on the face that was then revealed

to him, he looked on the waxen flesh, the hollow eyes, the bloodless lips; then he shrugged his wide

shoulders, and with a laugh that surely must have caused joy in hell, he allowed the wearied head to fall back

"I think you are right, citizen Chauvelin," he said; "there is not much supernatural power here. Let me hear

Citizen Chauvelin had drawn his colleague with him to the end of the cell that was farthest away from the

Here the noise and hubbub that went on constantly in the guard room would effectually drown a whispered

conversation. Chauvelin called to the sergeant to hand him a couple of chairs over the barrier. These he

placed against the wall opposite the opening, and beckoning Heron to sit down, he did likewise, placing

From where the two men now sat they could see both into the guardroom opposite them and into the recess

"First of all," began Chauvelin after a while, and sinking his voice to a whisper, "let me understand you

thoroughly, citizen Heron. Do you want the death of the Englishman, either today or tomorrow, either in

this prison or on the guillotine? For that now is easy of accomplishment; or do you want, above all, to get

"It is Capet I want," growled Heron savagely under his breath. "Capet! Capet! My own neck is dependent on

"You have told it me very clearly, citizen Heron; but I wished to make assurance doubly sure, and also make

you Understand that I, too, want the Englishman to betray little Capet into your hands. I want that more even

"My advice to you, citizen Heron, is this: Give your prisoner now just a sufficiency of food to revive

himhe will have had a few moments' sleepand when he has eaten, and, mayhap, drunk a glass of wine,

he will, no doubt, feel a recrudescence of strength, then give him pen and ink and paper. He must, as he says,

write to one of his followers, who, in his turn, I suppose, will communicate with the others, bidding them to

be prepared to deliver up little Capet to us; the letter must make it clear to that crowd of English gentlemen

that their beloved chief is giving up the uncrowned King of France to us in exchange for his own safety. But I

think you will agree with me, citizen Heron, that it would not be overprudent on our part to allow that same

gallant crowd to be forewarned too soon of the proposed doings of their chief. Therefore, I think, we'll

explain to the prisoner that his follower, whom he will first apprise of his intentions, shall start with us

tomorrow on our expedition, and accompany us until its last stage, when, if it is found necessary, he may be

sent on ahead, strongly escorted of course, and with personal messages from the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel to

"What will be the good of that?" broke in Heron viciously. "Do you want one of his accursed followers to be

ready to give him a helping hand on the way if he tries to slip through our fingers?

"Patience, patience, my good Heron!" rejoined Chauvelin with a placid smile. "Hear me out to the end. Time

is precious. You shall offer what criticism you will when I have finished, but not before."

"I am not only proposing that one member of the Scarlet Pimpernel League shall accompany us tomorrow,"

continued Chauvelin, "but I would also force the prisoner's wifeMarguerite Blakeneyto follow in our

"I will tell you the reason of this presently. In her case I should not let the prisoner know beforehand that she

too will form a part of our expedition. Let this come as a pleasing surprise for him. She could join us on our

"Easily enough. I know where to find her. I traced her myself a few days ago to a house in the Rue de

Charonne, and she is not likely to have gone away from Paris while her husband was at the Conciergerie. But

this is a digression, let me proceed more consecutively. The letter, as I have said, being written tonight by

the prisoner to one of his followers, I will myself see that it is delivered into the right hands. You, citizen

Heron, will in the meanwhile make all arrangements for the journey. We ought to start at dawn, and we ought

to be prepared, especially during the first fifty leagues of the way, against organised attack in case the

"He might, but it is unlikely. Still it is best to be prepared. Take a strong escort, citizen, say twenty or thirty

men, picked and trained soldiers who would make short work of civilians, however wellarmed they might

be. There are twenty membersincluding the chiefin that Scarlet Pimpernel League, and I do not quite

see how from this cell the prisoner could organise an ambuscade against us at a given time. Anyhow, that is a

matter for you to decide. I have still to place before you a scheme which is a measure of safety for ourselves

and our men against ambush as well as against trickery, and which I feel sure you will pronounce quite

"The prisoner will have to travel by coach, of course. You can travel with him, if you like, and put him in

irons, and thus avert all chances of his escaping on the road. But"and here Chauvelin made a long pause,

which had the effect of holding his colleague's attention still more closely"remember that we shall have his

wife and one of his friends with us. Before we finally leave Paris tomorrow we will explain to the prisoner

that at the first attempt to escape on his part, at the slightest suspicion that he has tricked us for his own ends

or is leading us into an ambush at the slightest suspicion, I sayyou, citizen Heron, will order his friend

first, and then Marguerite Blakeney herself, to be summarily shot before his eyes."

Heron gave a long, low whistle. Instinctively he threw a furtive, backward glance at the prisoner, then he

There was unbounded admiration expressed in them. One blackguard had met anothera greater one than

"By Lucifer, citizen Chauvelin," he said at last, "I should never have thought of such a thing myself."

"I certainly think that measure ought to be adequate," he said with a gentle air of assumed modesty, "unless

you would prefer to arrest the woman and lodge her here, keeping her here as an hostage."

"No, no!" said Heron with a gruff laugh; "that idea does not appeal to me nearly so much as the other. I

should not feel so secure on the way.... I should always be thinking that that cursed woman had been allowed

to escape.... No! no! I would rather keep her under my own eyejust as you suggest, citizen Chauvelin ...

and under the prisoner's, too," he added with a coarse jest. "If he did not actually see her, he might be more

ready to try and save himself at her expense. But, of course, he could not see her shot before his eyes. It is a

perfect plan, citizen, arid does you infinite credit; and if the Englishman tricked us," he concluded with a

fierce and savage oath, "and we did not find Capet at the end of the journey, I would gladly strangle his wife

"A satisfaction which I would not begrudge you, citizen," said Chauvelin dryly. "Perhaps you are right ... the

woman had best be kept under your own eye ... the prisoner will never risk her safety on that, I would stake

my life. We'll deliver our final 'eitheror' the moment that she has joined our party, and before we start

further on our way. Now, citizen Heron, you have heard my advice; are you prepared to follow it?"

And their two hands met in a grasp of mutual understandingtwo hands already indelibly stained with much

innocent blood, more deeply stained now with seventeen past days of inhumanity and miserable treachery to

What occurred within the inner cell of the Conciergerie prison within the next halfhour of that 16th day of

Pluviose in the year II of the Republic is, perhaps, too well known to history to need or bear overfull

Chroniclers intimate with the inner history of those infamous days have told us how the chief agent of the

Committee of General Security gave orders one hour after midnight that hot soup, white bread and wine be

served to the prisoner, who for close on fourteen days previously had been kept on short rations of black

bread and water; the sergeant in charge of the guardroom watch for the night also received strict orders that

that same prisoner was on no account to be disturbed until the hour of six in the morning, when he was to be

All this we know, and also that citizen Heron, having given all necessary orders for the morning's expedition,

returned to the Conciergerie, and found his colleague Chauvelin waiting for him in the guardroom.

"Only from the doorway. It seems he ate and drank hardly at all, and the sergeant had some difficulty in

"Well, now for the letter," concluded Heron with the same marked feverishness of manner which sat so

curiously on his uncouth personality. "Pen, ink and paper, sergeant!" he commanded.

He preceded the two citizens across the guardroom to the doorway, and raised for them the iron bar,

The next moment Heron and Chauvelin were once more face to face with their prisoner.

Whether by accident or design the lamp had been so placed that as the two men approached its light fell full

upon their faces, while that of the prisoner remained in shadow. He was leaning forward with both elbows on

the table, his thin, tapering fingers toying with the pen and inkhorn which had been placed close to his hand.

"I trust that everything has been arranged for your comfort, Sir Percy?" Chauvelin asked with a sarcastic little

"Greatly so, I assure you. But I am still demmed sleepy; and if you would kindly be brief"

"You have not changed your mind, sir?" queried Chauvelin, and a note of anxiety, which he vainly tried to

"No, my good M. Chambertin," replied Blakeney with the same urbane courtesy, "I have not changed my

A sigh of relief escaped the lips of both the men. The prisoner certainly had spoken in a clearer and firmer

voice; but whatever renewed strength wine and food had imparted to him he apparently did not mean to

employ in renewed obstinacy. Chauvelin, after a moment's pause, resumed more calmly:

"Very well. My colleague, citizen Heron, has arranged for an escort of twenty men picked from the best

regiment of the Garde de Paris to accompany usyourself, him and meto wherever you will direct us. Is

"You must not imagine for a moment that we, on the other hand, guarantee to give you your life and freedom

"I would not venture on suggesting such a wild proposition, sir," said Blakeney placidly.

Chauvelin looked keenly on him. There was something in the tone of that voice that he did not altogether

likesomething that reminded him of an evening at Calais, and yet again of a day at Boulogne. He could not

read the expression in the eyes, so with a quick gesture he pulled the lamp forward so that its light now fell

"Ah! that is certainly better, is it not, my dear M. Chambertin?" said Sir Percy, beaming on his adversary with

His face, though still of the same ashen hue, looked serene if hopelessly wearied; the eyes seemed to mock.

But this Chauvelin decided in himself must have been a trick of his own overwrought fancy. After a brief

"If, however, the expedition turns out successful in every wayif little Capet, without much trouble to our

escort, falls safe and sound into our handsif certain contingencies which I am about to tell you all fall out

as we wishthen, Sir Percy, I see no reason why the Government of this country should not exercise its

"An exercise, my dear M. Chambertin, which must have wearied through frequent repetition," retorted

"The contingency at present is somewhat remote; when the time comes we'll talk this matter over.... I will

"At present we are but wasting our valuable time over so trifling a matter.... If you'll excuse me, sir ... I am so

Heron was taking no part ill the present conversation. He knew that his temper was not likely to remain

within bounds, and though he had nothing but contempt for his colleague's courtly manners, yet vaguely in

his stupid, blundering way he grudgingly admitted that mayhap it was better to allow citizen Chauvelin to

deal with the Englishman. There was always the danger that if his own violent temper got the better of him,

he might even at this eleventh hour order this insolent prisoner to summary trial and the guillotine, and thus

He was sprawling on a chair in his usual slouching manner with his big head sunk between his broad

shoulders, his shifty, prominent eyes wandering restlessly from the face of his colleague to that of the other

"We are wasting time, citizen Chauvelin," he muttered. "I have still a great deal to see to if we are to start at

The rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct and surly murmur. Chauvelin, after a shrug of the shoulders,

paid no further heed to him; he turned, bland and urbane, once more to the prisoner.

"I see with pleasure, Sir Percy," he said, "that we thoroughly understand one another. Having had a few

hours' rest you will, I know, feel quite ready for the expedition. Will you kindly indicate to me the direction

"Our first objective then will be Beauvais, Amiens, Abbeville, Crecy, and so on?"

"Where we shall come off the beaten track, and you will have to trust to my guidance."

"You might. But you would not then find the child. Seven leagues is not far from the coast. He might slip

"And my colleague Heron, being disappointed, would inevitably send you to the guillotine."

"Quite so," rejoined the prisoner placidly. "Methought, sir, that we. had decided that I should lead this little

expedition? Surely," he added, "it is not so much the Dauphin whom you want as my share in this betrayal."

"You are right as usual, Sir Percy. Therefore let us take that as settled. We go as far as Crecy, and thence

"This being settled, Sir Percy. I understand that you desire to communicate with one of your followers."

"Some one must let the others know ... those who have the Dauphin in their charge."

"Quite so. Therefore I pray you write to one of your friends that you have decided to deliver the Dauphin into

"You said just now that this you would not guarantee," interposed Blakeney quietly.

"If all turns out well," retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt, "and if you will write the exact letter

"Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour of the communication?"

"My brotherinlaw, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. He can let the others know."

Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He 'paused awhile, hesitating. Would Sir Percy Blakeney be readyif

his own safety demanded itto sacrifice the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous "eitheror"

that was to be put to him, byandby, would he choose his own life and leave Armand St. Just to perish? It

was not for Chauvelinor any man of his stampto judge of what Blakeney would do under such

circumstances, and had it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would have hesitated still more

But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage for the final breakingup of the League of

the Scarlet Pimpernel through the disgrace of its chief. There was the wifeMarguerite Blakeneysister of

St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close affection for her brother might prove an

Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other's hesitation. He did not even look up at him, but quietly drew

"Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?" queried Heron roughly.

"Better than any one else," he said firmly. "Will you write at my dictation, Sir Percy?

"'I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and also M. Chauvelin, Yes, Sir Percy,

Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H, A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right' have made this prison a

"You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said; "I have really been most comfortable."

"I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manner as I can," retorted Chauvelin dryly.

"... a perfect hell for me,'" resumed the other. "Have you that? ... 'and I have been forced to give way.

Tomorrow we start from here at dawn; and I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he can find the

Dauphin. But the authorities demand that one of my followers, one who has once been a member of the

League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, shall accompany me on this expedition. I therefore ask you'or 'desire you'

"... 'to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, and you would be required to be at the main gate

of the house of Justice at six o'clock precisely. I have an assurance from the authorities that your life should

be inviolate, but if you refuse to accompany me, the guillotine will await me on the morrow.'"

"'The guillotine will await me on the morrow.' That sounds quite cheerful, does it not, M. Chambertin?" said

the prisoner, who had not evinced the slightest surprise at the wording of the letter whilst he wrote at the

other's dictation. "Do you know, I quite enjoyed writing this letter; it so reminded me of happy days in

Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a retort from him would have been undignified,

more especially as just at this moment there came from the guard room the sound of mn's voices talking and

laughing, the occasional clang of steel, or of a heavy boot against the tiled floor, the rattling of dice, or a

sudden burst of laughtersounds, in fact, that betokened the presence of a number of soldiers close by.

"The conditions are somewhat different now," he said placidly, "from those that reigned in Boulogne. But

"With pleasure, sir," responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate flourish of the pen he appended his name to

Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx by their keenness. He took up the

completed letter, read it through very carefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind the very words

which he himself had dictated; he studied the signature, and looked vainly for a mark or a sign that might

convey a different sense to that which he had intended. Finally, finding none, he folded the letter up with his

"Take care, M. Chambertin," said Blakeney lightly; "it will burn a hole in that elegant vest of yours."

"It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin blandly; "an you will furnish me with citizen

"At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he'll be abed. But his address, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix

Blanche, on the first floor, the door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know the room well, citizen

Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And now," he added with a loud and ostentatious yawn, "shall we all

Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his matured plans, despite all the precautions that

be meant to take for the success of this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange sense of fear creeping into his

bones. Half an hour ago he had seen a man in what looked like the last stage of utter physical exhaustion, a

hunched up figure, listless and limp, hands that twitched nervously, the face as of a dying man. Now those

outward symptoms were still there certainly; the face by the light of the lamp still looked livid, the lips

bloodless, the hands emaciated and waxen, but the eyes!they were still hollow, with heavy lids still purple,

but in their depths there was a curious, mysterious light, a look that seemed to see something that was hidden

Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious of this, but the Committee's agent was

sprawling on a chair, sucking a shortstemmed pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction on the

"The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and I, citizen Chauvelin," he said

"You think that everything is quite satisfactory?" asked the other with anxious stress on his words.

"Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give final orders for tomorrow, but I shall sleep in

"And I on that inviting bed," interposed the prisoner lightly, as he rose to his feet. "Your servant, citizens!"

He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two men prepared to go. Chauvelin took a final

long look at the man whom he firmly believed he had at last brought down to abject disgrace.

Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures one slender hand was on the table.

Chauvelin saw that it was leaning rather heavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a final mocking laugh

sped him and his colleague on their way, the tall figure of the conquered lion swayed like a stalwart oak that

With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, and together the two men walked out of the

Two hours after midnight Armand St. Just was wakened from sleep by a peremptory pull at his hell. In these

days in Paris but one meaning could as a rule be attached to such a summons at this hour of the night, and

Armand, though possessed of an unconditional certificate of safety, sat up in bed, quite convinced that for

some reason which would presently be explained to him he had once more been placed on the list of the

"suspect," and that his trial and condemnation on a trumpedup charge would follow in due course.

Truth to tell, he felt no fear at the prospect, and only a very little sorrow. The sorrow was not for himself; he

regretted neither life nor happiness. Life had become hateful to him since happiness had fled with it on the

dark wings of dishonour; sorrow such as he felt was only for Jeanne! She was very young, and would weep

bitter tears. She would be unhappy, because she truly loved him, and because this would be the first cup of

bitterness which life was holding out to her. But she was very young, and sorrow would not be eternal. It was

better so. He, Armand St. Just, though he loved her with an intensity of passion that had been magnified and

strengthened by his own overwhelming shame, had never really brought his beloved one single moment of

From the very first day when he sat beside her in the tiny boudoir of the Square du Roule, and the heavy foot

fall of Heron and his bloodhounds broke in on their first kiss, down to this hour which he believed struck his

own deathknell, his love for her had brought more tears to her dear eyes than smiles to her exquisite mouth.

Her he had loved so dearly, that for her sweet sake he had sacrificed honour, friendship and truth; to free her,

as he believed, from the hands of impious brutes he had done a deed that cried Cainlike for vengeance to the

very throne of God. For her he had sinned, and because of that sin, even before it was committed, their love

Now it was all over. He would pass out of her life, up the steps of the scaffold, tasting as he mounted them

the most entire happiness that he had known since that awful day when he became a Judas.

The peremptory summons, once more repeated, roused him from his meditations. He lit a candle, and without

troubling to slip any of his clothes on, he crossed the narrow antechamber, and opened the door that gave on

He had expected to hear not only those words, but also the grounding of arms and the brief command to halt.

He had expected to see before him the white facings of the uniform of the Garde de Paris, and to feel himself

roughly pushed back into his lodging preparatory to the search being made of all his effects and the placing of

And instead of the uniforms, the bayonets and the scarlet caps with tricolour cockades, he was confronted by

a slight, sableclad figure, whose face, lit by the flickering light of the tallow candle, looked strangely pale

"Citizen Chauvelin!" gasped Armand, more surprised than frightened at this unexpected apparition.

"Himself, citizen, at your service," replied Chauvelin with his quiet, ironical manner. "I am the bearer of a

Mechanically Armand stood aside, allowing the other man to pass in. He closed the door behind his nocturnal

It was the same one in which a fortnight ago a fighting lion had been brought to his knees. Now it lay

wrapped in gloom, the feeble light of the candle only lighting Armand's face and the white frill of his shirt.

"Quite unnecessary," replied Chauvelin curtly. "I have only a letter to deliver, and after that to ask you one

From the pocket of his coat he drew the letter which Blakeney had written an hour ago.

"The prisoner wrote this in my presence," he said as he handed the letter over to Armand. "Will you read it?"

Armand took it from him, and sat down close to the table; leaning forward he held the paper near the light,

and began to read. He read the letter through very slowly to the end, then once again from the beginning. He

was trying to do that which Chauvelin had wished to do an hour ago; he was trying to find the inner meaning

which he felt must inevitably lie behind these words which Percy had written with his own hand.

That these bare words were but a blind to deceive the enemy Armand never doubted for a moment. In this he

was as loyal as Marguerite would have been herself. Never for a moment did the suspicion cross his mind

that Blakeney was about to play the part of a coward, but he, Armand, felt that as a faithful friend and

follower he ought by instinct to know exactly what his chief intended, what he meant him to do.

Swiftly his thoughts flew back to that other letter, the one which Marguerite had given himthe letter full of

pity and of friendship which had brought him hope and a joy and peace which he had thought at one time that

he would never know again. And suddenly one sentence in that letter stood out so clearly before his eyes that

it blurred the actual, tangible ones on the paper which even now rustled in his hand.

But if at any time you receive another letter from mebe its contents what they mayact in accordance

Now everything seemed at once quite clear; his duty, his next actions, every word that he would speak to

Chauvelin. Those that Percy had written to him were already indelibly graven on his memory.

Chauvelin had waited with his usual patience, silent and imperturbable, while the young man read. Now

"Just one question, citizen, and I need not detain you longer. But first will you kindly give me back that

letter? It is a precious document which will for ever remain in the archives of the nation."

But even while he spoke Armand, with one of those quick intuitions that come in moments of acute crisis,

had done just that which he felt Blakeney would wish him to do. He had held the letter close to the candle. A

corner of the thin crisp paper immediately caught fire, and before Chauvelin could utter a word of anger, or

make a movement to prevent the conflagration, the flames had licked up fully one half of the letter, and

Armand had only just time to throw the remainder on the floor and to stamp out the blaze with his foot.

"A useless act of devotion," interposed Chauvelin, who already had smothered the oath that had risen to his

lips. The Scarlet Pimpernel's actions in the present matter will not lose their merited publicity through the

"I had no thought, citizen," retorted the young man, "of commenting on the actions of my chief, or of trying

to deny them that publicity which you seem to desire for them almost as much as I do."

"More, citizen, a great deal more! The impeccable Scarlet Pimpernel, the noble and gallant English

gentleman, has agreed to deliver into our hands the uncrowned King of Francein exchange for his own life

and freedom. Methinks that even his worst enemy would not wish for a better ending to a career of adventure,

and a reputation for bravery unequalled in Europe. But no more of this, time is pressing, I must help citizen

Heron with his final preparations for his journey. You, of course, citizen St. Just, will act in accordance with

"You will present yourself at the main entrance of the house of Justice at six o'clock this morning."

"A coach will be provided for you. You will follow the expedition as hostage for the good faith of your

"You will be a hostage in our hands, citizen; your life a guarantee that your chief has no thought of playing us

false. Now I was thinking ofof certain eventswhich led to the arrest of Sir Percy Blakeney."

"Of my treachery, you mean," rejoined the young man calmly, even though his face had suddenly become

pale as death. "Of the damnable lie wherewith you cheated me into selling my honour, and made me what I

"The damnable lie," continued Armand more vehemently, "that hath made me one with Cain and the Iscariot.

"A lie, man! A lie! For which you are thrice accursed. Great God, is it not you that should have cause for

"And would be rendering your exchief but a sorry service," interposed Chauvelin with quiet irony. "Sir

Percy Blakeney is a dying man, citizen St. Just; he'll be a dead man at dawn if I do not put in an appearance

by six o'clock this morning. This is a private understanding between citizen Heron and myself. We agreed to

"Oh, you take care of your own miserable skin well enough! But you need not be afraid of meI take my

"Afraid that the Scarlet Pimpernel would leave me in the lurch because of the immeasurable wrong I have

done to him?" retorted Armand, proud and defiant in the name of his chief. "No, sir, I am not afraid of that; I

have spent the last fortnight in praying to God that my life might yet be given for his."

"H'm! I think it most unlikely that your prayers will be granted, citizen; prayers, I imagine, so very seldom

are; but I don't know, I never pray myself. In your case, now, I should say that you have not the slightest

chance of the Deity interfering in so pleasant a manner. Even were Sir Percy Blakeney prepared to wreak

personal revenge on you, he would scarcely be so foolish as to risk the other life which we shall also hold as

"Yes. Your sister, Lady Blakeney, will also join the expedition tomorrow. This Sir Percy does not yet know;

but it will come as a pleasant surprise for him. At the slightest suspicion of false play on Sir Percy's part, at

his slightest attempt at escape, your life and that of your sister are forfeit; you will both be summarily shot

before his eyes. I do not think that I need be more precise, eh, citizen St. Just?"

The young man was quivering with passion. A terrible loathing for himself, for his crime which had been the

precursor of this terrible situation, filled his soul to the verge of sheer physical nausea. A red film gathered

before his eyes, and through it he saw the grinning face of the inhuman monster who had planned this

hideous, abominable thing. It seemed to him as if in the silence and the hush of the night, above the feeble,

flickering flame that threw weird shadows around, a group of devils were surrounding him, and were

No doubt if Chauvelin had exhibited the slightest sign of fear, if he had moved an inch towards the door,

Armand, blind with passion, driven to madness by agonising remorse more even than by rage, would have

sprung at his enemy's throat and crushed the life out of him as he would out of a venomous beast. But the

man's calm, his immobility, recalled St. Just to himself. Reason, that had almost yielded to passion again,

found strength to drive the enemy back this time, to whisper a warning, an admonition, even a reminder.

Enough harm, God knows, had been done by tempestuous passion already. And God alone knew what

terrible consequences its triumph now might bring in its trial, and striking on Armand's buzzing ears

The red film lifted, the candle flickered low, the devils vanished, only the pale face of the Terrorist gazed

"I think that I need not detain you any longer, citizen, St. Just," he said quietly; "you can get three or four

hours' rest yet before you need make a start, and I still have a great many things to see to. I wish you

He took the candle and escorted his visitor back to the door. He waited on the landing, taper in hand, while

There was a light in the concierge's lodge. No doubt the woman had struck it when the nocturnal visitor had

first demanded admittance. His name and tricolour scarf of office had ensured him the full measure of her

St. Just, satisfied that Chauvelin had finally gone, now turned back to his own rooms.

He carefully locked the outer door. Then he lit the lamp, for the candle gave but a flickering light, and he had

Firstly, he picked up the charred fragment of the letter, and smoothed it out carefully and reverently as he

would a relic. Tears had gathered in his eyes, but he was not ashamed of them, for no one saw them; but they

eased his heart, and helped to strengthen his resolve. It was a mere fragment that had been spared by the

He had pen, ink and paper ready to his band, and from memory wrote out a copy of it. To this he added a

Thiswhich I had from Percy through the hands of ChauvelinI neither question nor understand.... He

wrote the letter, and I have no thought but to obey. In his previous letter to me he enjoined me, if ever he

wrote to me again, to obey him implicitly, and to communicate with you. To both these commands do I

submit with a glad heart. But of this must I give you warning, little motherChauvelin desires you also to

accompany us tomorrow.... Percy does not know this yet, else he would never start. But those fiends fear

that his readiness is a blind ... and that he has some plan in his head for his own escape and the continued

safety of the Dauphin.... This plan they hope to frustrate through holding you and me as hostages for his good

faith. God only knows how gladly I would give my life for my chief ... but your life, dear little mother ... is

Having written the letter, he sealed it, together with the copy of Percy's letter which he had made. Then he

There was no longer any light in the concierge's lodge, and Armand had some difficulty in making himself

heard. At last the woman came to the door. She was tired and cross after two interruptions of her night's rest,

but she had a partiality for her young lodger, whose pleasant ways and easy liberality had been like a pale ray

"It is a letter, citoyenne," said Armand, with earnest entreaty, "for my sister. She lives in the Rue de

Charonne, near the fortifications, and must have it within an hour; it is a matter of life and death to her, to me,

"Rue de Charonne, near the fortifications," she exclaimed, "and within an hour! By the Holy Virgin, citizen,

"A way must be found, citoyenne," said Armand firmly, "and at once; it is not far, and there are five golden

Five golden louis! The poor, hardworking woman's eyes gleamed at the thought. Five louis meant food for at

"Give me the letter, citizen," she said, "time to slip on a warm petticoat and a shawl, and I'll go myself. It's

"You will bring me back a line from my sister in reply to this," said Armand, whom circumstances had at last

rendered cautious. "Bring it up to my rooms that I may give you the five louis in exchange."

He waited while the woman slipped back into her room. She heard him speaking to her boy; the same lad

who a fortnight ago had taken the treacherous letter which had lured Blakeney to the house into the fatal

ambuscade that had been prepared for him. Everything reminded Armand of that awful night, every hour that

he had since spent in the house had been racking torture to him. Now at last he was to leave it, and on an

The woman was soon ready. Armand gave her final directions as to how to find the house ; then she took the

Armand accompanied her to the door. The night was dark, a thin drizzle was falling; he stood and watched

In a small upstairs room in the Rue de Charonne, above the shop of Lucas the oldclothes dealer, Marguerite

sat with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. Armand's letter, with its message and its warning, lay open on the table

between them, and she had in her hand the sealed packet which Percy had given her just ten days ago, and

which she was only to open if all hope seemed to be dead, if nothing appeared to stand any longer between

A small lamp placed on the table threw a feeble yellow light on the squalid, illfurnished room, for it lacked

still an hour or so before dawn. Armand's concierge had brought her lodger's letter, and Marguerite had

quickly despatched a brief reply to him, a reply that held love and also encouragement.

Then she had summoned Sir Andrew. He never had a thought of leaving her during these days of dire trouble,

and he had lodged all this while in a tiny room on the topmost floor of this house in the Rue de Charonne.

At her call he had come down very quickly, and now they sat together at the table, with the oillamp

illumining their pale, anxious faces; she the wife and he the friend holding a consultation together in this

Outside a thin, persistent rain mixed with snow pattered against the small window panes, and an icy wind

found out all the crevices in the wormeaten woodwork that would afford it ingress to the room. But neither

Marguerite nor Ffoulkes was conscious of the cold. They had wrapped their cloaks round their shoulders, and

did not feel the chill currents of air that caused the lamp to flicker and to smoke.

"I can see now," said Marguerite in that calm voice which comes so naturally in moments of infinite

despair"I can see now exactly what Percy meant when he made me promise not to open this packet until it

seemed to meto me and to you, Sir Andrewthat he was about to play the part of a coward. A coward!

Great God!" She checked the sob that had risen to her throat, and continued in the same calm manner and

"You do think with me, do you not, that the time has come, and that we must open this packet?"

"Without a doubt, Lady Blakeney," replied Ffoulkes with equal earnestness. "I would stake my life that

already a fortnight ago Blakeney had that same plan in his mind which he has now matured. Escape from that

awful Conciergerie prison with all the precautions so carefully taken against it was impossible. I knew that

alas! from the first. But in the open all might yet be different. I'll not believe it that a man like Blakeney is

She looked on her loyal friend with teardimmed eyes through which shone boundless gratitude and

He had spoken of a fortnight! It was ten days since she had seen Percy. It had then seemed as if death had

already marked him with its grim sign. Since then she had tried to shut away from her mind the terrible

visions which her anguish constantly conjured up before her of his growing weakness, of the gradual

impairing of that brilliant intellect, the gradual exhaustion of that mighty physical strength.

"God bless you, Sir Andrew, for your enthusiasm and for your trust," she said with a sad little smile; "but for

you I should long ago have lost all courage, and these last ten dayswhat a cycle of misery they

representwould have been maddening but for your help and your loyalty. God knows I would have

courage for everything in life, for everything save one, but just that, his death; that would be beyond my

strengthneither reason nor body could stand it. Therefore, I am so afraid, Sir Andrew," she added

"That when he knows that I too am to go as hostage, as Armand says in his letter, that my life is to be

guarantee his, I am afraid that he will draw backthat he willmy God!" she cried with sudden fervour,

"Shall we open the packet?" asked Ffoulkes gently, "and then just make up our minds to act exactly as

Blakeney has enjoined us to do, neither more nor less, but just word for word, deed for deed, and I believe

Once more his quiet strength, his earnestness and his faith comforted her. She dried her eyes and broke open

the seal. There were two separate letters in the packet, one unaddressed, obviously intended for her and

Ffoulkes, the other was addressed to M. le baron Jean de Batz, 15, Rue St. Jean de Latran a Paris.

"A letter addressed to that awful Baron de Batz," said Marguerite, looking with puzzled eyes on the paper as

she turned it over and over in her hand, "to that bombastic windbag! I know him and his ways well! What can

Sir Andrew too looked puzzled. But neither of them had the mind to waste time in useless speculations.

Marguerite unfolded the letter which was intended for her, and after a final look on her friend, whose kind

I need not ask either of you two to trust me, knowing that you will. But I could not die inside this hole like a

rat in a trapI had to try and free myself, at the worst to die in the open beneath God's sky. You two will

understand, and understanding you will trust me to the end. Send the enclosed letter at once to its address.

And you, Ffoulkes, my most sincere and most loyal friend, I beg with all my soul to see to the safety of

Marguerite. Armand will stay by mebut you, Ffoulkes, do not leave her, stand by her. As soon as you read

this letterand you will not read it until both she and you have felt that hope has fled and I myself am about

to throw up the spongetry and persuade her to make for the coast as quickly as may be.... At Calais you

can open up communications with the DayDream in the usual way, and embark on her at once. Let no

member of the League remain on French soil one hour longer after that. Then tell the skipper to make for Le

Portalthe place which he knowsand there to keep a sharp outlook for another three nights. After that

make straight for home, for it will he no use waiting any longer. I shall not come. These measures are for

Marguerite's safety, and for you all who are in France at this moment. Comrade, I entreat you to look on these

measures as on my dying wish. To de Batz I have given rendezvous at the Chapelle of the Holy Sepulchre,

just outside the park of the Chateau d'Ourde. He will help me to save the Dauphin, and if by good luck he

also helps me to save myself I shall be within seven leagues of Le Portal, and with the Liane frozen as she is I

But Marguerite's safety I leave in your hands, Ffoulkes. Would that I could look more clearly into the future,

and know that those devils will not drag her into danger. Beg her to start at once for Calais immediately you

have both read this. I only beg, I do not command. I know that you, Ffoulkes, will stand by her whatever she

Marguerite's voice died away in the silence that still lay over this deserted part of the great city and in this

squalid house where she and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had found shelter these last ten days. The agony of mind

which they had here endured, never doubting, but scarcely ever hoping, had found its culmination at last in

It had been written ten days ago. A plan had then apparently formed in Percy's mind which he had set forth

during the brief halfhour's respite which those fiends had once given him. Since then they had never given

him ten consecutive minutes' peace; since then ten days had gone by how much power, how much vitality

had gone by too on the leaden wings of all those terrible hours spent in solitude and in misery?

"We can but hope, Lady Blakeney," said Sir Andrew Ffoulkes after a while, "that you will be allowed out of

"And Percy does not actually send me away," she rejoined with a pathetic little smile.

"Oh, yes, I am!" she retorted firmly; "and I have sworn obedience, just as all of you have done. I will go, just

"Oh, yes, we all know it! It is empty, and the park is a wreck; the owner fled from it at the very outbreak of

the revolution; he left some kind of steward nominally in charge, a curious creature, half imbecile; the

chateau and the chapel in the forest just outside the grounds have oft served Blakeney and all of us as a place

"No. According to the first letter which you brought me from Blakeney ten days ago, and on which I acted,

Tony, who has charge of the Dauphin, must have crossed into Holland with his little Majesty today."

"Ah, there I am completely at sea! But I'll deliver it, and at once too, only I don't like to leave you. Will you

let me get you out of Paris first? I think just before dawn it could be done. We can get the cart from Lucas,

and if we could reach St. Germain before noon, I could come straight back then and deliver the letter to de

Batz. This, I feel, I ought to do myself; hut at Achard's farm I would know that you were safe for a few

"I will do whatever you think right, Sir Andrew," she said simply; "my will is bound up with Percy's dying

wish. God knows I would rather follow him now, step by step,as hostage, as prisonerany way so long as

She rose and turned to go, almost impassive now in that great calm born of despair.

A stranger seeing her now had thought her indifferent. She was very pale, and deep circles round her eyes

told of sleepless nights and days of mental misery, but otherwise there was not the faintest outward symptom

of that terrible anguish which was rending her heartstrings. Her lips did not quiver, and the source of her tears

"Ten minutes and I'll be ready, Sir Andrew," she said. "I have but few belongings. Will you the while see

He did as she desired. Her calm in no way deceived him; he knew that she must be suffering keenly, and

would suffer more keenly still while she would be trying to efface her own personal feelings all through that

He went to see the landlord about the horse and cart, and a quarter of an hour later Marguerite came

downstairs ready to start. She found Sir Andrew in close converse with an officer of the Garde de Paris,

"It is just as I feared, Lady Blakeney," he said; "this man has been sent here to take charge of you. Of course,

he knows nothing beyond the fact that his orders are to convey you at once to the guardhouse of the Rue

Ste. Anne, where he is to hand you over to citizen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety."

Sir Andrew could not fail to see the look of intense relief which, in the midst of all her sorrow, seemed

suddenly to have lighted up the whole of Marguerite's wan face. The thought of wending her own way to

safety whilst Percy, mayhap, was fighting an uneven fight with death had been wellnigh intolerable; but she

had been ready to okey without a murmur. Now Fate and the enemy himself had decided otherwise. She felt

"I will at once go and find de Batz," Sir Andrew contrived to whisper hurriedly. "As soon as Percy's letter is

safely in his hands I will make my way northwards and communicate with all the members of the League, on

whom the chief has so strictly enjoined to quit French soil immediately. We will proceed to Calais first and

open up communication with the DayDream in the usual way. The others had best embark on board her, and

the skipper shall then make for the known spot of Le Portel, of which Percy speaks in his letter. I myself will

go by land to Le Portel, and thence, if I have no news of you or of the expedition, I will slowly work

southwards in the direction of the Chateau d'Ourde. That is all that I can do. If you can contrive to let Percy

or even Armand know my movements, do so by all means. I know that I shall be doing right, for, in a way, I

shall be watching over you and arranging for your safety, as Blakeney begged me to do. God bless you, Lady

He stooped and kissed her hand, and she intimated to the officer that she was ready. He had a hackney coach

waiting for her lower down the street. To it she walked with a firm step, and as she entered it she waved a last

The little cortege was turning out of the great gates of the house of Justice. It was intensely cold; a bitter

northeasterly gale was blowing from across the heights of Montmartre, driving sleet and snow and

halffrozen rain into the faces of the men, and finding its way up their sleeves, down their collars and round

Armand, whose fingers were numb with the cold, could scarcely feel the reins in his hands. Chauvelin was

riding dose beside him, but the two men had not exchanged one word since the moment when the small troop

of some twenty mounted soldiers had filed up inside the courtyard, and Chauvelin, with a curt word of

A hackney coach brought up the rear of the cortege, with a man riding at either door and two more following

at a distance of twenty paces. Heron's gaunt, ugly face, crowned with a battered, sugarloaf hat, appeared

from time to time at the window of the coach. He was no horseman, and, moreover, preferred to keep the

prisoner closely under his own eye. The corporal had told Armand that the prisoner was with citizen Heron

inside the coachin irons. Beyond that the soldiers could tell him nothing; they knew nothing of the object

of this expedition. Vaguely they might have wondered in their dull minds why this particular prisoner was

thus being escorted out of the Conciergerie prison with so much paraphernalia and such an air of mystery,

when there were thousands of prisoners in the city and the provinces at the present moment who anon would

be bundled up wholesale into carts to be dragged to the guillotine like a flock of sheep to the butchers.

But even if they wondered they made no remarks among themselves. Their faces, blue with the cold, were the

The tower clock of Notre Dame struck seven when the small cavalcade finally moved slowly out of the

monumental gates. In the east the wan light of a February morning slowly struggled out of the surrounding

gloom. Now the towers of many churches loomed ghostlike against the dull grey sky, and down below, on

the right, the frozen river, like a smooth sheet of steel, wound its graceful curves round the islands and past

the facade of the Louvres palace, whose walls looked grim and silent, like the mausoleum of the dead giants

All around the great city gave signs of awakening; the business of the day renewed its course every

twentyfour hours, despite the tragedies of death and of dishonour that walked with it hand in hand. From the

Place de La Revolution the intermittent roll of drums came from time to time with its muffled sound striking

the ear of the passerby. Along the quay opposite an openair camp was already astir; men, women, and

children engaged in the great task of clothing and feeding the people of France, armed against tyranny, were

bending to their task, even before the wintry dawn had spread its pale grey tints over the narrower streets of

Armand shivered under his cloak. This silent ride beneath the laden sky, through the veil of halffrozen rain

and snow, seemed like a dream to him. And now, as the outriders of the little cavalcade turned to cross the

Pont au Change, he saw spread out on his left what appeared like the living panorama of these three weeks

that had just gone by. He could see the house of the Rue St. Germain l'Auxerrois where Percy had lodged

before he carried through the rescue of the little Dauphin. Armand could even see the window at which the

dreamer had stood, weaving noble dreams that his brilliant daring had turned into realities, until the hand of a

traitor had brought him down toto what? Armand would not have dared at this moment to look back at that

hideous, vulgar hackney coach wherein that proud, reckless adventurer, who had defied Fate and mocked

Death, sat, in chains, beside a loathsome creature whose very propinquity was an outrage.

Now they were passing under the very house on the Quai de La Ferraille, above the saddler's shop, the house

where Marguerite had lodged ten days ago, whither Armand had come, trying to fool himself into the belief

that the love of "little mother" could be deceived into blindness against his own crime. He had tried to draw a

veil before those eyes which he had scarcely dared encounter, but he knew that that veil must lift one day,

and then a curse would send him forth, outlawed and homeless, a wanderer on the face of the earth.

Soon as the little cortege wended its way northwards it filed out beneath the walls of the Temple prison; there

was the main gate with its sentry standing at attention, there the archway with the guichet of the concierge,

and beyond it the paved courtyard. Armand closed his eyes deliberately; he could not bear to look.

No wonder that he shivered and tried to draw his cloak closer around him. Every stone, every street corner

was full of memories. The chill that struck to the very marrow of his bones came from no outward cause; it

was the very hand of remorse that, as it passed over him, froze the blood in his veins and made the rattle of

At last the more closely populated quarters of the city were left behind. On ahead the first section of the guard

had turned into the Rue St. Anne. The houses became more sparse, intersected by narrow pieces of terrains

It was quite light now. As light as it would ever be beneath this leaden sky. Rain and snow still fell in gusts,

Some one ordered Armand to dismount. It was probably Chauvelin. He did as he was told, and a trooper led

him to the door of an irregular brick building that stood isolated on the right, extended on either side by a low

wall, and surrounded by a patch of uncultivated land, which now looked like a sea of mud.

On ahead was the line of fortifications dimly outlined against the grey of the sky, and in between brown,

sodden earth, with here and there a detached house, a cabbage patch, a couple of windmills deserted and

The loneliness of an unpopulated outlying quarter of the great mother city, a useless limb of her active body,

Mechanically Armand had followed the soldier to the door of the building. Here Chauvelin was standing, and

bade him follow. A smell of hot coffee hung in the dark narrow passage in front. Chauvelin led the way to a

Still that smell of hot coffee. Ever after it was associated in Armand's mind with this awful morning in the

guardhouse of the Rue Ste. Anne, when the rain and snow beat against the windows, and he stood there in

There was a table in the middle of the room, and on it stood cups of hot coffee. Chauvelin bade him drink,

suggesting, not unkindly, that the warm beverage would do him good. Armand advanced further into the

room, and saw that there were wooden benches all round against the wall. On one of these sat his sister

When she saw him she made a sudden, instinctive movement to go to him, but Chauvelin interposed in his

She sat down again, and Armand noted how cold and stony seemed her eyes, as if life within her was at a

standstill, and a shadow that was almost like death had atrophied every emotion in her.

"I trust you have not suffered too much from the cold, Lady Blakeney," resumed Chauvelin politely; "we

ought not to have kept you waiting here for so long, but delay at departure is sometimes inevitable."

She made no reply, only acknowledging his reiterated inquiry as to her comfort with an inclination of the

Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the moment he felt less chilled. He held the cup

"Little mother," he said in English, "try and drink some of this, it will do you good."

Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she started at the sight of the wretch, and seemed

immediately to shrink still further within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly luminous and dilated, rested on

"One moment, citizen Heron," he said; "this coffee is very comforting. Is the prisoner with you?" he added

"Then, perhaps, if you will be so good, citizen, to invite him thither, I could explain to him his future position

Heron muttered something between his fleshy lips, then he turned back towards the open door, solemnly spat

twice on the threshold, and nodded his gaunt head once or twice in a manner which apparently was

A second or two later Sir Percy Blakeney stood in the doorway; his hands were behind his back, obviously

handcuffed, but he held himself very erect, though it was clear that this caused him a mighty effort. As soon

as he had crossed the threshold his quick glance had swept right round the room.

Then he caught sight of Marguerite, and his pale face took on suddenly a more ashen hue.

Chauvelin was watching him with those keen, lightcoloured eyes of his. Blakeney, conscious of this, made

no movement, only his lips tightened, and the heavy lids fell over the hollow eyes, completely hiding their

But what even the most astute, most deadly enemy could not see was that subtle message of understanding

that passed at once between Marguerite and the man she loved; it was a magnetic current, intangible, invisible

to all save to her and to him. She was prepared to see him, prepared to see in him all that she had feared; the

weakness, the mental exhaustion, the submission to the inevitable. Therefore she had also schooled her

glance to express to him all that she knew she would not be allowed to saythe reassurance that she had

read his last letter, that she had obeyed it to the last word, save where Fate and her enemy had interfered with

With a slight, imperceptible movementimperceptible to every one save to him, she had seemed to handle a

piece of paper in her kerchief, then she had nodded slowly, with her eyessteadfast, reassuringfixed upon

But Chauvelin and Heron had seen nothing of this. They were satisfied that there had been no communication

"You are no doubt surprised, Sir Percy," said Chauvelin after a while, "to see Lady Blakeney here. She, as

well as citizen St. Just, will accompany our expedition to the place where you will lead us. We none of us

know where that place iscitizen Heron and myself are entirely in your handsyou might be leading us to

certain death, or again to a spot where your own escape would be an easy matter to yourself. You will not be

surprised, therefore, that we have thought fit to take certain precautions both against any little ambuscade

which you may have prepared for us, or against your making one of those daring attempts at escape for which

He paused, and only Heron's low chuckle of satisfaction broke the momentary silence that followed.

Blakeney made no reply. Obviously he knew exactly what was coming. He knew Chauvelin and his ways,

knew the kind of tortuous conception that would find origin in his brain; the moment that he saw Marguerite

sitting there he must have guessed that Chauvelin once more desired to put her precious life in the balance of

"Citizen Heron is impatient, Sir Percy," resumed Chauvelin after a while, "so I must be brief. Lady Blakeney,

as well as citizen St. Just, will accompany us on this expedition to whithersoever you may lead us. They will

be the hostages which we will hold against your own good faith. At the slightest suspiciona mere suspicion

perhapsthat you have played us false, at a hint that you have led us into an ambush, or that the whole of

this expedition has been but a trick on your part to effect your own escape, or if merely our hope of finding

Capet at the end of our journey is frustrated, the lives of our two hostages belong to us, and your friend and

Outside the rain pattered against the windowpanes, the gale whistled mournfully among the stunted trees,

but within this room not a sound stirred the deadly stillness of the air, and yet at this moment hatred and love,

savage lust and sublime selfabnegationthe most power full passions the heart of man can knowheld

three men here enchained; each a slave to his dominant passion, each ready to stake his all for the satisfaction

"Well!" he said with a fierce oath, "what are we waiting for? The prisoner knows how he stands. Now we can

"One moment, citizen," interposed Chauvelin, his quiet manner contrasting strangely with his colleague's

savage mood. "You have quite understood, Sir Percy," he continued, directly addressing the prisoner, "the

"All of us?" said Blakeney slowly. "Are you taking it for granted then that I accept your conditions and that I

"If you do not proceed on the journey," cried Heron with savage fury, "I'll strangle that woman with my own

Blakeney looked at him for a moment or two through halfclosed lids, and it seemed then to those who knew

him well, to those who loved him and to the man who hated him, that the mighty sinews almost cracked with

the passionate desire to kill. Then the sunken eyes turned slowly to Marguerite, and she alone caught the

It was all over in a second; almost immediately the tension on the pale face relaxed, and into the eyes there

came that look of acceptancenearly akin to fatalisman acceptance of which the strong alone are capable,

Now he shrugged his broad shoulders, and once more turning to Heron he said quietly:

"You leave me no option in that case. As you have remarked before, citizen Heron, why should we wait any

Rain! Rain! Rain! Incessant, monotonous and dreary! The wind had changed round to the southwest. It blew

now in great gusts that sent weird, sighing sounds through the trees, and drove the heavy showers into the

The rainsodden bridles slipped through their hands, bringing out sores and blisters on their palms; the horses

were fidgety, tossing their heads with wearying persistence as the wet trickled into their ears, or the sharp,

Three days of this awful monotony, varied only by the halts at wayside inns, the changing of troops at one of

the guardhouses on the way, the reiterated commands given to the fresh squad before starting on the next

lap of this strange, momentous way; and all the while, audible above the clatter of horses' hoofs, the rumbling

of coachwheelstwo closed carriages, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses; which were changed at every

halt. A soldier on each box urged them to a good pace to keep up with the troopers, who were allowed to go

at an easy canter or light jogtrot, whatever might prove easiest and least fatiguing. And from time to time

Heron's shaggy, gaunt head would appear at the window of one of the coaches, asking the way, the distance

to the next city or to the nearest wayside inn; cursing the troopers, the coachman, his colleague and every one

concerned, blaspheming against the interminable length of the road, against the cold and against the wet.

Early in the evening on the second day of the journey he had met with an accident. The prisoner, who

presumably was weak and weary, and not over steady on his feet, had fallen up against him as they were both

about to reenter the coach after a halt just outside Amiens, and citizen Heron had lost his footing in the

slippery mud of the road. head came in violent contact with the step, and his right temple was severely cut.

Since then he had been forced to wear a bandage across the top of his face, under his sugarloaf hat, which

had added nothing to his beauty, but a great deal to the violence of his temper. He wanted to push the men on,

to force the pace, to shorten the halts; but Chauvelin knew better than to allow slackness and discontent to

The soldiers were always well rested and well fed, and though the delay caused by long and frequent halts

must have been just as irksome to him as it was to Heron, yet he bore it imperturbably, for he would have had

no use on this momentous journey for a handful of men whose enthusiasm and spirit had been blown away by

the roughness of the gale, or drowned in the fury of the constant downpour of rain.

Of all this Marguerite had been conscious in a vague, dreamy kind of way. She seemed to herself like the

spectator in a moving panoramic drama, unable to raise a finger or to do aught to stop that final, inevitable

ending, the cataclysm of sorrow and misery that awaited her, when the dreary curtain would fall on the last

act, and she and all the other spectatorsArmand, Chauvelin, Heron, the Soldierswould slowly wend their

way home, leaving the principal actor behind the fallen curtain, which never would be lifted again.

After that first halt in the guardroom of the Rue Ste. Anne she had been bidden to enter a second hackney

coach, which, followed the other at a distance of fifty metres or so, and was, like that other, closely

Armand and Chauvelin rode in this carriage with her; all day she sat looking out on the endless monotony of

the road, on the drops of rain that pattered against the windowglass, and ran down from it like a perpetual

There were two halts called during the dayone for dinner and one midway through the afternoonwhen

she and Armand would step out of the coach and be ledalways with soldiers close around themto some

wayside inn, where some sort of a meal was served, where the atmosphere was close and stuffy and smelt of

Armand and Marguerite would in most cases have a room to themselves, with sentinels posted outside the

door, and they would try and eat enough to keep body and soul together, for they would not allow their

For the night haltonce at Beauvais and the second night at Abbevillethey were escorted to a house in the

interior of the city, where they were accommodated with moderately clean lodgings. Sentinels, however,

were always at their doors; they were prisoners in all but name, and had little or no privacy; for at night they

were both so tired that they were glad to retire immediately, and to lie down on the hard beds that had been

provided for them, even if sleep fled from their eyes, and their hearts and souls were flying through the city in

Of Percy they saw little or nothing. In the daytime food was evidently brought to him in the carriage, for they

did not see him get down, and on those two nights at Beauvais and Abbeville, when they caught sight of him

stepping out of the coach outside the gates of the barracks, he was so surrounded by soldiers that they only

saw the top of his head and his broad shoulders towering above those of the men.

Once Marguerite had put all her pride, all her dignity by, and asked citizen Chauvelin for news of her

"He is well and cheerful, Lady Blakeney," he had replied with his sarcastic smile. "Ah!" he added pleasantly,

"those English are remarkable people. We, of Gallic breed, will never really understand them. Their fatalism

is quite Oriental in its quiet resignation to the decree of Fate. Did you know, Lady Blakeney, that when Sir

Percy was arrested he did not raise a hand. I thought, and so did my colleague, that he would have fought like

a lion. And now, that he has no doubt realised that quiet submission will serve him best in the end, he is as

calm on this journey as I am myself. In fact," he concluded complacently, "whenever I have succeeded in

He" she murmured, for it was so difficult to speak to this callous wretch, who was obviously mocking her

"No! Oh no!" replied Chauvelin with perfect urbanity. "You see, now that we have you, Lady Blakeney, and

citizen St. Just with us we have no reason to fear that that elusive Pimpernel will spirit himself away."

A hot retort had risen to Armand's lips. The warm Latin blood in him rebelled against this intolerable

situation, the man's sneers in the face of Marguerite's anguish. But her restraining, gentle hand had already

pressed his. What was the use of protesting, of insulting this brute, who cared nothing for the misery which

And Armand held his tongue and tried to curb his temper, tried to cultivate a little of that fatalism which

Chauvelin had said was characteristic of the English. He sat beside his sister, longing to comfort her, yet

feeling that his very presence near her was an outrage and a sacrilege. She spoke so seldom to him, even

when they were alone, that at times the awful thought which had more than once found birth in his weary

brain became crystallised and more real. Did Marguerite guess? Had she the slightest suspicion that the awful

cataclysm to which they were tending with every revolution of the creaking coachwheels had been brought

And when that thought had lodged itself quite snugly in his mind he began to wonder whether it would not be

far more simple, far more easy, to end his miserable life in some manner that might suggest itself on the way.

When the coach crossed one of those dilapidated, parapetless bridges, over abysses fifty metres deep, it might

be so easy to throw open the carriage door and to take one final jump into eternity.

Marguerite's near presence quickly brought him back to himself. His life was no longer his own to do with as

he pleased; it belonged to the chief whom he had betrayed, to the sister whom he must endeavour to protect.

Of Jeanne now he thought but little. He had put even the memory of her bytenderly, like a sprig of

lavender pressed between the faded leaves of his own happiness. His hand was no longer fit to hold that of

any pure womanhis hand had on it a deep stain, immutable, like the brand of Cain.

Yet Marguerite beside him held his hand and together they looked out on that dreary, dreary road and listened

to of the patter of the rain and the rumbling of the wheels of that other coach on aheadand it was all so

dismal and so horrible, the rain, the soughing of the wind in the stunted trees, this landscape of mud and

Armand woke up from his last dream. They had been moving steadily on since they left Abbeville soon after

dawn; the rumble of the wheels, the swaying and rocking of the carriage, the interminable patter of the rain

Chauvelin had already alighted from the coach. He was helping Marguerite to descend. Armand shook the

stiffness from his limbs and followed in the wake of his sister. Always those miserable soldiers round them,

with their dank coats of rough blue cloth, and the red caps on their heads! Armand pulled Marguerite's hand

The small city lay damp and grey before them; the rough pavement of the narrow street glistened with the

wet, reflecting the dull, leaden sky overhead; the rain beat into the puddles; the slateroofs shone in the cold

This was Crecy! The last halt of the journey, so Chauvelin had said. The party had drawn rein in front of a

small onestoried building that had a wooden verandah running the whole length of its front.

The usual low narrow room greeted Armand and Marguerite as they entered; the usual mildewed walls, with

the colour wash flowing away in streaks from the unsympathetic beam above; the same device, "Liberte,

Egalite, Fraternite!" scribbled in charcoal above the black iron stove; the usual musty, close atmosphere, the

usual smell of onion and stale cheese, the usual hard straight benches and central table with its soiled and

Marguerite seemed dazed and giddy; she had been five hours in that stuffy coach with nothing to distract her

thoughts except the rainsodden landscape, on which she had ceaselessly gazed since the early dawn.

Armand led her to the bench, and she sank down on it, numb and inert, resting her elbows on the table and

"If it were only all over!" she sighed involuntarily. Armand, at times now I feel as if I were not really

saneas if my reason had already given way! Tell me, do I seem mad to you at times?"

There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for permission Chauvelin entered the room.

"My humble apologies to you, Lady Blakeney," he said in his usual suave manner, "but our worthy host

informs me that this is the only room in which he can serve a meal. Therefore I am forced to intrude my

Though he spoke with outward politeness, his tone had become more peremptory, less bland, and he did not

await Marguerite's reply before he sat down opposite to her and continued to talk airily.

"An illconditioned fellow, our host," he said"quite reminds me of our friend Brogard at the Chat Gris in

"My sister is giddy and overtired," interposed Armand firmly. "I pray you, citizen, to have some regard for

"All regard in the world, citizen St. Just," protested Chauvelin jovially. "Methought that those pleasant

reminiscences would cheer her. Ah! here comes the soup," he added, as a man in blue blouse and breeches,

with sabots on his feet, slouched into the room, carrying a tureen which he incontinently placed upon the

table. "I feel sure that in England Lady Blakeney misses our excellent croutesaupot, the glory of our

"Do try and eat something, little mother," Armand whispered in her ear; "try and keep up your strength for

"You have taken bread and meat to the citizens in the coach?" Chauvelin called out to the retreating figure of

"Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight," explained Chauvelin lightly, "now that we have

reached the last, most important stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy's midday meal in the interior

He ate his soup with a relish, ostentatiously paying many small attentions to Marguerite all the time. He

ordered meat for herbread, butterasked if any dainties could be got. He was apparently in the best of

"Your pardon, Lady Blakeney," he said, "but I must confer with the prisoner now, and take from him full

directions for the continuance of our journey. After that I go to the guardhouse, which is some distance from

here, right at the other end of the city. We pick up a fresh squad here, twenty hardened troopers from a

cavalry regiment usually stationed at Abbeville. They have had work to do in this town, which is a hotbed

of treachery. I must go inspect the men and the sergeant who will be in command. Citizen Heron leaves all

these inspections to me; he likes to stay by his prisoner. In the meanwhile you will be escorted back to your

coach, where I pray you to await my arrival, when we change guard first, then proceed on our way."

Marguerite was longing to ask him many questions; once again she would have smothered her pride and

begged for news of her husband, but Chauvelin did not wait. He hurried out of the room, and Armand and

Marguerite could hear him ordering the soldiers to take them forthwith back to the coach.

As they came out of the inn they saw the other coach some fifty metres further up the street. The horses that

had done duty since leaving Abbeville had been taken out, and two soldiers in ragged shirts, and with

crimson caps set jauntily over their left ear, were leading the two fresh horses along. The troopers were still

Marguerite would have given ten years of her life at this moment for the privilege of speaking to her husband,

or even of seeing himof seeing that he was well. A quick, wild plan sprang up in her mind that she would

bribe the sergeant in command to grant her wish while citizen Chauvelin was absent. The man had not an

unkind face, and he must be very poorpeople in France were very poor these days, though the rich had

She was about to put this sudden thought into execution when Heron's hideous face, doubly hideous now with

that bandage of doubtful cleanliness cutting across his brow, appeared at the carriage window.

Heron remained at the window for a few moments longer; he bad a toothpick in his hand which he was using

"How much longer are we going to wait in this cursed hole?" he called out to the sergeant.

"Only a few moments longer, citizen. Citizen Chauvelin will be back soon with the guard."

A quarter of an hour later the clatter of cavalry horses on the rough, uneven pavement drew Marguerite's

attention. She lowered the carriage window and looked out. Chauvelin had just returned with the new escort.

He was on horseback; his horse's bridle, since he was but an indifferent horseman, was held by one of the

Outside the inn he dismounted; evidently he had taken full command of the expedition, and scarcely referred

to Heron, who spent most of his time cursing at the men or the weather when he was not lying halfasleep

The changing of the guard was now accomplished quietly and in perfect order. The new escort consisted of

twenty mounted men, including a sergeant and a corporal, and of two drivers, one for each coach. The

cortege now was filed up in marching order; ahead a small party of scouts, then the coach with Marguerite

and Armand closely surrounded by mounted men, and at a short distance the second coach with citizen Heron

Chauvelin superintended all the arrangements himself. He spoke for some few moments with the sergeant,

also with the driver of his own coach. He went to the window of the other carriage, probably in order to

consult with citizen Heron, or to take final directions from the prisoner, for Marguerite, who was watching

him, saw him standing on the step and leaning well forward into the interior, whilst apparently he was taking

A small knot of idlers had congregated in the narrow street; men in blouses and boys in ragged breeches

lounged against the verandah of the inn and gazed with inexpressive, stolid eyes on the soldiers, the coaches,

the citizen who wore the tricolour scarf. They had seen this sort of thing before nowaristos being conveyed

to Paris under arrest, prisoners on their way to or from Amiens. They saw Marguerite's pale face at the

carriage window. It was not the first woman's face they had seen under like circumstances, and there was no

special interest about this aristo. They were smoking or spitting, or just lounging idly against the balustrade.

Marguerite wondered if none of them had wife, sister, or mother, or child; if every sympathy, every kind of

"Does any one here know the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, close by the park of the Chateau d'Ourde?"

asked Chauvelin, vaguely addressing the knot of gaffers that stood closest to him.

The men shook their heads. Some had dimly heard of the Chateau d'Ourde; it was some way in the interior of

the forest of Boulogne, but no one knew about a chapel; people did not trouble about chapels nowadays. With

the indifference so peculiar to local peasantry, these men knew no more of the surrounding country than the

twelve or fifteen league circle that was within a walk of their sleepy little town.

"I think I know the way pretty well; citizen Chauvelin," he said; "at any rate, I know it as far as the forest of

"That's good," he said; "then when you reach the milestone that stands on this road at the confine of the

forest, bear sharply to your right and skirt the wood until you see the hamlet ofLe something.

"Very well, then; at that point it seems that a wide road strikes at right angles into the interior of the forest;

you follow that until a stone chapel with a colonnaded porch stands before you on your left, and the walls and

gates of a park on your right. That is so, is it not, Sir Percy?" he added, once more turning towards the interior

Apparently the answer satisfied him, for he gave the quick word of command, "En avant!" then turned back

"Do you know the Chateau d'Ourde, citizen St. Just?" he asked abruptly as soon as the carriage began to

Indeed, he knew the chateau well, and the little chapel in the forest, whither the fisherfolk from Portel and

Boulogne came on a pilgrimage once a year to lay their nets on the miracleworking relic. The chapel was

disused now. Since the owner of the chateau had fled no one had tended it, and the fisherfolk were afraid to

wander out, lest their superstitious faith be counted against them by the authorities, who had abolished le bon

But Armand had found refuge there eighteen months ago, on his way to Calais, when Percy had risked his life

in order to save hiArmandfrom death. He could have groaned aloud with the anguish of this

The Chateau d'Ourde! The Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre! That was the place which Percy had mentioned in

his letter, the place where he had given rendezvous to de Batz. Sir Andrew had said that the Dauphin could

not possibly be there, yet Percy was leading his enemies thither, and had given the rendezvous there to de

Batz. And this despite that whatever plans, whatever hopes, had been born in his mind when he was still

immured in the Conciergerie prison must have been set at naught by the clever counter plot of Chauvelin and

"At the merest suspicion that you have played us false, at a hint that you have led us into an ambush, or if

merely our hopes of finding Capet at the end of the journey are frustrated, the lives of your wife and of your

With these words, with this precaution, those cunning fiends had effectually not only tied the schemer's

hands, but forced him either to deliver the child to them or to sacrifice his wife and his friend.

The impasse was so horrible that she could not face it even in her thoughts. A strange, feverlike heat

coursed through her veins, yet left her hands icycold; she longed for, yet dreaded, the end of the

journeythat awful grappling with the certainty of coming death. Perhaps, after all, Percy, too, had given up

all hope. Long ago he had consecrated his life to the attainment of his own ideals; and there was a vein of

fatalism in him; perhaps he had resigned himself to the inevitable, and his only desire now was to give up his

life, as he had said, in the open, beneath God's sky, to draw his last breath with the stormclouds tossed

through infinity above him, and the murmur of the wind in the trees to sing him to rest.

Crecy was gradually fading into the distance, wrapped in a mantle of damp and mist. For a long while

Marguerite could see the sloping slate roofs glimmering like steel in the grey afternoon light, and the quaint

church tower with its beautiful lantern, through the pierced stonework of which shone patches of the leaden

Then a sudden twist of the road hid the city from view; only the outlying churchyard remained in sight, with

its white monuments and granite crosses, over which the dark yews, wet with the rain and shaken by the gale,

Progress was not easy, and very slow along the muddy road; the two coaches moved along laboriously, with

When the small party finally reached the edge of the wood the greyish light of this dismal day had changed in

the west to a dull reddish glowa glow that had neither brilliance nor incandescence in it; only a weird tint

The nearness of the sea made itself already felt; there was a briny taste in the damp atmosphere, and the trees

all turned their branches away in the same direction against the onslaught of the prevailing winds.

The road at this point formed a sharp fork, skirting the wood on either side, the forest lying like a black close

mass of spruce and firs on the left, while the open expanse of country stretched out on the right. The

southwesterly gale struck with full violence against the barrier of forest trees, bending the tall crests of the

pines and causing their small dead branches to break and fall with a sharp, crisp sound like a cry of pain.

The squad had been fresh at starting; now the men had been four hours in the saddle under persistent rain and

gusty wind; they were tired, and the atmosphere of the close, black forest so near the road was weighing upon

Strange sounds came to them from out the dense network of treesthe screeching of nightbirds, the weird

call of the owls, the swift and furtive tread of wild beasts on the prowl. The cold winter and lack of food had

lured the wolves from their fastnesseshunger had emboldened them, and now, as gradually the grey light

fled from the sky, dismal howls could be heard in the distance, and now and then a pair of eyes, bright with

the reflection of the lurid western glow, would shine momentarily out of the darkness like tiny glowworms,

The men shiveredmore with vague superstitious fear than with cold. They would have urged their horses

on, but the wheels of the coaches stuck persistently in the mud, and now and again a halt had to be called so

They rode on in silence. No one had a mind to speak, and the mournful soughing of the wind in the

pinetrees seemed to check the words on every lip. The dull thud of hoofs in the soft road, the clang of steel

bits and buckles, the snorting of the horses alone answered the wind, and also the monotonous creaking of the

Soon the ruddy glow in the west faded into softtoned purple and then into grey; finally that too vanished.

Darkness was drawing in on every side like a wide, black mantle pulled together closer and closer overhead

The rain still fell in a thin drizzle that soaked through caps and coats, made the bridles slimy and the saddles

slippery and damp. A veil of vapour hung over the horses' cruppers, and was rendered fuller and thicker every

moment with the breath that came from their nostrils. The wind no longer blew with gusty furyits strength

seemed to have been spent with the grey light of day but now and then it would still come sweeping across

the open country, and dash itself upon the wall of forest trees, lashing against the horses' ears, catching the

corner of a mantle here, an illadjusted cap there, and wreaking its mischievous freak for a while, then with a

Suddenly there was a halt, much shouting, a volley of oaths from the drivers, and citizen Chauvelin thrust his

"The scouts, citizen," replied the sergeant, who had been riding close to the coach door all this while; "they

Marguerite sat quite still. Indeed, she had almost ceased to live momentarily, for her spirit was absent from

her body, which felt neither fatigue, nor cold, nor pain. But she heard the snorting of the horse close by as its

"This is the crossroad, citizen," replied the man; "it strikes straight into the wood, and the hamlet of Le

"Yes, citizen. About two leagues from here there is a clearing with a small stone chapel, more like a large

shrine, nestling among the trees. Opposite to it the angle of a high wall with large wroughtiron gates at the

"Only a little way, citizen. We thought we had best report first that all is safe."

"A league or more, citizen. Close to the gates there are outhouses and stabling, the disused buildings of the

"Good! We are on the right road, that is clear. Keep ahead with your men now, but only some two hundred

metres or so. Stay!" he added, as if on second thoughts. "Ride down to the other coach and ask the prisoner if

The rider turned his horse sharply round. Marguerite heardthe clang of metal and the sound of retreating

"Yes, citizen," he reported, "the prisoner says it is quite right. The Chateau d'Ourde lies a full league from its

gates. This is the nearest road to the chapel and the chateau. He says we should reach the former in half an

hour. It will be very dark in there," he added with a significant nod in the direction of the wood.

Chauvelin made no reply, but quietly stepped out of the coach. Marguerite watched him, leaning out of the

window, following his small trim figure as he pushed his way past the groups of mounted men, catching at a

horse's bit now and then, or at a bridle, making a way for himself amongst the restless, champing animals,

Soon his retreating figure lost its sharp outline silhouetted against the evening sky. It was enfolded in the veil

of vapour which was blown out of the horses' nostrils or rising from their damp cruppers; it became more

Presently a group of troopers hid him entirely from her view, but she could hear his thin, smooth voice quite

"We are close to the end of our journey now, citizen," she heard him say. "If the prisoner has not played us

A growl not unlike those that came from out the mysterious depths of the forest answered him.

"If he is not," and Marguerite recognised the harsh tones of citizen Heron"if he is not, then two corpses

will be rotting in this wood tomorrow for the wolves to feed on, and the prisoner will be on his way back to

Some one laughed. It might have been one of the troopers, more callous than his comrades, but to Marguerite

the laugh had a strange, familiar ring in it, the echo of something long since past and gone.

"My suggestion, citizen," he was saying, "is that the prisoner shall now give me an ordercouched in

whatever terms he may think necessarybut a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without

any resistance. I could then take some of the men with me, and ride as quickly as the light will allow up to the

chateau, and take possession of it, of Capet, and of those who are with him. We could get along faster thus.

One man can give up his horse to me and continue the journey on the box of your coach. The two carriages

could then follow at foot pace. But I fear that if we stick together complete darkness will overtake us and we

"I won't spend another night in this suspenseit would kill me," growled Heron to the accompaniment of

one of his choicest oaths. "You must do as you think rightyou planned the whole of this affairsee to it

"I couldn't spare you more than four more menI shall want the others to guard the prisoners."

"Four men will be quite sufficient, with the four of the advance guard. That will leave you twelve men for

guarding your prisoners, and you really only need to guard the womanher life will answer for the others."

He had raised his voice when he said this, obviously intending that Marguerite and Armand should hear.

"Then I'll ahead," he continued, apparently in answer to an assent from his colleague. "Sir Percy, will you be

There was a long pause, during which Marguerite heard plainly the long and dismal cry of a night bird that,

"I thank you," he said; "this certainly should be quite effectual. And now, citizen Heron, I do not think that

under the circumstances we need fear an ambuscade or any kind of trickeryyou hold the hostages. And if

by any chance I and my men are attacked, or if we encounter armed resistance at the chateau, I will despatch

His voice died away, merged in the soughing of the wind, drowned by the clang of metal, of horses snorting,

of men living and breathing. Marguerite felt that beside her Armand had shuddered, and that in the darkness

She leaned well out of the window, trying to see. The gloom had gathered more closely in, and round her the

veil of vapour from the horses' steaming cruppers hung heavily in the misty air. In front of her the straight

lines of a few fir trees stood out dense and black against the greyness beyond, and between these lines purple

tints of various tones and shades mingled one with the other, merging the horizon line with the sky. Here and

there a more solid black patch indicated the tiny houses of the hamlet of Le Crocq far down in the valley

below; from some of these houses small lights began to glimmer like blinking yellow eyes. Marguerite's gaze,

however, did not rest on the distant landscape it tried to pierce the gloom that hid her immediate

surroundings; the mounted men were all round the coachmore closely round her than the trees in the forest.

But the horses were restless, moving all the time, and as they moved she caught glimpses of that other coach

and of Chauvelin's ghostlike figure, walking rapidly through the mist. Just for one brief moment she saw the

other coach, and Heron's head and shoulders leaning out of the window. If is sugarloaf hat was on his head,

"Do not doubt it, citizen Chauvelin," he called out loudly in his harsh, raucous voice, "I shall know what to

do; the wolves will have their meal tonight, and the guillotine will not be cheated either."

Armand put his arm round his sister's shoulders and gently drew her hack into the carriage.

"Little mother," he said, "if you can think of a way whereby my life would redeem Percy's and yours, show

Chauvelin and his picked escort had in the meanwhile detached themselves from the main body of the squad.

Soon the dull thud of their horses' hoofs treading the soft ground came more softly then more softly still as

they turned into the wood, and the purple shadows seemed to enfold every sound and finally to swallow them

Armand and Marguerite from the depth of the carriage heard Heron's voice ordering his own driver now to

take the lead. They sat quite still and watched, and presently the other coach passed them slowly on the road,

its silhouette standing out ghostly and grim for a moment against the indigo tones of the distant country.

Heron's head, with its battered sugarloaf hat, and the soiled bandage round the brow, was as usual out of the

carriage window. He leered across at Marguerite when he saw the outline of her face framed by the window

"Say all the prayers you have ever known, citizeness," he said with a loud laugh, "that my friend Chauvelin

may find Capet at the chateau, or else you may take a last look at the open country, for you will not see the

She tried not to look at him; the very sight of him filled her with horrorthat blotched, gaunt face of his, the

fleshy lips, that hideous bandage across his face that hid one of his eyes! She tried not to see him and not to

Obviously he too laboured under the stress of great excitement. So far everything had gone well; the prisoner

had made no attempt at escape, and apparently did not mean to play a double game. But the crucial hour had

come, and with it darkness and the mysterious depths of the forest with their weird sounds and sudden flashes

of ghostly lights. They naturally wrought on the nerves of men like Heron, whose conscience might have

been dormant, but whose ears were nevertheless filled with the cries of innocent victims sacrificed to their

He gave sharp orders to the men to close tip round the carriages, and then gave the curt word of command:

Marguerite could but strain her ears to listen. All her senses, all her faculties had merged into that of hearing,

rendering it doubly keen. It seemed to her that she could distinguish the faint soundthat even as she

listened grew fainter and fainter yetof Chauvelin and his squad moving away rapidly into the thickness of

Close to her there was the snorting of horses, the clanging and noise of moving mounted men. Heron's coach

had taken the lead; she could hear the creaking of its wheels, the calls of the driver urging his beasts.

The diminished party was moving at footpace in the darkness that seemed to grow denser at every step, and

The carriage rolled and rocked on its springs; Marguerite, giddy and overtired, lay back with closed eyes, her

hand resting in that of Armand. Time, space and distance had ceased to be; only Death, the great Lord of all,

had remained; he walked on ahead, scythe on skeleton shoulder, and beckoned patiently, but with a sure, grim

There was another halt, the coachwheels groaned and creaked on their axles, one or two horses reared with

"It is pitchdark, citizen," was the response from ahead. The drivers cannot see their horses' ears. They wait

"They can lead their horses," replied Heron roughly, "but I'll have no lanthorns lighted. We don't know what

fools may be lurking behind trees, hoping to put a bullet through my heador yours, sergeantwe don't

want to make a lighted target of ourselveswhat? But let the drivers lead their horses, and one or two of you

who are riding greys might dismount too and lead the waythe greys would show up perhaps in this cursed

"We can't be far, citizen; the whole forest is not more than six leagues wide at any point, and we have gone

"Hush!" Heron's voice suddenly broke in hoarsely. What was that? Silence, I say. Damn youcan't you

There was a hushevery ear straining to listen; but the horses were not stillthey continued to champ their

bits, to paw the ground, and to toss their heads, impatient to get on. Only now and again there would come a

lull even through these soundsa second or two, mayhap, of perfect, unbroken silenceand then it seemed

as if right through the darkness a mysterious echo sent back those same soundsthe champing of bits, the

pawing of soft ground, the tossing and snorting of animals, human life that breathed far out there among the

"It is citizen Chauvelin and his men," said the sergeant after a while, and speaking in a whisper.

Once more every one listened, the men hardly daring to breathe, clinging to their bridles and pulling on their

horses' mouths, trying to keep them still, and again through the night there came like a faint echo which

seemed to throw back those sounds that indicated the presence of men and of horses not very far away.

"Yes, it must be citizen Chauvelin," said Heron at last; but the tone of his voice sounded as if he were anxious

"He may have had to go at footpace; it is very dark, citizen Heron," remarked the sergeant.

"En avant, then," quoth the other; "the sooner we come tip with him the better."

And the squad of mounted men, the two coaches, the drivers and the advance section who were leading their

horses slowly restarted on the way. The horses snorted, the bits and stirrups clanged, and the springs and

wheels of the coaches creaked and groaned dismally as the ramshackle vehicles began once more to plough

But inside the carriage Armand and Marguerite held one another tightly by the hand.

"De Batz?" he asked vaguely and fearfully, for in the dark he could not see her face, and as he did not

understand why she should suddenly be talking of de Batz he thought with horror that mayhap her prophecy

anent herself had come true, and that her mind wearied and overwroughthad become suddenly unhinged.

"Yes, de Batz," she replied. "Percy sent him a message, through me, to meet himhere. I am not mad,

Armand," she added more calmly. "Sir Andrew took Percy's letter to de Batz the day that we started from

"Great God!" exclaimed Armand, and instinctively, with a sense of protection, he put his arms round his

"Yes," she said calmly; "if de Batz makes an attack on Chauvelin, or if he reaches the chateau first and tries

"I don't know," she murmured helplessly. "Of course, when he wrote the letter he could not guess that they

would hold us as hostages. He may have thought that under cover of darkness and of an unexpected attack he

might have saved himself had he been alone; but nownow that you and I are here Oh! it is all so

This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from no far distance. It was the sound of a man

For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself was hushed between two gusts, even the rain

had ceased its incessant pattering. Heron's harsh voice was raised in the stillness.

"A runner, citizen," replied the sergeant, "coming through the wood from the right."

"From the right?" and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley of oaths; "the direction of the chateau?

Chauvelin has been attacked; he is sending a messenger back to me. Sergeantsergeant, close up round that

The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury that the horses, already overnervous and

fidgety, reared in mad terror, and the men had the greatest difficulty in holding them in. For a few minutes

noisy confusion prevailed, until the men could quieten their quivering animals with soft words and gentle

Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein brother and sister sat huddled against one

"Ah! but the citizen agent knows how to curse! One day he will break his gullet with the fury of his oaths."

In the meanwhile the runner had come nearer, always at the same breathless speed.

"Here!" came the reply in a voice hoarse with passionate excitement. "Come up, damn you. Be quick!"

The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had drawn nearer to the carriage.

"The gates of the chateau," he said, still somewhat breathlessly, "are just opposite here on the right, citizen. I

"Speak up, man!" and Heron's voice now sounded as if choked with passion. "Citizen Chauvelin sent you?"

"Yes. He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the chateau, and that Capet is not there."

A series of citizen Heron's choicest oaths interrupted the man's speech. Then he was curtly ordered to

"Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while he was admitted by an old servant, who

appeared to be in charge, but the place seemed otherwise absolutely desertedonly"

"As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being watched, and followed. We heard distinctly

the sound of horses behind and around us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I ran back, again I heard.

There was silence after that. It seemed as if the flood of Heron's blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at

"Others in the park!" And now his voice was scarcely above a whisper, hoarse and trembling. "How many?

"No, citizen, we could not see; but there are horsemen lurking round the chateau now. Citizen Chauvelin took

four men into the house with him and left the others on guard outside. He bade me tell you that it might be

safer to send him a few more men if you could spare them. There are a number of disused farm buildings

quite close to the gates, and he suggested that all the horses be put up there for the night, and that the men

come up to the chateau on foot; it would be quicker and safer, for the darkness is intense."

Even while the man spoke the forest in the distance seemed to wake from its solemn silence, the wind on its

wings brought sounds of life and movement different from the prowling of beasts or the screeching of

nightbirds. It was the furtive advance of men, the quick whispers of command, of encouragement, of the

human animal preparing to attack his kind. But all in the distance still, all muffled, all furtive as yet.

"Sergeant!" It was Heron's voice, but it too was subdued, and almost calm now; "can you see the chapel?"

"More clearly, citizen," replied the sergeant. "It is on our left; quite a small building, I think."

"Then dismount, and walk all round it. See that there are no windows or door in the rear."

There was a prolonged silence, during which those distant sounds of men moving, of furtive preparations for

Marguerite and Armand, clinging to one another, not knowing what to think, nor yet what to fear, heard the

sounds mingling with those immediately round them, and Marguerite murmured under her breath:

"It is de Batz and some of his friends; but what can they do? What can Percy hope for now?"

But of Percy she could hear and see nothing. The darkness and the silence had drawn their impenetrable veil

between his unseen presence and her own consciousness. She could see the coach in which he was, but

Heron's hideous personality, his head with its battered hat and soiled bandage, had seemed to obtrude itself

always before her gaze, blotting out from her mind even the knowledge that Percy was there not fifty yards

So strong did this feeling grow in her that presently the awful dread seized upon her that he was no longer

there; that he was dead, worn out with fatigue and illness brought on by terrible privations, or if not dead that

he had swooned, that he was unconscioushis spirit absent from his body. She remembered that frightful

yell of rage and hate which Heron had uttered a few minutes ago. Had the brute vented his fury on his

helpless, weakened prisoner, and stilled forever those lips that, mayhap, had mocked him to the last?

Marguerite could not guess. She hardly knew what to hope. Vaguely, when the thought of Percy lying dead

beside his enemy floated through her aching brain, she was almost conscious of a sense of relief at the

thought that at least he would be spared the pain of the final, inevitable cataclysm.

The man had apparently done as the citizen agent had ordered, and had closely examined the little building

that stood on the lefta vague, black mass more dense than the surrounding gloom.

"It is all solid stone, citizen," he said; "iron gates in front, closed but not locked, rusty key in the lock, which

"Quite certain, citizen; it is plain, solid stone at the back, and the only possible access to the interior is

Marguerite could only just hear Heron speaking to the sergeant. Darkness enveloped every form and

deadened every sound. Even the harsh voice which she had learned to loathe and to dread sounded curiously

subdued and unfamiliar. Heron no longer seemed inclined to storm, to rage, or to curse. The momentary

danger, the thought of failure, the hope of revenge, had apparently cooled his temper, strengthened his

determination, and forced his voice down to a little above a whisper. He gave his orders clearly and firmly,

and the words came to Marguerite on the wings of the wind with strange distinctness, borne to her ears by the

"Take half a dozen men with you, sergeant," she beard him say, "and join citizen Chauvelin at the chateau.

You can stable your horses in the farm buildings close by, as he suggests and run to him on foot. You and

your men should quickly get the best of a handful of midnight prowlers; you are well armed and they only

civilians. Tell citizen Chauvelin that I in the meanwhile will take care of our prisoners. The Englishman I

shall put in irons and lock up inside the chapel, with five men under the command of your corporal to guard

him, the other two I will drive myself straight to Crecy with what is left of the escort. You understand?"

"We may not reach Crecy until two hours after midnight, but directly I arrive I will send citizen Chauvelin

further reinforcements, which, however, I hope may not necessary, but which will reach him in the early

morning. Even if he is seriously attacked, he can, with fourteen men he will have with him, hold out inside

the castle through the night. Tell him also that at dawn two prisoners who will be with me will be shot in the

courtyard of the guardhouse at Crecy, but that whether he has got hold of Capet or not he had best pick up

the Englishman in the chapel in the morning and bring him straight to Crecy, where I shall be awaiting him

"And you, citizen, will drive straight back to Crecy, and will send us further reinforcements from there,

"We are to hold the chateau against those unknown marauders if necessary until the reinforcements come

from Crecy. Having routed them, we return here, pick up the Englishman whom you will have locked up in

the chapel under a strong guard commanded by Corporal Cassard, and join you forthwith at Crecy."

"Yes, citizen, I understand," concluded the sergeant imperturbably; "and I am also to tell citizen Chauvelin

that the two prisoners will be shot at dawn in the courtyard of the guardhouse at Crecy."

"Yes. That is all. Try to find the leader of the attacking party, and bring him along to Crecy with the

Englishman; but unless they are in very small numbers do not trouble about the others. Now en avant; citizen

Chauvelin might be glad of your help. Andstayorder all the men to dismount, and take the horses out of

one of the coaches, then let the men you are taking with you each lead a horse, or even two, and stable them

all in the farm buildings. I shall not need them, and could not spare any of my men for the work later on.

Remember that, above all, silence is the order. When you are ready to start, come back to me here."

The sergeant moved away, and Marguerite heard him transmitting the citizen agent's orders to the soldiers.

The dismounting was carried on in wonderful silencefor silence had been one of the principal

"First section and first half of second section fall in, right wheel. First section each take two horses on the

"Good!" was the response. "Now detail your corporal and two men to come here to me, so that we may put

the Englishman in irons, and take him at once to the chapel, and four men to stand guard at the doors of the

The sergeant, with his squad and all the horses, was slowly moving away in the night. The horses' hoofs

hardly made a noise on the soft carpet of pineneedles and of dead fallen leaves, but the champing of the bits

was of course audible, and now and then the snorting of some poor, tired horse longing for its stable.

Somehow in Marguerite's fevered mind this departure of a squad of men seemed like the final flitting of her

last hope; the slow agony of the familiar sounds, the retreating horses and soldiers moving away amongst the

shadows, took on a weird significance. Heron had given his last orders. Percy, helpless and probably

unconscious, would spend the night in that dank chapel, while she and Armand would be taken back to

When the grey dawn would first begin to peep through the branches of the pines Percy would be led back to

Paris and the guillotine, and she and Armand will have been sacrificed to the hatred and revenge of brutes.

The end had come, and there was nothing more to be done. Struggling, fighting, scheming, could be of no

avail now; but she wanted to get to her husband; she wanted to be near him now that death was so imminent

She tried to envisage it all, quite calmly, just as she knew that Percy would wish her to do. The inevitable end

was there, and she would not give to these callous wretches here the gratuitous spectacle of a despairing

But she wanted to go to her husband. She felt that she could face death more easily on the morrow if she

could but see him once, if she could but look once more into the eyes that had mirrored so much enthusiasm,

such absolute vitality and wholehearted selfsacrifice, and such an intensity of love and passion; if she

Could but kiss once more those lips that had smiled through life, and would smile, she knew, even in the face

She tried to open the carriage door, but it was held from without, and a harsh voice cursed her, ordering her to

But she could lean out of the window and strain her eyes to see. They were by now accustomed to the gloom,

the dilated pupils taking in pictures of vague forms moving like ghouls in the shadows. The other coach was

not far, and she could hear Heron's voice, still subdued and calm, and the curses of the men. But not a sound

"Lift him out of the carriage, then," was Heron's curt command; "and you go and throw open the chapel

Marguerite saw it all. The movement, the crowd of men, two vague, black forms lifting another one, which

appeared heavy and inert, out of the coach, and carrying it staggering up towards the chapel.

Then the forms disappeared, swallowed up by the more dense mass of the little building, merged in with it,

There was a loud clang, and Marguerite gave a piercing scream. She tore at the handle of the carriage door.

"Armand, Armand, go to him!" she cried; and all her selfcontrol, all her enforced calm, vanished in an

outburst of wild, agonising passion. "Let me get to him, Armand! This is the end; get me to him, in the name

"Stop that woman screaming," came Heron's voice clearly through the night. "Put her and the other prisoner

But while Marguerite expended her feeble strength in a mad, pathetic effort to reach her husband, even now

at this last hour, when all hope was dead and Death was so nigh, Armand had already wrenched the carriage

door from the grasp of the soldier who was guarding it. He was of the South, and knew the trick of charging

an unsuspecting adversary with head thrust forward like a bull inside a ring. Thus he knocked one of the

The men, attacked so suddenly and in such complete darkness, did not wait for orders. They closed in round

But for the moment he evaded them all, pushing his way through them, not heeding the blows that came on

him from out the darkness. At last he reached the chapel. With one bound he was at the gate, his numb

It was a vigorous blow from Heron's fist that brought him at last to his knees, and even then his hands did not

relax their hold; they gripped the ornamental scroll of the gate, shook the gate itself in its rusty hinges,

pushed and pulled with the unreasoning strength of despair. He had a sabre cut across his brow, and the blood

flowed in a warm, trickling stream down his face. But of this he was unconscious; all that he wanted, all that

he was striving for with agonising heartbeats and cracking sinews, was to get to his friend, who was lying in

"Curse you," struck Heron's voice close to his ear. "Cannot some of you stop this raving maniac?"

Then it was that the heavy blow on his head caused him a sensation of sickness, and he fell on his knees, still

Stronger hands than his were forcing him to loosen his hold; blows that hurt terribly rained on his numbed

fingers; he felt himself dragged away, carried like an inert mass further and further from that gate which he

And Marguerite heard all this from the inside of the coach where she was imprisoned as effectually as was

Percy's unconscious body inside that dark chapel. She could hear the noise and scramble, and Heron's hoarse

Already a trooper had clapped irons on her wrists, two others held the carriage doors. Now Armand was lifted

back into the coach, and she could not even help to make him comfortable, though as he was lifted in she

"Do not allow either of the prisoners out again, on peril of your lives!" came with a vigorous curse from

After which there was a moment's silence; whispered commands came spasmodically in deadened sound to

"Leave it standing where it is, then; citizen Chauvelin will need it in the morning."

"It was so dark," murmured Armand feebly; "but I saw him, just inside the gates, where they had laid him

"Hush, dear!" she said. "We can do nothing more, only die, as he lived, bravely and with a smile on our lips,

"Curse the fool who did the mischief," was the placid response. "Leave him here with the guard."

"Only two, citizen; if one whole section remains with me at the chapel door, and also the wounded man."

"Two are enough for me, and five are not too many at the chapel door." And Heron's coarse, cruel laugh

echoed against the stone walls of the little chapel. "Now then, one of you get into the coach, and the other go

to the horses' heads; and remember, Corporal Cassard, that you and your men who stay here to guard that

chapel door are answerable to the whole nation with your lives for the safety of the Englishman."

The carriage door was thrown open, and a soldier stepped in and sat down opposite Marguerite and Armand.

Heron in the meanwhile was apparently scrambling up the box. Marguerite could hear him muttering curses

The springs of the coach creaked and groaned as the vehicle slowly swung round; the wheels ploughed

He made no reply, and she thought that he had fainted. It was better so; at least the next dreary hours would

flit by for him in the blissful state of unconsciousness. Now at last the heavy carriage began to move more

Marguerite would have given much even now to look back once more at the dense black mass, blacker and

denser than any shadow that had ever descended before on God's earth, which held between its cold, cruel

But her wrists were fettered by the irons, which cut into her flesh when she moved. She could no longer lean

out of the window, and she could not even hear. The whole forest was hushed, the wind was lulled to rest;

wild beasts and nightbirds were silent and still. And the wheels of the coach creaked in the ruts, bearing

Marguerite with every turn further and further away from the man who lay helpless in the chapel of the Holy

Armand had wakened from his attack of faintness, and brother and sister sat close to one another, shoulder

touching shoulder. That sense of nearness was the one tiny spark of comfort to both of them on this dreary,

The coach had lumbered on unceasingly since all eternityso it seemed to them both. Once there had been a

brief halt, when Heron's rough voice had ordered the soldier at the horses' heads to climb on the box beside

him, and onceit had been a very little while agoa terrible cry of pain and terror had rung through the

stillness of the night. Immediately after that the horses had been put at a more rapid pace, but it had seemed to

Marguerite as if that one cry of pain had been repeated by several others which sounded more feeble and soon

The soldier who sat opposite to them must have heard the cry too, for he jumped up, as if wakened from

But only a curse answered him, and a peremptory command not to lose sight of the prisoners by poking his

"Did you hear the cry?" asked the soldier of Marguerite as he made haste to obey.

After which remark he, with the stolidity peculiar to his kind, figuratively shrugged his shoulders, detaching

"We should be out of the forest by now," he remarked in an undertone a little while later; "the way seemed

Just then the coach gave an unexpected lurch to one side, and after much groaning and creaking of axles and

springs it came to a standstill, and the citizen agent was heard cursing loudly and then scrambling down from

The next moment the carriagedoor was pulled open from without, and the harsh voice called out

"Citizen soldier, herequick!quick!curse you!we'll have one of the horses down if you don't hurry!"

The soldier struggled to his feet; it was never good to be slow in obeying the citizen agent's commands. He

was halfasleep and no doubt numb with cold and long sitting still; to accelerate his movements he was

Then the door was slammed to again, either by a rough hand or a sudden gust of wind, Marguerite could not

tell; she heard a cry of rage and one of terror, and Heron's raucous curses. She cowered in the corner of the

carriage with Armand's head against her shoulder, and tried to close her ears to all those hideous sounds.

Then suddenly all the sounds were hushed and all around everything became perfectly calm and stillso still

that at first the silence oppressed her with a vague, nameless dread. It was as if Nature herself had paused,

that she might listen; and the silence became more and more absolute, until Marguerite could hear Armand's

The window nearest to her was open, and as she leaned forward with that paralysing sense of oppression a

breath of pure air struck full upon her nostrils and brought with it a briny taste as if from the sea.

It was not quite so dark; and there was a sense as of open country stretching out to the limits of the horizon.

Overhead a vague greyish light suffused the sky, and the wind swept the clouds in great rolling banks right

Marguerite gazed upward with a more calm feeling that was akin to gratitude. That pale light, though so wan

and feeble, was thrice welcome after that inky blackness wherein shadows were less dark than the lights. She

The light grew brighter and faintly golden, now the banks of cloudsstormtossed and fleecyraced past

one another, parted and reunited like veils of unseen giant dancers waved by hands that controlled infinite

spaceadvanced and rushed and slackened speed againunited and finally tore asunder to reveal the

waning moon, honeycoloured and mysterious, rising as if from an invisible ocean far away.

The wan pale light spread over the wide stretch of country, throwing over it as it spread dull tones of indigo

and of blue. Here and there sparse, stunted trees with fringed gaunt arms bending to prevailing winds

Marguerite gazed on the picture which the waning moon had so suddenly revealed; but she gazed with eyes

that knew not what they saw. The moon had risen on her rightthere lay the eastand the coach must have

In the absolute silence that reigned she could perceive from far, very far away, the sound of a church clock

striking the midnight hour; and now it seemed to her supersensitive senses that a firm footstep was treading

Nature did pause to listen. The wind was hushed, the nightbirds in the forest had gone to rest. Marguerite's

heart beat so fast that its throbbings choked her, and a dizziness clouded her consciousness.

But through this state of torpor she heard the opening of the carriage door, she felt the onrush of that pure,

She thought then that she was really dead, and that God in His infinite love had opened to her the outer gates

She was leaning back in the carriage and her eyes were closed, but she felt that firm fingers removed the irons

from her wrists, and that a pair of warm lips were pressed there in their stead.

"There, little woman, that's better sois it not? Now let me get hold of poor old Armand!"

"In Heaven, dear heart!" And the voice had a delicious earthly ring in its wholehearted merriment. "Please

Then she was indeed forced to believe. She put out her hands and groped for him, for it was dark inside the

carriage; she groped, and felt his massive shoulders leaning across the body of the coach, while his fingers

"Don't touch that brute's filthy coat with your dainty fingers, dear heart," he said gaily. "Great Lord! I have

worn that wretch's clothes for over two hours; I feel as if the dirt had penetrated to my bones."

Then with that gesture so habitual to him he took her head between his two hands, and drawing her to him

until the wan light from without lit up the face that he worshipped, he gazed his fill into her eyes.

She could only see the outline of his head silhouetted against the windtossed sky; she could not see his eyes,

nor his lips, but she felt his nearness, and the happiness of that almost caused her to swoon.

"Come out into the open, my lady fair," he murmured, and though she could not see, she could feel that he

smiled; "let God's pure air blow through your hair and round your dear head. Then, if you can walk so far,

there's a small halfway house close by here. I have knocked up the none too amiable host. You and Armand

"Yes, m'dear, we are all of us safe until morningtime enough to reach Le Portel, and to be aboard the

DayDream before mine amiable friend M. Chambertin has discovered his worthy colleague lying gagged

and bound inside the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre. By Gad! how old Heron will cursethe moment he can

He half helped, half lifted her out of the carriage. The strong pure air suddenly rushing right through to her

lungs made her feel faint, and she almost fell. But it was good to feel herself falling, when one pair of arms

"Can you walk, dear heart?" he asked. "Lean well on meit is not far, and the rest will do you good."

He laughed, and the most complete joy of living seemed to resound through that laugh. Her arm was in his,

and for one moment he stood still while his eyes swept the far reaches of the country, the mellow distance

still wrapped in its mantle of indigo, still untouched by the mysterious light of the waning moon.

He pressed her arm against his heart, but his right hand was stretched out towards the black wall of the forest

behind him, towards the dark crests of the pines in which the dying wind sent its last mournful sighs.

"Dear heart," he said, and his voice quivered with the intensity of his excitement, "beyond the stretch of that

wood, from far away over there, there are cries and moans of anguish that come to my ear even now. But for

you, dear, I would cross that wood tonight and reenter Paris tomorrow. But for you, dearbut for you,"

he reiterated earnestly as he pressed her closer to him, for a bitter cry had risen to her lips.

She went on in silence. Her happiness was greatas great as was her pain. She had found him again, the

man whom she worshipped, the husband whom she thought never to see again on earth. She had found him,

and not even nownot after those terrible weeks of misery and suffering unspeakablecould she feel that

love had triumphed over the wild, adventurous spirit, the reckless enthusiasm, the ardour of selfsacrifice.

It seems that in the pocket of Heron's coat there was a lettercase with some few hundred francs. It was

amusing to think that the brute's money helped to bribe the illtempered keeper of the halfway house to

receive guests at midnight, and to ply them well with food, drink, and the shelter of a stuffy coffeeroom.

Marguerite sat silently beside her husband, her hand in his. Armand, opposite to them, had both elbows on

the table. He looked pale and wan, with a bandage across his forehead, and his glowing eyes were resting on

"Yes! you demmed young idiot," said Blakeney merrily, "you nearly upset my plan in the end, with your

"I wanted to get to you, Percy. I thought those brutes had got you there inside that building."

"Not they!" he exclaimed. "It was my friend Heron whom they had trussed and gagged, and whom my

amiable friend M. Chambertin will find in there tomorrow morning. By Gad! I would go back if only for the

"De Batz was part of the scheme I had planned for mine own escape before I knew that those brutes meant to

take Marguerite and you as hostages for my good behaviour. What I hoped then was that under cover of a

tussle or a fight I could somehow or other contrive to slip through their fingers. It was a chance, and you

know my belief in baldheaded Fortune, with the one solitary hair. Well, I meant to grab that hair; and at the

worst I could but die in the open and not caged in that awful hole like some noxious vermin. I knew that de

Batz would rise to the bait. I told him in my letter that the Dauphin would be at the Chateau d'Ourde this

night, but that I feared the revolutionary Government had got wind of this fact, and were sending an armed

escort to bring the lad away. This letter Ffoulkes took to him; I knew that he would make a vigorous effort to

get the Dauphin into his hands, and that during the scuffle that one hair on Fortune's head would for one

second only, mayhap, come within my reach. I had so planned the expedition that we were bound to arrive at

the forest of Boulogne by nightfall, and night is always a useful ally. But at the guardhouse of the Rue Ste.

Anne I realised for the first time that those brutes had pressed me into a tighter corner than I had

He paused, and once again that look of recklessness swept over his face, and his eyesstill hollow and

"I was such a weak, miserable wretch, then," he said, in answer to Marguerite's appeal. "I had to try and build

up some strength, whenHeaven forgive me for the sacrilegeI had unwittingly risked your precious life,

dear heart, in that blind endeavour to save mine own. By Gad! it was no easy task in that jolting vehicle with

that noisome wretch beside me for sole company; yet I ate and I drank and I slept for three days and two

nights, until the hour when in the darkness I struck Heron from behind, halfstrangled him first, then gagged

him, and finally slipped into his filthy coat and put that loathsome bandage across my head, and his battered

hat above it all. The yell he gave when first I attacked him made every horse rearyou must remember

itthe noise effectually drowned our last scuffle in the coach. Chauvelin was the only man who might have

suspected what had occurred, but he had gone on ahead, and baldheaded Fortune had passed by me, and I

had managed to grab its one hair. After that it was all quite easy. The sergeant and the soldiers had seen very

little of Heron and nothing of me; it did not take a great effort to deceive them, and the darkness of the night

was my most faithful friend. His raucous voice was not difficult to imitate, and darkness always muffles and

changes every tone. Anyway, it was not likely that those loutish soldiers would even remotely suspect the

trick that was being played on them. The citizen agent's orders were promptly and implicitly obeyed. The

men never even thought to wonder that after insisting on an escort of twenty he should drive off with two

prisoners and only two men to guard them. If they did wonder, it was not theirs to question. Those two

troopers are spending an uncomfortable night somewhere in the forest of Boulogne, each tied to a tree, and

some two leagues apart one from the other. And now," he added gaily, "en voiture, my fair lady; and you,

too, Armand. 'Tis seven leagues to Le Portel, and we must be there before dawn."

"Sir Andrew's intention was to make for Calais first, there to open communication with the DayDream and

then for Le Portel," said Marguerite; "after that he meant to strike back for the Chateau d'Ourde in search of

"Then we'll still find him at Le PortelI shall know how to lay hands on him; but you two must get aboard

It was one hour after midnight whenrefreshed with food and restMarguerite, Armand and Sir Percy left

the halfway house. Marguerite was standing in the doorway ready to go. Percy and Armand had gone ahead

"Of course she does not, you young fool," retorted Percy lightly. "If you try and tell her I think I would smash

"But you" said the young man with sudden vehemence; "can you bear the sight of me? My God! when I

"Don't think, my good Armandnot of that anyway. Only think of the woman for whose sake you

committed a crimeif she is pure and good, woo her and win hernot just now, for it were foolish to go

back to Paris after her, but anon, when she comes to England and all these past days are forgottenthen love

her as much as you can, Armand. Learn your lesson of love better than I have learnt mine; do not cause

Jeanne Lange those tears of anguish which my mad spirit brings to your sister's eyes. You were right,

But on board the DayDream, when all danger was past, Marguerite felt that he did.