The Scarlet Pimpernel

ical good-looking, well-born and well-bred Englishmen of that year of grace 1792, and the aristocratic French comtesse with her

riple caped coat. As he did so, he gave one quick glance all around him. Everyone was busy laughing and chatting, and he murmured the words "All safe!": his companion then, with the alertness bor

ent manoeuvre, but when the stranger finally closed the door of the c

!" said Lord An

d, and with the graceful affection peculiar to the t

nd. God bless him for his hospitality

Lord Antony and Sir Andrew as t

Sir Andrew, with solemnity. "May God protec

fortunate King of France, then a prisoner of his own people, seem

," said Lord Antony, merrily. "May we welco

a slightly trembling hand she conveyed her

e next few moments all conversation ceased, while Jellyband

eeing yourself, Mademoiselle Suzanne and my friend the Vicomte safely in Eng

se, with a heavy sigh, "I trust in

ns, but believe also a little in your English friends, who have sworn to bri

ssure you, has spread throughout the whole of France. The way some of my own friends have escaped from the clut

hands, Madame l

torn between my duty to him, and to them. They refused to go without me . . . and you and your friends assured me so solemnly that my husband would be safe. But, oh! now that I am here-amongst you

ad overmastered her rigid, aristocratic bearing. She was crying gently t

ce testified to that-but in every century, and ever since England has been what it is, an Englishman has always felt somewhat ashamed of his own emotion and of h

of brown curls across at Sir Andrew, "I trust you absolutely, and I KNOW that

pe and belief, that it seemed as if by magic to dry the

life is at your service, I have been but a humble tool in the ha

d vehemence that Suzanne's eyes fast

nd I did not think of that before! But tell me where is he? I must go to him at once, and I an

id Lord Antony, "t

sible?

k, and his identity is only known under the sol

th a merry laugh. "Why! what a droll name

s leader seemed literally to glow upon his face. "The Scarlet Pimpernel, Mademoiselle," he said at last "is the name of a humble English wayside flower; but it is also t

wer-red?-yes! They say in Paris that every time a royalist escapes to England that devil, Foucquier-Tinvi

so," assente

e received one su

oubt

rily. "I have heard that the picture of that littl

have many more opportunities of studyin

se, "it all sounds like a romance

ld you tr

nd risk your lives-for it is your lives you risk, Messieurs, when you set f

loud and pleasant voice; "we are a nation of sportsmen, you know, and just

r . . . you have a more noble motive

I love the game, for this is the finest sport I have yet encountered.-H

hem. Anyone found harbouring or assisting suspected royalists would be ruthlessly condemned and summarily executed, whatever his nationality might be. And this band of young Englishmen had, to her own knowledge, bearded the implacable and bloodthirsty tribunal of the Revolution, within the very walls of Paris itself, and had snatched away condemned victims, al

stood that they had been placed on the list of "suspected persons," which m

the parting from the Comte de Tournay, which had torn the poor wife's heart in two; the hope of reunion; the flight with her two chil

civil and religious liberty, and she closed her eyes to shut out the haunting vision of that

condemned, and these young Englishmen, under the guidance of their brave and mysterious leader,

ly told him that she thought that HE at any rate rescued his fellowmen from terrible and u

your brave league, Mons

and nineteen to obey. All of us Englishmen, and all pledged to

ll, Messieurs," said t

e that so f

ve, so devoted to your fellowmen-yet you are English!-and in Fra

ore bitter against us aristocrats than

through her melancholy eyes, "There was that woman, Marguerite St. Just for instance. She

tony, as he shot a quick and appreh

St. Just?-

e was a leading actress of the Comedie Francaise, and

ost fashionable woman in London-the wife of the richest

, "and we came over to England together to learn your language. I was very fo

at she actually denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr? Why should

There was some talk of a family feud between him and my cousin, the Marquis de St. Cyr. The St. Justs are quite plebeian,

. Sir Percy Blakeney, her husband, is a very wealthy man, of high social position, the intimate

quiet life in England, but I pray God that while I remain in

easily with his fork, whilst the Comtesse, encased in the plate-armour of her aristocratic prejudices, sat, rigid and unbending, in her straight-backed chair.

cy and Lady Blakeney?" he contrived

ord," whispered J

one or two shouts became distinguishable, then the rattle of horses' hoofs on the uneven cobble st

," he shouted at the top of his

upon the stones, a magnificent coach, drawn by four superb b