El Dorado: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy (best smutty novels .txt) 📗

help you here on Sunday. I am entirely at your service... here or anywhere in Paris... but I cannot leave this city... at any rate, not just yet....”

Blakeney was apparently satisfied at last with the result of his polishing operations. He rose, gave a slight yawn, and turned toward the door.

“Good night, my dear fellow,” he said pleasantly; “it is time we were all abed. I am so demmed fatigued.”

“Percy!” exclaimed the young man hotly.

“Eh? What is it?” queried the other lazily.

“You are not going to leave me like this—without a word?”

“I have said a great many words, my good fellow. I have said ‘good night,’ and remarked that I was demmed fatigued.”

He was standing beside the door which led to his bedroom, and now he pushed it open with his hand.

“Percy, you cannot go and leave me like this!” reiterated Armand with rapidly growing irritation.

“Like what, my dear fellow?” queried Sir Percy with good-humoured impatience.

“Without a word—without a sign. What have I done that you should treat me like a child, unworthy even of attention?”

Blakeney had turned back and was now facing him, towering above the slight figure of the younger man. His face had lost none of its gracious air, and beneath their heavy lids his eyes looked down not unkindly on his friend.

“Would you have preferred it, Armand,” he said quietly, “if I had said the word that your ears have heard even though my lips have not uttered it?”

“I don’t understand,” murmured Armand defiantly.

“What sign would you have had me make?” continued Sir Percy, his pleasant voice falling calm and mellow on the younger man’s supersensitive consciousness: “That of branding you, Marguerite’s brother, as a liar and a cheat?”

“Blakeney!” retorted the other, as with flaming cheeks and wrathful eyes he took a menacing step toward his friend; “had any man but you dared to speak such words to me—”

“I pray to God, Armand, that no man but I has the right to speak them.”

“You have no right.”

“Every right, my friend. Do I not hold your oath?... Are you not prepared to break it?”

“I’ll not break my oath to you. I’ll serve and help you in every way you can command... my life I’ll give to the cause... give me the most dangerous—the most difficult task to perform.... I’ll do it—I’ll do it gladly.”

“I have given you an over-difficult and dangerous task.”

“Bah! To leave Paris in order to engage horses, while you and the others do all the work. That is neither difficult nor dangerous.”

“It will be difficult for you, Armand, because your head is not sufficiently cool to foresee serious eventualities and to prepare against them. It is dangerous, because you are a man in love, and a man in love is apt to run his head—and that of his friends—blindly into a noose.”

“Who told you that I was in love?”

“You yourself, my good fellow. Had you not told me so at the outset,” he continued, still speaking very quietly and deliberately and never raising his voice, “I would even now be standing over you, dog-whip in hand, to thrash you as a defaulting coward and a perjurer .... Bah!” he added with a return to his habitual bonhomie, “I would no doubt even have lost my temper with you. Which would have been purposeless and excessively bad form. Eh?”

A violent retort had sprung to Armand’s lips. But fortunately at that very moment his eyes, glowing with anger, caught those of Blakeney fixed with lazy good-nature upon his. Something of that irresistible dignity which pervaded the whole personality of the man checked Armand’s hotheaded words on his lips.

“I cannot leave Paris to-morrow,” he reiterated more calmly.

“Because you have arranged to see her again?”

“Because she saved my life to-day, and is herself in danger.”

“She is in no danger,” said Blakeney simply, “since she saved the life of my friend.”

“Percy!”

The cry was wrung from Armand St. Just’s very soul. Despite the tumult of passion which was raging in his heart, he was conscious again of the magnetic power which bound so many to this man’s service. The words he had said—simple though they were—had sent a thrill through Armand’s veins. He felt himself disarmed. His resistance fell before the subtle strength of an unbendable will; nothing remained in his heart but an overwhelming sense of shame and of impotence.

He sank into a chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. Blakeney went up to him and placed a kindly hand upon his shoulder.

“The difficult task, Armand,” he said gently.

“Percy, cannot you release me? She saved my life. I have not thanked her yet.”

“There will be time for thanks later, Armand. Just now over yonder the son of kings is being done to death by savage brutes.”

“I would not hinder you if I stayed.”

“God knows you have hindered us enough already.”

“How?”

“You say she saved your life... then you were in danger... Heron and his spies have been on your track; your track leads to mine, and I have sworn to save the Dauphin from the hands of thieves.... A man in love, Armand, is a deadly danger among us.... Therefore at daybreak you must leave Paris with Hastings on your difficult and dangerous task.”

“And if I refuse?” retorted Armand.

“My good fellow,” said Blakeney earnestly, “in that admirable lexicon which the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel has compiled for itself there is no such word as refuse.”

“But if I do refuse?” persisted the other.

“You would be offering a tainted name and tarnished honour to the woman you pretend to love.”

“And you insist upon my obedience?”

“By the oath which I hold from you.”

“But this is cruel—inhuman!”

“Honour, my good Armand, is often cruel and seldom human. He is a godlike taskmaster, and we who call ourselves men are all of us his slaves.”

“The tyranny comes from you alone. You could release me an you would.”

“And to gratify the selfish desire of immature passion, you would wish to see me jeopardise the life of those who place