"
"Diplomatic relations be demmed, my lord! That sly little fox
over there is nothing but a spy, I'll warrant, and you'll find--an I'm
much mistaken, that he'll concern himself little with such diplomacy,
beyond trying to do mischief to royalist refugees--to our heroic
Scarlet Pimpernel and to the members of that brave little league."
"I am sure," said the Comtesse, pursing up her thin lips,
"that if this Chauvelin wishes to do us mischief, he will find a
faithful ally in Lady Blakeney."
"Bless the woman!" ejaculated Lady Portarles, "did ever anyone
see such perversity? My Lord Grenville, you have the gift of gab,
will you please explain to Madame la Comtesse that she is acting like
a fool. In your position here in England, Madame," she added, turning
a wrathful and resolute face towards the Comtesse, "you cannot afford
to put on the hoity-toity airs you French aristocrats are so fond of.
Lady Blakeney may or may not be in sympathy with those Ruffians in
France; she may or may not have had anything to do with the arrest and
condemnation of St. Cyr, or whatever the man's name is, but she is the
leader of fashion in this country; Sir Percy Blakeney has more money
than any half-dozen other men put together, he is hand and glove with
royalty, and your trying to snub Lady Blakeney will not harm her, but
will make you look a fool.
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