The Elusive Pimpernel [72]
should escape her throat, he,--like a snail that has shown its slimy horns too soon, and is not ready to face the enemy as yet,--seemed suddenly to withdraw within his former shell of careless suavity. The earnestness of his tone vanished, giving place to light and easy conversation, just as if he were discussing social topics with a woman of fashion in a Paris drawing-room.
"Nay!" he said pleasantly, "is not your ladyship taking this matter in too serious a spirit? Of a truth you repeated my innocent word "unless" even as if I were putting knife at your dainty throat. Yet I meant naught that need disturb you yet. Have I not said that I am your friend? Let me try and prove it to you."
"You will find that a difficult task, Monsieur," she said drily.
"Difficult tasks always have had a great fascination for your humble servant. May I try?"
"Certainly."
"Shall we then touch at the root of this delicate matter? Your ladyship, so I understand, is at this moment under the impression that I desire to encompass--shall I say?--the death of an English gentleman for whom, believe me, I have the greatest respect. That is so, is it not?"
"What is so, M. Chauvelin?" she asked almost stupidly, for truly she had not even begun to grasp his meaning. "I do not understand."
"You think that I am at this moment taking measures for sending the Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine? Eh?"
"I do."
"Never was so great an error committed by a clever woman. Your ladyship must believe me when I say that the guillotine is the very last place in the world where I would wish to see that enigmatic and elusive personage."
"Are you trying to fool me, M. Chauvelin? If so, for what purpose? And why do you lie to me like that?"
"On my honour, 'tis the truth. The death of Sir Percy Blakeney-- I may call him that, may I not?--would ill suit the purpose which I have in view."
"What purpose? You must pardon me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she added with a quick, impatient sigh, "but of a truth I am getting confused, and my wits must have become dull in the past few days. I pray to you to add to your many protestations of friendship a little more clearness in your speech and, if possible, a little more brevity. What then is the purpose which you had in view when you enticed my husband to come over to France?"
"My purpose was the destruction of the Scarlet Pimpernel, not the death of Sir Percy Blakeney. Believe me, I have a great regard for Sir Percy. He is a most accomplished gentleman, witty, brilliant, an inimitable dandy. Why should he not grace with his presence the drawing-rooms of London or of Brighton for many years to come?"
She looked at him with puzzled inquiry. For one moment the thought flashed through her mind that, after all, Chauvelin might be still in doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. ... But no! that hope was madness. ... It was preposterous and impossible. ... But then, why? why? why? ... Oh God! for a little more patience!
"What I have just said may seem a little enigmatic to your ladyship," he continued blandly, "but surely so clever a woman as yourself, so great a lady as is the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, will be aware that there are other means of destroying an enemy than the taking of his life."
"For instance, Monsieur Chauvelin?"
"There is the destruction of his honour," he replied slowly.
A long, bitter laugh, almost hysterical in its loud outburst, broke from the very depths of Marguerite's convulsed heart.
"The destruction of his honour! ... ha! ha! ha! ha! ... of a truth, Monsieur Chauvelin, your inventive powers have led you beyond the bounds of dreamland! ... Ha! ha! ha! ha! ... It is in the land of madness that you are wandering, sir, when you talk in one breath of Sir Percy Blakeney and the possible destruction of his honour!"
But he remained apparently quite unruffled, and when her laughter had somewhat subsided, he said placidly:
"Perhaps! ..."
Then he rose from his chair, and once more approached her. This time she did not shrink from him. The suggestion
"Nay!" he said pleasantly, "is not your ladyship taking this matter in too serious a spirit? Of a truth you repeated my innocent word "unless" even as if I were putting knife at your dainty throat. Yet I meant naught that need disturb you yet. Have I not said that I am your friend? Let me try and prove it to you."
"You will find that a difficult task, Monsieur," she said drily.
"Difficult tasks always have had a great fascination for your humble servant. May I try?"
"Certainly."
"Shall we then touch at the root of this delicate matter? Your ladyship, so I understand, is at this moment under the impression that I desire to encompass--shall I say?--the death of an English gentleman for whom, believe me, I have the greatest respect. That is so, is it not?"
"What is so, M. Chauvelin?" she asked almost stupidly, for truly she had not even begun to grasp his meaning. "I do not understand."
"You think that I am at this moment taking measures for sending the Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine? Eh?"
"I do."
"Never was so great an error committed by a clever woman. Your ladyship must believe me when I say that the guillotine is the very last place in the world where I would wish to see that enigmatic and elusive personage."
"Are you trying to fool me, M. Chauvelin? If so, for what purpose? And why do you lie to me like that?"
"On my honour, 'tis the truth. The death of Sir Percy Blakeney-- I may call him that, may I not?--would ill suit the purpose which I have in view."
"What purpose? You must pardon me, Monsieur Chauvelin," she added with a quick, impatient sigh, "but of a truth I am getting confused, and my wits must have become dull in the past few days. I pray to you to add to your many protestations of friendship a little more clearness in your speech and, if possible, a little more brevity. What then is the purpose which you had in view when you enticed my husband to come over to France?"
"My purpose was the destruction of the Scarlet Pimpernel, not the death of Sir Percy Blakeney. Believe me, I have a great regard for Sir Percy. He is a most accomplished gentleman, witty, brilliant, an inimitable dandy. Why should he not grace with his presence the drawing-rooms of London or of Brighton for many years to come?"
She looked at him with puzzled inquiry. For one moment the thought flashed through her mind that, after all, Chauvelin might be still in doubt as to the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. ... But no! that hope was madness. ... It was preposterous and impossible. ... But then, why? why? why? ... Oh God! for a little more patience!
"What I have just said may seem a little enigmatic to your ladyship," he continued blandly, "but surely so clever a woman as yourself, so great a lady as is the wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, will be aware that there are other means of destroying an enemy than the taking of his life."
"For instance, Monsieur Chauvelin?"
"There is the destruction of his honour," he replied slowly.
A long, bitter laugh, almost hysterical in its loud outburst, broke from the very depths of Marguerite's convulsed heart.
"The destruction of his honour! ... ha! ha! ha! ha! ... of a truth, Monsieur Chauvelin, your inventive powers have led you beyond the bounds of dreamland! ... Ha! ha! ha! ha! ... It is in the land of madness that you are wandering, sir, when you talk in one breath of Sir Percy Blakeney and the possible destruction of his honour!"
But he remained apparently quite unruffled, and when her laughter had somewhat subsided, he said placidly:
"Perhaps! ..."
Then he rose from his chair, and once more approached her. This time she did not shrink from him. The suggestion