The Scarlet Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  The next quarter of an hour went by swiftly and noiselessly. In the roomdownstairs, Brogard had for a while busied himself with clearing thetable, and re-arranging it for another guest.

  It was because she watched these preparations that Marguerite found thetime slipping by more pleasantly. It was for Percy that this semblanceof supper was being got ready. Evidently Brogard had a certain amountof respect for the tall Englishman, as he seemed to take some trouble inmaking the place look a trifle less uninviting than it had done before.

  He even produced, from some hidden recess in the old dresser, whatactually looked like a table-cloth; and when he spread it out, and sawit was full of holes, he shook his head dubiously for a while, thenwas at much pains so to spread it over the table as to hide most of itsblemishes.

  Then he got out a serviette, also old and ragged, but possessing somemeasure of cleanliness, and with this he carefully wiped the glasses,spoons and plates, which he put on the table.

  Marguerite could not help smiling to herself as she watched all thesepreparations, which Brogard accomplished to an accompaniment of mutteredoaths. Clearly the great height and bulk of the Englishman, or perhapsthe weight of his fist, had overawed this free-born citizen of France,or he would never have been at such trouble for any SACRRE ARISTO.

  When the table was set--such as it was--Brogard surveyed it with evidentsatisfaction. He then dusted one of the chairs with the corner of hisblouse, gave a stir to the stock-pot, threw a fresh bundle of faggots onto the fire, and slouched out of the room.

  Marguerite was left alone with her reflections. She had spread hertravelling cloak over the straw, and was sitting fairly comfortably, asthe straw was fresh, and the evil odours from below came up to her onlyin a modified form.

  But, momentarily, she was almost happy; happy because, when she peepedthrough the tattered curtains, she could see a rickety chair, a torntable-cloth, a glass, a plate and a spoon; that was all. But those muteand ugly things seemed to say to her that they were waiting for Percy;that soon, very soon, he would be here, that the squalid room beingstill empty, they would be alone together.

  That thought was so heavenly, that Marguerite closed her eyes in orderto shut out everything but that. In a few minutes she would be alonewith him; she would run down the ladder, and let him see her; then hewould take her in his arms, and she would let him see that, after that,she would gladly die for him, and with him, for earth could hold nogreater happiness than that.

  And then what would happen? She could not even remotely conjecture.She knew, of course, that Sir Andrew was right, that Percy woulddo everything he had set out to accomplish; that she--now she washere--could do nothing, beyond warning him to be cautious, sinceChauvelin himself was on his track. After having cautioned him, shewould perforce have to see him go off upon the terrible and daringmission; she could not even with a word or look, attempt to keep himback. She would have to obey, whatever he told her to do, even perhapshave to efface herself, and wait, in indescribable agony, whilst he,perhaps, went to his death.

  But even that seemed less terrible to bear than the thought that heshould never know how much she loved him--that at any rate would bespared her; the squalid room itself, which seemed to be waiting for him,told her that he would be here soon.

  Suddenly her over-sensitive ears caught the sound of distant footstepsdrawing near; her heart gave a wild leap of joy! Was it Percy at last?No! the step did not seem quite as long, nor quite as firm as his; shealso thought that she could hear two distinct sets of footsteps. Yes!that was it! two men were coming this way. Two strangers perhaps, to geta drink, or . . .

  But she had not time to conjecture, for presently there was a peremptorycall at the door, and the next moment it was violently open from theoutside, whilst a rough, commanding voice shouted,--

  "Hey! Citoyen Brogard! Hola!"

  Marguerite could not see the newcomers, but, through a hole in one ofthe curtains, she could observe one portion of the room below.

  She heard Brogard's shuffling footsteps, as he came out of the innerroom, muttering his usual string of oaths. On seeing the strangers,however, he paused in the middle of the room, well within range ofMarguerite's vision, looked at them, with even more withering contemptthan he had bestowed upon his former guests, and muttered, "SACRRREESOUTANE!"

  Marguerite's heart seemed all at once to stop beating; her eyes, largeand dilated, had fastened on one of the newcomers, who, at this point,had taken a quick step forward towards Brogard. He was dressed in thesoutane, broad-brimmed hat and buckled shoes habitual to the FrenchCURE, but as he stood opposite the innkeeper, he threw open his soutanefor a moment, displaying the tri-colour scarf of officialism, whichsight immediately had the effect of transforming Brogard's attitude ofcontempt, into one of cringing obsequiousness.

  It was the sight of this French CURE, which seemed to freeze the veryblood in Marguerite's veins. She could not see his face, which wasshaded by his broad-brimmed hat, but she recognized the thin, bonyhands, the slight stoop, the whole gait of the man! It was Chauvelin!

  The horror of the situation struck her as with a physical blow; theawful disappointment, the dread of what was to come, made her verysenses reel, and she needed almost superhuman effort, not to fallsenseless beneath it all.

  "A plate of soup and a bottle of wine," said Chauvelin imperiously toBrogard, "then clear out of here--understand? I want to be alone."

  Silently, and without any muttering this time, Brogard obeyed. Chauvelinsat down at the table, which had been prepared for the tall Englishman,and the innkeeper busied himself obsequiously round him, dishing up thesoup and pouring out the wine. The man who had entered with Chauvelinand whom Marguerite could not see, stood waiting close by the door.

  At a brusque sign from Chauvelin, Brogard had hurried back to the innerroom, and the former now beckoned to the man who had accompanied him.

  In him Marguerite at once recognised Desgas, Chauvelin's secretary andconfidential factotum, whom she had often seen in Paris, in days goneby. He crossed the room, and for a moment or two listened attentively atthe Brogards' door. "Not listening?" asked Chauvelin, curtly.

  "No, citoyen."

  For a moment Marguerite dreaded lest Chauvelin should order Desgas tosearch the place; what would happen if she were to be discovered, shehardly dared to imagine. Fortunately, however, Chauvelin seemed moreimpatient to talk to his secretary than afraid of spies, for he calledDesgas quickly back to his side.

  "The English schooner?" he asked.

  "She was lost sight of at sundown, citoyen," replied Desgas, "but wasthen making west, towards Cap Gris Nez."

  "Ah!--good!--" muttered Chauvelin, "and now, about Captain Jutley?--whatdid he say?"

  "He assured me that all the orders you sent him last week have beenimplicitly obeyed. All the roads which converge to this place have beenpatrolled night and day ever since: and the beach and cliffs have beenmost rigorously searched and guarded."

  "Does he know where this 'Pere Blanchard's' hut is?"

  "No, citoyen, nobody seems to know of it by that name. There are anyamount of fisherman's huts all along the course . . . but . . ."

  "That'll do. Now about tonight?" interrupted Chauvelin, impatiently.

  "The roads and the beach are patrolled as usual, citoyen, and CaptainJutley awaits further orders."

  "Go back to him at once, then. Tell him to send reinforcements tothe various patrols; and especially to those along the beach--youunderstand?"

  Chauvelin spoke curtly and to the point, and every word he utteredstruck at Marguerite's heart like the death-knell of her fondest hopes.

  "The men," he continued, "are to keep the sharpest possible look-out forany stranger who may be walking, riding, or driving, along the road orthe beach, more especially for a tall stranger, whom I need not describefurther, as probably he will be disguised; but he cannot very wellconceal his height, except by stooping. You understand?"

  "Perfectly, citoyen," replied Desgas.


  "As soon as any of the men have sighted a stranger, two of them are tokeep him in view. The man who loses sight of the tall stranger, after heis once seen, will pay for his negligence with his life; but one man isto ride straight back here and report to me. Is that clear?"

  "Absolutely clear, citoyen."

  "Very well, then. Go and see Jutley at once. See the reinforcementsstart off for the patrol duty, then ask the captain to let you have ahalf-a-dozen more men and bring them here with you. You can be back inten minutes. Go--"

  Desgas saluted and went to the door.

  As Marguerite, sick with horror, listened to Chauvelin's directionsto his underling, the whole of the plan for the capture of the ScarletPimpernel became appallingly clear to her. Chauvelin wished that thefugitives should be left in false security waiting in their hiddenretreat until Percy joined them. Then the daring plotter was to besurrounded and caught red-handed, in the very act of aiding and abettingroyalists, who were traitors to the republic. Thus, if his capture werenoised abroad, even the British Government could not legally protest inhis favour; having plotted with the enemies of the French Government,France had the right to put him to death.

  Escape for him and them would be impossible. All the roads patrolledand watched, the trap well set, the net, wide at present, but drawingtogether tighter and tighter, until it closed upon the daring plotter,whose superhuman cunning even could not rescue him from its meshes now.

  Desgas was about to go, but Chauvelin once more called him back.Marguerite vaguely wondered what further devilish plans he could haveformed, in order to entrap one brave man, alone, against two-score ofothers. She looked at him as he turned to speak to Desgas; she couldjust see his face beneath the broad-brimmed, CURES'S hat. There was atthat moment so much deadly hatred, such fiendish malice in the thin faceand pale, small eyes, that Marguerite's last hope died in her heart, forshe felt that from this man she could expect no mercy.

  "I had forgotten," repeated Chauvelin, with a weird chuckle, as herubbed his bony, talon-like hands one against the other, with a gestureof fiendish satisfaction. "The tall stranger may show fight. In anycase no shooting, remember, except as a last resort. I want that tallstranger alive . . . if possible."

  He laughed, as Dante has told us that the devils laugh at the sight ofthe torture of the damned. Marguerite had thought that by now she hadlived through the whole gamut of horror and anguish that human heartcould bear; yet now, when Desgas left the house, and she remained alonein this lonely, squalid room, with that fiend for company, she feltas if all that she had suffered was nothing compared with this. Hecontinued to laugh and chuckle to himself for awhile, rubbing his handstogether in anticipation of his triumph.

  His plans were well laid, and he might well triumph! Not a loopholewas left, through which the bravest, the most cunning man might escape.Every road guarded, every corner watched, and in that lonely hutsomewhere on the coast, a small band of fugitives waiting for theirrescuer, and leading him to his death--nay! to worse than death. Thatfiend there, in a holy man's garb, was too much of a devil to allow abrave man to die the quick, sudden death of a soldier at the post ofduty.

  He, above all, longed to have the cunning enemy, who had so long baffledhim, helpless in his power; he wished to gloat over him, to enjoy hisdownfall, to inflict upon him what moral and mental torture a deadlyhatred alone can devise. The brave eagle, captured, and with noble wingsclipped, was doomed to endure the gnawing of the rat. And she, his wife,who loved him, and who had brought him to this, could do nothing to helphim.

  Nothing, save to hope for death by his side, and for one brief momentin which to tell him that her love--whole, true and passionate--wasentirely his.

  Chauvelin was now sitting close to the table; he had taken off hishat, and Marguerite could just see the outline of his thin profile andpointed chin, as he bent over his meagre supper. He was evidently quitecontented, and awaited events with perfect calm; he even seemed to enjoyBrogard's unsavoury fare. Marguerite wondered how so much hatred couldlurk in one human being against another.

  Suddenly, as she watched Chauvelin, a sound caught her ear, whichturned her very heart to stone. And yet that sound was not calculatedto inspire anyone with horror, for it was merely the cheerful sound of agay, fresh voice singing lustily, "God save the King!"

  CHAPTER XXV THE EAGLE AND THE FOX