The Scarlet Pimpernel: A Daring Tale of Courage - Chapter 17

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents The Scarlet Pimpernel by baroness or Z,
Chapter seventeen Farewell. When Marguerite reached her room, she found
her maid terribly anxious about her. Your ladyship will be
so tired, said the poor woman, whose own eyes were
half closed with sleep. It is past five o'clock. Ah, yes, Louise,

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I dare say I shall be tired presently, said Marguerite kindly.
But you are very tired now, so go to bed
at once. I'll get into bed alone. Now, don't argue, Louise,
but go to bed, Give me a rap and leave
me alone. Louise was only too glad to obey. She
took off her mistress's gorgeous ball dress and wrapped her
up in a soft, billowy gown. Does your ladyship wish

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for anything else? She asked? When that was done, No,
nothing more. Put out the lights as you go out, Yes,
my lady, good night, My lady, good night, Louise. When
the maid was gone, Marguerite drew aside the curtains and
threw open the windows. The Guarudden and the river beyond
were flooded with rosy light. Far away to the east,
the rays of the rising sun had changed the rose

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into vivid gold. The lawn was deserted now, and Marguerite
looked down upon the terrace where she had stood a
few moments ago, trying in vain to win back a
man's love which once had been so wholly hers. It
was strange that, through all her troubles, all her anxiety
for armand she was mostly conscious at the present moment
of a keen and bitter heart ache. Her very limbs

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seemed to ache with longing for the love of a
man who had spurned her, who had resisted her tenderness,
remained cold to her appeals, and had not responded to
the glow of passion which had caused her to feel
and hope that those happy olden days in Paris were
not all dead and forgotten. How strange it all was,
she loved him still, and now that she looked back

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upon the last few months of misunderstandings and of loneliness,
she realized that she had never ceased to love him,
that deep down in her heart she had always vaguely
felt that his food inanities, his empty laugh, his lazy
nonchalance wore nothing but a mask that the real man, strong, passionate, wilful.
Was there still a man she had loved, whose intensity

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had fascinated her, whose personality attracted her? Since she always
felt that behind his apparently slow wits there was a
certain something which he kept hidden from all the world,
and most especially from her. A woman's heart is such
a complex problem, the owner thereof is often most incompetent
to find the solution of this puzzle. Did Marguerite Blakeney,

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the cleverest woman in Europe, really love a fool? Was
it love that she had felt for him a year
ago when she married him. Was it love she felt
for him now that she realized that he still loved her,
but that he would not become her slave, her passionate,
ardent lover once again. Nay, Marguerite herself could not have
told that, not at this moment. At any rate. Perhaps

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her pride had sealed her mind against a better understanding
of her own heart. But this she did know. That
she meant to that obstinate heart back again, that she
would conquer once more, and then that she would never
lose him. She would keep him, keep his love, deserve it,
and cherish it. For this much was certain that there
was no longer any happiness possible for her without that

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one man's love. Thus, the most contradictory thoughts and emotions
rushed madly through her mind. Absorbed in them, she had
allowed time to slip by. Perhaps tired out with long excitement,
she had actually closed her eyes and sunk into a
troubled sleep, wherein quickly fleeting dreams seemed but the continuation
of her anxious thoughts. When suddenly she was roused from
dream or meditation by the noise of footsteps outside her door. Nervously,

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she jumped up and listened. The house itself was as
still as ever. The footsteps had retreated. Through her wide
open window, the brilliant rays of the morning sun were
flooding her room with light. She looked up at the clock.
It was half past six, too early for any of
the household to be already astir. She must have dropped
asleep quite unconsciously. Of the footsteps, also of hushed, subdued voices,

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had awakened her. What could they be. Gently on tiptoe
she crossed the room and opened the door to listen.
Not a sound, that peculiar stillness of the early morning,
when sleep with all mankind is at its heaviest. But
the noise had made her nervous, and when suddenly at
her feet on the very doorstep, she saw something white
lying there, a letter. Evidently she hardly dared touch it.

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It seemed so ghost like. It certainly was not there
when she came upstairs. Had Louise dropped it, or was
some tantalizing spook at play showing her fairy letters where
none existed. At last, she stooped to pick it up, and, amazed,
puzzled beyond measure, she saw that the letter was addressed
to herself in her husband's large, businesslike looking hand. What

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could he have to say to her in the middle
of the night, which could not be put off until
the morning. She tore open the envelope and read, A
most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for the North immediately,
So I beg your Ladyship's pardon. If I do not
avail myself of the honor of bidding you good bye.
My business may keep me employed for about a week,
so I shall not have the privilege of being present

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at your Ladyship's water party on Wednesday. I remain your
Ladyship's most humble and most obedient servant Percy Blakeney. Marguerite
must suddenly have been imbued with her husband's slowness of intellect,
for she had perforce to read the few simple lines
over and over again before she could fully grasp their meaning.
She stood on the landing, turning over and over in

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her hand, with this curt and mysterious epistle, her mind
a blank, her nerves strained with agitation and a presentiment
she could not very well have explained. Sir Percy owned
considerable property in the North, certainly, and he had often
before gone there alone and stayed away a week at
a time. But it seemed so very strange that circumstances
should have arisen between five and six o'clock in the

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morning that compelled him to start in this extreme hurry. Vainly,
she tried to shake off an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness.
She was trembling from head to foot a while. Unconquerable
desire seized her to see her husband again at once,
if only he had not already started. Forgetting the fact
that she was only very lightly clad in a morning rap,
and that her hair lay loosely about her shoulders, she

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flew down the stairs, right through the hall towards the
front door. It was as usual barred and bolted, for
the indoor servants were not yet up, but her keen
ears had detected the sound of voices and the pawing
of a horse's hoof against the flagstones. With nervous, trembling fingers,
Marguerite undid the bolts one by one, bruising her hands,
hurting her nails, for the locks were heavy and stiff,

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but she did not care. Her whole frame shook with
anxiety at the very thought that she might be too late,
that he might have gone without her seeing him, and
bidding him God's speed. At last, she had turned the
key and thrown open the door. Her ears had not
deceived her. A groom was standing close by holding a
couple of horses. One of these was Sultan, Sir Percy's
favorite and swiftest horse, saddled ready for a journey. The

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next moment, Sir Percy himself appeared round the further corner
of the house and came quickly towards the horses. He
had changed his gorgeous ball costume, but was as usual
irreproachably and richly apparelled in a suit of fine cloth
with laced jabbot and ruffles, high top boots and riding bridges.
Marguerite went forward a few steps. He looked up and
saw her. A slight frown appeared between his eyes. You

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are going, she said, quickly and feverishly. Whither as I
have had the honor of informing your ladyship urgent most
unexpected business calls me to the north this morning, he said,
in his usual cold, drawlly manner, but your guests to morrow.
I have prayed your Ladyship to offer my humble excuses
to his Royal Highness. You are such a perfect hostess.

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I do not think I shall be missed. But surely
you might have waited for your journey until after our
water party, she said, still speaking quickly and nervously. Surely
this business is not so urgent, and you said nothing
about it just now. My business, as I had the
honor to tell you, Madame, is as unexpected as it
is urgent. May I therefore crave your permission to go?

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When I do aught for you in town on my
way back. No, no thanks, nothing, but you will be
back soon, very soon, before the end of the week.
I cannot say. He was evidently trying to get away,
whilst she was straining every nerve to keep him back.
For a moment or two, Percy, she said, will you
not tell me why you go to day? Surely I,

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as your wife, have the right to know. You have
not been called away to the North. I know it.
There were no letters, no couriers from there before we
left for the opera last night, and nothing was waiting
for you when we returned from the ball. You are
not going to the North. I feel convinced there is
some mystery. And nay, there is no mystery, madame, he replied,
with a slight tone of impatience. My business has to

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do with armand there now have I your leave to
depart with OURMND. But you will run no danger danger
I nay, madame. Your solicitude does me honor. As you say,
I have some influence. My intention is to exert it
before it be too late. Eight Will you allow me
to thank you at least? Nay, madame, he said, coldly,

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there is no need for that. My life is at
your service, and I am already more than repaid, and
mine will be at yours, Sir Percy, if you will,
but accept it in exchange for what you do for
Armand she said as impulsively, she stretched out both her
hands to him. There, I will not detain you my
thoughts go with you farewell. How lovely she looked in

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this morning sunlight, with her ardent hair streaming round her shoulders.
He bowed very low and kissed her hand. She felt
the burning kiss, and her heart thrilled with joy. And
hope you will come back, she said tenderly. Very soon,
he replied, looking longingly into her blue eyes. And you
will remember, she asked, as her eyes, in response to

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his look, gave him an infinity of promise. I will
always remember, Madame, that you have honored me by commanding
my services. The words were cold and formal, but they
did not chill her. This time, her woman's heart had
read his. Beneath the impassive mask his pride still forced
him to wear. He bowed to her again, then begged
her leave to depart. She stood on one side whilst

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he jumped onto Sultan's back. Then, as he galloped out
of the gates, she waved him a final adieu. A
bend in the road soon hid him from view. His
confidential groom had some difficulty in keeping pace with him,
for Sultan flew along in response to his master's excited mood. Marguerite,
with a sigh that was almost a happy one, turned
and went within. She went back to her room, for suddenly,

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like a tired child, she felt quite sleepy. Her heart
seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and
though it still ached with undefined longing, a vague and
delicious hope soothed it as with a balm. She felt
no longer anxious about armand the man who had just
ridden away, bent on helping her brother, inspired her with
complete confidence in his strength and in his power. She

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moveled at herself for having ever looked upon him as
an inane fool. Of course, that was a man worn
to hide the bitter wound she had dealt to his
faith and to his love. His passion would have overmastered him,
and he would not let her see how much he
still cared and how deeply he suffered. But now all
would be well. She would crush her own pride, humble

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it before him, tell him everything, trust him in everything,
and those happy days would come back when they used
to wander off together in the forests of Fontainebleau when
they spoke little, for he was always a silent man.
But when she felt that against that strong heart, she
would always find rest and happiness. The more she thought
of the events of the past night, the less fear

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had she of Chauvelin and his schemes. He had failed
to discover the identity of the scarlet Pimpernel. Of that
she felt sure. Both Lord Fancourt and Chauvelin himself had
assured her that no one had been in the dining
room at one o'clock except the Frenchman himself and Percy. Yes, Percy,
she might have asked him had she thought of it. Anyway,
she had no fears that the unknown and brave hero

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would fall in Chauvelin's trap. His death at any time
rate would not be at her door. Armand certainly was
still in danger, but Percy had pledged his word that
Armand would be safe, and somehow, as Marguerite had seen
him riding away, the possibility that he could fail in
whatever he undertook never even remotely crossed her mind. When
Armand was safely over in England, she would not allow

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him to go back to France. She felt almost happy now,
and drawing the curtains closely together again to shut out
the piercing sun, she went to bed at last, laid
her head upon the pillow, and like a wearied child,
soon fell into a peaceful and dreamless sleep. End of
Chapter seventeen. Dream audiobook's hopes you have enjoyed this program.