The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  X

  "NEEDS MUST--"

  I

  The children were all huddled up together in one corner of the room.Etienne and Valentine, the two eldest, had their arms round the littleone. As for Lucile, she would have told you herself that she felt justlike a bird between two snakes--terrified and fascinated--oh! especiallyby that little man with the pale face and the light grey eyes and theslender white hands unstained by toil, one of which rested lightly uponthe desk, and was only clenched now and then at a word or a look fromthe other man or from Lucile herself.

  But Commissary Lebel just tried to browbeat her. It was not difficult,for in truth she felt frightened enough already, with all this talk of"traitors" and that awful threat of the guillotine.

  Lucile Clamette, however, would have remained splendidly loyal in spiteof all these threats, if it had not been for the children. She waslittle mother to them; for father was a cripple, with speech and mindalready impaired by creeping paralysis, and maman had died when littleJosephine was born. And now those fiends threatened not only her, butEtienne who was not fourteen, and Valentine who was not much more thanten, with death, unless she--Lucile--broke the solemn word which she hadgiven to M. le Marquis. At first she had tried to deny all knowledge ofM. le Marquis' whereabouts.

  "I can assure M. le Commissaire that I do not know," she had persistedquietly, even though her heart was beating so rapidly in her bosom thatshe felt as if she must choke.

  "Call me citizen Commissary," Lebel had riposted curtly. "I should takeit as a proof that your aristocratic sentiments are not so deep-rootedas they appear to be."

  "Yes, citizen!" murmured Lucile, under her breath.

  Then the other one, he with the pale eyes and the slender white hands,leaned forward over the desk, and the poor girl felt as if a mighty andunseen force was holding her tight, so tight that she could neithermove, nor breathe, nor turn her gaze away from those pale, compellingeyes. In the remote corner little Josephine was whimpering, andEtienne's big, dark eyes were fixed bravely upon his eldest sister.

  "There, there! little citizeness," the awful man said, in a voice thatsounded low and almost caressing, "there is nothing to be frightened of.No one is going to hurt you or your little family. We only want you tobe reasonable. You have promised to your former employer that you wouldnever tell anyone of his whereabouts. Well! we don't ask you to tell usanything.

  "All that we want you to do is to write a letter to M. le Marquis--onethat I myself will dictate to you. You have written to M. le Marquisbefore now, on business matters, have you not?"

  "Yes, monsieur--yes, citizen," stammered Lucile through her tears."Father was bailiff to M. le Marquis until he became a cripple and nowI---"

  "Do not write any letter, Lucile," Etienne suddenly broke in withforceful vehemence. "It is a trap set by these miscreants to entrap M.le Marquis."

  There was a second's silence in the room after this sudden outburst onthe part of the lad. Then the man with the pale face said quietly:

  "Citizen Lebel, order the removal of that boy. Let him be kept incustody till he has learned to hold his tongue."

  But before Lebel could speak to the two soldiers who were standing onguard at the door, Lucile had uttered a loud cry of agonised protest.

  "No! no! monsieur!--that is citizen!" she implored. "Do not take Etienneaway. He will be silent.... I promise you that he will be silent ...only do not take him away! Etienne, my little one!" she added, turningher tear-filled eyes to her brother, "I entreat thee to hold thytongue!"

  The others, too, clung to Etienne, and the lad, awed and subdued,relapsed into silence.

  "Now then," resumed Lebel roughly, after a while, "let us get on withthis business. I am sick to death of it. It has lasted far too longalready."

  He fixed his blood-shot eyes upon Lucile and continued gruffly:

  "Now listen to me, my wench, for this is going to be my last word.Citizen Chauvelin here has already been very lenient with you byallowing this letter business. If I had my way I'd make you speak hereand now. As it is, you either sit down and write the letter at citizenChauvelin's dictation at once, or I send you with that impudent brotherof yours and your imbecile father to jail, on a charge of treasonagainst the State, for aiding and abetting the enemies of the Republic;and you know what the consequences of such a charge usually are. Theother two brats will go to a House of Correction, there to be detainedduring the pleasure of the Committee of Public Safety. That is my lastword," he reiterated fiercely. "Now, which is it to be?"

  He paused, the girl's wan cheeks turned the colour of lead. Shemoistened her lips once or twice with her tongue; beads of perspirationappeared at the roots of her hair. She gazed helplessly at hertormentors, not daring to look on those three huddled-up little figuresthere in the corner. A few seconds sped away in silence. The man withthe pale eyes rose and pushed his chair away. He went to the window,stood there with his back to the room, those slender white hands of hisclasped behind him. Neither the commissary nor the girl appeared tointerest him further. He was just gazing out of the window.

  The other was still sprawling beside the desk, his large, coarsehand--how different his hands were!--was beating a devil's tatoo uponthe arm of his chair.

  After a few minutes, Lucile made a violent effort to compose herself,wiped the moisture from her pallid forehead and dried the tears whichstill hung upon her lashes. Then she rose from her chair and walkedresolutely up to the desk.

  "I will write the letter," she said simply.

  Lebel gave a snort of satisfaction; but the other did not move from hisposition near the window. The boy, Etienne, had uttered a cry ofpassionate protest.

  "Do not give M. le Marquis away, Lucile!" he said hotly. "I am notafraid to die."

  But Lucile had made up her mind. How could she do otherwise, with theseawful threats hanging over them all? She and Etienne and poor fathergone, and the two young ones in one of those awful Houses of Correction,where children were taught to hate the Church, to shun the Sacraments,and to blaspheme God!

  "What am I to write?" she asked dully, resolutely closing her earsagainst her brother's protest.

  Lebel pushed pen, ink and paper towards her and she sat down, ready tobegin.

  "Write!" now came in a curt command from the man at the window. AndLucile wrote at his dictation:

  "MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS,--We are in grave trouble. My brother Etienne and I have been arrested on a charge of treason. This means the guillotine for us and for poor father, who can no longer speak; and the two little ones are to be sent to one of those dreadful Houses of Correction, where children are taught to deny God and to blaspheme. You alone can save us, M. le Marquis; and I beg you on my knees to do it. The citizen Commissary here says that you have in your possession certain papers which are of great value to the State, and that if I can persuade you to give these up, Etienne, father and I and the little ones will be left unmolested. M. le Marquis, you once said that you could never adequately repay my poor father for all his devotion in your service. You can do it now, M. le Marquis, by saving us all. I will be at the chateau a week from to-day. I entreat you, M. le Marquis, to come to me then and to bring the papers with you; or if you can devise some other means of sending the papers to me, I will obey your behests.--I am, M. le Marquis' faithful and devoted servant,

  LUCILE CLAMETTE."

  The pen dropped from the unfortunate girl's fingers. She buried her facein her hands and sobbed convulsively. The children were silent, awed andsubdued--tired out, too. Only Etienne's dark eyes were fixed upon hissister with a look of mute reproach.

  Lebel had made no attempt to interrupt the flow of his colleague'sdictation. Only once or twice did a hastily smothered "What the---!" ofastonishment escape his lips. Now, when the letter was finished and dulysigned, he drew it to him and strewed the sand over it. Chauvelin, moreimpassive than ever, was once more gazing out of the window.

  "How
are the ci-devant aristos to get this letter?" the commissaryasked.

  "It must be put in the hollow tree which stands by the side of thestable gate at Montorgueil," whispered Lucile.

  "And the aristos will find it there?"

  "Yes. M. le Vicomte goes there once or twice a week to see if there isanything there from one of us."

  "They are in hiding somewhere close by, then?"

  But to this the girl gave no reply. Indeed, she felt as if any word nowmight choke her.

  "Well, no matter where they are!" the inhuman wretch resumed, withbrutal cynicism. "We've got them now--both of them. Marquis! Vicomte!"he added, and spat on the ground to express his contempt of such titles."Citizens Montorgueil, father and son--that's all they are! And as suchthey'll walk up in state to make their bow to Mme. la Guillotine!"

  "May we go now?" stammered Lucile through her tears.

  Lebel nodded in assent, and the girl rose and turned to walk towards thedoor. She called to the children, and the little ones clustered roundher skirts like chicks around the mother-hen. Only Etienne remainedaloof, wrathful against his sister for what he deemed her treachery."Women have no sense of honour!" he muttered to himself, with all thepride of conscious manhood. But Lucile felt more than ever like a birdwho is vainly trying to evade the clutches of a fowler. She gathered thetwo little ones around her. Then, with a cry like a wounded doe she ranquickly out of the room.

  II

  As soon as the sound of the children's footsteps had died away down thecorridor, Lebel turned with a grunt to his still silent companion.

  "And now, citizen Chauvelin," he said roughly, "perhaps you will be goodenough to explain what is the meaning of all this tomfoolery."

  "Tomfoolery, citizen?" queried the other blandly. "What tomfoolery,pray?"

  "Why, about those papers!" growled Lebel savagely. "Curse you for aninterfering busybody! It was I who got information that thosepestilential aristos, the Montorgueils, far from having fled the countryare in hiding somewhere in my district. I could have made the girl giveup their hiding-place pretty soon, without any help from you. What righthad you to interfere, I should like to know?"

  "You know quite well what right I had, citizen Lebel," replied Chauvelinwith perfect composure. "The right conferred upon me by the Committee ofPublic Safety, of whom I am still an unworthy member. They sent me downhere to lend you a hand in an investigation which is of grave importanceto them."

  "I know that!" retorted Lebel sulkily. "But why have invented the storyof the papers?"

  "It is no invention, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin with slow emphasis."The papers do exist. They are actually in the possession of theMontorgueils, father and son. To capture the two aristos would be notonly a blunder, but criminal folly, unless we can lay hands on thepapers at the same time."

  "But what in Satan's name are those papers?" ejaculated Lebel with afierce oath.

  "Think, citizen Lebel! Think!" was Chauvelin's cool rejoinder. "Methinksyou might arrive at a pretty shrewd guess." Then, as the other's blusterand bounce suddenly collapsed upon his colleague's calm, accusing gaze,the latter continued with impressive deliberation:

  "The papers which the two aristos have in their possession, citizen, arereceipts for money, for bribes paid to various members of the Committeeof Public Safety by Royalist agents for the overthrow of our gloriousRepublic. You know all about them, do you not?"

  While Chauvelin spoke, a look of furtive terror had crept into Lebel'seyes; his cheeks became the colour of lead. But even so, he tried tokeep up an air of incredulity and of amazement.

  "I?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean, citizen Chauvelin? What should Iknow about it?"

  "Some of those receipts are signed with your name, citizen Lebel,"retorted Chauvelin forcefully. "Bah!" he added, and a tone of savagecontempt crept into his even, calm voice now. "Heriot, Foucquier, Ducrosand the whole gang of you are in it up to the neck: trafficking with ourenemies, trading with England, taking bribes from every quarter forworking against the safety of the Republic. Ah! if I had my way, I wouldlet the hatred of those aristos take its course. I would let theMontorgueils and the whole pack of Royalist agents publish thoseinfamous proofs of your treachery and of your baseness to the entireworld, and send the whole lot of you to the guillotine!"

  He had spoken with so much concentrated fury, and the hatred andcontempt expressed in his pale eyes were so fierce that an involuntaryice-cold shiver ran down the length of Lebel's spine. But, even so, hewould not give in; he tried to sneer and to keep up something of hisformer surly defiance.

  "Bah!" he exclaimed, and with a lowering glance gave hatred for hatred,and contempt for contempt. "What can you do? An I am not mistaken, thereis no more discredited man in France to-day than the unsuccessfultracker of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

  The taunt went home. It was Chauvelin's turn now to lose countenance, topale to the lips. The glow of virtuous indignation died out of his eyes,his look became furtive and shamed.

  "You are right, citizen Lebel," he said calmly after a while."Recriminations between us are out of place. I am a discredited man, asyou say. Perhaps it would have been better if the Committee had sent melong ago to expiate my failures on the guillotine. I should at least nothave suffered, as I am suffering now, daily, hourly humiliation atthought of the triumph of an enemy, whom I hate with a passion whichconsumes my very soul. But do not let us speak of me," he went onquietly. "There are graver affairs at stake just now than mine own."

  Lebel said nothing more for the moment. Perhaps he was satisfied at thesuccess of his taunt, even though the terror within his craven soulstill caused the cold shiver to course up and down his spine. Chauvelinhad once more turned to the window; his gaze was fixed upon the distancefar away. The window gave on the North. That way, in a straight line,lay Calais, Boulogne, England--where he had been made to suffer suchbitter humiliation at the hands of his elusive enemy. And immediatelybefore him was Paris, where the very walls seemed to echo that mockinglaugh of the daring Englishman which would haunt him even to his grave.

  Lebel, unnerved by his colleague's silence, broke in gruffly at last:

  "Well then, citizen," he said, with a feeble attempt at another sneer,"if you are not thinking of sending us all to the guillotine just yet,perhaps you will be good enough to explain just how the matter stands?"

  "Fairly simply, alas!" replied Chauvelin dryly. "The two Montorgueils,father and son, under assumed names, were the Royalist agents whosucceeded in suborning men such as you, citizen--the whole gang of you.We have tracked them down, to this district, have confiscated theirlands and ransacked the old chateau for valuables and so on. Two dayslater, the first of a series of pestilential anonymous letters reachedthe Committee of Public Safety, threatening the publication of a wholeseries of compromising documents if the Marquis and the Vicomte deMontorgueil were in any way molested, and if all the Montorgueilproperty is not immediately restored."

  "I suppose it is quite certain that those receipts and documents doexist?" suggested Lebel.

  "Perfectly certain. One of the receipts, signed by Heriot, was sent as aspecimen."

  "My God!" ejaculated Lebel, and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

  "Yes, you'll all want help from somewhere," retorted Chauvelin coolly."From above or from below, what? if the people get to know whatmiscreants you are. I do believe," he added, with a vicious snap of histhin lips, "that they would cheat the guillotine of you and, in the end,drag you out of the tumbrils and tear you to pieces limb from limb!"

  Once more that look of furtive terror crept into the commissary'sbloodshot eyes.

  "Thank the Lord," he muttered, "that we were able to get hold of thewench Clamette!"

  "At my suggestion," retorted Chauvelin curtly. "I always believe inthreatening the weak if you want to coerce the strong. The Montorgueilscannot resist the wench's appeal. Even if they do at first, we can applythe screw by clapping one of the young ones in gaol. Within a week weshall have those papers, citizen Le
bel; and if, in the meanwhile, no onecommits a further blunder, we can close the trap on the Montorgueilswithout further trouble."

  Lebel said nothing more, and after a while Chauvelin went back to thedesk, picked up the letter which poor Lucile had written and wateredwith her tears, folded it deliberately and slipped it into the innerpocket of his coat.

  "What are you going to do?" queried Lebel anxiously.

  "Drop this letter into the hollow tree by the side of the stable gate atMontorgueil," replied Chauvelin simply.

  "What?" exclaimed the other. "Yourself?"

  "Why, of course! Think you I would entrust such an errand to anotherliving soul?"

  III

  A couple of hours later, when the two children had had their dinner andhad settled down to play in the garden, and father been cosily tucked upfor his afternoon sleep, Lucile called her brother Etienne to her. Theboy had not spoken to her since that terrible time spent in the presenceof those two awful men. He had eaten no dinner, only sat glowering,staring straight out before him, from time to time throwing a look ofburning reproach upon his sister. Now, when she called to him, he triedto run away, was halfway up the stairs before she could seize hold ofhim.

  "Etienne, mon petit!" she implored, as her arms closed around hisshrinking figure.

  "Let me go, Lucile!" the boy pleaded obstinately.

  "Mon petit, listen to me!" she pleaded. "All is not lost, if you willstand by me."

  "All is lost, Lucile!" Etienne cried, striving to keep back a flood ofpassionate tears. "Honour is lost. Your treachery has disgraced us all.If M. le Marquis and M. le Vicomte are brought to the guillotine, theirblood will be upon our heads."

  "Upon mine alone, my little Etienne," she said sadly. "But God alone canjudge me. It was a terrible alternative: M. le Marquis, or you andValentine and little Josephine and poor father, who is so helpless! Butdon't let us talk of it. All is not lost, I am sure. The last time thatI spoke with M. le Marquis--it was in February, do you remember?--he wasfull of hope, and oh! so kind. Well, he told me then that if ever I orany of us here were in such grave trouble that we did not know where toturn, one of us was to put on our very oldest clothes, look as like abare-footed beggar as we could, and then go to Paris to a place calledthe Cabaret de la Liberte in the Rue Christine. There we were to ask forthe citizen Rateau, and we were to tell him all our troubles, whateverthey might be. Well! we are in such trouble now, mon petit, that wedon't know where to turn. Put on thy very oldest clothes, little one,and run bare-footed into Paris, find the citizen Rateau and tell himjust what has happened: the letter which they have forced me to write,the threats which they held over me if I did not write it--everything.Dost hear?"

  Already the boy's eyes were glowing. The thought that he individuallycould do something to retrieve the awful shame of his sister's treacheryspurred him to activity. It needed no persuasion on Lucile's part toinduce him to go. She made him put on some old clothes and stuffed apiece of bread and cheese into his breeches pocket.

  It was close upon a couple of leagues to Paris, but that run was one ofthe happiest which Etienne had ever made. And he did it bare-footed,too, feeling neither fatigue nor soreness, despite the hardness of theroad after a two weeks' drought, which had turned mud into hard cakesand ruts into fissures which tore the lad's feet till they bled.

  He did not reach the Cabaret de la Liberte till nightfall, and when hegot there he hardly dared to enter. The filth, the squalor, the hoarsevoices which rose from that cellar-like place below the level of thestreet, repelled the country-bred lad. Were it not for the desperateurgency of his errand he never would have dared to enter. As it was, thefumes of alcohol and steaming, dirty clothes nearly choked him, and hecould scarce stammer the name of "citizen Rateau" when a gruff voicepresently demanded his purpose.

  He realised now how tired he was and how hungry. He had not thought topause in order to consume the small provision of bread and cheesewherewith thoughtful Lucile had provided him. Now he was ready to faintwhen a loud guffaw, which echoed from one end of the horrible place tothe other, greeted his timid request.

  "Citizen Rateau!" the same gruff voice called out hilariously. "Why,there he is! Here, citizen! there's a blooming aristo to see you."

  Etienne turned his weary eyes to the corner which was being indicated tohim. There he saw a huge creature sprawling across a bench, with long,powerful limbs stretched out before him. Citizen Rateau was clothed,rather than dressed, in a soiled shirt, ragged breeches and tatteredstockings, with shoes down at heel and faded crimson cap. His facelooked congested and sunken about the eyes; he appeared to be asleep,for stertorous breathing came at intervals from between his parted lips,whilst every now and then a racking cough seemed to tear at his broadchest.

  Etienne gave him one look, shuddering with horror, despite himself, atthe aspect of this bloated wretch from whom salvation was to come. Thewhole place seemed to him hideous and loathsome in the extreme. What itall meant he could not understand; all that he knew was that this seemedlike another hideous trap into which he and Lucile had fallen, and thathe must fly from it--fly at all costs, before he betrayed M. le Marquisstill further to these drink-sodden brutes. Another moment, and hefeared that he might faint. The din of a bibulous song rang in his ears,the reek of alcohol turned him giddy and sick. He had only just enoughstrength to turn and totter back into the open. There his senses reeled,the lights in the houses opposite began to dance wildly before his eyes,after which he remembered nothing more.

  IV

  There is nothing now in the whole countryside quite so desolate andforlorn as the chateau of Montorgueil, with its once magnificent park,now overgrown with weeds, its encircling walls broken down, its terracesdevastated, and its stately gates rusty and torn.

  Just by the side of what was known in happier times as the stable gatethere stands a hollow tree. It is not inside the park, but just outside,and shelters the narrow lane, which skirts the park walls, against theblaze of the afternoon sun.

  Its beneficent shade is a favourite spot for an afternoon siesta, forthere is a bit of green sward under the tree, and all along the side ofthe road. But as the shades of evening gather in, the lane is usuallydeserted, shunned by the neighbouring peasantry on account of its eerieloneliness, so different to the former bustle which used to reign aroundthe park gates when M. le Marquis and his family were still inresidence. Nor does the lane lead anywhere, for it is a mere loop whichgives on the main road at either end.

  Henri de Montorgueil chose a peculiarly dark night in mid-September forone of his periodical visits to the hollow-tree. It was close on nineo'clock when he passed stealthily down the lane, keeping close to thepark wall. A soft rain was falling, the first since the prolongeddrought, and though it made the road heavy and slippery in places, ithelped to deaden the sound of the young man's furtive footsteps. Theair, except for the patter of the rain, was absolutely still. Henri deMontorgueil paused from time to time, with neck craned forward, everysense on the alert, listening, like any poor, hunted beast, for theslightest sound which might betray the approach of danger.

  As many a time before, he reached the hollow tree in safety, felt forand found in the usual place the letter which the unfortunate girlLucile had written to him. Then, with it in his hand, he turned to thestable gate. It had long since ceased to be kept locked and barred.Pillaged and ransacked by order of the Committee of Public Safety, therewas nothing left inside the park walls worth keeping under lock and key.

  Henri slipped stealthily through the gates and made his way along thedrive. Every stone, every nook and cranny of his former home wasfamiliar to him, and anon he turned into a shed where in former timeswheelbarrows and garden tools were wont to be kept. Now it was full ofdebris, lumber of every sort. A more safe or secluded spot could not beimagined. Henri crouched in the furthermost corner of the shed. Thenfrom his belt he detached a small dark lanthorn, opened its shutter, andwith the aid of the tiny, dim light read the contents of the letter. Fora long while
after that he remained quite still, as still as a man whohas received a stunning blow on the head and has partly lostconsciousness. The blow was indeed a staggering one. Lucile Clamette,with the invincible power of her own helplessness, was demanding thesurrender of a weapon which had been a safeguard for the Montorgueilsall this while. The papers which compromised a number of influentialmembers of the Committee of Public Safety had been the most perfect armsof defence against persecution and spoliation.

  And now these were to be given up: Oh! there could be no question ofthat. Even before consulting with his father, Henri knew that the paperswould have to be given up. They were clever, those revolutionaries. Thethought of holding innocent children as hostages could only haveoriginated in minds attuned to the villainies of devils. But it wasunthinkable that the children should suffer.

  After a while the young man roused himself from the torpor into whichthe suddenness of this awful blow had plunged him. By the light of thelanthorn he began to write upon a sheet of paper which he had torn fromhis pocket-book.

  "MY DEAR LUCILE," he wrote, "As you say, our debt to your father and toyou all never could be adequately repaid. You and the children shallnever suffer whilst we have the power to save you. You will find thepapers in the receptacle you know of inside the chimney of what used tobe my mother's boudoir. You will find the receptacle unlocked. One daybefore the term you name I myself will place the papers there for you.With them, my father and I do give up our lives to save you and thelittle ones from the persecution of those fiends. May the good God guardyou all."

  He signed the letter with his initials, H. de M. Then he crept back tothe gate and dropped the message into the hollow of the tree.

  A quarter of an hour later Henri de Montorgueil was wending his way backto the hiding place which had sheltered him and his father for so long.Silence and darkness then held undisputed sway once more around thehollow tree. Even the rain had ceased its gentle pattering. Anon fromfar away came the sound of a church bell striking the hour of ten. Thennothing more.

  A few more minutes of absolute silence, then something dark and furtivebegan to move out of the long grass which bordered theroadside--something that in movement was almost like a snake. It draggeditself along close to the ground, making no sound as it moved. Soon itreached the hollow tree, rose to the height of a man and flatteneditself against the tree-trunk. Then it put out a hand, felt for thehollow receptacle and groped for the missive which Henri de Montorgueilhad dropped in there a while ago.

  The next moment a tiny ray of light gleamed through the darkness like astar. A small, almost fragile, figure of a man, dressed in themud-stained clothes of a country yokel, had turned up the shutter of asmall lanthorn. By its flickering light he deciphered the letter whichHenri de Montorgueil had written to Lucile Clamette.

  "One day before the term you name I myself will place the papers therefor you."

  A sigh of satisfaction, quickly suppressed, came through his thin,colourless lips, and the light of the lanthorn caught the flash oftriumph in his pale, inscrutable eyes.

  Then the light was extinguished. Impenetrable darkness swallowed up thatslender, mysterious figure again.

  V

  Six days had gone by since Chauvelin had delivered his cruel"either--or" to poor little Lucile Clamette; three since he had foundHenri de Montorgueil's reply to the girl's appeal in the hollow of thetree. Since then he had made a careful investigation of the chateau, andsoon was able to settle it in his own mind as to which room had beenMadame la Marquise's boudoir in the past. It was a small apartment,having direct access on the first landing of the staircase, and the onewindow gave on the rose garden at the back of the house. Inside themonumental hearth, at an arm's length up the wide chimney, a receptaclehad been contrived in the brickwork, with a small iron door which openedand closed with a secret spring. Chauvelin, whom his nefarious callinghad rendered proficient in such matters, had soon mastered the workingsof that spring. He could now open and close the iron door at will.

  Up to a late hour on the sixth night of this weary waiting, thereceptacle inside the chimney was still empty. That night Chauvelin haddetermined to spend at the chateau. He could not have rested elsewhere.

  Even his colleague Lebel could not know what the possession of thosepapers would mean to the discredited agent of the Committee of PublicSafety. With them in his hands, he could demand rehabilitation, andcould purchase immunity from those sneers which had been so galling tohis arrogant soul--sneers which had become more and more marked, moreand more unendurable, and more and more menacing, as he piled up failureon failure with every encounter with the Scarlet Pimpernel.

  Immunity and rehabilitation! This would mean that he could once moremeasure his wits and his power with that audacious enemy who had broughtabout his downfall.

  "In the name of Satan, bring us those papers!" Robespierre himself hadcried with unwonted passion, ere he sent him out on this importantmission. "We none of us could stand the scandal of such disclosures. Itwould mean absolute ruin for us all."

  And Chauvelin that night, as soon as the shades of evening had drawn in,took up his stand in the chateau, in the small inner room which wascontiguous to the boudoir.

  Here he sat, beside the open window, for hour upon hour, his every senseon the alert, listening for the first footfall upon the gravel pathbelow. Though the hours went by leaden-footed, he was neither excitednor anxious. The Clamette family was such a precious hostage that theMontorgueils were bound to comply with Lucile's demand for the papers byevery dictate of honour and of humanity.

  "While we have those people in our power," Chauvelin had reiterated tohimself more than once during the course of his long vigil, "even thatmeddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel can do nothing to save those cursedMontorgueils."

  The night was dark and still. Not a breath of air stirred the branchesof the trees or the shrubberies in the park; any footsteps, howeverwary, must echo through that perfect and absolute silence. Chauvelin'skeen, pale eyes tried to pierce the gloom in the direction whence in allprobability the aristo would come. Vaguely he wondered if it would beHenri de Montorgueil or the old Marquis himself who would bring thepapers.

  "Bah! whichever one it is," he muttered, "we can easily get the other,once those abominable papers are in our hands. And even if both thearistos escape," he added mentally, "'tis no matter, once we have thepapers."

  Anon, far away a distant church bell struck the midnight hour. Thestillness of the air had become oppressive. A kind of torpor born ofintense fatigue lulled the Terrorist's senses to somnolence. His headfell forward on his breast....

  VI

  Then suddenly a shiver of excitement went right through him. He wasfully awake now, with glowing eyes wide open and the icy calm of perfectconfidence ruling every nerve. The sound of stealthy footsteps hadreached his ear.

  He could see nothing, either outside or in; but his fingers felt for thepistol which he carried in his belt. The aristo was evidently alone;only one solitary footstep was approaching the chateau.

  Chauvelin had left the door ajar which gave on the boudoir. Thestaircase was on the other side of that fateful room, and the doorleading to that was closed. A few minutes of tense expectancy went by.Then through the silence there came the sound of furtive foot-steps onthe stairs, the creaking of a loose board and finally the stealthyopening of the door.

  In all his adventurous career Chauvelin had never felt so calm. Hisheart beat quite evenly, his senses were undisturbed by the slightesttingling of his nerves. The stealthy sounds in the next room brought themovements of the aristo perfectly clear before his mental vision. Thelatter was carrying a small dark lanthorn. As soon as he entered heflashed its light about the room. Then he deposited the lanthorn on thefloor, close beside the hearth, and started to feel up the chimney forthe hidden receptacle.

  Chauvelin watched him now like a cat watches a mouse, savouring thesefew moments of anticipated triumph. He pushed open the door noiselesslywhich gave on the boudoir. By the feeb
le light of the lanthorn on theground he could only see the vague outline of the aristo's back, bendingforward to his task; but a thrill went through him as he saw a bundle ofpapers lying on the ground close by.

  Everything was ready; the trap was set. Here was a complete victory atlast. It was obviously the young Vicomte de Montorgueil who had come todo the deed. His head was up the chimney even now. The old Marquis'sback would have looked narrower and more fragile. Chauvelin held hisbreath; then he gave a sharp little cough, and took the pistol from hisbelt.

  The sound caused the aristo to turn, and the next moment a loud andmerry laugh roused the dormant echoes of the old chateau, whilst apleasant, drawly voice said in English:

  "I am demmed if this is not my dear old friend M. Chambertin! Zounds,sir! who'd have thought of meeting you here?"

  Had a cannon suddenly exploded at Chauvelin's feet he would, I think,have felt less unnerved. For the space of two heart-beats he stoodthere, rooted to the spot, his eyes glued on his arch-enemy, thatexecrated Scarlet Pimpernel, whose mocking glance, even through theintervening gloom, seemed to have deprived him of consciousness. Butthat phase of helplessness only lasted for a moment; the next, all themarvellous possibilities of this encounter flashed through theTerrorist's keen mind.

  Everything was ready; the trap was set! The unfortunate Clamettes werestill the bait which now would bring a far more noble quarry into themesh than even he--Chauvelin--had dared to hope.

  He raised his pistol, ready to fire. But already Sir Percy Blakeney wason him, and with a swift movement, which the other was too weak toresist, he wrenched the weapon from his enemy's grasp.

  "Why, how hasty you are, my dear M. Chambertin," he said lightly."Surely you are not in such a hurry to put a demmed bullet into me!"

  The position now was one which would have made even a braver man thanChauvelin quake. He stood alone and unarmed in face of an enemy fromwhom he could expect no mercy. But, even so, his first thought was notof escape. He had not only apprised his own danger, but also the immensepower which he held whilst the Clamettes remained as hostages in thehands of his colleague Lebel.

  "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Percy," he said, speaking every whitas coolly as his foe. "But only momentarily. You can kill me, of course;but if I do not return from this expedition not only safe and sound, butwith a certain packet of papers in my hands, my colleague Lebel hasinstructions to proceed at once against the girl Clamette and the wholefamily."

  "I know that well enough," rejoined Sir Percy with a quaint laugh. "Iknow what venomous reptiles you and those of your kidney are. Youcertainly do owe your life at the present moment to the unfortunate girlwhom you are persecuting with such infamous callousness."

  Chauvelin drew a sigh of relief. The situation was shaping itself moreto his satisfaction already. Through the gloom he could vaguely discernthe Englishman's massive form standing a few paces away, one hand buriedin his breeches pockets, the other still holding the pistol. On theground close by the hearth was the small lanthorn, and in its dim lightthe packet of papers gleamed white and tempting in the darkness.Chauvelin's keen eyes had fastened on it, saw the form of receipt formoney with Heriot's signature, which he recognised, on the top.

  He himself had never felt so calm. The only thing he could regret wasthat he was alone. Half a dozen men now, and this impudent foe couldindeed be brought to his knees. And this time there would be no riskstaken, no chances for escape. Somehow it seemed to Chauvelin as ifsomething of the Scarlet Pimpernel's audacity and foresight had gonefrom him. As he stood there, looking broad and physically powerful,there was something wavering and undecided in his attitude, as if theedge had been taken off his former recklessness and enthusiasm. He hadbrought the compromising papers here, had no doubt helped theMontorgueils to escape; but while Lucile Clamette and her family wereunder the eye of Lebel no amount of impudence could force a successfulbargaining.

  It was Chauvelin now who appeared the more keen and the more alert; theEnglishman seemed undecided what to do next, remained silent, toyingwith the pistol. He even smothered a yawn. Chauvelin saw hisopportunity. With the quick movement of a cat pouncing upon a mouse hestooped and seized that packet of papers, would then and there have madea dash for the door with them, only that, as he seized the packet, thestring which held it together gave way and the papers were scattered allover the floor.

  Receipts for money? Compromising letters? No! Blank sheets of paper, allof them--all except the one which had lain tantalisingly on the top: theone receipt signed by citizen Heriot. Sir Percy laughed lightly:

  "Did you really think, my good friend," he said, "that I would be such ademmed fool as to place my best weapon so readily to your hand?"

  "Your best weapon, Sir Percy!" retorted Chauvelin, with a sneer. "Whatuse is it to you while we hold Lucile Clamette?"

  "While I hold Lucile Clamette, you mean, my dear Monsieur Chambertin,"riposted Blakeney with elaborate blandness.

  "You hold Lucile Clamette? Bah! I defy you to drag a whole family likethat out of our clutches. The man a cripple, the children helpless! Andyou think they can escape our vigilance when all our men are warned! Howdo you think they are going to get across the river, Sir Percy, whenevery bridge is closely watched? How will they get across Paris, when atevery gate our men are on the look-out for them?"

  "They can't do it, my dear Monsieur Chambertin," rejoined Sir Percyblandly, "else I were not here."

  Then, as Chauvelin, fuming, irritated despite himself, as he always waswhen he encountered that impudent Englishman, shrugged his shoulders intoken of contempt, Blakeney's powerful grasp suddenly clutched his arm.

  "Let us understand one another, my good M. Chambertin," he said coolly."Those unfortunate Clamettes, as you say, are too helpless and toonumerous to smuggle across Paris with any chance of success. Therefore Ilook to you to take them under your protection. They are all stowed awaycomfortably at this moment in a conveyance which I have provided forthem. That conveyance is waiting at the bridgehead now. We could notcross without your help; we could not get across Paris without youraugust presence and your tricolour scarf of office. So you are comingwith us, my dear M. Chambertin," he continued, and, with force which wasquite irresistible, he began to drag his enemy after him towards thedoor. "You are going to sit in that conveyance with the Clamettes, and Imyself will have the honour to drive you. And at every bridgehead youwill show your pleasing countenance and your scarf of office to theguard and demand free passage for yourself and your family, as arepresentative member of the Committee of Public Safety. And then we'llenter Paris by the Porte d'Ivry and leave it by the Batignolles; andeverywhere your charming presence will lull the guards' suspicions torest. I pray you, come! There is no time to consider! At noon to-morrow,without a moment's grace, my friend Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, who has thepapers in his possession, will dispose of them as he thinks best unlessI myself do claim them from him."

  While he spoke he continued to drag his enemy along with him, with anassurance and an impudence which were past belief. Chauvelin was tryingto collect his thoughts; a whirl of conflicting plans were running riotin his mind. The Scarlet Pimpernel in his power! At any point on theroad he could deliver him up to the nearest guard ... then still holdthe Clamettes and demand the papers....

  "Too late, my dear Monsieur Chambertin!" Sir Percy's mocking voice brokein, as if divining his thoughts. "You do not know where to find myfriend Ffoulkes, and at noon to-morrow, if I do not arrive to claimthose papers, there will not be a single ragamuffin in Paris who willnot be crying your shame and that of your precious colleagues upon thehousetops."

  Chauvelin's whole nervous system was writhing with the feeling ofimpotence. Mechanically, unresisting now, he followed his enemy down themain staircase of the chateau and out through the wide open gates. Hecould not bring himself to believe that he had been so completelyfoiled, that this impudent adventurer had him once more in the hollow ofhis hand.

  "In the name of Satan, bring us back those pape
rs!" Robespierre hadcommanded. And now he--Chauvelin--was left in a maze of doubt; and thevital alternative was hammering in his brain: "The Scarlet Pimpernel--orthose papers---" Which, in Satan's name, was the more important? Passionwhispered "The Scarlet Pimpernel!" but common sense and the future ofhis party, the whole future of the Revolution mayhap, demanded thosecompromising papers. And all the while he followed that relentless enemythrough the avenues of the park and down the lonely lane. Overhead thetrees of the forest of Sucy, nodding in a gentle breeze, seemed to mockhis perplexity.

  He had not arrived at a definite decision when the river came in sight,and when anon a carriage lanthorn threw a shaft of dim light through themist-laden air. Now he felt as if he were in a dream. He was thrustunresisting into a closed chaise, wherein he felt the presence ofseveral other people--children, an old man who was mutteringceaselessly. As in a dream he answered questions at the bridge to aguard whom he knew well.

  "You know me--Armand Chauvelin, of the Committee of Public Safety!"

  As in a dream, he heard the curt words of command:

  "Pass on, in the name of the Republic!"

  And all the while the thought hammered in his brain: "Something must bedone! This is impossible! This cannot be! It is not I--Chauvelin--who amsitting here, helpless, unresisting. It is not that impudent ScarletPimpernel who is sitting there before me on the box, driving me to utterhumiliation!"

  And yet it was all true. All real. The Clamette children were sitting infront of him, clinging to Lucile, terrified of him even now. The old manwas beside him--imbecile and not understanding. The boy Etienne was upon the box next to that audacious adventurer, whose broad back appearedto Chauvelin like a rock on which all his hopes and dreams must for everbe shattered.

  The chaise rattled triumphantly through the Batignolles. It was thenbroad daylight. A brilliant early autumn day after the rains. The sun,the keen air, all mocked Chauvelin's helplessness, his humiliation. Longbefore noon they passed St. Denis. Here the barouche turned off the mainroad, halted at a small wayside house--nothing more than a cottage.After which everything seemed more dreamlike than ever. All thatChauvelin remembered of it afterwards was that he was once more alone ina room with his enemy, who had demanded his signature to a number ofsafe-conducts, ere he finally handed over the packet of papers to him.

  "How do I know that they are all here?" he heard himself vaguelymuttering, while his trembling fingers handled that precious packet.

  "That's just it!" his tormentor retorted airily. "You don't know. Idon't know myself," he added, with a light laugh. "And, personally, Idon't see how either of us can possibly ascertain. In the meanwhile, Imust bid you au revoir, my dear M. Chambertin. I am sorry that I cannotprovide you with a conveyance, and you will have to walk a league ormore ere you meet one, I fear me. We, in the meanwhile, will be well onour way to Dieppe, where my yacht, the Day Dream, lies at anchor, and Ido not think that it will be worth your while to try and overtake us. Ithank you for the safe-conducts. They will make our journey exceedinglypleasant. Shall I give your regards to M. le Marquis de Montorgueil orto M. le Vicomte? They are on board the Day Dream, you know. Oh! and Iwas forgetting! Lady Blakeney desired to be remembered to you."

  The next moment he was gone. Chauvelin, standing at the window of thewayside house, saw Sir Percy Blakeney once more mount the box of thechaise. This time he had Sir Andrew Ffoulkes beside him. The Clamettefamily were huddled together--happy and free--inside the vehicle. Afterwhich there was the usual clatter of horses' hoofs, the creaking ofwheels, the rattle of chains. Chauvelin saw and heard nothing of that.All that he saw at the last was Sir Percy's slender hand, waving him alast adieu.

  After which he was left alone with his thoughts. The packet of paperswas in his hand. He fingered it, felt its crispness, clutched it with afierce gesture, which was followed by a long-drawn-out sigh of intensebitterness.

  No one would ever know what it had cost him to obtain these papers. Noone would ever know how much he had sacrificed of pride, revenge andhate in order to save a few shreds of his own party's honour.