Chauvelin, without speaking, extended his hand out towards the city asif to invite Marguerite to gaze upon it.
She was quite unconscious what hour of the night it might be, but itmust have been late, for the little town, encircled by the stony armsof its forts, seemed asleep. The moon, now slowly sinking in the west,edged the towers and spires with filmy lines of silver. To the rightMarguerite caught sight of the frowning Beffroi, which even as she gazedout began tolling its heavy bell. It sounded like the tocsin, dull andmuffled. After ten strokes it was still.
Ten o'clock! At this hour in far-off England, in fashionable London, theplay was just over, crowds of gaily dressed men and women poured out ofthe open gates of the theatres calling loudly for attendant or chaise.Thence to balls or routs, gaily fluttering like so many butterflies,brilliant and irresponsible....
And in England also, in the beautiful gardens of her Richmond home,ofttimes at ten o'clock she had wandered alone with Percy, when he wasat home, and the spirit of adventure in him momentarily laid to rest.Then, when the night was very dark and the air heavy with the scent ofroses and lilies, she lay quiescent in his arms in that little arbourbeside the river. The rhythmic lapping of the waves was the only soundthat stirred the balmy air. He seldom spoke then, for his voice wouldshake whenever he uttered a word: but his impenetrable armour offlippancy was pierced through and he did not speak because his lips werepressed to hers, and his love had soared beyond the domain of speech.
A shudder of intense mental pain went through her now as she gazed onthe sleeping city, and sweet memories of the past turned to bitternessin this agonizing present. One by one as the moon gradually disappearedbehind a bank of clouds, the towers of Boulogne were merged in thegloom. In front of her far, far away, beyond the flat sand dunes, thesea seemed to be calling to her with a ghostly and melancholy moan.
The window was on the ground floor of the Fort, and gave direct onto thewide and shady walk which runs along the crest of the city walls; fromwhere she stood Marguerite was looking straight along the ramparts, somethirty metres wide at this point, flanked on either side by the granitebalustrade, and adorned with a double row of ancient elms stunted andtwisted into grotesque shapes by the persistent action of the wind.
"These wide ramparts are a peculiarity of this city..." said a voiceclose to her ear, "at times of peace they form an agreeable promenadeunder the shade of the trees, and a delightful meeting-place forlovers... or enemies...."
The sound brought her back to the ugly realities of the present: therose-scented garden at Richmond, the lazily flowing river, the tendermemories which for that brief moment had confronted her from out a happypast, suddenly vanished from her ken. Instead of these the brine-ladensea-air struck her quivering nostrils, the echo of the old Beffroi diedaway in her ear, and now from out one of the streets or open places ofthe sleeping city there came the sound of a raucous voice, shooting inmonotonous tones a string of words, the meaning of which failed to reachher brain.
Not many feet below the window, the southern ramparts of the townstretched away into the darkness. She felt unaccountably cold suddenlyas she looked down upon them and, with aching eyes, tried to pierce thegloom. She was shivering in spite of the mildness of this earlyautumnal night: her overwrought fancy was peopling the lonely wallswith unearthly shapes strolling along, discussing in spectral language astrange duel which was to take place here between a noted butcher of menand a mad Englishman overfond of adventure.
The ghouls seemed to pass and repass along in front of her and to belaughing audibly because that mad Englishman had been offered his lifein exchange for his honour. They laughed and laughed, no doubt becausehe refused the bargain--Englishmen were always eccentric, and in thesedays of equality and other devices of a free and glorious revolution,honour was such a very marketable commodity that it seemed ridiculous toprize it quite so highly. Then they strolled away again and disappeared,whilst Marguerite distinctly heard the scrunching of the path beneaththeir feet. She leant forward to peer still further into the darkness,for this sound had seemed so absolutely real, but immediately adetaining hand was place upon her arm and a sarcastic voice murmured ather elbow:
"The result, fair lady, would only be a broken leg or arm; the height isnot great enough for picturesque suicides, and believe me these rampartsare only haunted by ghosts."
She drew back as if a viper had stung her; for the moment she had becomeoblivious of Chauvelin's presence. However, she would not take noticeof his taunt, and, after a slight pause, he asked her if she could hearthe town crier over in the public streets.
"Yes," she replied.
"What he says at this present moment is of vast importance to yourladyship," he remarked drily.
"How so?"
"Your ladyship is a precious hostage. We are taking measures to guardour valuable property securely."
Marguerite thought of the Abbe Foucquet, who no doubt was still quietlytelling his beads, even if in his heart he had begun to wonder what hadbecome of her. She thought of Francois, who was the breadwinner, and ofFelicite, who was blind.
"Methinks you and your colleagues have done that already," she said.
"Not as completely as we would wish. We know the daring of the ScarletPimpernel. We are not even ashamed to admit that we fear his luck, hisimpudence and his marvellous ingenuity.... Have I not told you that Ihave the greatest possible respect for that mysterious English hero....An old priest and two young children might be spirited away by thatenigmatical adventurer, even whilst Lady Blakeney herself is made tovanish from our sight."
"Ah! I see your ladyship is taking my simple words as a confessionof weakness," he continued, noting the swift sigh of hope which hadinvoluntarily escaped her lips. "Nay! and it please you, you shalldespise me for it. But a confession of weakness is the first sign ofstrength. The Scarlet Pimpernel is still at large, and whilst we guardour hostage securely, he is bound to fall into our hands."
"Aye! still at large!" she retorted with impulsive defiance. "Thinkyou that all your bolts and bars, the ingenuity of yourself and yourcolleagues, the collaboration of the devil himself, would succeed inoutwitting the Scarlet Pimpernel, now that his purpose will be to tryand drag ME from out your clutches."
She felt hopeful and proud. Now that she had the pure air of heaven inher lungs, that from afar she could smell the sea, and could feelthat perhaps in a straight line of vision from where she stood, the"Day-Dream" with Sir Percy on board, might be lying out there in theroads, it seemed impossible that he should fail in freeing her and thosepoor people--an old man and two children--whose lives depended on herown.
But Chauvelin only laughed a dry, sarcastic laugh and said:
"Hm! perhaps not!... It of course will depend on you and yourpersonality... your feelings in such matters... and whether an Englishgentleman likes to save his own skin at the expense of others."
Marguerite shivered as if from cold.
"Ah! I see," resumed Chauvelin quietly, "that your ladyship has notquite grasped the position. That public crier is a long way off: thewords have lingered on the evening breeze and have failed to reach yourbrain. Do you suppose that I and my colleagues do not know that all theingenuity of which the Scarlet Pimpernel is capable will now be directedin piloting Lady Blakeney, and incidentally the Abbe Foucquet with hisnephew and niece, safely across the Channel! Four people!... Bah! abagatelle, for this mighty conspirator, who but lately snatched twentyaristocrats from the prisons of Lyons.... Nay! nay! two children andan old man were not enough to guard our precious hostage, and I was notthinking of either the Abbe Foucquet or of the two children, when Isaid that an English gentleman would not save himself at the expense ofothers."
"Of whom then were you thinking, Monsieur Chauvelin? Whom else have youset to guard the prize which you value so highly?"
"The whole city of Boulogne," he replied simply.
"I do not understand."
"Let me make my point clear. My colleague, Citizen Collot d'Herbois,rode
over from Paris yesterday; like myself he is a member of theCommittee of Public Safety whose duty it is to look after the welfareof France by punishing all those who conspire against her laws and theliberties of the people. Chief among these conspirators, whom it is ourduty to punish is, of course, that impudent adventurer who calls himselfthe Scarlet Pimpernel. He has given the government of France a greatdeal of trouble through his attempts--mostly successful, as I havealready admitted,--at frustrating the just vengeance which an oppressedcountry has the right to wreak on those who have proved themselves to betyrants and traitors."
"Is it necessary to recapitulate all this, Monsieur Chauvelin?" sheasked impatiently.
"I think so," he replied blandly. "You see, my point is this. We feelthat in a measure now the Scarlet Pimpernel is in our power. Within thenext few hours he will land at Boulogne... Boulogne, where he has agreedto fight a duel with me... Boulogne, where Lady Blakeney happens tobe at this present moment... as you see, Boulogne has a greatresponsibility to bear: just now she is to a certain extent the proudestcity in France, since she holds within her gates a hostage for theappearance on our shores of her country's most bitter enemy. But shemust not fall from that high estate. Her double duty is clear beforeher: she must guard Lady Blakeney and capture the Scarlet Pimpernel;if she fail in the former she must be punished, if she succeed in thelatter she shall be rewarded."
He paused and leaned out of the window again, whilst she watched him,breathless and terrified. She was beginning to understand.
"Hark!" he said, looking straight at her. "Do you hear the crier now? Heis proclaiming the punishment and the reward. He is making it clearto the citizens of Boulogne that on the day when the Scarlet Pimpernelfalls into the hands of the Committee of Public Safety a general amnestywill be granted to all natives of Boulogne who are under arrest at thepresent time, and a free pardon to all those who, born within thesecity walls, are to-day under sentence of death.... A noble reward, eh?well-deserved you'll admit.... Should you wonder then if the whole townof Boulogne were engaged just now in finding that mysterious hero, anddelivering him into our hands?... How many mothers, sisters, wives,think you, at the present moment, would fail to lay hands on the Englishadventurer, if a husband's or a son's life or freedom happened to beat stake?... I have some records there," he continued, pointing in thedirection of the table, "which tell me that there are five and thirtynatives of Boulogne in the local prisons, a dozen more in the prisonsof Paris; of these at least twenty have been tried already and arecondemned to death. Every hour that the Scarlet Pimpernel succeeds inevading his captors so many deaths lie at his door. If he succeeds inonce more reaching England safely three score lives mayhap will be theprice of his escape.... Nay! but I see your ladyship is shivering withcold..." he added with a dry little laugh, "shall I close the window? ordo you wish to hear what punishment will be meted out to Boulogne, if onthe day that the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured, Lady Blakeney happens tohave left the shelter of these city walls?"
"I pray you proceed, Monsieur," she rejoined with perfect calm.
"The Committee of Public Safety," he resumed, "would look upon this cityas a nest of traitors if on the day that the Scarlet Pimpernel becomesour prisoner Lady Blakeney herself, the wife of that notorious Englishspy, had already quitted Boulogne. The whole town knows by now that youare in our hands--you, the most precious hostage we can hold for theultimate capture of the man whom we all fear and detest. Virtually thetown-crier is at the present moment proclaiming to the inhabitants ofthis city: 'We want that man, but we already have his wife, see to it,citizens, that she does not escape! for if she do, we shall summarilyshoot the breadwinner in every family in the town!'"
A cry of horror escaped Marguerite's parched lips.
"Are you devils then, all of you," she gasped, "that you should think ofsuch things?"
"Aye! some of us are devils, no doubt," said Chauvelin drily; "but whyshould you honour us in this case with so flattering an epithet? We aremere men striving to guard our property and mean no harm to the citizensof Boulogne. We have threatened them, true! but is it not for youand that elusive Pimpernel to see that the threat is never put intoexecution?"
"You would not do it!" she repeated, horror-stricken.
"Nay! I pray you, fair lady, do not deceive yourself. At present theproclamation sounds like a mere threat, I'll allow, but let me assureyou that if we fail to capture the Scarlet Pimpernel and if you onthe other hand are spirited out of this fortress by that mysteriousadventurer we shall undoubtedly shoot or guillotine every able-bodiedman and woman in this town."
He had spoken quietly and emphatically, neither with bombast, nor withrage, and Marguerite saw in his face nothing but a calm and ferociousdetermination, the determination of an entire nation embodied in thisone man, to be revenged at any cost. She would not let him see the depthof her despair, nor would she let him read in her face the unutterablehopelessness which filled her soul. It were useless to make an appealto him: she knew full well that from him she could obtain neithergentleness nor mercy.
"I hope at last I have made the situation quite clear to your ladyship?"he was asking quite pleasantly now. "See how easy is your position: youhave but to remain quiescent in room No. 6, and if any chance of escapebe offered you ere the Scarlet Pimpernel is captured, you need but tothink of all the families of Boulogne, who would be deprived of theirbreadwinner--fathers and sons mostly, but there are girls too, whosupport their mothers or sisters; the fish curers of Boulogne are mostlywomen, and there are the net-makers and the seamstresses, all wouldsuffer if your ladyship were no longer to be found in No. 6 room of thisancient fort, whilst all would be included in the amnesty if the ScarletPimpernel fell into our hands..."
He gave a low, satisfied chuckle which made Marguerite think of the evilspirits in hell exulting over the torments of unhappy lost souls.
"I think, Lady Blakeney," he added drily and making her an ironical bow,"that your humble servant hath outwitted the elusive hero at last."
Quietly he turned on his heel and went back into the room, Margueriteremaining motionless beside the open window, where the soft, brine-ladenair, the distant murmur of the sea, the occasional cry of a sea-mew, allseemed to mock her agonizing despair.
The voice of the town-crier came nearer and nearer now: she could hearthe words he spoke quite distinctly: something about "amnesty" andpardon, the reward for the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, the livesof men, women and children in exchange for his.
Oh! she knew what all that meant! that Percy would not hesitate onesingle instant to throw his life into the hands of his enemies, inexchange for that of others. Others! others! always others! thissigh that had made her heart ache so often in England, what terriblesignificance it bore now!
And how he would suffer in his heart and in his pride, because of herwhom he could not even attempt to save since it would mean the death ofothers! of others, always of others!
She wondered if he had already landed in Boulogne! Again she rememberedthe vision on the landing stage: his massive figure, the glimpse she hadof the loved form, in the midst of the crowd!
The moment he entered the town he would hear the proclamation read, seeit posted up no doubt on every public building, and realize that she hadbeen foolish enough to follow him, that she was a prisoner and that hecould do nothing to save her.
What would he do? Marguerite at the thought instinctively pressed herhands to her heart, the agony of it all had become physically painful.She hoped that perhaps this pain meant approaching death! oh! how easywould this simple solution be!
The moon peered out from beneath the bank of clouds which had obscuredher for so long; smiling, she drew her pencilled silver lines along theedge of towers and pinnacles, the frowning Beffroi and those stony wallswhich seemed to Marguerite as if they encircled a gigantic graveyard.
The town-crier had evidently ceased to read the proclamation. One byone the windows in the public square were lighted up from within. Thecitizens of
Boulogne wanted to think over the strange events which hadoccurred without their knowledge, yet which were apparently to have suchdireful or such joyous consequences for them.
A man to be captured! the mysterious English adventurer of whom theyhad all heard, but whom nobody had seen. And a woman--his wife--to beguarded until the man was safely under lock and key.
Marguerite felt as if she could almost hear them talking it over andvowing that she should not escape, and that the Scarlet Pimpernel shouldsoon be captured.
A gentle wind stirred the old gnarled trees on the southern ramparts, awind that sounded like the sigh of swiftly dying hope.
What could Percy do now? His hands were tied, and he was inevitablydestined to endure the awful agony of seeing the woman he loved die aterrible death beside him.
Having captured him, they would not keep him long; no necessity for atrial, for detention, for formalities of any kind. A summary executionat dawn on the public place, a roll of drums, a public holiday to markthe joyful event, and a brave man will have ceased to live, a nobleheart have stilled its beatings forever, whilst a whole nation gloriedover the deed.
"Sleep, citizens of Boulogne! all is still!"
The night watchman had replaced the town-crier. All was quiet withinthe city walls: the inhabitants could sleep in peace, a beneficentgovernment was wakeful and guarding their rest.
But many of the windows of the town remained lighted up, and at a littledistance below her, round the corner so that she could not see it, asmall crowd must have collected in front of the gateway which led intothe courtyard of the Gayole Fort. Marguerite could hear a persistentmurmur of voices, mostly angry and threatening, and once there were loudcries of: "English spies," and "a la lanterne!"
"The citizens of Boulogne are guarding the treasures of France!"commented Chauvelin drily, as he laughed again, that cruel, mirthlesslaugh of his.
Then she roused herself from her torpor: she did not know how long shehad stood beside the open window, but the fear seized her that that manmust have seen and gloated over the agony of her mind. She straightenedher graceful figure, threw back her proud head defiantly, and quietlywalked up to the table, where Chauvelin seemed once more absorbed in theperusal of his papers.
"Is this interview over?" she asked quietly, and without the slightesttremor in her voice. "May I go now?"
"As soon as you wish," he replied with gentle irony.
He regarded her with obvious delight, for truly she was beautiful: grandin this attitude of defiant despair. The man, who had spent the lasthalf-hour in martyrizing her, gloried over the misery which he hadwrought, and which all her strength of will could not entirely banishfrom her face.
"Will you believe me, Lady Blakeney?" he added, "that there is nopersonal animosity in my heart towards you or your husband? Have I nottold you that I do not wish to compass his death?"
"Yet you propose to send him to the guillotine as soon as you have laidhands on him."
"I have explained to you the measures which I have taken in order tomake sure that we DO lay hands on the Scarlet Pimpernel. Once he is inour power, it will rest with him to walk to the guillotine or to embarkwith you on board his yacht."
"You propose to place an alternative before Sir Percy Blakeney?"
"Certainly."
"To offer him his life?"
"And that of his charming wife."
"In exchange for what?"
"His honour."
"He will refuse, Monsieur."
"We shall see."
Then he touched a handbell which stood on the table, and within a fewseconds the door was opened and the soldier who had led Margueritehither, re-entered the room.
The interview was at an end. It had served its purpose. Marguerite knewnow that she must not even think of escape for herself, or hope forsafety for the man she loved. Of Chauvelin's talk of a bargain whichwould touch Percy's honour she would not even think: and she was tooproud to ask anything further from him.
Chauvelin stood up and made her a deep bow, as she crossed the room andfinally went out of the door. The little company of soldiers closed inaround her and she was once more led along the dark passages, back toher own prison cell.
Chapter XXIV: Colleagues