The Elusive Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy (feel good books to read .txt) 📗
- Author: Baroness Orczy
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“Nay, Sir Percy,” said Chauvelin, with a steady voice, “I have no thought that you will take flight just yet. … Methinks you desire conversation with me, or you had not paid me so unexpected a visit.”
“Nay, sir, the air is too oppressive for lengthy conversation … I was strolling along these ramparts, thinking of our pleasant encounter at the hour of the Angelus tomorrow … when this light attracted me … feared I had lost my way and climbed the window to obtain information.”
“As to your way to the nearest prison cell, Sir Percy?” queried Chauvelin drily.
“As to anywhere, where I could sit more comfortably than on this demmed sill. … It must be very dusty, and I vow ’tis terribly hard …”
“I presume, Sir Percy, that you did my colleague and myself the honour of listening to our conversation?”
“An you desired to talk secrets, Monsieur … er … Chaubertin … you should have shut this window … and closed this avenue of trees against the chance passerby.”
“What we said was no secret, Sir Percy. It is all over the town tonight.”
“Quite so … you were only telling the devil your mind … eh?”
“I had also been having conversation with Lady Blakeney. … Pray did you hear any of that, sir?”
But Sir Percy had evidently not heard the question, for he seemed quite absorbed in the task of removing a speck of dust from his immaculate chapeau-bras.
“These hats are all the rage in England just now,” he said airily, “but they have had their day, do you not think so, Monsieur? When I return to town, I shall have to devote my whole mind to the invention of a new headgear …”
“When will you return to England, Sir Percy?” queried Chauvelin with good-natured sarcasm.
“At the turn of the tide tomorrow eve, Monsieur,” replied Blakeney.
“In company with Lady Blakeney?”
“Certainly, sir … and yours if you will honour us with your company.”
“If you return to England tomorrow, Sir Percy, Lady Blakeney, I fear me, cannot accompany you.”
“You astonish me, sir,” rejoined Blakeney with an exclamation of genuine and unaffected surprise. “I wonder now what would prevent her?”
“All those whose death would be the result of her flight, if she succeeded in escaping from Boulogne …”
But Sir Percy was staring at him, with wide open eyes expressive of utmost amazement.
“Dear, dear, dear. … Lud! but that sounds most unfortunate …”
“You have not heard of the measures which I have taken to prevent Lady Blakeney quitting this city without our leave?”
“No, Monsieur Chaubertin … no … I have heard nothing …” rejoined Sir Percy blandly. “I lead a very retired life when I come abroad and …”
“Would you wish to hear them now?”
“Quite unnecessary, sir, I assure you … and the hour is getting late …”
“Sir Percy, are you aware of the fact that unless you listen to what I have to say, your wife will be dragged before the Committee of Public Safety in Paris within the next twenty-four hours?” said Chauvelin firmly.
“What swift horses you must have, sir,” quoth Blakeney pleasantly. “Lud! to think of it! … I always heard that these demmed French horses would never beat ours across country.”
But Chauvelin now would not allow himself to be ruffled by Sir Percy’s apparent indifference. Keen reader of emotions as he was, he had not failed to note a distinct change in the drawly voice, a sound of something hard and trenchant in the flippant laugh, ever since Marguerite’s name was first mentioned. Blakeney’s attitude was apparently as careless, as audacious as before, but Chauvelin’s keen eyes had not missed the almost imperceptible tightening of the jaw and the rapid clenching of one hand on the sword hilt even whilst the other toyed in graceful idleness with the filmy Mechlin lace cravat.
Sir Percy’s head was well thrown back, and the pale rays of the moon caught the edge of the clear-cut profile, the low massive brow, the drooping lids through which the audacious plotter was lazily regarding the man who held not only his own life, but that of the woman who was infinitely dear to him, in the hollow of his hand.
“I am afraid, Sir Percy,” continued Chauvelin drily, “that you are under the impression that bolts and bars will yield to your usual good luck, now that so precious a life is at stake as that of Lady Blakeney.”
“I am a greate believer in impressions, Monsieur Chauvelin.”
“I told her just now that if she quitted Boulogne ere the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our hands, we should summarily shoot one member of every family in the town—the breadwinner.”
“A pleasant conceit, Monsieur … and one that does infinite credit to your inventive faculties.”
“Lady Blakeney, therefore, we hold safely enough,” continued Chauvelin, who no longer heeded the mocking observations of his enemy; “as for the Scarlet Pimpernel …”
“You have but to ring a bell, to raise a voice, and he too will be under lock and key within the next two minutes, eh? … Passons, Monsieur … you are dying to say something further … I pray you proceed … your engaging countenance is becoming quite interesting in its seriousness.”
“What I wish to say to you, Sir Percy, is in the nature of a proposed bargain.”
“Indeed? … Monsieur, you are full of surprises … like a pretty woman. … And pray what are the terms of this proposed bargain?”
“Your side of the bargain, Sir Percy, or mine? Which will you hear first?”
“Oh yours, Monsieur … yours, I pray you. … Have I not said that you are like a pretty woman? … Place aux dames, sir! always!”
“My share of the bargain, sir, is simple enough: Lady Blakeney, escorted by yourself and any of your friends who might be in this city at the time, shall leave Boulogne harbour at sunset tomorrow, free and unmolested, if you on the other hand will do your share …”
“I don’t yet know
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