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Updated: May 23, 2025
The false Paul Mole, the newly acquired menial in the household of Marat, had wormed himself into the confidence of his employer in order to wrest from him the secret of the aristo's child. Bravo! bravo! my gallant Scarlet Pimpernel! Chauvelin now could see it all.
"And all that fine lace would make a splendid jabot round the aristo's neck when Citizen Samson holds up her head for us to see," added another, as with mock elegance he stooped and with two very grimy fingers slightly raised the young girl's grey frock, displaying the lace-edged petticoat beneath. A volley of oaths and loud, ironical laughter greeted this sally.
"And you haven't gone to Athens yet?" said the King. "No, but I am going," was the firm reply. "We will send him," said the King to Proxenus, Aristo's guardian. And so we find Aristo, aged seventeen, tall and straight and bronzed, starting off for Athens, his worldly goods rolled up in a bearskin, tied about with thongs.
He told him the names of the persons whom it was necessary that he should see, and furnished him with secret tokens, by which they would know, with certainty, that the messages came from him. On this Aristo's appearing at Carthage, the reason of his coming was not discovered by Hannibal's friends sooner than by his enemies.
Tragedies such as that which had placed an aristo's child in the power of a cunning demon like Marat were not rare these days, and Chauvelin had been fitted by nature and by temperament to understand and appreciate an execrable monster of the type of Jean Paul Marat.
"'Tis mighty fine lace to be thus hidden away," commented an elderly harridan. "Now, would you believe it, my fine madam, but my legs are bare underneath my kirtle?" "And dirty, too, I'll lay a wager," laughed another. "Soap is dear in Paris just now." "The lace on the aristo's kerchief would pay the baker's bill of a whole family for a month!" shouted an excited voice.
Chauvelin watched him now like a cat watches a mouse, savouring these few moments of anticipated triumph. He pushed open the door noiselessly which gave on the boudoir. By the feeble light of the lanthorn on the ground he could only see the vague outline of the aristo's back, bending forward to his task; but a thrill went through him as he saw a bundle of papers lying on the ground close by.
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