The first thing of which Esther Vincent was conscious, when she returned
to her senses, was of her English lover kneeling beside her. She was
lying on some kind of couch, and she could see his face in profile, for
he had turned and was speaking to someone at the far end of the room.
"And was it you who knocked me down?" he was saying, "and sat on my
chest, and trussed me like a fowl?"
"La! my dear sir," a lazy, pleasant voice riposted, "what else could I
do? There was no time for explanations. You were half-crazed, and would
not have understood. And you were ready to bring all the nightwatchmen
about our ears."
"I am sorry!" Kennard said simply. "But how could I guess?"
"You couldn't," rejoined the other. "That is why I had to deal so
summarily with you and with Mademoiselle Esther, not to speak of good
old Lucienne, who had never, in her life, been inside a cabaret. You
must all forgive me ere you start upon your journey. You are not out of
the wood yet, remember. Though Paris is a long way behind, France itself
is no longer a healthy place for any of you."
"But how did we ever get out of Paris? I was smothered under a pile of
cabbages, with Lucienne on one side of me and Esther, unconscious, on
the other. I could see nothing. I know we halted at the barrier. I
thought we would be recognised, turned back! My God! how I trembled!"
"Bah!" broke in the other, with a careless laugh. "It is not so
difficult as it seems. We have done it before--eh, Ffoulkes? A
market-gardener's cart, a villainous wretch like myself to drive it,
another hideous object like Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Bart., to lead the
scraggy nag, a couple of forged or stolen passports, plenty of English
gold, and the deed is done!"
Esther's eyes were fixed upon the speaker. She marvelled now how she
could have been so blind. The cadaverous face was nothing but a splendid
use of grease paint! The rags! the dirt! the whole assumption of a
hideous character was masterly! But there were the eyes, deep-set, and
thoughtful and kind. How did she fail to guess?
"You are known as the Scarlet Pimpernel," she said suddenly. "Suzanne de
Tournai was my friend. She told me. You saved her and her family, and
now ... oh, my God!" she exclaimed, "how shall we ever repay you?"
"By placing yourselves unreservedly in my friend Ffoulkes' hands," he
replied gently. "He will lead you to safety and, if you wish it, to
England."
"If we wish it!" Kennard sighed fervently.
"You are not coming with us, Blakeney?" queried Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and
it seemed to Esther's sensitive ears as if a tone of real anxiety and
also of entreaty rang in the young man's voice.
"No, not this time," replied Sir Percy lightly. "I like my character of
Rateau, and I don't want to give it up just yet. I have done nothing to
arouse suspicion in the minds of my savoury compeers up at the Cabaret
de la Liberte. I can easily keep this up for some time to come, and
frankly I admire myself as citizen Rateau. I don't know when I have
enjoyed a character so much!"
"You mean to return to the Cabaret de la Liberte!" exclaimed Sir Andrew.
"Why not?"
"You will be recognised!"
"Not before I have been of service to a good many unfortunates, I hope."
"But that awful cough of yours! Percy, you'll do yourself an injury with
it one day."
"Not I! I like that cough. I practised it for a long time before I did
it to perfection. Such a splendid wheeze! I must teach Tony to do it
some day. Would you like to hear it now?"
He laughed, that perfect, delightful, lazy laugh of his, which carried
every hearer with it along the path of light-hearted merriment. Then he
broke into the awful cough of the consumptive Rateau. And Esther Vincent
instinctively closed her eyes and shuddered.
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 little
one. As for Lucile, she would have told you herself that she felt just
like a bird between two snakes--terrified and fascinated--oh! especially
by that little man with the pale face and the light grey eyes and the
slender white hands unstained by toil, one of which rested lightly upon
the desk, and was only clenched now and then at a word or a look from
the 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 spite
of all these threats, if it had not been for the children. She was
little mother to them; for father was a cripple, with speech and mind
already impaired by creeping paralysis, and maman had died when little
Josephine was born. And now those fiends threatened not only her, but
Etienne who was not fourteen, and Valentine who was not much more than
ten, with death, unless she--Lucile--broke the solemn word which she had
given to M. le Marquis. At first she had tried to deny all knowledge of
M. le Marquis' whereabouts.
"I can assure M. le Commissaire that I do not know," she had persisted
quietly, even though her heart was beating so rapidly in her bosom that
she felt as if she must choke.
"Call me citizen Commissary," Lebel had riposted curtly. "I should take
it as a proof that your aristocratic sentiments are not so deep-rooted
as 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 and
unseen force was holding her tight, so tight that she could neither
move, nor breathe, nor turn her gaze away from those pale, compelling
eyes. In the remote corner little Josephine was whimpering, and
Etienne's big, dark eyes were fixed bravely upon his eldest sister.
"There, there! little citizeness," the awful man said, in a voice that
sounded 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 to
be reasonable. You have promised to your former employer that you would
never tell anyone of his whereabouts. Well! we don't ask you to tell us
anything.
"All that we want you to do is to write a letter to M. le Marquis--one
that I myself will dictate to you. You have written to M. le Marquis
before 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 now
I---"
"Do not write any letter, Lucile," Etienne suddenly broke in with
forceful 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 on
the 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 in
custody till he has learned to hold his tongue."
But before Lebel could speak to the two soldiers who were standing on
guard at the door, Lucile had uttered a loud cry of agonised protest.
"No! no! monsieur!--that is citizen!" she implored. "Do not take Etienne
away. He will be silent.... I promise you that he will be silent ...
only do not take him away! Etienne, my little one!" she added, turning
her tear-filled eyes to her brother, "I entreat thee to hold thy
tongue!"
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 with
this business. I am sick to death of it. It has lasted far too long
already."
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 by
allowing this letter business. If I had my way I'd make you speak here
and now. As it is, you either sit down and write the letter at citizen
Chauvelin's dictation at once, or I send you with that impudent brother
of yours and your imbecile father to jail, on a charge of treason
against the State, for aiding and abetting the enemies of the Republic;
and you know what the consequences of such a charge usually are. The
other two brats will go to a House of Correction, there to be detained
during the pleasure of the Committee of Public Safety. That is my last
word," he reiterated fiercely. "Now, which is it to be?"
He paused, the girl's wan cheeks turned the colour of lead. She
moistened her lips once or twice with her tongue; beads of perspiration
appeared at the roots of her hair. She gazed helplessly at her
tormentors, not daring to look on those three huddled-up little figures
there in the corner. A few seconds sped away in silence. The man with
the 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 his
clasped behind him. Neither the commissary nor the girl appeared to
interest him further. He was just gazing out of the window.
The other was still sprawling beside the desk, his large, coarse
hand--how different his hands were!--was beating a devil's tatoo upon
the 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 which
still hung upon her lashes. Then she rose from her chair and walked
resolutely 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 his
position near the window. The boy, Etienne, had uttered a cry of
passionate protest.
"Do not give M. le Marquis away, Lucile!" he said hotly. "I am not
afraid to die."
But Lucile had made up her mind. How could she do otherwise, with these
awful threats hanging over them all? She and Etienne and poor father
gone, 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 ears
against her brother's protest.
Lebel pushed pen, ink and paper towards her and she sat down, ready to
begin.
"Write!" now came in a curt command from the man at the window. And
Lucile 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,