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Updated: May 4, 2025
The next day, just as I was going to M. de Chauvelin's ball, I received to my great surprise a note from the superintendent begging me to call on him as he had something to communicate to me. I immediately ordered my chairmen to take me to his residence.
"I thank you, sir." "You will be rejoining the 'Day-Dream' to-night. Can I send a messenger over to the yacht for you?" "I thank you. No." "Sir Percy is well. He is fast asleep, and hath not asked for your ladyship. Shall I let him know that you are well?" A nod of acquiescence from Marguerite and Chauvelin's string of queries was at an end.
That he might write it in order to save her, she feared was possible, whilst the look of triumph on Chauvelin's face had aroused her most agonizing terrors. When she was summarily ordered to go into the next room, she realized at once that all hope now was more than futile.
"As you see, citizen," was Chauvelin's bland reply. "A message, such as you yourself have oft received, methinks, from our mutual enemy, the Scarlet Pimpernel." But already the Public Prosecutor had seized upon the paper, and of a truth Chauvelin had no longer cause to complain of his colleague's indifference.
Suddenly it became absolutely clear to her that the whole scene had been arranged and planned: the booth with its flaring placard, Demoiselle Candeille soliciting her patronage, her invitation to the young actress, Chauvelin's sudden appearance, all, all had been concocted and arranged, not here, not in England at all, but out there in Paris, in some dark gathering of blood-thirsty ruffians, who had invented a final trap for the destruction of the bold adventurer, who went by the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
"Bring me more tangible proof that our prisoner is not Paul Mole and I'll deal with him quickly enough, never fear. But if by to-morrow morning you do not satisfy me on the point ... I must let him go his way." A savage oath rose to Chauvelin's lips.
It was a letter by Armand St. Just to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes the letter which Chauvelin's spies had stolen at "The Fisherman's Rest," and which Chauvelin had held as a rod over her to enforce her obedience. Now he had kept his word he had sent her back St. Just's compromising letter . . . for he was on the track of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
That Marguerite would not, under the circumstances, attempt to escape, that Sir Percy Blakeney himself would be forced to give up all thoughts of rescuing her, was a foregone conclusion in Chauvelin's mind, but if this high-born English gentleman had not happened to be the selfless hero that he was, if Marguerite Blakeney were cast in a different, a rougher mould if, in short, the Scarlet Pimpernel in the face of the proclamation did succeed in dragging his wife out of the clutches of the Terrorists, then it was equally certain that Collot d'Herbois would carry out his rabid and cruel reprisals to the full.
But the keen brain, which had planned and carried through so many daring plots, was too far-seeing to take unnecessary risks. This place, after all, might be infested with spies; the innkeeper might be in Chauvelin's pay.
Whilst little Suzanne unconscious of all save her own all-important little secret, went prattling on. Marguerite's thoughts went back to the events of the past night. Armand's peril, Chauvelin's threat, his cruel "Either or " which she had accepted.
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