Never shall I forget the look of horror which came in Mme. la Marquise's
eyes when she saw me entering our miserable attic in the company of a
stranger. The last of the little bit of tallow candle flickered in its
socket. Madame threw her emaciated arms over her child, just like some
poor hunted animal defending its young. I could almost hear the cry of
terror which died down in her throat ere it reached her lips. But then,
monsieur, to see the light of hope gradually illuminating her pale, wan
face as the stranger took her hand and spoke to her--oh! so gently and
so kindly--was a sight which filled my poor, half-broken heart with joy.
"The little invalid must be seen by a doctor at once," he said, "after
that only can we think of your ultimate safety."
Mme. la Marquise, who herself was terribly weak and ill, burst out
crying. "Would I not have taken him to a doctor ere now?" she murmured
through her tears. "But there is no doctor in Lyons. Those who have not
been arrested as traitors have fled from this stricken city. And my
little Jose is dying for want of medical care."
"Your pardon, madame," he rejoined gently, "one of the ablest doctors in
France is at present in Lyons---"
"That infamous Laporte," she broke in, horrified. "He would snatch my
sick child from my arms and throw him to the guillotine."
"He would save your boy from disease," said the stranger earnestly, "his
own professional pride or professional honour, whatever he might choose
to call it, would compel him to do that. But the moment the doctor's
work was done, that of the executioner would commence."
"You see, milor," moaned Madame in pitiable agony, "that there is no
hope for us."
"Indeed there is," he replied. "We must get M. le Vicomte well
first--after that we shall see."
"But you are not proposing to bring that infamous Laporte to my child's
bedside!" she cried in horror.
"Would you have your child die here before your eyes," retorted the
stranger, "as he undoubtedly will this night?"
This sounded horribly cruel, and the tone in which it was said was
commanding. There was no denying its truth. M. le Vicomte was dying. I
could see that. For a moment or two madame remained quite still, with
her great eyes, circled with pain and sorrow, fixed upon the stranger.
He returned her gaze steadily and kindly, and gradually that frozen look
of horror in her pale face gave place to one of deep puzzlement, and
through her bloodless lips there came the words, faintly murmured: "Who
are you?"
He gave no direct reply, but from his little finger he detached a ring
and held it out for her to see. I saw it too, for I was standing close
by Mme. la Marquise, and the flickering light of the tallow candle fell
full upon the ring. It was of gold, and upon it there was an exquisitely
modelled, five-petalled little flower in vivid red enamel.
Madame la Marquise looked at the ring, then once again up into his face.
He nodded assent, and my heart seemed even then to stop its beating as I
gazed upon his face. Had we not--all of us--heard of the gallant Scarlet
Pimpernel? And did I not know--far better than Mme. la Marquise
herself--the full extent of his gallantry and his self-sacrifice? The
hue and cry was after him. Human bloodhounds were even now on his track,
and he spoke calmly of walking out again in the streets of Lyons and of
affronting that infamous Laporte, who would find glory in sending him to
death. I think he guessed what was passing in my mind, for he put a
finger up to his lip and pointed significantly to M. le Vicomte.
But it was beautiful to see how completely Mme. la Marquise now trusted
him. At his bidding she even ate a little of the food and drank some
wine--and I was forced to do likewise. And even when anon he declared
his intention of fetching Laporte immediately, she did not flinch. She
kissed M. le Vicomte with passionate fervour, and then gave the stranger
her solemn promise that the moment he returned she would take refuge in
the next room and never move out of it until after Laporte had departed.
When he went I followed him to the top of the stairs. I was speechless
with gratitude and also with fears for him. But he took my hand and
said, with that same quaint, somewhat inane laugh which was so
characteristic of him:
"Be of good cheer, old fellow! Those confounded murderers will not get
me this time."