"Quiet and peace reigned supreme, fair lady; at that hour I
was asleep in one corner of one sofa and Sir Percy Blakeney in
another."
"Nobody came into the room at all?"
"Nobody."
"Then we have failed, you and I?"
"Yes! we have failed--perhaps. . ."
"But Armand?" she pleaded.
"Ah! Armand St. Just's chances hang on a thread. . .pray heaven,
dear lady, that that thread may not snap."
"Chauvelin, I worked for you, sincerely, earnestly. . . remember. . . ."
"I remember my promise," he said quietly. "The day that the
Scarlet Pimpernel and I meet on French soil, St. Just will be in the
arms of his charming sister."
"Which means that a brave man's blood will be on my hands,"
she said, with a shudder.
"His blood, or that of your brother. Surely at the present
moment you must hope, as I do, that the enigmatical Scarlet Pimpernel
will start for Calais to-day--"
"I am only conscious of one hope, citoyen."
"And that is?"
"That Satan, your master, will have need of you elsewhere,
before the sun rises to-day."
"You flatter me, citoyenne."
She had detained him for a while, mid-way down the stairs,
trying to get at the thoughts which lay beyond that thin, fox-like
mask.
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