At what particular moment the strange doubt first crept into Marguerite's mind, she could not herself have said.With the ring tightly clutched in her hand, she had run out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the garden, where, in complete seclusion, alone with the flowers, and the river and the birds, she could look again at the ring, and study that device more closely.
Stupidly, senselessly, now, sitting beneath the shade of an overhanging sycamore, she was looking at the plain gold shield, with the star-shaped little flower engraved upon it.
Bah! It was ridiculous! she was dreaming! her nerves were overwrought, and she saw signs and mysteries in the most trivial coincidences.Had not everybody about town recently made a point of affecting the device of that mysterious and heroic Scarlet Pimpernel?
Did she herself wear it embroidered on her gowns? set in gems and enamel in her hair? What was there strange in the fact that Sir Percy should have chosen to use the device as a seal-ring? He might easily have done that...yes...quite easily...and...
besides...what connection could there be between her exquisite dandy of a husband, with his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who rescued French victims from beneath the very eyes of the leaders of a bloodthirsty revolution?
Her thoughts were in a whirl--her mind a blank...She did not see anything that was going on around her, and was quite startled when a fresh young voice called to her across the garden.
"CHERIE!--CHERIE! where are you?" and little Suzanne, fresh as a rosebud, with eyes dancing with glee, and brown curls fluttering in the soft morning breeze, came running across the lawn.
"They told me you were in the garden," she went on prattling merrily, and throwing herself with a pretty, girlish impulse into Marguerite's arms, "so I ran out to give you a surprise.You did not expect me quite so soon, did you, my darling little Margot CHERIE?"Marguerite, who had hastily concealed the ring in the folds of her kerchief, tried to respond gaily and unconcernedly to the young girl's impulsiveness.
"Indeed, sweet one," she said with a smile, "it is delightful to have you all to myself, and for a nice whole long day....You won't be bored?""Oh! bored! Margot, how CAN you say such a wicked thing.
Why! when we were in the dear old convent together, we were always happy when we were allowed to be alone together.""And to talk secrets."
The two young girls had linked their arms in one another's and began wandering round the garden.
"Oh! how lovely your home is, Margot, darling," said little Suzanne, enthusiastically, "and how happy you must be!""Aye, indeed! I ought to be happy--oughtn't I, sweet one?"said Marguerite, with a wistful little sigh.
"How sadly you say it, CHERIE....Ah, well, I suppose now that you are a married woman you won't care to talk secrets with me any longer.Oh! what lots and lots of secrets we used to have at school! Do you remember?--some we did not even confide to Sister Theresa of the Holy Angels--though she was such a dear.""And now you have one all-important secret, eh, little one?"said Marguerite, merrily, "which you are forthwith going to confide in me.nay, you need not blush, CHERIE." she added, as she saw Suzanne's pretty little face crimson with blushes."Faith, there's naught to be ashamed of! He is a noble and true man, and one to be proud of as a lover, and...as a husband.""Indeed, CHERIE, I am not ashamed," rejoined Suzanne, softly; "and it makes me very, very proud to hear you speak so well of him.I think maman will consent," she added thoughtfully, "and Ishall be--oh! so happy--but, of course, nothing is to be thought of until papa is safe...."Marguerite started.Suzanne's father! the Comte de Tournay!--one of those whose life would be jeopardised if Chauvelin succeeded in establishing the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.
She had understood all along from the Comtesse, and also from one or two of the members of the league, that their mysterious leader had pledged his honour to bring the fugitive Comte de Tournay safely out of France.Whilst little Suzanne--unconscious of all--save her own all-important little secret, went prattling on.Marguerite's thoughts went back to the events of the past night.
Armand's peril, Chauvelin's threat, his cruel "Either--or--"which she had accepted.
And then her own work in the matter, which should have culminated at one o'clock in Lord Grenville's dining-room, when the relentless agent of the French Government would finally learn who was this mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, who so openly defied an army of spies and placed himself so boldly, and for mere sport, on the side of the enemies of France.
Since then she had heard nothing from Chauvelin.She had concluded that he had failed, and yet, she had not felt anxious about Armand, because her husband had promised her that Armand would be safe.
But now, suddenly, as Suzanne prattled merrily along, an awful horror came upon her for what she had done.Chauvelin had told her nothing, it was true; but she remembered how sarcastic and evil he looked when she took final leave of him after the ball.Had he discovered something then? Had he already laid his plans for catching the daring plotter, red-handed, in France, and sending him to the guillotine without compunction or delay?
Marguerite turned sick with horror, and her hand convulsively clutched the ring in her dress.
"You are not listening, CHERIE," said Suzanne, reproachfully, as she paused in her long, highly interesting narrative.
"Yes, yes, darling--indeed I am," said Marguerite with an effort, forcing herself to smile." "I love to hear you talking...
