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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
chapter fourteen one o'clock. Precisely, supper had been extremely gay.
All those present declared that never had Lady Blakeney been
more adorable, nor that demned idiots a Percy more amusing.
His Royal Highness had laughed until the tears streamed down
(00:23):
his cheeks at Blakeney's foolish yet funny repartees. His dogerel verse,
we seek him here, we seek him there, et cetera,
was sung to the tune of Hoe Merry Britons, and
to the accompaniment of glasses knocked loudly against the table.
Lord Grenville moreover had a most perfect cook. Some wags
asserted that he was a scion of the old French noblesse, who,
having lost his fortune, had come to seek it in
(00:44):
the cuisine of the Foreign Office. Marguerite Blakeney was in
her most brilliant mood, and surely not a soul in
that crowded supper room, had even an inkling of the
terrible struggle which was raging within her heart. The clock
was ticking so mercilessly on. It was long past midnight,
and even the Prince of Wales was thinking of leaving
the supper table. Within the next half hour, the destinies
(01:06):
of two brave men would be pitted against one another,
the dearly beloved brother and he, the unknown hero. Marguerite
had not tried to see Chauvelin during this last hour.
She knew that his keen, fox like eyes would terrify
her at once and incline the balance of her decision
towards Armand whilst she did not see him, there still
lingered in her heart of hearts a vague, undefined hope
(01:28):
that something would occur, something big, enormous epoch making, which
would shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden
of responsibility of having to choose between two such cruel alternatives.
But the minutes ticked on with that dull monotony which
they invariably seemed to assume when our very nerves ache
with their incessant ticking. After supper dancing was resumed, his
(01:52):
Royal Highness had left, and there was general talk of
departing among the older guests. The young were indefatigable and
had started on a new gavotte which would fill the
next quarter of an hour, Marguerite did not feel equal
to another dance. There is a limit to the most
enduring of self control. Escorted by a cabinet minister, she
had once more found her way to the tiny boudoir,
(02:13):
still the most deserted among all the rooms. She knew
that Chauvelin must be lying in wait for her somewhere,
ready to seize the first possible opportunity for a tete
a tete. His eyes had met hers for a moment
after the four Supper minuet, and she knew that the
keen diplomat, with those searching pale eyes of his, had
divined that her work had been accomplished. Fate had willed it.
So Marguerite, torn by the most terrible conflict heart of
(02:37):
woman can ever know, had resigned herself to its decrees.
But Armand must be saved at any cost. He first
of all, for he was her brother, had been mother
father friend to her ever since she a tiny babe,
had lost both her parents. To think of ar Man
dying a traitor's death on the guillotine was too horrible
even to dwell upon, impossible, in fact, could never be never.
(03:02):
As for the stranger, the hero, well there let fate decide.
Marguerite would redeem her brother's life at the hands of
the relentless enemy, then let that cunning scarlet pimpernel extricate himself.
After that, perhaps vaguely, Marguerite hoped that the daring plotter,
who for so many months had baffled an army of
(03:24):
spies would still manage to evade Chauvelin and remain immune
to the end. She thought of all this as she
sat listening to the witty discourse of the cabinet minister,
who no doubt felt that he had found in Lady
Blakeney a most perfect listener. Suddenly she saw the keen,
fox like face of Chauvelin peeping through the curtained doorway.
Lord Fancourt, she said to the minister, will you do
(03:45):
me a service? I am entirely at your ladyship service.
He replied gallantly, Will you see if my husband is
still in the card room, And if he is, will
you tell him that I am very tired and would
be glad to go home soon. The commands of a
beautiful woman are binding on all mankind, even on cabinet ministers.
Lord Fancourt prepared to obey instantly. I do not like
(04:05):
to leave your ladyship alone, he said, never fear. I
shall be quite safe here, and I think undisturbed, But
I am really tired. You know, Sir Percy will drive
back to Richmond. It is a long way, and we
shall not, and we do not hurry get home before daybreak.
Lord Fancourt had perforce to go. The moment he had disappeared,
Chauvelin slipped into the room, and the next instant stood
(04:28):
calm and impassive by her side. You have news for me,
he said. An icy mantle seemed to have suddenly settled
round Marguerite's shoulders. Though her cheeks glowed with fire, she
felt chilled and numbed. Oh, Ahmand, will you ever know
the terrible sacrifice of pride, of dignity, of womanliness, a
devoted sisters making for your sake nothing of importance, she said,
(04:52):
staring mechanically before her. But it might prove a clue.
I contrived, no matter how to detect Sir Andrew folks,
in the very act of burning a paper at one
of these candles in this very room. That paper I
succeeded in holding between my fingers for the space of
two minutes, and to cast my eyes on it for
that of ten seconds, time enough to learn its contents,
(05:13):
asked Chauvelin. Quietly. She nodded, then continued in the same
even mechanical tone of voice. In the corner of the
paper there was the usual rough device of a small
starshaped flower above it. I read two lines. Everything else
was scorched and blackened by the flame. And what were
the two lines? Her throat seemed suddenly to have contracted
(05:35):
for an instant. She felt that she could not speak
the words which might send a brave man to his death.
It is lucky that the whole paper was not burned,
added Chauvelin with dry sarcasm, for it might have fared
ill with our man saint. Just what were the two lines, citoyen?
One was I start myself to morrow, she said quietly.
(05:55):
The other, if you wish to speak to me, I
shall be in the supper room at one o'clo. Precisely.
Chauvelin looked up at the clock just above the mantelpiece.
Then I have plenty of time, he said, placidly. What
are you going to do? She asked. She was pale
as a statue her hands were icy cold, her head
and heart throbbed with the awful strain upon her nerves.
(06:18):
Oh this was cruel, cruel? What had she done to
have deserved all this? Her choice was made, Had she
done a vile action or one that was sublime? The
recording angel, who writes in the Book of Gold alone
could give an answer. What are you going to do?
She repeated mechanically, Oh, nothing for the present. After that
(06:38):
it will depend on what on whom I shall see
in the supper room at one o'clock. Precisely you will
see the scarlet pimpernel, of course, but you do not
know him. No, but I shall presently, Sir Andrew will
have warned him, I think not. When you parted from
him after the minuet, he stood and watched you for
(06:59):
a moment or two with a look which gave me
to understand that something had happened between you. It was
only natural, was it not? That I should make a
shrewd guess as to the nature of that something. I
thereupon engaged the young man in a long and animated conversation.
We discussed HeiG Look's singular success in London, until a
lady claimed his arm for supper, since then I did
(07:20):
not lose sight of him through supper. When we all
came upstairs again, Lady Portarles button hold him and started
on the subject of pretty Mademoiselle Suzanne de d'urnay. I
knew he would not move until Lady Portarles had exhausted
on the subject, which will not be for another quarter
of an hour at least, and it is five minutes
to one now. He was preparing to go and went
up to the doorway, where, drawing aside the curtain, he
(07:42):
stood for a moment, pointing out to Marguerite the distant
figure of Sir Andrew Folkes. In close conversation with Lady Portarles,
I think he said, with a triumphant smile, that I
may safely expect to find the person I seek in
the dining room, Fair lady, there may be more than one,
whoever is there. As the clock struck, one will be
shadowed by one of my men. Of these, one or
(08:04):
perhaps two or even three will leave for France tomorrow.
One of these will be the Scarlet Pimpernel. Yes, and
I also, fair Lady, will leave for France tomorrow. The
papers found at Dover upon the person of Sir Andrew.
Folks speak of the neighborhood of Calais, of an inn
which I know well called Le Chagrie, of a lonely
(08:24):
place somewhere on the coast, the pere Blanchard's hut, which
I must endeavor to find. All these places are given
as the point where this meddlesome Englishman has bidden the
traitor de d'aurnay and others to meet his emissaries. But
it seems that he has decided not to send his emissaries,
that he will start himself to morrow. Now, one of
these persons, whom I shall see anon in the supper room,
(08:46):
will be journeying to Calais, and I shall follow that
person until I have tracked him to where those fugitive
aristocrats await him. For that person, fair lady, will be
the man whom I have sought for for nearly a year,
the man who whose energies has outdone me, whose ingenuity
has baffled me, whose audacity has set me wondering. Yes, me,
(09:06):
who have seen a trick or two in my time,
the mysterious and elusive Scarlet pimpernel and armand she pleaded
have I ever broken my word, I promise you that
they the scarlet pimpernel and I start for Franz, I
will send you that imprudent letter of his by special courier.
More than that, I will pledge you the word of
France that the day I lay hands on that meddlesome englishman,
(09:28):
saint just will be here in England, safe in the
arms of his charming sister. And with a deep and
elaborate bow and another look at the clock, Chauvelin glided
out of the room. It seemed to Marguerite that through
all the noise, all the din of music, dancing and laughter,
she could hear his cat like tread gliding through the
vast reception rooms, that she could hear him go down
(09:51):
the massive staircase, reached the dining room and opened the door.
Fate had decided, had made her speak, had made her
do a vile and abominable thing for the sake of
the brother she loved. She lay back in her chair,
passive and still seeing the figure of her relentless enemy
ever present before her aching eyes. When Chauvelin reached the
(10:12):
supper room, it was quite deserted. It had that woebegone forsaken,
tawdry appearance, which reminds one so much of a ball
dress the morning after. Half empty glasses littered the table.
Unfolded napkins lay about. The chairs turned towards one another
in groups of twos and threes, very close to one
another in the far corners of the room, which spoke
(10:32):
of recent whispered flirtations of a cold game, pie and champagne.
There were sets of three and four chairs that recalled pleasant,
animated discussions over the latest scandal. There were chairs straight
up in a road that still looked starchy, critical, acid
like antiquated dowager. There were a few isolated single chairs
close to the table that spoke of Gourmand's intent on
(10:54):
the most rechersh dishes, and others overturned on the floor
that spoke volumes on the subject of my Lord Grenville's cellars.
It was a ghostlike replica, in fact, of that fashionable
gathering upstairs. A ghost had haunts every house where balls
and good suppers are given. A picture drawn with white
chalk on gray cardboard, dull and colorless. Now that the
bright silk dresses and gorgeously embroidered coats were no longer
(11:17):
there to fill in the foreground, And now that the
candles flickered sleepily in their sockets, Chauvelin smiled benignly, and
rubbing his long, thin hands together, he looked round the
deserted supper room, whence even the last flunkie had retired
in order to join his friends in the hall below.
All were silence in the dimly lighted room, whilst the
sound of the gavote, the hum of distant talk and laughter,
(11:40):
the rumble of an occasional coach outside only seemed to
reach this palace of the sleeping beauty as the murmur
of some flitting spooks far away. It all looked so peaceful,
so luxurious, and so still that the keenest observer, a
veritable prophet, could never have guessed that at this present moment,
that deserted supper room was nothing but a trap laid
(12:00):
for the capture of the most cunning and audacious plotter
those stirring times had ever seen. Chauvelin pondered and tried
to peer into the immediate future. What would this man
be like whom he and the leaders of the whole
revolution had sworn to bring to his death? Everything about
him was weird and mysterious, his personality, which he so
cunningly concealed, the power he wielded over nineteen English gentlemen
(12:24):
who seemed to obey his every command blindly and enthusiastically,
the passionate love and submission he had roused in his
little trained band, and above all, his marvelous audacity, the
boundless impudence which had caused him to beard his most
implacable enemies within the very walls of Paris. No wonder
that in France the sobriquet of the mysterious Englishman roused
(12:46):
in the people a superstitious shudder. Chauvelin himself as he
gazed around the deserted room where presently the weird hero
would appear, that a strange feeling of awe creeping all
down his spine. But his plans were well laid. He
felt sure that the scarlet pimpernel had not been warned,
and felt equally sure that Marguerite Blakeney had not played
(13:06):
him false. If she had a cruel look that would
have made her shudder gleamed in Chauvelin's keen, pale eyes,
if she had played him a trick, armaand Saint just
would suffer the extreme penalty. But no, no, of course,
she had not played him false. Fortunately, the supper room
was deserted. This would make Chauvelin's task all the easier,
(13:28):
when presently that unsuspecting enigma would enter it alone. No
one was here now save Chauvelin himself. Stay as he
surveyed with a satisfied smile the solitude of the room,
the cunning agent of the French government became aware of
the peaceful, monotonous breathing of some one of my Lord
Grenville's guests, who no doubt had subbed both wisely and well,
(13:49):
and was enjoying a quiet sleep away from the din
of the dancing above. Chauvelin looked round once more, and there,
in the corner of a sofa in the dark angle
of the room, his mouth open, his eyes shut, the
sweet sounds of peaceful slumbers proceeding from his nostrils, reclined
the gorgeously apparelled, long limbed husband of the cleverest woman
(14:09):
in Europe. Chauvelin looked at him as he lay there, placid, unconscious,
at peace with all the world and himself. After the
best of suppers and a smile that was almost one
of pity, softened for a moment the hard lines of
the Frenchman's face and the sarcastic twinkle of his pale eyes. Evidently,
the slumberer, deep and dreamless sleep would not interfere with
(14:29):
Chauvelin's trap for catching that cunning scarlet pimpernel. Again, he
rubbed his hands together, and, following the example of Sir
Percy Blakeney, he too stretched himself out in the corner
of another sofa. Shut his eyes, opened, his mouth, gave
forth sounds of peaceful breathing, and waited. End of Chapter fourteen.
(14:50):
Dream Audio Books hopes you have enjoyed this program.
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
chapter fourteen one o'clock. Precisely, supper had been extremely gay.
All those present declared that never had Lady Blakeney been
more adorable, nor that demned idiots a Percy more amusing.
His Royal Highness had laughed until the tears streamed down
(00:23):
his cheeks at Blakeney's foolish yet funny repartees. His dogerel verse,
we seek him here, we seek him there, et cetera,
was sung to the tune of Hoe Merry Britons, and
to the accompaniment of glasses knocked loudly against the table.
Lord Grenville moreover had a most perfect cook. Some wags
asserted that he was a scion of the old French noblesse, who,
having lost his fortune, had come to seek it in
(00:44):
the cuisine of the Foreign Office. Marguerite Blakeney was in
her most brilliant mood, and surely not a soul in
that crowded supper room, had even an inkling of the
terrible struggle which was raging within her heart. The clock
was ticking so mercilessly on. It was long past midnight,
and even the Prince of Wales was thinking of leaving
the supper table. Within the next half hour, the destinies
(01:06):
of two brave men would be pitted against one another,
the dearly beloved brother and he, the unknown hero. Marguerite
had not tried to see Chauvelin during this last hour.
She knew that his keen, fox like eyes would terrify
her at once and incline the balance of her decision
towards Armand whilst she did not see him, there still
lingered in her heart of hearts a vague, undefined hope
(01:28):
that something would occur, something big, enormous epoch making, which
would shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden
of responsibility of having to choose between two such cruel alternatives.
But the minutes ticked on with that dull monotony which
they invariably seemed to assume when our very nerves ache
with their incessant ticking. After supper dancing was resumed, his
(01:52):
Royal Highness had left, and there was general talk of
departing among the older guests. The young were indefatigable and
had started on a new gavotte which would fill the
next quarter of an hour, Marguerite did not feel equal
to another dance. There is a limit to the most
enduring of self control. Escorted by a cabinet minister, she
had once more found her way to the tiny boudoir,
(02:13):
still the most deserted among all the rooms. She knew
that Chauvelin must be lying in wait for her somewhere,
ready to seize the first possible opportunity for a tete
a tete. His eyes had met hers for a moment
after the four Supper minuet, and she knew that the
keen diplomat, with those searching pale eyes of his, had
divined that her work had been accomplished. Fate had willed it.
So Marguerite, torn by the most terrible conflict heart of
(02:37):
woman can ever know, had resigned herself to its decrees.
But Armand must be saved at any cost. He first
of all, for he was her brother, had been mother
father friend to her ever since she a tiny babe,
had lost both her parents. To think of ar Man
dying a traitor's death on the guillotine was too horrible
even to dwell upon, impossible, in fact, could never be never.
(03:02):
As for the stranger, the hero, well there let fate decide.
Marguerite would redeem her brother's life at the hands of
the relentless enemy, then let that cunning scarlet pimpernel extricate himself.
After that, perhaps vaguely, Marguerite hoped that the daring plotter,
who for so many months had baffled an army of
(03:24):
spies would still manage to evade Chauvelin and remain immune
to the end. She thought of all this as she
sat listening to the witty discourse of the cabinet minister,
who no doubt felt that he had found in Lady
Blakeney a most perfect listener. Suddenly she saw the keen,
fox like face of Chauvelin peeping through the curtained doorway.
Lord Fancourt, she said to the minister, will you do
(03:45):
me a service? I am entirely at your ladyship service.
He replied gallantly, Will you see if my husband is
still in the card room, And if he is, will
you tell him that I am very tired and would
be glad to go home soon. The commands of a
beautiful woman are binding on all mankind, even on cabinet ministers.
Lord Fancourt prepared to obey instantly. I do not like
(04:05):
to leave your ladyship alone, he said, never fear. I
shall be quite safe here, and I think undisturbed, But
I am really tired. You know, Sir Percy will drive
back to Richmond. It is a long way, and we
shall not, and we do not hurry get home before daybreak.
Lord Fancourt had perforce to go. The moment he had disappeared,
Chauvelin slipped into the room, and the next instant stood
(04:28):
calm and impassive by her side. You have news for me,
he said. An icy mantle seemed to have suddenly settled
round Marguerite's shoulders. Though her cheeks glowed with fire, she
felt chilled and numbed. Oh, Ahmand, will you ever know
the terrible sacrifice of pride, of dignity, of womanliness, a
devoted sisters making for your sake nothing of importance, she said,
(04:52):
staring mechanically before her. But it might prove a clue.
I contrived, no matter how to detect Sir Andrew folks,
in the very act of burning a paper at one
of these candles in this very room. That paper I
succeeded in holding between my fingers for the space of
two minutes, and to cast my eyes on it for
that of ten seconds, time enough to learn its contents,
(05:13):
asked Chauvelin. Quietly. She nodded, then continued in the same
even mechanical tone of voice. In the corner of the
paper there was the usual rough device of a small
starshaped flower above it. I read two lines. Everything else
was scorched and blackened by the flame. And what were
the two lines? Her throat seemed suddenly to have contracted
(05:35):
for an instant. She felt that she could not speak
the words which might send a brave man to his death.
It is lucky that the whole paper was not burned,
added Chauvelin with dry sarcasm, for it might have fared
ill with our man saint. Just what were the two lines, citoyen?
One was I start myself to morrow, she said quietly.
(05:55):
The other, if you wish to speak to me, I
shall be in the supper room at one o'clo. Precisely.
Chauvelin looked up at the clock just above the mantelpiece.
Then I have plenty of time, he said, placidly. What
are you going to do? She asked. She was pale
as a statue her hands were icy cold, her head
and heart throbbed with the awful strain upon her nerves.
(06:18):
Oh this was cruel, cruel? What had she done to
have deserved all this? Her choice was made, Had she
done a vile action or one that was sublime? The
recording angel, who writes in the Book of Gold alone
could give an answer. What are you going to do?
She repeated mechanically, Oh, nothing for the present. After that
(06:38):
it will depend on what on whom I shall see
in the supper room at one o'clock. Precisely you will
see the scarlet pimpernel, of course, but you do not
know him. No, but I shall presently, Sir Andrew will
have warned him, I think not. When you parted from
him after the minuet, he stood and watched you for
(06:59):
a moment or two with a look which gave me
to understand that something had happened between you. It was
only natural, was it not? That I should make a
shrewd guess as to the nature of that something. I
thereupon engaged the young man in a long and animated conversation.
We discussed HeiG Look's singular success in London, until a
lady claimed his arm for supper, since then I did
(07:20):
not lose sight of him through supper. When we all
came upstairs again, Lady Portarles button hold him and started
on the subject of pretty Mademoiselle Suzanne de d'urnay. I
knew he would not move until Lady Portarles had exhausted
on the subject, which will not be for another quarter
of an hour at least, and it is five minutes
to one now. He was preparing to go and went
up to the doorway, where, drawing aside the curtain, he
(07:42):
stood for a moment, pointing out to Marguerite the distant
figure of Sir Andrew Folkes. In close conversation with Lady Portarles,
I think he said, with a triumphant smile, that I
may safely expect to find the person I seek in
the dining room, Fair lady, there may be more than one,
whoever is there. As the clock struck, one will be
shadowed by one of my men. Of these, one or
(08:04):
perhaps two or even three will leave for France tomorrow.
One of these will be the Scarlet Pimpernel. Yes, and
I also, fair Lady, will leave for France tomorrow. The
papers found at Dover upon the person of Sir Andrew.
Folks speak of the neighborhood of Calais, of an inn
which I know well called Le Chagrie, of a lonely
(08:24):
place somewhere on the coast, the pere Blanchard's hut, which
I must endeavor to find. All these places are given
as the point where this meddlesome Englishman has bidden the
traitor de d'aurnay and others to meet his emissaries. But
it seems that he has decided not to send his emissaries,
that he will start himself to morrow. Now, one of
these persons, whom I shall see anon in the supper room,
(08:46):
will be journeying to Calais, and I shall follow that
person until I have tracked him to where those fugitive
aristocrats await him. For that person, fair lady, will be
the man whom I have sought for for nearly a year,
the man who whose energies has outdone me, whose ingenuity
has baffled me, whose audacity has set me wondering. Yes, me,
(09:06):
who have seen a trick or two in my time,
the mysterious and elusive Scarlet pimpernel and armand she pleaded
have I ever broken my word, I promise you that
they the scarlet pimpernel and I start for Franz, I
will send you that imprudent letter of his by special courier.
More than that, I will pledge you the word of
France that the day I lay hands on that meddlesome englishman,
(09:28):
saint just will be here in England, safe in the
arms of his charming sister. And with a deep and
elaborate bow and another look at the clock, Chauvelin glided
out of the room. It seemed to Marguerite that through
all the noise, all the din of music, dancing and laughter,
she could hear his cat like tread gliding through the
vast reception rooms, that she could hear him go down
(09:51):
the massive staircase, reached the dining room and opened the door.
Fate had decided, had made her speak, had made her
do a vile and abominable thing for the sake of
the brother she loved. She lay back in her chair,
passive and still seeing the figure of her relentless enemy
ever present before her aching eyes. When Chauvelin reached the
(10:12):
supper room, it was quite deserted. It had that woebegone forsaken,
tawdry appearance, which reminds one so much of a ball
dress the morning after. Half empty glasses littered the table.
Unfolded napkins lay about. The chairs turned towards one another
in groups of twos and threes, very close to one
another in the far corners of the room, which spoke
(10:32):
of recent whispered flirtations of a cold game, pie and champagne.
There were sets of three and four chairs that recalled pleasant,
animated discussions over the latest scandal. There were chairs straight
up in a road that still looked starchy, critical, acid
like antiquated dowager. There were a few isolated single chairs
close to the table that spoke of Gourmand's intent on
(10:54):
the most rechersh dishes, and others overturned on the floor
that spoke volumes on the subject of my Lord Grenville's cellars.
It was a ghostlike replica, in fact, of that fashionable
gathering upstairs. A ghost had haunts every house where balls
and good suppers are given. A picture drawn with white
chalk on gray cardboard, dull and colorless. Now that the
bright silk dresses and gorgeously embroidered coats were no longer
(11:17):
there to fill in the foreground, And now that the
candles flickered sleepily in their sockets, Chauvelin smiled benignly, and
rubbing his long, thin hands together, he looked round the
deserted supper room, whence even the last flunkie had retired
in order to join his friends in the hall below.
All were silence in the dimly lighted room, whilst the
sound of the gavote, the hum of distant talk and laughter,
(11:40):
the rumble of an occasional coach outside only seemed to
reach this palace of the sleeping beauty as the murmur
of some flitting spooks far away. It all looked so peaceful,
so luxurious, and so still that the keenest observer, a
veritable prophet, could never have guessed that at this present moment,
that deserted supper room was nothing but a trap laid
(12:00):
for the capture of the most cunning and audacious plotter
those stirring times had ever seen. Chauvelin pondered and tried
to peer into the immediate future. What would this man
be like whom he and the leaders of the whole
revolution had sworn to bring to his death? Everything about
him was weird and mysterious, his personality, which he so
cunningly concealed, the power he wielded over nineteen English gentlemen
(12:24):
who seemed to obey his every command blindly and enthusiastically,
the passionate love and submission he had roused in his
little trained band, and above all, his marvelous audacity, the
boundless impudence which had caused him to beard his most
implacable enemies within the very walls of Paris. No wonder
that in France the sobriquet of the mysterious Englishman roused
(12:46):
in the people a superstitious shudder. Chauvelin himself as he
gazed around the deserted room where presently the weird hero
would appear, that a strange feeling of awe creeping all
down his spine. But his plans were well laid. He
felt sure that the scarlet pimpernel had not been warned,
and felt equally sure that Marguerite Blakeney had not played
(13:06):
him false. If she had a cruel look that would
have made her shudder gleamed in Chauvelin's keen, pale eyes,
if she had played him a trick, armaand Saint just
would suffer the extreme penalty. But no, no, of course,
she had not played him false. Fortunately, the supper room
was deserted. This would make Chauvelin's task all the easier,
(13:28):
when presently that unsuspecting enigma would enter it alone. No
one was here now save Chauvelin himself. Stay as he
surveyed with a satisfied smile the solitude of the room,
the cunning agent of the French government became aware of
the peaceful, monotonous breathing of some one of my Lord
Grenville's guests, who no doubt had subbed both wisely and well,
(13:49):
and was enjoying a quiet sleep away from the din
of the dancing above. Chauvelin looked round once more, and there,
in the corner of a sofa in the dark angle
of the room, his mouth open, his eyes shut, the
sweet sounds of peaceful slumbers proceeding from his nostrils, reclined
the gorgeously apparelled, long limbed husband of the cleverest woman
(14:09):
in Europe. Chauvelin looked at him as he lay there, placid, unconscious,
at peace with all the world and himself. After the
best of suppers and a smile that was almost one
of pity, softened for a moment the hard lines of
the Frenchman's face and the sarcastic twinkle of his pale eyes. Evidently,
the slumberer, deep and dreamless sleep would not interfere with
(14:29):
Chauvelin's trap for catching that cunning scarlet pimpernel. Again, he
rubbed his hands together, and, following the example of Sir
Percy Blakeney, he too stretched himself out in the corner
of another sofa. Shut his eyes, opened, his mouth, gave
forth sounds of peaceful breathing, and waited. End of Chapter fourteen.
(14:50):
Dream Audio Books hopes you have enjoyed this program.
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