I Will Repay - Baroness Orczy (animal farm read TXT) 📗

“Three things,” he continued quietly; “an imprisoned Queen, about to be tried for her life, the temperament of a Frenchman⁠—some of them⁠—and the idiocy of mankind generally. These three things make me think that a certain section of hotheaded Republicans with yourself, my dear Déroulède, en tête, are about to attempt the most stupid, senseless, purposeless thing that was ever concocted by the excitable brain of a demmed Frenchman.”

Déroulède smiled.

“Does it not seem amusing to you, Blakeney, that you should sit there and condemn anyone for planning mad, insane, senseless things.”

“La! I’ll not sit, I’ll stand!” rejoined Blakeney with a laugh, as he drew himself up to his full height, and stretched his long, lazy limbs. “And now let me tell you, friend, that my League of The Scarlet Pimpernel never attempted the impossible, and to try and drag the Queen out of the clutches of these murderous rascals now, is attempting the unattainable.”

“And yet we mean to try.”

“I know it. I guessed it, that is why I came: that is also why I sent a pleasant little note to the Committee of Public Safety, signed with the device they know so well: The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

“Well?”

“Well! the result is obvious. Robespierre, Danton, Tinville, Merlin, and the whole of the demmed murderous crowd, will be busy looking after me⁠—a needle in a haystack. They’ll put the abortive attempt down to me, and you may⁠—ma foi! I only suggest that you may escape safely out of France⁠—in the Daydream, and with the help of your humble servant.”

“But in the meanwhile they’ll discover you, and they’ll not let you escape a second time.”

“My friend! if a terrier were to lose his temper, he never would run a rat to earth. Now your Revolutionary Government has lost its temper with me, ever since I slipped through Chauvelin’s fingers; they are blind with their own fury, whilst I am perfectly happy and cool as a cucumber. My life has become valuable to me, my friend. There is someone over the water now who weeps when I don’t return⁠—No! no! never fear⁠—they’ll not get The Scarlet Pimpernel this journey⁠—”

He laughed, a gay, pleasant laugh, and his strong, firm face seemed to soften at thought of the beautiful wife, over in England, who was waiting anxiously for his safe return.

“And yet you’ll not help us to rescue the Queen?” rejoined Déroulède, with some bitterness.

“By every means in my power,” replied Blakeney, “save the insane. But I will help to get you all out of the demmed hole, when you have failed.”

“We’ll not fail,” asserted the other hotly.

Sir Percy Blakeney went close up to his friend and placed his long, slender hand, with a touch of almost womanly tenderness upon the latter’s shoulder.

“Will you tell me your plans?”

In a moment Déroulède was all fire and enthusiasm.

“There are not many of us in it,” he began, “although half France will be in sympathy with us. We have plenty of money, of course, and also the necessary disguise for the royal lady.”

“Yes?”

“I, in the meanwhile, have asked for and obtained the post of Governor of the Conciergerie; I go into my new quarters tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I am making arrangements for my mother and⁠—and those dependent upon me to quit France immediately.”

Blakeney had perceived the slight hesitation when Déroulède mentioned those dependent upon him. He looked scrutinisingly at his friend, who continued quickly:

“I am still very popular among the people. My family can go about unmolested. I must get them out of France, however, in case⁠—in case⁠—”

“Of course,” rejoined the other simply.

“As soon as I am assured that they are safe, my friends and I can prosecute our plans. You see the trial of the Queen has not yet been decided on, but I know that it is in the air. We hope to get her away, disguised in one of the uniforms of the National Guard. As you know, it will be my duty to make the final round every evening in the prison, and to see that everything is safe for the night. Two fellows watch all night, in the room next to that occupied by the Queen. Usually they drink and play cards all night long. I want an opportunity to drug their brandy, and thus to render them more loutish and idiotic than usual; then for a blow on the head that will make them senseless. It should be easy, for I have a strong fist, and after that⁠—”

“Well? After that, friend?” rejoined Sir Percy earnestly, “after that? Shall I fill in the details of the picture?⁠—the guard twenty-five strong outside the Conciergerie, how will you pass them?”

“I as the Governor, followed by one of my guards⁠—”

“To go whither?”

“I have the right to come and go as I please.”

“I’ faith! so you have, but ‘one of your guards’⁠—eh? Wrapped to the eyes in a long mantle to hide the female figure beneath. I have been in Paris but a few hours, and yet already I have realised that there is not one demmed citizen within its walls, who does not at this moment suspect some other demmed citizen of conniving at the Queen’s escape. Even the sparrows on the housetops are objects of suspicion. No figure wrapped in a mantle will from this day forth leave Paris unchallenged.”

“But you yourself, friend?” suggested Déroulède. “You think you can quit Paris unrecognised⁠—then why not the Queen?”

“Because she is a woman, and has been a queen. She has nerves, poor soul, and weaknesses of body and of mind now. Alas for her! Alas for France! who wreaks such idle vengeance on so poor an enemy? Can you take hold of Marie Antoinette by the shoulders, shove her into the bottom of a cart and pile sacks of potatoes on the top of her? I did that to the Comtesse de Tournai and her daughter, as stiff-necked a pair of French aristocrats as ever deserved the guillotine for their insane prejudices.