The Elusive Pimpernel [36]
of danger, as it had been in the time of triumph.
She smiled and passed out of his sight, preceded by Desiree Candeille, who, escorted by one of the gentlemen, had become singularly silent and subdued.
In the little room now there only remained a few men. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had taken the precaution of closing the door after the ladies had gone.
Then His Royal Highness turned once more to Monsieur Chauvelin and said with an obvious show of indifference:
"Faith, Monsieur! meseems we are all enacting a farce, which can have no final act. I vow that I cannot allow my friend Blakeney to go over to France at your bidding. Your government now will not allow my father's subjects to land on your shores without a special passport, and then only for a specific purpose."
"La, your Royal Highness," interposed Sir Percy, "I pray you have no fear for me on that score. My engaging friend here has--an I mistake not- -a passport ready for me in the pocket of his sable-hued coat, and as we are hoping effectually to spit one another over there ... gadzooks! but there's the specific purpose. ... Is it not true, sir," he added, turning once more to Chauvelin, "that in the pocket of that exquisitely cut coat of yours, you have a passport --name in blank perhaps--which you had specially designed for me?"
It was so carelessly, so pleasantly said, that no one save Chauvelin guessed the real import of Sir Percy's words. Chauvelin, of course, knew their inner meaning: he understood that Blakeney wished to convey to him the fact that he was well aware that the whole scene to-night had been prearranged, and that it was willingly and with eyes wide open that he walked into the trap which the revolutionary patriot had so carefully laid for him.
"The passport will be forthcoming in due course, sir," retorted Chauvelin evasively, "when our seconds have arranged all formalities."
"Seconds be demmed, sir," rejoined Sir Percy placidly, "you do not propose, I trust, that we travel a whole caravan to France."
"Time, place and conditions must be settled, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin; "you are too accomplished a cavalier, I feel sure, to wish to arrange such formalities yourself."
"Nay! neither you nor I, Monsieur ... er ... Chauvelin," quoth Sir Percy blandly, "could, I own, settle such things with persistent good-humour; and good-humour in such cases is the most important of all formalities. Is it not so?"
"Certainly, Sir Percy."
"As for seconds? Perish the thought. One second only, I entreat, and that one a lady--the most adorable--the most detestable-- the most true-- the most fickle amidst all her charming sex. ... Do you agree, sir?"
"You have not told me her name, Sir Percy?"
"Chance, Monsieur, Chance. ... With His Royal Highness' permission let the wilful jade decide."
"I do not understand."
"Three throws of the dice, Monsieur. ... Time ... Place ... Conditions, you said--three throws and the winner names them. ... Do you agree?"
Chauvelin hesitated. Sir Percy's bantering mood did not quite fit in with his own elaborate plans, moreover the ex-ambassador feared a pitfall of some sort, and did not quite like to trust to this arbitration of the dice- box.
He turned, quite involuntarily, in appeal to the Prince of Wales and the other gentlemen present.
But the Englishman of those days was a born gambler. He lived with the dice-box in one pocket and a pack of cards in the other. The Prince himself was no exception to this rule, and the first gentleman in England was the most avowed worshipper of Hazard in the land.
"Chance, by all means," quoth His Highness gaily.
"Chance! Chance!" repeated the others eagerly.
In the midst of so hostile a crowd, Chauvelin felt it unwise to resist. Moreover, one second's reflection had already assured him that this throwing of the dice could not seriously interfere with the success of his plans. If the meeting took place at all--and Sir Percy now had gone too far to draw back--then of necessity it would have to take place in France.
The question
She smiled and passed out of his sight, preceded by Desiree Candeille, who, escorted by one of the gentlemen, had become singularly silent and subdued.
In the little room now there only remained a few men. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had taken the precaution of closing the door after the ladies had gone.
Then His Royal Highness turned once more to Monsieur Chauvelin and said with an obvious show of indifference:
"Faith, Monsieur! meseems we are all enacting a farce, which can have no final act. I vow that I cannot allow my friend Blakeney to go over to France at your bidding. Your government now will not allow my father's subjects to land on your shores without a special passport, and then only for a specific purpose."
"La, your Royal Highness," interposed Sir Percy, "I pray you have no fear for me on that score. My engaging friend here has--an I mistake not- -a passport ready for me in the pocket of his sable-hued coat, and as we are hoping effectually to spit one another over there ... gadzooks! but there's the specific purpose. ... Is it not true, sir," he added, turning once more to Chauvelin, "that in the pocket of that exquisitely cut coat of yours, you have a passport --name in blank perhaps--which you had specially designed for me?"
It was so carelessly, so pleasantly said, that no one save Chauvelin guessed the real import of Sir Percy's words. Chauvelin, of course, knew their inner meaning: he understood that Blakeney wished to convey to him the fact that he was well aware that the whole scene to-night had been prearranged, and that it was willingly and with eyes wide open that he walked into the trap which the revolutionary patriot had so carefully laid for him.
"The passport will be forthcoming in due course, sir," retorted Chauvelin evasively, "when our seconds have arranged all formalities."
"Seconds be demmed, sir," rejoined Sir Percy placidly, "you do not propose, I trust, that we travel a whole caravan to France."
"Time, place and conditions must be settled, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin; "you are too accomplished a cavalier, I feel sure, to wish to arrange such formalities yourself."
"Nay! neither you nor I, Monsieur ... er ... Chauvelin," quoth Sir Percy blandly, "could, I own, settle such things with persistent good-humour; and good-humour in such cases is the most important of all formalities. Is it not so?"
"Certainly, Sir Percy."
"As for seconds? Perish the thought. One second only, I entreat, and that one a lady--the most adorable--the most detestable-- the most true-- the most fickle amidst all her charming sex. ... Do you agree, sir?"
"You have not told me her name, Sir Percy?"
"Chance, Monsieur, Chance. ... With His Royal Highness' permission let the wilful jade decide."
"I do not understand."
"Three throws of the dice, Monsieur. ... Time ... Place ... Conditions, you said--three throws and the winner names them. ... Do you agree?"
Chauvelin hesitated. Sir Percy's bantering mood did not quite fit in with his own elaborate plans, moreover the ex-ambassador feared a pitfall of some sort, and did not quite like to trust to this arbitration of the dice- box.
He turned, quite involuntarily, in appeal to the Prince of Wales and the other gentlemen present.
But the Englishman of those days was a born gambler. He lived with the dice-box in one pocket and a pack of cards in the other. The Prince himself was no exception to this rule, and the first gentleman in England was the most avowed worshipper of Hazard in the land.
"Chance, by all means," quoth His Highness gaily.
"Chance! Chance!" repeated the others eagerly.
In the midst of so hostile a crowd, Chauvelin felt it unwise to resist. Moreover, one second's reflection had already assured him that this throwing of the dice could not seriously interfere with the success of his plans. If the meeting took place at all--and Sir Percy now had gone too far to draw back--then of necessity it would have to take place in France.
The question