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"You do not know where to find my friend Ffoulkes, and at noon to-morrow, if I do not arrive to claim those papers, there will not be a single ragamuffin in Paris who will not be crying your shame and that of your precious colleagues upon the housetops." Chauvelin's whole nervous system was writhing with the feeling of impotence.
He was pressing one of the papers into her hand, holding her fingers tightly in his, and compelling her gaze with the ardent excitement of his own. "This first letter is for Ffoulkes," he said. "It relates to the final measures for the safety of the Dauphin. They are my instructions to those members of the League who are in or near Paris at the present moment.
As for Lord Antony and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, their very hearts seemed to stand still with horror at this gratuitous insult. One of them uttered an exclamation of appeal, the other one of warning, and instinctively both glanced hurriedly towards the door, whence a slow, drawly, not unpleasant voice had already been heard.
Now I come to you . . . with a half-broken heart . . . and . . . and . . ." "I pray you, Madame," he said, whilst his voice shook almost as much as hers, "in what way can I serve you?" "Percy! Armand is in deadly danger. A letter of his . . . rash, impetuous, as were all his actions, and written to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, has fallen into the hands of a fanatic.
She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her hands. From Chauvelin she knew that she could expect no mercy. He had set a price on Armand's head, and left it to her to pay or not, as she chose. Later on in the evening she caught sight of Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst, who seemingly had just arrived.
You saved her and her family, and now... oh, my God!" she exclaimed, "how shall we ever repay you?" "By placing yourselves unreservedly in my friend Ffoulkes' hands," he replied gently. "He will lead you to safety and, if you wish it, to England." "If we wish it!" Kennard sighed fervently.
"Well, dear," he said simply, "to tell you the truth I have not yet thought of that all-important 'how. I had to wait, you see, until you came. I was so sure that you would come! I have succeeded in putting on paper all my instructions for Ffoulkes and the others. I will give them to you anon.
"What ears you have," murmured Ffoulkes as he obeyed rapidly and without question. "I heard nothing." Blakeney went to the door and bent his head to listen. "Three men coming up the stairs," he said; "they are on the landing now." "Have we time to rush them?" "No chance! They are at the door. Two more men have joined them, and I can distinguish Rondeau's voice, too."
The corner of the street by the canal, where Sir Andrew Ffoulkes would be waiting with the coal-cart; then there was the spinney on the road to St. Germain. Armand hoped that, with good luck, he might yet overtake his comrades, tell them of Jeanne's plight, and entreat them to work for her rescue.
Then he heard the cry a seamew's call repeated thrice at intervals, and five minutes later something loomed out of the darkness quite close to the hind wheels of the cart. "Hist! Ffoulkes!" came in a soft whisper, scarce louder than the wind. "Present!" came in quick response. "Here, help me to lift the child into the cart.
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