And gradually all noises died away around the old Fort Gayole. Theshouts and laugher of the merrymakers, who had quickly recovered fromtheir fright, now came only as the muffled rumble of a distant storm,broken here and there by the shrill note of a girl's loud laughter, or avigorous fanfare from the brass trumpets.
The room where so much turmoil had taken place, where so many hearts hadbeaten with torrent-like emotions, where the awesome tragedy of revengeand hate, of love and passion had been consummated, was now silent andat peace.
The soldiers had gone: some in pursuit of the revellers, some withCollot d'Herbois, others with Hebert and the calotin who was to ring theAngelus.
Chauvelin, overcome with the intensity of his exultation and the agonyof the suspense which he had endured, sat, vaguely dreaming, hardlyconscious, but wholly happy and content. Fearless, too, for his triumphwas complete, and he cared not now if he lived or died.
He had lived long enough to see the complete annihilation and dishonourof his enemy.
What had happened to Sir Percy Blakeney now, what to Marguerite, heneither knew nor cared. No doubt the Englishman had picked himself upand got away through the window or the door: he would be anxious to gethis wife out of the town as quickly as possible. The Angelus wouldring directly, the gates would be opened, the harbour made free toeveryone....
And Collot was a league outside Boulogne by now... a league nearer toParis.
So what mattered the humbled wayside English flower?--the damaged andwithered Scarlet Pimpernel?...
A slight noise suddenly caused him to start. He had been dreaming, nodoubt, having fallen into some kind of torpor, akin to sleep, after thedeadly and restless fatigue of the past four days. He certainly had beenunconscious of everything around him, of time and of place. But now hefelt fully awake.
And again he heard that slight noise, as if something or someone wasmoving in the room.
He tried to peer into the darkness, but could distinguish nothing.He rose and went to the door. It was still open, and close behind itagainst the wall a small oil lamp was fixed which lit up the corridor.
Chauvelin detached the lamp and came back with it into the room. Justas he did so there came to his ears the first sound of the little churchbell ringing the Angelus.
He stepped into the room holding the lamp high above his head; itsfeeble rays fell full upon the brilliant figure of Sir Percy Blakeney.
He was smiling pleasantly, bowing slightly towards Chauvelin, and in hishand he held the sheathed sword, the blade of which had been fashionedin Toledo for Lorenzo Cenci, and the fellow of which was lyingnow--Chauvelin himself knew not where.
"The day and hour, Monsieur, I think," said Sir Percy with courtlygrace, "when you and I are to cross swords together; those are thesouthern ramparts, meseems. Will you precede, sir? and I will follow."
At sight of this man, of his impudence and of his daring, Chauvelin feltan icy grip on his heart. His cheeks became ashen white, his thin lipsclosed with a snap, and the hand which held the lamp aloft trembledvisibly. Sir Percy stood before him, still smiling and with a gracefulgesture pointing towards the ramparts.
From the Church of St. Joseph the gentle, melancholy tones of theAngelus sounding the second Ave Maria came faintly echoing in theevening air.
With a violent effort Chauvelin forced himself to self-control,and tried to shake off the strange feeling of obsession which hadoverwhelmed him in the presence of this extraordinary man. He walkedquite quietly up to the table and placed the lamp upon it. As in a flashrecollection had come back to him.. the past few minutes!... the letter!and Collot well on his way to Paris!
Bah! he had nothing to fear now, save perhaps death at the hand of thisadventurer turned assassin in his misery and humiliation!
"A truce on this folly, Sir Percy," he said roughly, "as you well know,I had never any intention of fighting you with these poisoned swords ofyours and..."
"I knew that, M. Chauvelin.... But do YOU know that I have the intentionof killing you now... as you stand... like a dog!..."
And throwing down the sword with one of those uncontrolled outbursts ofalmost animal passion, which for one instant revealed the real, innerman, he went up to Chauvelin and towering above him like a greatavenging giant, he savoured for one second the joy of looking down onthat puny, slender figure which he could crush with sheer brute force,with one blow from his powerful hands.
But Chauvelin at this moment was beyond fear.
"And if you killed me now, Sir Percy," he said quietly and looking theman whom he so hated fully in the eyes, "you could not destroy thatletter which my colleague is taking to Paris at this very moment."
As he had anticipated, his words seemed to change Sir Percy's mood inan instant. The passion in the handsome, aristocratic face faded ina trice, the hard lines round the jaw and lips relaxed, the fire ofrevenge died out from the lazy blue eyes, and the next moment a long,loud, merry laugh raised the dormant echoes of the old fort.
"Nay, Monsieur Chaubertin," said Sir Percy gaily, "but this ismarvellous... demmed marvellous... do you hear that, m'dear?...Gadzooks! but 'tis the best joke I have heard this pasttwelve-months.... Monsieur here thinks... Lud! but I shall die oflaughing.... Monsieur here thinks... that 'twas that demmed letter whichwent to Paris... and that an English gentleman lay scuffling on thefloor and allowed a letter to be filched from him..."
"Sir Percy!..." gasped Chauvelin, as an awful thought seemed suddenly toflash across his fevered brain.
"Lud, sir, you are astonishing!" said Sir Percy, taking a very muchcrumpled sheet of paper from the capacious pocket of his elegant capedcoat, and holding it close to Chauvelin's horror-stricken gaze. "THIS isthe letter which I wrote at that table yonder in order to gain time andin order to fool you.... But, by the Lord, you are a bigger demmed foolthan ever I took you to be, if you thought it would serve any otherpurpose save that of my hitting you in the face with it."
And with a quick and violent gesture he struck Chauvelin full in theface with the paper.
"You would like to know, Monsieur Chaubertin, would you not?..." headded pleasantly, "what letter it is that your friend, Citizen Collot,is taking in such hot haste to Paris for you.... Well! the letter isnot long and 'tis written in verse.... I wrote it myself upstairs to-daywhilst you thought me sodden with brandy and three-parts asleep. Butbrandy is easily flung out of the window.... Did you think I drank itall?... Nay! as you remember, I told you that I was not so drunk as youthought?... Aye! the letter is writ in English verse, Monsieur, and itreads thus:
"We seek him here! we seek him there! Those Frenchies seek himeverywhere! Is he in heaven? is he in hell? That demmed elusivePimpernel?
"A neat rhyme, I fancy, Monsieur, and one which will, if rightlytranslated, greatly please your friend and ruler, CitizenRobespierre.... Your colleague Citizen Collot is well on his way toParis with it by now. ... No, no, Monsieur... as you rightly said justnow... I really could not kill you... God having blessed me with thesaving sense of humour..."
Even as he spoke the third Ave Maria of the Angelus died away on themorning air. From the harbour the old Chateau there came the loud boomof cannon.
The hour of the opening of the gates, of the general amnesty and freeharbour was announced throughout Boulogne.
Chauvelin was livid with rage, fear and baffled revenge. He made asudden rush for the door in a blind desire to call for help, but SirPercy had toyed long enough with his prey. The hour was speeding on:Hebert and some of the soldiers might return, and it was time to thinkof safety and of flight. Quick as a hunted panther, he had interposedhis tall figure between his enemy and the latter's chance of calling foraid, then, seizing the little man by the shoulders, he pushed him backinto that portion of the room where Marguerite and the Abbe Foucquet hadbeen lately sitting.
The gag, with cloth and cord, which had been intended for a woman werelying on the ground close by, just where Hebert had dropped them, whenhe marched the old Abbe off to the Church.
> With quick and dexterous hands, Sir Percy soon reduced Chauvelin toan impotent and silent bundle. The ex-ambassador after four days ofharrowing nerve-tension, followed by so awful a climax, was weakenedphysically and mentally, whilst Blakeney, powerful, athletic and alwaysabsolutely unperturbed, was fresh in body and spirit. He had sleptcalmly all the afternoon, having quietly thought out all his plans, leftnothing to chance, and acted methodically and quickly, and invariablywith perfect repose.
Having fully assured himself that the cords were well fastened, the gagsecure and Chauvelin completely helpless, he took the now inert mass upin his arms and carried it into the adjoining room, where Marguerite fortwelve hours had endured a terrible martyrdom.
He laid his enemy's helpless form upon the couch, and for one momentlooked down on it with a strange feeling of pity quite unmixed withcontempt. The light from the lamp in the further room struck vaguelyupon the prostrate figure of Chauvelin. He seemed to have lostconsciousness, for the eyes were closed, only the hands, which were tiedsecurely to his body, had a spasmodic, nervous twitch in them.
With a good-natured shrug of the shoulders the imperturbable Sir Percyturned to go, but just before he did so, he took a scrap of paper fromhis waistcoat pocket, and slipped it between Chauvelin's tremblingfingers. On the paper were scribbled the four lines of verse which inthe next four and twenty hours Robespierre himself and his colleagueswould read.
Then Blakeney finally went out of the room.
Chapter XXXV: Marguerite