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The Scarlet Pimpernel
By Baroness Orczy

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Never for a moment did Marguerite Blakeney hesitate. The last
sounds outside the "Chat Gris" had died away in the night. She had
heard Desgas giving orders to his men, and then starting off towards
the fort, to get a reinforcement of a dozen more men: six were not
thought sufficient to capture the cunning Englishman, whose
resourceful brain was even more dangerous than his valour and his

Then a few minutes later, she heard the Jew's husky voice
again, evidently shouting to his nag, then the rumble of wheels, and
noise of a rickety cart bumping over the rough road.

Inside the inn, everything was still. Brogard and his wife,
terrified of Chauvelin, had given no sign of life; they hoped to be
forgotten, and at any rate to remain unperceived: Marguerite could not
even hear their usual volleys of muttered oaths.

She waited a moment or two longer, then she quietly slipped
down the broken stairs, wrapped her dark cloak closely round her and
slipped out of the inn.

The night was fairly dark, sufficiently so at any rate to hide
her dark figure from view, whilst her keen ears kept count of the
sound of the cart going on ahead. She hoped by keeping well within
the shadow of the ditches which lined the road, that she would not be
seen by Desgas' men, when they approached, or by the patrols, which
she concluded were still on duty.

Thus she started to do this, the last stage of her weary
journey, alone, at night, and on foot. Nearly three leagues to
Miquelon, and then on to the Pere Blanchard's hut, wherever that fatal
spot might be, probably over rough roads: she cared not.

The Jew's nag could not get on very fast, and though she was
wary with mental fatigue and nerve strain, she knew that she could
easily keep up with it, on a hilly road, where the poor beast, who was
sure to be half-starved, would have to be allowed long and frequent
rests. The road lay some distance from the sea, bordered on either
side by shrubs and stunted trees, sparsely covered with meagre foliage,
all turning away from the North, with their branches looking in the
semi-darkness, like stiff, ghostly hair, blown by a perpetual wind.

Fortunately, the moon showed no desire to peep between the
clouds, and Marguerite hugging the edge of the road, and keeping close
to the low line of shrubs, was fairly safe from view. Everything
around her was so still: only from far, very far away, there came like
a long soft moan, the sound of the distant sea.

The air was keen and full of brine; after that enforced period
of inactivity, inside the evil-smelling, squalid inn, Marguerite would
have enjoyed the sweet scent of this autumnal night, and the distant
melancholy rumble of the autumnal night, and the distant melancholy
rumble of the waves; she would have revelled in the calm and stillness
of this lonely spot, a calm, broken only at intervals by the strident
and mournful cry of some distant gull, and by the creaking of the
wheels, some way down the road: she would have loved the cool
atmosphere, the peaceful immensity of Nature, in this lonely part of
the coast: but her heart was too full of cruel foreboding, of a great
ache and longing for a being who had become infinitely dear to her.

Her feet slipped on the grassy bank, for she thought it safest
not to walk near the centre of the road, and she found it difficult to
keep up a sharp pace along the muddy incline. She even thought it
best not to keep too near to the cart; everything was so still, that
the rumble of the wheels could not fail to be a safe guide.

The loneliness was absolute. Already the few dim lights of
Calais lay far behind, and on this road there was not a sign of human
habitation, not even the hut of a fisherman or of a woodcutter
anywhere near; far away on her right was the edge of the cliff, below
it the rough beach, against which the incoming tide was dashing itself
with its constant, distant murmur. And ahead the rumble of the
wheels, bearing an implacable enemy to his triumph.

Marguerite wondered at what particular spot, on this lonely
coast, Percy could be at this moment. Not very far surely, for he had
had less than a quarter of an hour's start of Chauvelin. She wondered
if he knew that in this cool, ocean-scented bit of France, there
lurked many spies, all eager to sight his tall figure, to track him to
where his unsuspecting friends waited for him, and then, to close the
net over him and them.

Chauvelin, on ahead, jolted and jostled in the Jew's vehicle,
was nursing comfortable thoughts. He rubbed his hands together, with
content, as he thought of the web which he had woven, and through
which that ubiquitous and daring Englishman could not hope to escape.
As the time went on, and the old Jew drove him leisurely but surely
along the dark road, he felt more and more eager for the grand finale
of this exciting chase after the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel.
The capture of the audacious plotter would be the finest leaf
in Citoyen Chauvelin's wreath of glory. Caught, red-handed, on the
spot, in the very act of aiding and abetting the traitors against the
Republic of France, the Englishman could claim no protection from his
own country. Chauvelin had, in any case, fully made up his mind that
all intervention should come too late.

Never for a moment did the slightest remorse enter his heart,
as to the terrible position in which he had placed the unfortunate
wife, who had unconsciously betrayed her husband. As a matter of
fact, Chauvelin had ceased even to think of her: she had been a useful
tool, that was all.

The Jew's lean nag did little more than walk. She was going
along at a slow jog trot, and her driver had to give her long and
frequent halts.

"Are we a long way yet from Miquelon?" asked Chauvelin from
time to time.

"Not very far, your Honour," was the uniform placid reply.

"We have not yet come across your friend and mine, lying in a
heap in the roadway," was Chauvelin's sarcastic comment.

"Patience, noble Excellency," rejoined the son of Moses, "they
are ahead of us. I can see the imprint of the cart wheels, driven by
that traitor, that son of the Amalekite."

"You are sure of the road?"

"As sure as I am of the presence of those ten gold pieces in
the noble Excellency's pockets, which I trust will presently be mine."

"As soon as I have shaken hands with my friend the tall
stranger, they will certainly be yours."

"Hark, what was that?" said the Jew suddenly.

Through the stillness, which had been absolute, there could
now be heard distinctly the sound of horses' hoofs on the muddy road.

"They are soldiers," he added in an awed whisper.

"Stop a moment, I want to hear," said Chauvelin.

Marguerite had also heard the sound of galloping hoofs, coming
towards the cart and towards herself. For some time she had been on
the alert thinking that Desgas and his squad would soon overtake them,
but these came from the opposite direction, presumably from Miquelon.
The darkness lent her sufficient cover. She had perceived that the
cart had stopped, and with utmost caution, treading noiselessly on the
soft road, she crept a little nearer.

Her heart was beating fast, she was trembling in every limb;
already she had guessed what news these mounted men would bring.
"Every stranger on these roads or on the beach must be shadowed,
especially if he be tall or stoops as if he would disguise his height;
when sighted a mounted messenger must at once ride back and report."
Those had been Chauvelin's orders. Had then the tall stranger been
sighted, and was this the mounted messenger, come to bring the great
news, that the hunted hare had run its head into the noose at last?"

Marguerite, realizing that the cart had come to a standstill,
managed to slip nearer to it in the darkness; she crept close up,
hoping to get within earshot, to hear what the messenger had to say.

She heard the quick words of challenge--

"Liberte, Fraternite, Egalite!" then Chauvelin's quick query:--

"What news?"

Two men on horseback had halted beside the vehicle.

Marguerite could see them silhouetted against the midnight
sky. She could hear their voices, and the snorting of their horses,
and now, behind her, some little distance off, the regular and
measured tread of a body of advancing men: Desgas and his soldiers.

There had been a long pause, during which, no doubt, Chauvelin
satisfied the men as to his identity, for presently, questions and
answers followed each other in quick succession.

"You have seen the stranger?" asked Chauvelin, eagerly.

"No, citoyen, we have seen no tall stranger; we came by the
edge of the cliff."


"Less than a quarter of a league beyond Miquelon, we came
across a rough construction of wood, which looked like the hut of a
fisherman, where he might keep his tools and nets. When we first
sighted it, it seemed to be empty, and, at first we thought that there
was nothing suspicious about, until we saw some smoke issuing through
an aperture at the side. I dismounted and crept close to it. It was
then empty, but in one corner of the hut, there was a charcoal fire,
and a couple of stools were also in the hut. I consulted with my
comrades, and we decided that they should take cover with the horses,
well out of sight, and that I should remain on the watch, which I did."

"Well! and did you see anything?"

"About half an hour later, I heard voices, citoyen, and
presently, two men came along towards the edge of the cliff; they
seemed to me to have come from the Lille Road. One was young, the
other quite old. They were talking in a whisper, to one another, and
I could not hear what they said."
One was young, and the other quite old. Marguerite's aching
heart almost stopped beating as she listened: was the young one
Armand?--her brother?--and the old one de Tournay--were they the two
fugitives who, unconsciously, were used as a decoy, to entrap their
fearless and noble rescuer.

"The two men presently went into the hut," continued the
soldier, whilst Marguerite's aching nerves seemed to catch the sound
of Chauvelin's triumphant chuckle, "and I crept nearer to it then.
The hut is very roughly built, and I caught snatches of their

"Yes?--Quick!--What did you hear?"

"The old man asked the young one if he were sure that was
right place. `Oh, yes,' he replied, `'tis the place sure enough,' and
by the light of the charcoal fire he showed to his companion a paper,
which he carried. `Here is the plan,' he said, `which he gave me
before I left London. We were to adhere strictly to that plan, unless
I had contrary orders, and I have had none. Here is the road we
followed, see. . .here the fork. . .here we cut across the St. Martin
Road. . .and here is the footpath which brought us to the edge of the
cliff.' I must have made a slight noise then, for the young man came
to the door of the hut, and peered anxiously all round him. When he
again joined his companion, they whispered so low, that I could no
longer hear them."

"Well?--and?" asked Chauvelin, impatiently.

"There were six of us altogether, patrolling that part of the
beach, so we consulted together, and thought it best that four should
remain behind and keep the hut in sight, and I and my comrade rode
back at once to make report of what we had seen."

"You saw nothing of the tall stranger?"

"Nothing, citoyen."

"If your comrades see him, what would they do?"

"Not lose sight of him for a moment, and if he showed signs of
escape, or any boat came in sight, they would close in on him, and, if
necessary, they would shoot: the firing would bring the rest of the
patrol to the spot. In any case they would not let the stranger go."

"Aye! but I did not want the stranger hurt--not just yet,"
murmured Chauvelin, savagely, "but there, you've done your best. The
Fates grant that I may not be too late. . . ."

"We met half a dozen men just now, who have been patrolling
this road for several hours."


"They have seen no stranger either."
"Yet he is on ahead somewhere, in a cart or else. . .Here!
there is not a moment to lose. How far is that hut from here?"

"About a couple of leagues, citoyen."

"You can find it again?--at once?--without hesitation?"

"I have absolutely no doubt, citoyen."

"The footpath, to the edge of the cliff?--Even in the dark?"

"It is not a dark night, citoyen, and I know I can find my
way," repeated the soldier firmly.

"Fall in behind then. Let your comrade take both your horses back
to Calais. You won't want them. Keep beside the cart, and direct
the Jew to drive straight ahead; then stop him, within a quarter of
a league of the footpath; see that he takes the most direct road."

Whilst Chauvelin spoke, Desgas and his men were fast
approaching, and Marguerite could hear their footsteps within a
hundred yards behind her now. She thought it unsafe to stay where she
was, and unnecessary too, as she had heard enough. She seemed
suddenly to have lost all faculty even for suffering: her heart, her
nerves, her brain seemed to have become numb after all these hours of
ceaseless anguish, culminating in this awful despair.

For now there was absolutely not the faintest hope. Within
two short leagues of this spot, the fugitives were waiting for their
brave deliverer. He was on his way, somewhere on this lonely road,
and presently he would join them; then the well-laid trap would close,
two dozen men, led by one whose hatred was as deadly as his cunning
was malicious, would close round the small band of fugitives, and
their daring leader. They would all be captured. Armand, according
to Chauvelin's pledged word would be restored to her, but her husband,
Percy, whom with every breath she drew she seemed to love and worship
more and more, he would fall into the hands of a remorseless enemy,
who had no pity for a brave heart, no admiration for the courage of a
noble soul, who would show nothing but hatred for the cunning
antagonist, who had baffled him so long.

She heard the soldier giving a few brief directions to the
Jew, then she retired quickly to the edge of the road, and cowered
behind some low shrubs, whilst Desgas and his men came up.

All fell in noiselessly behind the cart, and slowly they all
started down the dark road. Marguerite waited until she reckoned that
they were well outside the range of earshot, then, she too in the
darkness, which suddenly seemed to have become more intense, crept
noiselessly along.



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