"
A murmur of wrath and contempt went round the group of
ill-clad wretches, who crowded round Citoyen Bibot.
"Half an hour later," continued the sergeant, "up comes a
captain of the guard with a squad of some dozen soldiers with him.
`Has a car gone through?' he asks of Grospierre, breathlessly. `Yes,'
says Grospierre, `not half an hour ago.' `And you have let them
escape,' shouts the captain furiously. `You'll go to the guillotine
for this, citoyen sergeant! that cart held concealed the CI-DEVANT
Duc de Chalis and all his family!' `What!' thunders Grospierre,
aghast. `Aye! and the driver was none other than that cursed
Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel.'"
A howl of execration greeted this tale. Citoyen Grospierre
had paid for his blunder on the guillotine, but what a fool! oh!
what a fool!
Bibot was laughing so much at his own tale that it was some
time before he could continue.
"`After them, my men,' shouts the captain," he said after a while,
"`remember the reward; after them, they cannot have gone far!'
And with that he rushes through the gate followed by his dozen soldiers."
"But it was too late!" shouted the crowd, excitedly.
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