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"I forgive you, Mademoiselle," Hugh replied, grasping her slim, white hand. "Mademoiselle will, I hope, meet Miss Ranscomb, Mr. Henfrey's fiancee, and tell her the whole truth," said The Sparrow. "That I certainly will," Yvonne replied. "Now that I can think I shall be allowed to leave this place eh?" "Of course. I will see after that," said the man known as Mr. Peters.
"Bravo, Yvonne!" "Now perhaps you'll believe in me." "I do. I will. Until the end of time," he cried. "Once more now, with the drum obbligato." She obeyed and found it difficult because every time her elbows struck the drum her fingers flew from the mandolin. But she managed it at last, and in the end made shift to use the harmonica, too. Then followed "The Marseillaise." That was easier.
"My husband spoke very harshly to the poor man," added Aunt Yvonne. "But, I am afraid, Caspar, he did not understand a word you said. You were very much excited." The sweet old lady's attempts at English were much more laborious than her husband's. "If he did not understand my English, he was very good at guessing," said her husband, grimly.
"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" murmured Yvonne, her eyes dilated with superstitious awe, for she too had heard of the mysterious Englishman and of his followers, who rescued aristocrats and traitors from the death to which the tribunal of the people had justly condemned them, and on whom the mighty hand of the Committee of Public Safety had never yet been able to fall.
Both girls were supremely happy, Edith quietly so, Frances fairly radiating enjoyment in the stately room with its fine old portraits and windows open to admit the sweet odors of myrtle and daffodils. "Don't think the Island winters are all as mild as this," the Colonel was saying as Yvonne removed the soup plates.
I groped in vain for a moment; then I put my hand full on the buckle of a patent-leather shoe. As my fingers closed about a warm ankle: "Pardon, monsieur!" came a quick whisper. I let go. "Is that you, Yvonne?" "Si, monsieur." "I never heard you come in." "I have come this moment, and did not see monsieur in the dark. Madame has sent me. Monsieur cannot find that little bag?" "No.
The receipts were four hundred sous twenty francs and there were to be six performances a day! Well might Cleofonte wring Philidor by the hand and pay him over the five francs which he and Hermia had earned! There were no portraits to do, so Philidor sat at the entrance with Yvonne until the time for the next performance. It was tiresome work and the breathing space was welcome enough.
"Ah! la jeunesse!" sighed Madame Gugou, setting down her glass when the healths were drunk. "I, too, Mademoiselle, was once young." Yvonne patted her cheek gently. "Age is only in the heart, Madame," she said. "Non, ma belle," cackled Gugou from his corner. "It's in the joints." "Tais-toi, Jules," scolded his wife. "What should lovers care about thy joints."
I did but tell you that he would wed your daughter. And, ma foi! your daughter he has wed." "You have fooled me, scelerat!" he blazed out. "You, who have been sheltered by " "Father!" Yvonne interrupted, taking his arm. "M. de Luynes has behaved no worse than have I, or any one of us, in this matter." "No!" he cried, and pointed to Andrea. "'T is you who have wrought this infamy.
In the clear morning these absurdities were forgotten in the realized absurdity of the initial identification. But a forenoon at the pasting-desk brought back the haunting thought. At noon he morbidly expended his lunch-dime on an 'Yvonne Rupert' cigar, and smoked it with a semi-insane feeling that he was repossessing his Gittel. Certainly it was delicious.
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