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Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter five, Marguerite. In a moment, the pleasant oak rafted
coffee room of the Inn became the scene of hopeless
confusion and discomfort at the first announcement made by the
stable boy. Lord Antony, with a fashionable oath, had jumped
(00:22):
up from his seat, and was now giving many and
confused directions to poor bewildered Jellyband, who seemed at his
wits end what to do for goodness sake, man admonished
his lordship tried to keep Lady Blakeney talking outside for
a moment while the ladies withdraw sounds. He added, with
another more emphatic oath, this is most unfortunate. Quick sally,
(00:43):
the candles, shouted Jellyband, as hopping about from one leg
to another. He ran hither and thither, adding to the
general discomfort of everybody. The comtesse too had risen to
her feet, rigid and erect, trying to hide her excitement
beneath more becoming saint frad she repeated mechanically, I will
not see her, I will not see her outside the
(01:06):
excitement attendant upon the arrival of very important guests grew apace. Gooddy,
Sir Percy, goodde to your ladyship, your servant, Sir Percy
was heard in one long, continued chorus with alternate more
feeble tones of remember the poor blind men of your charity,
lady and gentlemen. Then suddenly a singularly sweet voice was
heard through all the din Let the poor man be
(01:29):
and give him some supper at my expense. The voice
was low and musical, with a slight sing song in it,
and a faint sousson of foreign intonation in the pronunciation
of the consonants. Every one in the coffee room heard
it and paused instinctively listening to it for a moment.
Sallie was holding the candles by the opposite door, which
led to the bedrooms upstairs, and the comtesse was in
(01:51):
the act of beating a hasty retreat before that enemy
who owned such a sweet, musical voice. Suzanne reluctantly was
preparing to follow her mother, while casting regretful glances towards
the door where she hoped still to see her dearly
beloved erstwhile schoolfellow. Then Jellyband threw open the door still
stupidly and blindly hoping to avert the catastrophe which he
(02:12):
felt was in the air, And the same low musical
voice said, with a merry laugh and mock consternation, I
am as wet as a herring? Dieu has anyone ever
seen such a contemptible climate? Susanne, come with me at once?
I wish it, said the comtesse peremptorily. Oh Mamma, pleaded Suzanne.
(02:35):
My lady, Er, my lady, came in feeble accents from jellyband,
who stood clumsily trying to barb away. Pardieu, my good man,
said Lady Blakeney, with some impatience. What are you standing
in my way for dancing about like a turkey with
a sore foot. Let me get to the fire. I
am perished with the cold, And the next moment Lady Blakeney,
(02:56):
gently pushing mine host on one side, had swept into
the coffee room. There are many portraits and miniatures extent
of Marguerite Saint just Lady Blakeney as she was then,
but it is doubtful if any of these really do
her singular beauty justice tall above the average, with magnificent
presence and regal figure. It is small wonder that even
(03:18):
the Comtesse paused for a moment in involuntary admiration before
turning her back on so fascinating an apparition. Marguerite Blakeney
was then scarcely five and twenty, and her beauty was
at its most dazzling stage. The large hat, with its
undulating and waving plumes, threw a soft shadow across the
classic brow, with the aureole of auburn hair free at
(03:39):
the moment for many powder. The sweet, almost childlike mouth,
the straight chiseled nose, round chin, and delicate throat all
seemed set off by the picturesque costume of the period,
the rich blue velvet robe molded in its every line,
the graceful contour of the figure, whilst one tiny hand
held with a dignity all its own, the tall stick
(04:01):
adorned with a large bunch of ribbons, which fashionable ladies
of the period had taken to carrying recently. With a
quick glance all round the room, Marguerite Blakeney had taken
stock of every one there. She nodded pleasantly to Sir
Andrew Folkes, whilst extending a hand to Lord Antony, Hello,
my Lord Tony, Why what are you doing here in Dover?
She said merrily, Then, without waiting for a reply, she
(04:23):
turned and faced the Comtesse and Suzanne. Her whole face
lighted up with additional brightness as she stretched out both
arms towards the young girl. Whife, it isn't my little
Suzanne over there, that dear little citizeness. How came you
to be in England? And Madame too? She went up
effusive to them both, with not a single touch of
embarrassment in her manner or in her smile. Lord Tony
(04:46):
and Sir Andrew watched the little scene with eager apprehension.
English though they were, they had often been in France
and had mixed sufficiently with the French to realize the
unbending audeu, the bitter hatred with which the old noblesse
of France viewed all those who had helped to contribute
to their downfall. Armand Saint Just, the brother of beautiful
Lady Blakeney, though known to hold moderate and conciliatory views,
(05:09):
was an ardent Republican. His feud with the ancient family
of Saint Cyr, the rights and wrongs of which no
outsider ever knew, had culminated in the downfall the almost
total extinction of the latter. In France, Saint Just and
his party had triumphed. And here in England, face to
face with these three refugees, driven from their country, flying
for their lives, bereft of all which sentries of luxury
(05:32):
had given them, there stood a fair scion of those
same Republican families which had hurled down a throne and
uprooted an aristocracy whose origin was lost in the dim
and distant vista of bygone sentries. She stood there before them,
in all the unconscious insolence of beauty, and stretched out
her dainty hand to them, as if she would, by
(05:53):
that one act bridge over the conflict and bloodshed of
the past decade. Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to
that woman, said the comtesse sternly, as she placed a
restraining hand upon her daughter's arm. She had spoken in English,
so that all might hear and understand the two young
English gentlemen, as well as the common innkeeper and his daughter.
(06:14):
The latter literally gasped with horror at this foreign insolence,
this impudence before her ladyship, who was English. Now that
she was Sir Percy's wife, and a friend of the
Princess of Wales's to boot. As for Lord Antony and
Sir Andrew Folkes, their very hearts seemed to stand still
with horror at this gratuitous insult. One of them uttered
an exclamation of appeal, the other one of warning, and
(06:37):
instinctively both glanced hurriedly towards the door. When sir slow, drowy,
not unpleasant voice had already been heard alone among those present,
Marguerite Blakeney and the Comtesse de Durnay had remained seemingly unmoved.
The latter, rigid, erect and defiant, with one hand still
upon her daughter's arm, seemed the very personification of unbending.
(07:01):
For the moment, Marguerite's sweet face had become as white
as the soft fichu which swathed her throat, and a
very keen observer might have noted that the hand which
held the tall, beribboned stick was clenched and trembled somewhat,
But this was only momentary. The next instant, the delicate
eyebrows were raised slightly, the lips curved sarcastically upwards. The
(07:23):
clear blue eyes looked straight at the rigid comtesse and
with a slight shrug of the shoulders, hoity toity citizenus,
she said, gaily, what fly stings you pray? We are
in England now, Madame rejoined the comtesse coldly, and I
am at liberty to forbid my daughter to touch your
hand in friendship. Come Suzanne, she beckoned to her daughter,
(07:45):
and without another look at Marguerite Blakeney, but with a deep,
old fashioned curtsey to the two young men, she sailed
majestically out of the room. There was silence in the
old inn parlor for a moment, as the rustle of
the Comtesse's skirts died away down the PASSA Marguerite, rigid
as a statue, followed with hard set eyes the upright
(08:05):
figure as it disappeared through the doorway. But as little Suzanne,
humble and obedient, was about to follow her mother, the
hard set expressions suddenly vanished, and a wistful, almost pathetic,
and childlike look stole into Lady Blakeney's eyes. Little Suzanne
caught that look. The child's sweet nature went out to
the beautiful woman, scarcely older than herself. Filiol obedience vanished
(08:28):
before girlish sympathy at the door. She turned, ran back
to Marguerite, and, putting her arms round her, kissed her effusively.
Then only did she follow her mother, Sally, bringing up
the rear with a final curtesy to my lady. Suzanne's
sweet and dainty impulse had relieved the unpleasant tension. Sir
Andrew's eyes followed the pretty little figure until it had
(08:49):
quite disappeared. Then they met Lady Blakeney's with unassumed merriment. Marguerite,
with dainty affection, had kissed her hand to the ladies
as they disappeared through the door. Then a humorous smile
began hovering around the corners of her mouth. So that's it,
is it? She said, gaily lah, Sir Andrew, did you
ever see such an unpleasant person? I hope when I
(09:11):
grow old, I shan't look like that. She gathered up
her skirts, and, assuming a majestic gait, stalked towards the fireplace. Susanne,
she said, mimicking the comtesse's voice, I forbid you to
speak to that woman. The laugh which accompanied this Sally,
sounded perhaps a trifle forced and hard, But neither Sir
Andrew nor Lord Tony were very keen observers. The mimicry
(09:33):
was so perfect, the tone of voice so accurately reproduced,
that both the young men joined in a hearty, cheerful
bravo ah. Lady Blakeney added, Lord Tony, how they must
miss you at the Comedy Francais, and how the Parisians
must hate Sir Percy for having taken you away. Blud
Man rejoined Marguerite with a shrug of her graceful shoulders.
(09:54):
Tis impossible to hate Sir Percy for anything. His witty
sallies would disarm even Madame la Conde. He, the young vicomte,
who had not elected to follow his mother in her
dignified exit, now made a step forward, ready to champion
the comtesse, should Lady Blakeney aim any further shafts at her.
But before he could utter a preliminary word of protest,
a pleasant, though distinctly inane laugh was heard from outside,
(10:17):
and the next moment, an unusually tall and very richly
dressed figure appeared in the doorway. End of chapter five.
Dream Audiobooks hopes you have enjoyed this program.
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter five, Marguerite. In a moment, the pleasant oak rafted
coffee room of the Inn became the scene of hopeless
confusion and discomfort at the first announcement made by the
stable boy. Lord Antony, with a fashionable oath, had jumped
(00:22):
up from his seat, and was now giving many and
confused directions to poor bewildered Jellyband, who seemed at his
wits end what to do for goodness sake, man admonished
his lordship tried to keep Lady Blakeney talking outside for
a moment while the ladies withdraw sounds. He added, with
another more emphatic oath, this is most unfortunate. Quick sally,
(00:43):
the candles, shouted Jellyband, as hopping about from one leg
to another. He ran hither and thither, adding to the
general discomfort of everybody. The comtesse too had risen to
her feet, rigid and erect, trying to hide her excitement
beneath more becoming saint frad she repeated mechanically, I will
not see her, I will not see her outside the
(01:06):
excitement attendant upon the arrival of very important guests grew apace. Gooddy,
Sir Percy, goodde to your ladyship, your servant, Sir Percy
was heard in one long, continued chorus with alternate more
feeble tones of remember the poor blind men of your charity,
lady and gentlemen. Then suddenly a singularly sweet voice was
heard through all the din Let the poor man be
(01:29):
and give him some supper at my expense. The voice
was low and musical, with a slight sing song in it,
and a faint sousson of foreign intonation in the pronunciation
of the consonants. Every one in the coffee room heard
it and paused instinctively listening to it for a moment.
Sallie was holding the candles by the opposite door, which
led to the bedrooms upstairs, and the comtesse was in
(01:51):
the act of beating a hasty retreat before that enemy
who owned such a sweet, musical voice. Suzanne reluctantly was
preparing to follow her mother, while casting regretful glances towards
the door where she hoped still to see her dearly
beloved erstwhile schoolfellow. Then Jellyband threw open the door still
stupidly and blindly hoping to avert the catastrophe which he
(02:12):
felt was in the air, And the same low musical
voice said, with a merry laugh and mock consternation, I
am as wet as a herring? Dieu has anyone ever
seen such a contemptible climate? Susanne, come with me at once?
I wish it, said the comtesse peremptorily. Oh Mamma, pleaded Suzanne.
(02:35):
My lady, Er, my lady, came in feeble accents from jellyband,
who stood clumsily trying to barb away. Pardieu, my good man,
said Lady Blakeney, with some impatience. What are you standing
in my way for dancing about like a turkey with
a sore foot. Let me get to the fire. I
am perished with the cold, And the next moment Lady Blakeney,
(02:56):
gently pushing mine host on one side, had swept into
the coffee room. There are many portraits and miniatures extent
of Marguerite Saint just Lady Blakeney as she was then,
but it is doubtful if any of these really do
her singular beauty justice tall above the average, with magnificent
presence and regal figure. It is small wonder that even
(03:18):
the Comtesse paused for a moment in involuntary admiration before
turning her back on so fascinating an apparition. Marguerite Blakeney
was then scarcely five and twenty, and her beauty was
at its most dazzling stage. The large hat, with its
undulating and waving plumes, threw a soft shadow across the
classic brow, with the aureole of auburn hair free at
(03:39):
the moment for many powder. The sweet, almost childlike mouth,
the straight chiseled nose, round chin, and delicate throat all
seemed set off by the picturesque costume of the period,
the rich blue velvet robe molded in its every line,
the graceful contour of the figure, whilst one tiny hand
held with a dignity all its own, the tall stick
(04:01):
adorned with a large bunch of ribbons, which fashionable ladies
of the period had taken to carrying recently. With a
quick glance all round the room, Marguerite Blakeney had taken
stock of every one there. She nodded pleasantly to Sir
Andrew Folkes, whilst extending a hand to Lord Antony, Hello,
my Lord Tony, Why what are you doing here in Dover?
She said merrily, Then, without waiting for a reply, she
(04:23):
turned and faced the Comtesse and Suzanne. Her whole face
lighted up with additional brightness as she stretched out both
arms towards the young girl. Whife, it isn't my little
Suzanne over there, that dear little citizeness. How came you
to be in England? And Madame too? She went up
effusive to them both, with not a single touch of
embarrassment in her manner or in her smile. Lord Tony
(04:46):
and Sir Andrew watched the little scene with eager apprehension.
English though they were, they had often been in France
and had mixed sufficiently with the French to realize the
unbending audeu, the bitter hatred with which the old noblesse
of France viewed all those who had helped to contribute
to their downfall. Armand Saint Just, the brother of beautiful
Lady Blakeney, though known to hold moderate and conciliatory views,
(05:09):
was an ardent Republican. His feud with the ancient family
of Saint Cyr, the rights and wrongs of which no
outsider ever knew, had culminated in the downfall the almost
total extinction of the latter. In France, Saint Just and
his party had triumphed. And here in England, face to
face with these three refugees, driven from their country, flying
for their lives, bereft of all which sentries of luxury
(05:32):
had given them, there stood a fair scion of those
same Republican families which had hurled down a throne and
uprooted an aristocracy whose origin was lost in the dim
and distant vista of bygone sentries. She stood there before them,
in all the unconscious insolence of beauty, and stretched out
her dainty hand to them, as if she would, by
(05:53):
that one act bridge over the conflict and bloodshed of
the past decade. Suzanne, I forbid you to speak to
that woman, said the comtesse sternly, as she placed a
restraining hand upon her daughter's arm. She had spoken in English,
so that all might hear and understand the two young
English gentlemen, as well as the common innkeeper and his daughter.
(06:14):
The latter literally gasped with horror at this foreign insolence,
this impudence before her ladyship, who was English. Now that
she was Sir Percy's wife, and a friend of the
Princess of Wales's to boot. As for Lord Antony and
Sir Andrew Folkes, their very hearts seemed to stand still
with horror at this gratuitous insult. One of them uttered
an exclamation of appeal, the other one of warning, and
(06:37):
instinctively both glanced hurriedly towards the door. When sir slow, drowy,
not unpleasant voice had already been heard alone among those present,
Marguerite Blakeney and the Comtesse de Durnay had remained seemingly unmoved.
The latter, rigid, erect and defiant, with one hand still
upon her daughter's arm, seemed the very personification of unbending.
(07:01):
For the moment, Marguerite's sweet face had become as white
as the soft fichu which swathed her throat, and a
very keen observer might have noted that the hand which
held the tall, beribboned stick was clenched and trembled somewhat,
But this was only momentary. The next instant, the delicate
eyebrows were raised slightly, the lips curved sarcastically upwards. The
(07:23):
clear blue eyes looked straight at the rigid comtesse and
with a slight shrug of the shoulders, hoity toity citizenus,
she said, gaily, what fly stings you pray? We are
in England now, Madame rejoined the comtesse coldly, and I
am at liberty to forbid my daughter to touch your
hand in friendship. Come Suzanne, she beckoned to her daughter,
(07:45):
and without another look at Marguerite Blakeney, but with a deep,
old fashioned curtsey to the two young men, she sailed
majestically out of the room. There was silence in the
old inn parlor for a moment, as the rustle of
the Comtesse's skirts died away down the PASSA Marguerite, rigid
as a statue, followed with hard set eyes the upright
(08:05):
figure as it disappeared through the doorway. But as little Suzanne,
humble and obedient, was about to follow her mother, the
hard set expressions suddenly vanished, and a wistful, almost pathetic,
and childlike look stole into Lady Blakeney's eyes. Little Suzanne
caught that look. The child's sweet nature went out to
the beautiful woman, scarcely older than herself. Filiol obedience vanished
(08:28):
before girlish sympathy at the door. She turned, ran back
to Marguerite, and, putting her arms round her, kissed her effusively.
Then only did she follow her mother, Sally, bringing up
the rear with a final curtesy to my lady. Suzanne's
sweet and dainty impulse had relieved the unpleasant tension. Sir
Andrew's eyes followed the pretty little figure until it had
(08:49):
quite disappeared. Then they met Lady Blakeney's with unassumed merriment. Marguerite,
with dainty affection, had kissed her hand to the ladies
as they disappeared through the door. Then a humorous smile
began hovering around the corners of her mouth. So that's it,
is it? She said, gaily lah, Sir Andrew, did you
ever see such an unpleasant person? I hope when I
(09:11):
grow old, I shan't look like that. She gathered up
her skirts, and, assuming a majestic gait, stalked towards the fireplace. Susanne,
she said, mimicking the comtesse's voice, I forbid you to
speak to that woman. The laugh which accompanied this Sally,
sounded perhaps a trifle forced and hard, But neither Sir
Andrew nor Lord Tony were very keen observers. The mimicry
(09:33):
was so perfect, the tone of voice so accurately reproduced,
that both the young men joined in a hearty, cheerful
bravo ah. Lady Blakeney added, Lord Tony, how they must
miss you at the Comedy Francais, and how the Parisians
must hate Sir Percy for having taken you away. Blud
Man rejoined Marguerite with a shrug of her graceful shoulders.
(09:54):
Tis impossible to hate Sir Percy for anything. His witty
sallies would disarm even Madame la Conde. He, the young vicomte,
who had not elected to follow his mother in her
dignified exit, now made a step forward, ready to champion
the comtesse, should Lady Blakeney aim any further shafts at her.
But before he could utter a preliminary word of protest,
a pleasant, though distinctly inane laugh was heard from outside,
(10:17):
and the next moment, an unusually tall and very richly
dressed figure appeared in the doorway. End of chapter five.
Dream Audiobooks hopes you have enjoyed this program.
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