The Accredited Agent (The Scarlet Pimpernel)

01CHAPTER VIII.

02THE ACCREDITED AGENT The afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close, and a long chilly English summer's evening was throwing a misty pall over the green Kentish landscape.

03The daydream had set sail, and Marguerite Blakeney stood alone, on the edge of the cliff, over an hour, watching those white sails which bore so swiftly away from her, the only being who really cared for her, whom she dared to love, whom she knew she could trust.

04Some little distance away, to her left, the lights from the coffee-room of the fisherman's rest glittered yellow in the gathering mist.

05From time to time it seemed to her aching nerves as if she could catch from thence the sound of merry-making and of jovial talk, or even that perpetual senseless laugh of her husband's, which grated continually upon her sensitive ears.

06Sir Percy had had the delicacy to leave her severely alone.

07She supposed that, in his own stupid, good-natured way, he may have understood that she would wish to remain alone, while those white sails disappeared into the vague horizon so many miles away.

08He, whose notions of propriety and decorum were super-sensitive, had not suggested even that an attendant should remain within call.

09Marguerite was grateful to her husband for all this.

10She always tried to be grateful to him for his thoughtfulness, which was constant, and for his generosity, which really was boundless.

11She tried even at times to curb the sarcastic, bitter thoughts of him, which made her, in spite of herself, say cruel, insulting things, which she vaguely hoped would wound him.

12Yes, she often wished to wound him, to make him feel that she too held him in contempt, that she too had forgotten that she had almost loved him—loved that inane fop, whose thoughts seemed unable to soar beyond the tying of a cravat, or the new cut of a coat.

13Bah!

14And yet, vague memories, that were sweet and ardent, and attuned to this calm summer's evening, came wafted back to her memory on the invisible wings of the light sea-breeze.

15The time when first he worshipped her.

16He seemed so devoted, a very slave, and there was a certain latent intensity in that love which had fascinated her.

17Then suddenly, that love, that devotion, which throughout his courtship she had looked upon as the slavish fidelity of a dog, seemed to vanish completely.

18Twenty-four hours after the simple little ceremony at Old Saint-Roche, she had told him the story of how, inadvertently, she had spoken of certain matters connected with the Marquis de Saint-Cyrs before some men, her friends, who had used this information against the unfortunate Marquis, and sent him and his family to the guillotine.

19She hated the Marquis.

20Years ago, Armand, her dear brother, loved Angèle de Saint-Cyrs.

21But Saint-Just was a plebeian, and the Marquis, full of the pride and arrogant prejudices of his caste, one day Armand, the respectful, timid lover, ventured on sending a small poem, enthusiastic, ardent, passionate, to the idol of his dreams.

22The next night he was waylaid, just outside Paris, by the valets of Marquis de Saint-Cyrs, and ignominiously thrashed, thrashed like a dog within an inch of his life, because he had dared to raise his eyes to the daughter of the aristocrat.

23The incident was one which, in those days, some two years before the Great Revolution, was of almost daily occurrence in France.

24Incidents of that type, in fact, led to bloody reprisals, which a few years later sent most of those haughty heads to the guillotine.

25Marguerite remembered it all.

26What her brother must have suffered in his manhood and his pride must have been appalling.

27What she suffered through him, and with him, she never attempted even to analyse.

28Then the day of retribution came.

29Saint-Cyrs and his kin had found their masters in those same plebeians whom they had despised.

30Armand and Marguerite, both intellectual, thinking beings, adopted with the enthusiasm of their years the utopian doctrines of the Revolution, while the Marquis de Saint-Cyrs and his family fought inch by inch for the retention of those privileges which had placed them socially above their fellow-men.

31Marguerite, impulsive, thoughtless, not calculating the purport of her words, still smarting under the terrible insult her brother had suffered at the Marquis's hands, happened to hear, amongst her own coterie, that the Saint-Cyrs were in treasonable correspondence with Austria, hoping to obtain the Emperor's support to quell the growing revolution in their own country.

32In those days, one denunciation was sufficient.

33Marguerite's few thoughtless words anent the Marquis de Saint-Cyrs bore fruit within twenty-four hours.

34He was arrested.

35His papers were searched.

36Letters from the Austrian Emperor, promising to send troops against the Paris populace, were found in his desk.

37He was arraigned for treason against the nation, and sent to the guillotine, whilst his family, his wife and his sons, shared in this awful fate.

38Marguerite, horrified at the terrible consequences of her own thoughtlessness, was powerless to save the Marquis.

39His own coterie, his own coterie, her own coterie, the leaders of the revolutionary movement, all proclaimed her as a heroine.

40And when she married Sir Percy Blakeney, she did not, perhaps, altogether realise how severely he would look upon the sin which she had so inadvertently committed, and which still lay heavily upon her soul.

41She made full confession of it to her husband, trusting his blind love for her, her boundless power over him, to soon make him forget what might have sounded unpleasant to an English ear.

42Certainly, at the moment, he seemed to take it very quietly.

43Hardly, in fact, did he appear to understand the meaning of all she said.

44But what was more certain still, was that never after that could she detect the slightest sign of that love which she once believed had been wholly hers.

45Now they had drifted quite apart, and Sir Percy seemed to have laid aside his love for her, as he would an ill-fitting glove.

46She tried to rouse him by sharpening her ready wit against his dull intellect, endeavouring to excite his jealousy, if she could not rouse his love, tried to goad him to self-assertion, but all in vain.

47He remained the same, always passive, drawling, sleepy, always courteous, invariably a gentleman.

48She had all that the world and a wealthy husband can give to a pretty woman.

49Yet on this beautiful summer's evening, with the white sails of the daydream finally hidden by the evening shadows, she felt more lonely than that poor tramp who plodded his way wearily along the rugged cliffs.

50With another sigh, Marguerite Blakeney turned her back upon the sea and cliffs, and walked slowly back towards the fisherman's rest.

51As she drew near, the sound of revelry, of gay, jovial laughter, grew louder and more distinct.

52She could distinguish Sir Andrew Folk's pleasant voice, Lord Tony's boisterous guffaws, her husband's occasional drawly, sleepy comments.

53Then, realising the loneliness of the road and the fast-gathering gloom round her, she quickened her steps.

54The next moment she perceived a stranger coming rapidly towards her.

55Marguerite did not look up.

56She was not the least nervous, and the fisherman's rest was now well within core.

57The stranger paused when he saw Marguerite coming quickly towards him, and just as she was about to slip past him, he said very quietly, Citoyens sont justes.

58Marguerite uttered a little cry of astonishment at thus hearing her own familiar maiden name uttered so close to her.

59She looked up at the stranger, and this time, with a cry of unfeigned pleasure, she put out both her hands effusively towards him.

60"'Chauvelin!' she exclaimed.

61"'Himself, Citoyen, at your service,' said the stranger, gallantly kissing the tips of her fingers.

62Marguerite said nothing for a moment or two, as she surveyed with obvious delight the not very prepossessing little figure before her.

63Chauvelin was then nearer forty than thirty, a clever, shrewd-looking personality, with a curious fox-like expression in the deep, sunken eyes.

64He was the same stranger who, an hour or two previously, had joined Mr.

65Jellyband in a friendly glass of wine.

66"'Chauvelin, my friend,' said Marguerite, with a pretty little sigh of satisfaction, "'I am mightily pleased to see you.

67No doubt poor Marguerite Saint-Just, lonely in the midst of her grandeur and of her stardew friends, was happy to see a face that brought back memories of that happy time in Paris, when she reigned, a queen, over the intellectual coterie of the Rue de Richelieu.

68She did not notice the sarcastic little smile, however, that hovered round the thin lips of Chauvelin.

69"'But tell me,' she added merrily, "'what in the world—or whom in the world—are you doing here in England?' "'I might return the subtle compliment, fair lady,' he said.

70"'What of yourself?' "'Oh, aye,' she said, with a shrug of the shoulders.

71"'Je m'ennui, mon ami, that is all.'" They had reached the porch of the fisherman's rest, but Marguerite seemed loath to go within.

72The evening air was lovely after the storm, and she had found a friend who exhaled the breath of Paris, who knew Armand well, who could talk of all the merry, brilliant friends whom she had left behind.

73So she lingered on under the pretty porch, while through the gaily-lighted dormer window of the coffee-room, sounds of laughter, of calls for Sally and for beer, of tapping of mugs, and clinking of dice, mingled with Sir Percy Blakeney's inane and mirthless laugh.

74Chauvelin stood beside her, his shrewd, pale, yellow eyes fixed on the pretty face, which looked so sweet and childlike in this soft English summer twilight.

75"'You surprise me, citoyenne,' he said quietly, as he took a pinch of snuff.

76"'Do I now?' she retorted gaily.

77"'Faith, my little Chauvelin!

78I should have thought that, with your penetration, you would have guessed that an atmosphere composed of fogs and virtues would never suit Marguerite St.

79Juste.' "'Dear me!

80Is it as bad as that?' he asked, in mock consternation.

81"'Quite,' she retorted, "'and worse.' "'Strange.

82Now I thought that a pretty woman would have found English country life peculiarly attractive.' "'Yes, so did I,' she said with a sigh.

83"'Pretty women,' she added meditatively, "'ought to have a good time in England, since all the pleasant things are forbidden them, the very things they do every day.' "'Quite so.' "'You'll hardly believe it, my little Chauvelin,' she said earnestly.

84"'But I often pass a whole day—a whole day!

85without encountering a single temptation.' "'No wonder,' retorted Chauvelin gallantly, "'that the cleverest woman in Europe is troubled with ennui.' She laughed one of her melodious, rippling, childlike laughs.

86"'It must be pretty bad, mustn't it?' she asked archly.

87"'Or I should not have been so pleased to see you.' "'And this within a year of a romantic love-match.

88That's just the difficulty.' "'Ah!

89that idyllic folly,' said Chauvelin, with quiet sarcasm, "'did not then survive the lapse of—weeks?' "'Idyllic follies never last, my little Chauvelin.

90They come upon us like the measles, and are as easily cured.' Chauvelin took another pinch of snuff.

91He seemed very much addicted to that pernicious habit, so prevalent in those days.

92Perhaps, too, he found the taking of snuff a convenient veil for disguising the quick, shrewd glances with which he strove to read the very souls of those with whom he came in contact.

93"'No wonder,' he repeated, with the same gallantry, that the most active brain in Europe is troubled with ennui.

94"'I was in hopes that you had a prescription against the malady, my little Chauvelin.

95How can I hope to succeed in that which Sir Percy Blakeney has failed to accomplish?' "'Shall we leave Sir Percy out of the question for the present, my dear friend?' she said dryly.

96"'Ah, my dear lady, pardon me.

97But 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.

98"'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.

99The prescription I would offer, fair lady, is called by a very plebeian name—' "'Work!' "'Work!' Chauvelin looked at Marguerite long and scrutinizingly.

100It seemed as if those keen, pale eyes of his were reading every one of her thoughts.

101They were alone together.

102The evening air was quite still, and their soft whispers were drowned in the noise which came from the coffee-room.

103Still Chauvelin took a 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.

104"'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.

105"'La man,' she replied flippantly, "'how serious you look all of a sudden!

106Indeed, I do not know if I would render France a small service.

107At any rate, it depends upon the kind of service she—or you—want.'" "'Have you ever heard of the scarlet pimpernel, citoyen Saint-Just?' asked Chauvelin abruptly.

108"'Heard of the scarlet pimpernel,' she retorted, with a long and merry laugh.

109"'Faith, man, we talk of nothing else.

110We have hats a la scarlet pimpernel.

111Our horses are called scarlet pimpernel.

112At the Prince of Wales supper-party the other night, we had a soufflé a la scarlet pimpernel.

113Lunch,' she added gaily.

114"'The other day I ordered at my milliner's a blue dress trimmed with green, and bless me if she did not call that a la scarlet pimpernel.'" Chauvelin had not moved while she prattled merrily along.

115He did not even attempt to stop her when her musical voice and her childlike laugh went echoing through the still evening air.

116But he remained serious and earnest whilst she laughed, and his voice, clear, incisive, and hard, was not raised above his breath as he said, "'Then as you have heard of that enigmatic personage, citoyen, you must also have guessed, and know, that the man who hides his identity under that strange pseudonym is the most bitter enemy of our Republic of France, of men like Armand Saint-Just.'" "'Lah!' she said with a quaint little sigh.

117"'I dare swear he is.

118France has many bitter enemies these days.

119But you, citoyenne, are a daughter of France, and should be ready to help her in a moment of deadly peril.

120"'My brother Armand devotes his life to France,' she retorted proudly.

121"'As for me, I can do nothing here in England.'" "'Yes, you,' he urged still more earnestly, whilst his thin, fox-like face seems suddenly to have grown impressive and full of dignity.

122"'Here in England, citoyenne, you alone can help us.

123Listen.'" "'I have been sent over here by the Republican government as its representative.

124I present my credentials to Mr.

125Pitt in London to-morrow.

126One of my duties here is to find out all about this League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, which has become a standing menace to France, since it is pledged to help our cursed aristocrats, traitors to their country and enemies of the people, to escape from the just punishment which they deserve.

127You know as well as I do, citoyenne, that once they are over here, those French émigrés, try to rouse public feeling against the Republic.

128They are ready to join issue with any enemy bold enough to attack France.

129Now, within the last month, scores of these émigrés, some only suspected of treason, others actually condemned by the Tribunal of Public Safety, have succeeded in crossing the Channel.

130Their escape in each instance was planned, organized, and effected by this society of young English jackanaves, headed by a man whose brain seems as resourceful as his identity is mysterious.

131All the most strenuous efforts on the part of my spies have failed to discover who he is, whilst the others are the hands, he is the head, who beneath this strange anonymity calmly works at the destruction of France.

132I mean to strike at that head, and for this I want your help.

133Through him afterwards I can reach the rest of the gang.

134He is a young buck in English society, of that I feel sure.

135Find that man for me, citoyenne," he urged.

136Find him for France.

137Marguerite had listened to Chauvelin's impassioned speech without uttering a word, scarce making a movement, hardly daring to breathe.

138She had told him before that this mysterious hero of romance was the talk of the smart set to which she belonged.

139Already before this, her heart and her imagination had stirred by the thought of the brave man who, unknown to fame, had rescued hundreds of lives from a terrible, often unmerciful fate.

140She had but little real sympathy with those haughty French aristocrats, insolent in their pride of caste, of whom the Comtesse de Tournay de Bass-Rive was so typical an example.

141But, Republican and liberal-minded though she was from principle, she hated and loathed the methods which the young Republic had chosen for establishing itself.

142She had not been in Paris for some months.

143The horrors and blanchard of the reign of terror, culminating in the September massacres, had only come across the channel to her as a faint echo.

144Robespierre, Danton, Marat, she had not known in their new guise of bloody judiciaries, merciless wielders of the guillotine.

145Her very soul recoiled in horror from these excesses, to which she feared her brother Armand, moderate Republican as he was, might become one day the Holocaust.

146Then, when first she heard of this band of young English enthusiasts, who, for sheer love of their fellow-men, dragged women and children, old and young men, from a horrible death, her heart had glowed with pride for them.

147And now, as Chauvelin spoke, her very soul went out to the gallant and mysterious leader of the reckless little band, who risked his life daily, who gave it freely and without ostentation for the sake of humanity.

148Her eyes were moist when Chauvelin had finished speaking.

149The lace at her bosom rose and fell with her quick, excited breathing.

150She no longer heard the noise of drinking from the inn.

151She did not heed her husband's voice or his inane laugh.

152Her thoughts had gone wandering in search of the mysterious hero.

153Ah!

154here was a man she might have loved, had he come her way.

155Everything in him appealed to her romantic imagination—his personality, his strength, his bravery, the loyalty of those who served under him in that same noble cause, and, above all, that anonymity which crowned him as if with a halo of romantic glory.

156Find him for France, citoyenne!

157Chauvelin's voice, close to her ear, roused her from her dreams.

158The mysterious hero had vanished, and not twenty yards away from her, a man was drinking and laughing to whom she had sworn faith and loyalty.

159La man, she said, with a return of her assumed flippancy.

160You are astonishing!

161Where in the world am I to look for him?

162You go everywhere, citoyenne, whispered Chauvelin, insinuatingly.

163Lady Blakeney is the pivot of social London, so I am told.

164You see everything.

165You hear everything.

166Easy, my friend, retorted Marguerite, drawing herself up to her full height and looking down, with a slight thought of contempt on the small, thin figure before her.

167Easy!

168You seem to forget that there are six feet of Sir Percy Blakeney and a long line of ancestors to stand between Lady Blakeney and such a thing as you propose.

169For the sake of France, citoyenne!

170reiterated Chauvelin earnestly.

171Tush, man!

172you talk nonsense anyway!

173For even if you did know who this scarlet Pimpernel is, you could do nothing to him, an Englishman.

174I'd take my chance of that, said Chauvelin, with a dry, rasping little laugh.

175At any rate, we could send him to the guillotine first to cool his ardour.

176Then, when there is a diplomatic fuss about it, we can apologise humbly to the British government, and, if necessary, pay compensation to the bereaved family.

177We must have a good time to do it.

178We must have a good time to do it.

179We must have a good time to do it.

180We must have a good time to do it.

181We must have a good time to do it.

182We must have a good time to do it.

183We must have a good time to do it.

184We must have a good time to do it.

185We must have a good time to do it.

186We must have a good time to do it.

187We must have a good time to do it.

188We must have a good time to do it.

189Chauvelin, she said, speaking over her shoulder at him.

190But that is my last word.

191She threw open the coffee-room door and disappeared from his view.

192But he remained under the porch for a moment or two, taking a pinch of snuff.

193He had received a rebuke and a snub, but his shrewd, fox-like face looked neither abashed nor disappointed.

194On the contrary, a curious smile, half-sarcastic and wholly satisfied, played around the corners of his thin lips.

195End of chapter 8