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Updated: May 4, 2025
The duel on the southern ramparts had of course become a farce, not likely to be enacted now that Marguerite's life was at stake. The daring adventurer was caught in a network at last, from which all his ingenuity, all his wit, his impudence and his amazing luck could never extricate him. And in Chauvelin's mind there was still something more.
Blakeney sat at the table with one arm resting on it, the emaciated hand tightly clutched, the body leaning forward, the eyes looking into nothingness. For the moment he was unconscious of Chauvelin's presence, and the latter could gaze on him to the full content of his heart.
He felt sure that the Scarlet Pimpernel had not been warned, and felt equally sure that Marguerite Blakeney had not played him false. If she had . . . a cruel look, that would have made her shudder, gleamed in Chauvelin's keen, pale eyes. If she had played him a trick, Armand St. Just would suffer the extreme penalty. But no, no! of course she had not played him false!
Blakeney having last seen Armand in Chauvelin's company, whilst he himself was moving the Simons' furniture, could not for a moment doubt that the young man was imprisoned, unless, indeed, he was being allowed a certain measure of freedom, whilst his every step was being spied on, so that he might act as a decoy for his chief.
Citizen Chauvelin's pen was every florid in its style: "entrusted me with the delicate mission," is hardly the way to describe an order given under penalty of death. But let it pass.
It did not make the slightest impression on me, and I stayed a fortnight longer in Turin without its causing me the slightest annoyance. I saw the Corticelli again in Paris six months after, and will speak of our meeting in due time. The day after M. de Chauvelin's ball I asked Agatha, her mother, the Dupres, and my usual company to supper.
Then Chauvelin's voice once more came clearly to her ear: "My suggestion, citizen," he was saying, "is that the prisoner shall now give me an order couched in whatever terms he may think necessary but a distinct order to his friends to give up Capet to me without any resistance.
Marguerite was so happy, she could have stayed here for ever, hearing his voice, asking a hundred questions. But at mention of Chauvelin's name she started in quick alarm, afraid for the dear life she would have died to save. "But how can we get back?" she gasped; "the roads are full of soldiers between here and Calais, and . . ."
"Every stranger on these roads or on the beach must be shadowed, especially if he be tall or stoops as if he would disguise his height; when sighted a mounted messenger must at once ride back and report." Those had been Chauvelin's orders.
An impatient oath escaped Chauvelin's lips, and he brought his fist heavily down on the table, making the metal candlesticks rattle and causing Sir Percy to open one sleepy eye. "A thousand pardons, sir," said Blakeney with a slight yawn.
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