"Ah! my dear lady, pardon me, but that is just what we cannot
very well do," said Chauvelin, whilst once again his eyes, keen as
those of a fox on the alert, darted a quick glance at Marguerite. "I
have a most perfect prescription against the worst form of ENNUI,
which I would have been happy to submit to you, but--"
"But what?"
"There IS Sir Percy."
"What has he to do with it?"
"Quite a good deal, I am afraid. The prescription I would
offer, fair lady, is called by a very plebeian name: Work!"
"Work?"
Chauvelin looked at Marguerite long and scrutinisingly. It
seemed as if those keen, pale eyes of his were reading every one of
her thoughts. They were alone together; the evening air was quite
still, and their soft whispers were drowned in the noise which came
from the coffee-room. Still, Chauvelin took as step or two from under
the porch, looked quickly and keenly all round him, then seeing that
indeed no one was within earshot, he once more came back close to
Marguerite.
"Will you render France a small service, citoyenne?" he asked,
with a sudden change of manner, which lent his thin, fox-like face a
singular earnestness.
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