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Updated: June 21, 2025
Those who brought that dangerous enemy of revolution to the guillotine would for ever be proclaimed as the saviours of France. "A short indictment," he said, when Chauvelin, after a lengthy discussion on various points, finally rose to take his leave, "but a scathing one! I tell you, citizen Chauvelin, that to-morrow you will be the first to congratulate me on an unprecedented triumph."
"I have no doubt, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin ironically, "that you have all your marvellous faculties entirely at your command.... I must apologize for disturbing your papers," he added, replacing the half-written page on the table, "I thought perhaps that if the letter was ready ..."
Once Marguerite had put all her pride, all her dignity by, and asked citizen Chauvelin for news of her husband. "He is well and cheerful, Lady Blakeney," he had replied with his sarcastic smile. "Ah!" he added pleasantly, "those English are remarkable people. We, of Gallic breed, will never really understand them. Their fatalism is quite Oriental in its quiet resignation to the decree of Fate.
Chauvelin broke in roughly. "You can go!" "But, citizen " "You can go, I said," he reiterated sharply. "The matter of the child and the Leridans and the ring no longer concerns you. You understand?" "Y y yes, citizen," murmured Jeannette, vaguely terrified. And of a truth the change in citizen Chauvelin's demeanour was enough to scare any timid creature. Not that he raved or ranted or screamed.
A low moan escaped from the Jew's trembling lips. "But," added Chauvelin, with slow emphasis, "if you deceived me in your promise, you were to have a sound beating, one that would teach you not to tell lies." "I did not, your Honour; I swear it by Abraham . . ." "And by all the other patriarchs, I know.
"I am so demmed sorry . . ." he was saying cheerfully, "so very sorry . . . I seem to have upset you . . . eating soup, too . . . nasty, awkward thing, soup . . . er . . . Begad! a friend of mine died once . . . er . . . choked . . . just like you . . . with a spoonful of soup." And he smiled shyly, good-humouredly, down at Chauvelin.
The child was nothing to him, but the Scarlet Pimpernel had desired to rescue it from out of the clutches of the Leridans; had risked his all and lost it in order to effect that rescue! That in itself was a sufficient inducement for Chauvelin to interest himself in the execution of Marat's vengeance, whatever its original mainspring may have been.
They sent me down here to lend you a hand in an investigation which is of grave importance to them." "I know that!" retorted Lebel sulkily. "But why have invented the story of the papers?" "It is no invention, citizen," rejoined Chauvelin with slow emphasis. "The papers do exist. They are actually in the possession of the Montorgueils, father and son.
Chauvelin had spoken low, hardly above a whisper, and the echo of his last words died away in the great, squalid room like a long-drawn-out sigh. There was dead silence for a while save for the murmur in the wind outside and from the floor above the measured tread of the sentinel guarding the precious hostage in No. 6. Both men were staring straight in front of them.
Suddenly she saw the keen, fox-like face of Chauvelin peeping through the curtained doorway. "Lord Fancourt," she said to the Minister, "will you do me a service?" "I am entirely at your ladyship's service," he replied gallantly. "Will you see if my husband is still in the card-room? And if he is, will you tell him that I am very tired, and would be glad to go home soon."
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