Once more the two men were alone.
As far as Chauvelin was concerned he felt that everything was not yet
settled, and until a moment ago he had been in doubt as to whether Sir
Percy would accept the infamous conditions which had been put before
him, or allow his pride and temper to get the better of him and throw
the deadly insults back into his adversary's teeth.
But now a new secret had been revealed to the astute diplomatist. A
name, softly murmured by a broken-hearted woman, had told him a tale of
love and passion, which he had not even suspected before.
Since he had made this discovery he knew that the ultimate issue was no
longer in doubt. Sir Percy Blakeney, the bold adventurer, ever ready
for a gamble where lives were at stake, might have demurred before
he subscribed to his own dishonour, in order to save his wife from
humiliation and the shame of the terrible fate that had been mapped
out for her. But the same man passionately in love with such a woman as
Marguerite Blakeney would count the world well lost for her sake.
One sudden fear alone had shot through Chauvelin's heart when he stood
face to face with the two people whom he had so deeply and cruelly
wronged, and that was that Blakeney, throwing aside all thought of the
scores of innocent lives that were at stake, might forget everything,
risk everything, dare everything, in order to get his wife away there
and then.
For the space of a few seconds Chauvelin had felt that his own life
was in jeopardy, and that the Scarlet Pimpernel would indeed make
a desperate effort to save himself and his wife. But the fear was
short-lived: Marguerite--as he had well foreseen--would never save
herself at the expense of others, and she was tied! tied! tied! That was
his triumph and his joy!
When Marguerite finally left the room, Sir Percy made no motion to
follow her, but turned once more quietly to his antagonist.
“As you were saying, Monsieur?...” he queried lightly.
“Oh! there is nothing more to say, Sir Percy,” rejoined Chauvelin; “my
conditions are clear to you, are they not? Lady Blakeney's and your own
immediate release in exchange for a letter written to me by your own
hand, and signed here by you--in this room--in my presence and that of
sundry other persons whom I need not name just now. Also certain money
passing from my hand to yours. Failing the letter, a long, hideously
humiliating sojourn in the Temple prison for your wife, a prolonged
trial and the guillotine as a happy release!... I would add, the same
thing for yourself, only that I will do you the justice to admit that
you probably do not care.”
“Nay! a grave mistake, Monsieur.... I do care... vastly care, I assure
you ... and would seriously object to ending my life on your demmed
guillotine... a nasty, uncomfortable thing, I should say... and I am
told that an inexperienced barber is deputed to cut one's hair....
Brrr!... Now, on the other hand, I like the idea of a national fete...
that pretty wench Candeille, dressed as a goddess... the boom of the
cannon when your amnesty comes into force.... You WILL boom the cannon,
will you not, Monsieur?... Cannon are demmed noisy, but they are
effective sometimes, do you not think so, Monsieur?”
“Very effective certainly, Sir Percy,” sneered Chauvelin, “and we will
certainly boom the cannon from this very fort, an it so please you....”
“At what hour, Monsieur, is my letter to be ready?”
“Why! at any hour you please, Sir Percy.”
“The 'Day-Dream' could weigh anchor at eight o'clock... would an hour
before that be convenient to yourself?”
“Certainly, Sir Percy... if you will honour me by accepting my
hospitality in these uncomfortable quarters until seven o'clock
to-morrow eve?...”
“I thank you, Monsieur...”
“Then am I to understand, Sir Percy, that...”
A loud and ringing laugh broke from Blakeney's lips.
“That I accept your bargain, man!... Zounds! I tell you I accept... I'll
write the letter, I'll sign it... an you have our free passes ready for
us in exchange.... At seven o'clock to-morrow eve, did you say?... Man!
do not look so astonished.... The letter, the signature, the money...
all your witnesses... have everything ready.... I accept, I say....
And now, in the name of all the evil spirits in hell, let me have some
supper and a bed, for I vow that I am demmed fatigued.”
And without more ado Sir Percy once more rang the handbell, laughing
boisterously the while: then suddenly, with quick transition of mood,
his laugh was lost in a gigantic yawn, and throwing his long body onto
a chair, he stretched out his legs, buried his hands in his pockets, and
the next moment was peacefully asleep.