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Updated: May 21, 2025
"His papers are all in order, I tell you," he said impatiently, in answer to Chauvelin's insistence. "It is as much as my head is worth to demand a summary execution." "But I tell you that, those papers of his are forged," urged Chauvelin forcefully. "They are not," retorted the other. "The Commissary swears to his own signature on the identity book.
I never would have thought of that....Marvellous, I call it... demmed marvellous.... What say you, gentlemen?... Your Royal Highness, what think you?... Is not my engaging friend here of a most original turn of mind.... Will you have this sword or that, Monsieur?... Nay, I must insist else we shall weary our friends if we hesitate too long.... This one then, sir, since you have chosen it," he continued, as Chauvelin finally took one of the swords in his hand.
On hearing the reason M. de Chauvelin offered to present me himself, but I thought it best to decline with thanks. No doubt it would have been a great honour, but the result would be that I should be more spied on than even in this town of spies, where the most indifferent actions do not pass unnoticed. My pleasures would have been interfered with.
Citizen Marat's orders were very stern, and he was wont to terrify the Leridans with awful threats of the guillotine if they ever allowed the child out of their sight." Chauvelin sat silent for a while. A ray of light had traversed the dark and tortuous ways of his subtle brain. While he mused the woman became impatient. She continued to talk on with the volubility peculiar to her kind.
"And see that the citizen soldiers are well fed, or there will be trouble." "H'm!" grunted the man again. After which he banged the door to behind him. "Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight," explained Chauvelin lightly, "now that we have reached the last, most important stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy's mid-day meal in the interior of the coach."
The sailors I spoke to, all assured me that no schooner had put out of Dover for several hours: on the other hand, I ascertained that a stranger had arrived by coach this afternoon, and had, like myself, made some inquiries about crossing over to France. "Then Chauvelin is still in Dover?" "Undoubtedly. Shall I go waylay him and run my sword through him?
Now she blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to him sooner, and given him that word of warning and of love which, perhaps, after all, he needed. He could not know of the orders which Chauvelin had given for his capture, and even now, perhaps . . .
He stepped into the room holding the lamp high above his head; its feeble rays fell full upon the brilliant figure of Sir Percy Blakeney. He was smiling pleasantly, bowing slightly towards Chauvelin, and in his hand he held the sheathed sword, the blade of which had been fashioned in Toledo for Lorenzo Cenci, and the fellow of which was lying now Chauvelin himself knew not where.
Now everything seemed at once quite clear; his duty, his next actions, every word that he would speak to Chauvelin. Those that Percy had written to him were already indelibly graven on his memory. Chauvelin had waited with his usual patience, silent and imperturbable, while the young man read.
"You think that I am at this moment taking measures for sending the Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine? Eh?" "I do." "Never was so great an error committed by a clever woman. Your ladyship must believe me when I say that the guillotine is the very last place in the world where I would wish to see that enigmatic and elusive personage." "Are you trying to fool me, M. Chauvelin?
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