The Leridans, anxious, obsequious, terrified, were only too ready to
obey the citizen Representative in all things.
They explained with much complacency that, even though they were
personally acquainted with Jeannette Marechal, when the citizeness
presented herself this very morning without the ring they had refused
her permission to see the brat.
Chauvelin, who in his own mind had already reconstructed the whole
tragedy of the stolen child, was satisfied that Marat could not have
chosen more efficient tools for the execution of his satanic revenge
than these two hideous products of revolutionary Paris.
Grasping, cowardly, and avaricious, the Leridans would lend themselves
to any abomination for a sufficiency of money; but no money on earth
would induce them to risk their own necks in the process. Marat had
obviously held them by threats of the guillotine. They knew the power of
the "Friend of the People," and feared him accordingly. Chauvelin's
scarf of office, his curt, authoritative manner, had an equally
awe-inspiring effect upon the two miserable creatures. They became
absolutely abject, cringing, maudlin in their protestations of good-will
and loyalty. No one, they vowed, should as much as see the child--ring
or no ring--save the citizen Representative himself. Chauvelin, however,
had no wish to see the child. He was satisfied that its name was
Lannoy--for the child had remembered it when first he had been brought
to the Leridans. Since then he had apparently forgotten it, even though
he often cried after his "Maman!"
Chauvelin listened to all these explanations with some impatience. The
child was nothing to him, but the Scarlet Pimpernel had desired to
rescue it from out of the clutches of the Leridans; had risked his
all--and lost it--in order to effect that rescue! That in itself was a
sufficient inducement for Chauvelin to interest himself in the execution
of Marat's vengeance, whatever its original mainspring may have been.
At any rate, now he felt satisfied that the child was safe, and that the
Leridans were impervious to threats or bribes which might land them on
the guillotine.
All that they would own to was to being afraid.
"Afraid of what?" queried Chauvelin sharply.
That the brat may be kidnapped ... stolen. Oh! he could not be decoyed
... they were too watchful for that! But apparently there were
mysterious agencies at work....
"Mysterious agencies!" Chauvelin laughed aloud at the suggestion. The
"mysterious agency" was even now rotting in an obscure cell at the
Abbaye. What other powers could be at work on behalf of the brat?
Well, the Leridans had had a warning!
What warning?
"A letter," the man said gruffly. "But as neither my wife nor I can
read--"
"Why did you not speak of this before?" broke in Chauvelin roughly. "Let
me see the letter."
The woman produced a soiled and dank scrap of paper from beneath her
apron. Of a truth she could not read its contents, for they were writ in
English in the form of a doggerel rhyme which caused Chauvelin to utter
a savage oath.
"When did this come?" he asked. "And how?"
"This morning, citizen," the woman mumbled in reply. "I found it outside
the door, with a stone on it to prevent the wind from blowing it away.
What does it mean, citizen?" she went on, her voice shaking with terror,
for of a truth the citizen Representative looked as if he had seen some
weird and unearthly apparition.
He gave no reply for a moment or two, and the two catiffs had no
conception of the tremendous effort at self-control which was hidden
behind the pale, rigid mask of the redoubtable man.
"It probably means nothing that you need fear," Chauvelin said quietly
at last. "But I will see the Commissary of the Section myself, and tell
him to send a dozen men of the Surete along to watch your house and be
at your beck and call if need be. Then you will feel quite safe, I
hope."
"Oh, yes! quite safe, citizen!" the woman replied with a sigh of genuine
relief. Then only did Chauvelin turn on his heel and go his way.