"If all turns out well," retorted Chauvelin with a show of contempt, "and if you will write the exact letter which I shall dictate, we might even give you that guarantee."
"The quality of your mercy, sir, pa.s.ses belief."
"Then I pray you write. Which of your followers will have the honour of the communication?"
"My brother-in-law, Armand St. Just; he is still in Paris, I believe. He can let the others know."
Chauvelin made no immediate reply. He paused awhile, hesitating. Would Sir Percy Blakeney be ready--if his own safety demanded it--to sacrifice the man who had betrayed him? In the momentous "either--or" that was to be put to him, by-and-by, would he choose his own life and leave Armand St. Just to perish? It was not for Chauvelin--or any man of his stamp--to judge of what Blakeney would do under such circ.u.mstances, and had it been a question of St. Just alone, mayhap Chauvelin would have hesitated still more at the present juncture.
But the friend as hostage was only destined to be a minor leverage for the final breaking-up of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel through the disgrace of its chief. There was the wife--Marguerite Blakeney--sister of St. Just, joint and far more important hostage, whose very close affection for her brother might prove an additional trump card in that handful which Chauvelin already held.
Blakeney paid no heed seemingly to the other"s hesitation. He did not even look up at him, but quietly drew pen and paper towards him, and made ready to write.
"What do you wish me to say?" he asked simply.
"Will that young blackguard answer your purpose, citizen Chauvelin?"
queried Heron roughly.
Obviously the same doubt had crossed his mind. Chauvelin quickly re-a.s.sured him.
"Better than any one else," he said firmly. "Will you write at my dictation, Sir Percy?
"I am waiting to do so, my dear sir."
"Begin your letter as you wish, then; now continue."
And he began to dictate slowly, watching every word as it left Blakeney"s pen.
""I cannot stand my present position any longer. Citizen Heron, and also M. Chauvelin--" Yes, Sir Percy, Chauvelin, not Chambertin ... C, H, A, U, V, E, L, I, N.... That is quite right-- "have made this prison a perfect h.e.l.l for me.""
Sir Percy looked up from his writing, smiling.
"You wrong yourself, my dear M. Chambertin!" he said; "I have really been most comfortable."
"I wish to place the matter before your friends in as indulgent a manner as I can," retorted Chauvelin dryly.
"I thank you, sir. Pray proceed."
"... a perfect h.e.l.l for me,"" resumed the other. "Have you that? ...
"and I have been forced to give way. To-morrow we start from here at dawn; and I will guide citizen Heron to the place where he can find the Dauphin. But the authorities demand that one of my followers, one who has once been a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, shall accompany me on this expedition. I therefore ask you"--or "desire you"
or "beg you"--whichever you prefer, Sir Percy..."
""Ask you" will do quite nicely. This is really very interesting, you know."
"... "to be prepared to join the expedition. We start at dawn, and you would be required to be at the main gate of the house of Justice at six o"clock precisely. I have an a.s.surance from the authorities that your life should be in-violate, but if you refuse to accompany me, the guillotine will await me on the morrow.""
""The guillotine will await me on the morrow." That sounds quite cheerful, does it not, M. Chambertin?" said the prisoner, who had not evinced the slightest surprise at the wording of the letter whilst he wrote at the other"s dictation. "Do you know, I quite enjoyed writing this letter; it so reminded me of happy days in Boulogne."
Chauvelin pressed his lips together. Truly now he felt that a retort from him would have been undignified, more especially as just at this moment there came from the guard room the sound of men"s voices talking and laughing, the occasional clang of steel, or of a heavy boot against the tiled floor, the rattling of dice, or a sudden burst of laughter--sounds, in fact, that betokened the presence of a number of soldiers close by.
Chauvelin contented himself with a nod in the direction of the guard-room.
"The conditions are somewhat different now," he said placidly, "from those that reigned in Boulogne. But will you not sign your letter, Sir Percy?"
"With pleasure, sir," responded Blakeney, as with an elaborate flourish of the pen he appended his name to the missive.
Chauvelin was watching him with eyes that would have shamed a lynx by their keenness. He took up the completed letter, read it through very carefully, as if to find some hidden meaning behind the very words which he himself had dictated; he studied the signature, and looked vainly for a mark or a sign that might convey a different sense to that which he had intended. Finally, finding none, he folded the letter up with his own hand, and at once slipped it in the pocket of his coat.
"Take care, M. Chambertin," said Blakeney lightly; "it will burn a hole in that elegant vest of yours."
"It will have no time to do that, Sir Percy," retorted Chauvelin blandly; "an you will furnish me with citizen St. Just"s present address, I will myself convey the letter to him at once."
"At this hour of the night? Poor old Armand, he"ll be abed. But his address, sir, is No. 32, Rue de la Croix Blanche, on the first floor, the door on your right as you mount the stairs; you know the room well, citizen Chauvelin; you have been in it before. And now," he added with a loud and ostentatious yawn, "shall we all to bed? We start at dawn, you said, and I am so d--d fatigued."
Frankly, he did not look it now. Chauvelin himself, despite his matured plans, despite all the precautions that he meant to take for the success of this gigantic scheme, felt a sudden strange sense of fear creeping into his bones. Half an hour ago he had seen a man in what looked like the last stage of utter physical exhaustion, a hunched up figure, listless and limp, hands that twitched nervously, the face as of a dying man. Now those outward symptoms were still there certainly; the face by the light of the lamp still looked livid, the lips bloodless, the hands emaciated and waxen, but the eyes!--they were still hollow, with heavy lids still purple, but in their depths there was a curious, mysterious light, a look that seemed to see something that was hidden to natural sight.
Citizen Chauvelin thought that Heron, too, must be conscious of this, but the Committee"s agent was sprawling on a chair, sucking a short-stemmed pipe, and gazing with entire animal satisfaction on the prisoner.
"The most perfect piece of work we have ever accomplished, you and I, citizen Chauvelin," he said complacently.
"You think that everything is quite satisfactory?" asked the other with anxious stress on his words.
"Everything, of course. Now you see to the letter. I will give final orders for to-morrow, but I shall sleep in the guard-room."
"And I on that inviting bed," interposed the prisoner lightly, as he rose to his feet. "Your servant, citizens!"
He bowed his head slightly, and stood by the table whilst the two men prepared to go. Chauvelin took a final long look at the man whom he firmly believed he had at last brought down to abject disgrace.
Blakeney was standing erect, watching the two retreating figures--one slender hand was on the table. Chauvelin saw that it was leaning rather heavily, as if for support, and that even whilst a final mocking laugh sped him and his colleague on their way, the tall figure of the conquered lion swayed like a stalwart oak that is forced to bend to the mighty fury of an all-compelling wind.
With a sigh of content Chauvelin took his colleague by the arm, and together the two men walked out of the cell.
CHAPTER x.x.xIX. KILL HIM!
Two hours after midnight Armand St. Just was wakened from sleep by a peremptory pull at his bell. In these days in Paris but one meaning could as a rule be attached to such a summons at this hour of the night, and Armand, though possessed of an unconditional certificate of safety, sat up in bed, quite convinced that for some reason which would presently be explained to him he had once more been placed on the list of the "suspect," and that his trial and condemnation on a trumped-up charge would follow in due course.
Truth to tell, he felt no fear at the prospect, and only a very little sorrow. The sorrow was not for himself; he regretted neither life nor happiness. Life had become hateful to him since happiness had fled with it on the dark wings of dishonour; sorrow such as he felt was only for Jeanne! She was very young, and would weep bitter tears. She would be unhappy, because she truly loved him, and because this would be the first cup of bitterness which life was holding out to her. But she was very young, and sorrow would not be eternal. It was better so. He, Armand St. Just, though he loved her with an intensity of pa.s.sion that had been magnified and strengthened by his own overwhelming shame, had never really brought his beloved one single moment of unalloyed happiness.
From the very first day when he sat beside her in the tiny boudoir of the Square du Roule, and the heavy foot fall of Heron and his bloodhounds broke in on their first kiss, down to this hour which he believed struck his own death-knell, his love for her had brought more tears to her dear eyes than smiles to her exquisite mouth.
Her he had loved so dearly, that for her sweet sake he had sacrificed honour, friendship and truth; to free her, as he believed, from the hands of impious brutes he had done a deed that cried Cain-like for vengeance to the very throne of G.o.d. For her he had sinned, and because of that sin, even before it was committed, their love had been blighted, and happiness had never been theirs.
Now it was all over. He would pa.s.s out of her life, up the steps of the scaffold, tasting as he mounted them the most entire happiness that he had known since that awful day when he became a Judas.
The peremptory summons, once more repeated, roused him from his meditations. He lit a candle, and without troubling to slip any of his clothes on, he crossed the narrow ante-chamber, and opened the door that gave on the landing.
"In the name of the people!"