As he re-entered the large room, she was standing beside the table,with one dainty hand resting against the back of the chair, her wholegraceful figure bent forward as if in an agony of ardent expectation.
Never for an instant, in that supreme moment when his precious life wasat stake, did she waver in courage or presence of mind. From the momentthat he jumped up and took the candlesticks in his hands, her sixthsense showed her as in a flash what he meant to do and how he would wishher to act.
When the room was plunged in darkness she stood absolutely still;when she heard the scuffle on the floor she never trembled, for herpassionate heart had already told her that he never meant to deliverthat infamous letter into his enemies' hands. Then, when there was thegeneral scramble, when the soldiers rushed away, when the room becameempty and Chauvelin alone remained, she shrank quietly into the darkestcorner of the room, hardly breathing, only waiting.... Waiting for asign from him!
She could not see him, but she felt the beloved presence there,somewhere close to her, and she knew that he would wish her to wait....She watched him silently... ready to help if he called... equally readyto remain still and to wait.
Only when the helpless body of her deadly enemy was well out of theway did she come from out the darkness, and now she stood with the fulllight of the lamp illumining her ruddy golden hair, the delicate blushon her cheek, the flame of love dancing in her glorious eyes.
Thus he saw her as he re-entered the room, and for one second he pausedat the door, for the joy of seeing her there seemed greater than hecould bear.
Forgotten was the agony of mind which he had endured, the humiliationsand the dangers which still threatened: he only remembered that sheloved him and that he worshipped her.
The next moment she lay clasped in his arms. All was still aroundthem, save for the gentle patter-patter of the rain on the trees of theramparts: and from very far away the echo of laughter and music from thedistant revellers.
And then the cry of the sea-mew thrice repeated from just beneath thewindow.
Blakeney and Marguerite awoke from their brief dream: once more thepassionate lover gave place to the man of action.
"'Tis Tony, an I mistake not," he said hurriedly, as with loving fingersstill slightly trembling with suppressed passion, he readjusted the hoodover her head.
"Lord Tony?" she murmured.
"Aye! with Hastings and one or two others. I told them to be ready forus to-night as soon as the place was quiet."
"You were so sure of success then, Percy?" she asked in wonderment.
"So sure," he replied simply.
Then he led her to the window, and lifted her onto the sill. It was nothigh from the ground and two pairs of willing arms were there ready tohelp her down.
Then he, too, followed, and quietly the little party turned to walktoward the gate. The ramparts themselves now looked strangely stilland silent: the merrymakers were far away, only one or two passers-byhurried swiftly past here and there, carrying bundles, evidently bent onmaking use of that welcome permission to leave this dangerous soil.
The little party walked on in silence, Marguerite's small hand restingon her husband's arm. Anon they came upon a group of soldiers who werestanding somewhat perfunctorily and irresolutely close by the open gateof the Fort.
"Tiens c'est l'Anglais!" said one.
"Morbleu! he is on his way back to England," commented another lazily.
The gates of Boulogne had been thrown open to everyone when the Angeluswas rung and the cannon boomed. The general amnesty had been proclaimed,everyone had the right to come and go as they pleased, the sentinels hadbeen ordered to challenge no one and to let everyone pass.
No one knew that the great and glorious plans for the completeannihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel and his League had come to naught,that Collot was taking a mighty hoax to Paris, and that the man who hadthought out and nearly carried through the most fiendishly cruel planever conceived for the destruction of an enemy, lay helpless, bound andgagged, within his own stronghold.
And so the little party, consisting of Sir Percy and Marguerite, LordAnthony Dewhurst and my Lord Hastings, passed unchallenged through thegates of Boulogne.
Outside the precincts of the town they met my Lord Everingham and SirPhilip Glynde, who had met the Abbe Foucquet outside his little churchand escorted him safely out of the city, whilst Francois and Felicitewith their old mother had been under the charge of other members of theLeague.
"We were all in the procession, dressed up in all sorts of raggedfinery, until the last moment," explained Lord Tony to Marguerite as theentire party now quickly made its way to the harbour. "We did not knowwhat was going to happen.... All we knew was that we should be wantedabout this time--the hour when the duel was to have been fought--andsomewhere near here on the southern ramparts... and we always havestrict orders to mix with the crowd if there happens to be one. When wesaw Blakeney raise the candlesticks we guessed what was coming, and weeach went to our respective posts. It was all quite simple."
The young man spoke gaily and lightly, but through the easy banter ofhis tone, there pierced the enthusiasm and pride of the soldier in theglory and daring of his chief.
Between the city walls and the harbour there was much bustle andagitation. The English packet-boat would lift anchor at the turn of thetide, and as every one was free to get aboard without leave or passport,there were a very large number of passengers, bound for the land offreedom.
Two boats from the "Day-Dream" were waiting in readiness for Sir Percyand my lady and those whom they would bring with them.
Silently the party embarked, and as the boats pushed off and the sailorsfrom Sir Percy's yacht bent to their oars, the old Abbe Foucquet begangently droning a Pater and Ave to the accompaniment of his beads.
He accepted joy, happiness and safety with the same gentle philosophyas he would have accepted death, but Marguerite's keen and loving earscaught at the end of each "Pater" a gently murmured request to le bonDieu to bless and protect our English rescuer.
Only once did Marguerite make allusion to that terrible time which hadbecome the past.
They were wandering together down the chestnut alley in the beautifulgarden at Richmond. It was evening, and the air was heavy with therich odour of wet earth, of belated roses and dying mignonette. She hadpaused in the alley, and placed a trembling hand upon his arm, whilstraising her eyes filled with tears of tender passion up to his face.
"Percy!" she murmured, "have you forgiven me?"
"What, m'dear?"
"That awful evening in Boulogne... what that fiend demanded... his awful'either--or'... I brought it all upon you... it was all my fault."
"Nay, my dear, for that 'tis I should thank you..."
"Thank me?"
"Aye," he said, whilst in the fast-gathering dusk she could only justperceive the sudden hardening of his face, the look of wild passion inhis eyes, "but for that evening in Boulogne, but for that alternativewhich that devil placed before me, I might never have known how much youmeant to me."
Even the recollection of all the sorrow, the anxiety, the torturinghumiliations of that night seemed completely to change him; the voicebecame trenchant, the hands were tightly clenched. But Marguerite drewnearer to him; her two hands were on his breast; she murmured gently:
"And now?..."
He folded her in his arms, with an agony of joy, and said earnestly:
"Now I know."
The Elusive Pimpernel Page 35
