El Dorado by Baroness Orczy (if you liked this book .txt) 📕

and then he came to see me⁠—perhaps you know! And he talked so beautiful about England, and so nobly about his leader the Scarlet Pimpernel⁠—have you heard of him?”

“Yes,” said Marguerite, smiling. “I have heard of him.”

“It was that day that citizen Héron came with his soldiers! Oh! you do not know citizen Héron. He is the most cruel man in France. In Paris he is hated by everyone, and no one is safe from his spies. He came to arrest Armand, but I was able to fool him and to save Armand. And after that,” she added with charming naivete, “I felt as if, having saved Armand’s life, he belonged to me⁠—and his love for me had made me his.”

“Then I was arrested,” she continued after a slight pause, and at the recollection of what she had endured then her fresh voice still trembled with horror.

“They dragged me to prison, and I spent two days in a dark cell, where⁠—”

She hid her face in her hands, whilst a few sobs shook her whole frame; then she resumed more calmly:

“I had seen nothing of Armand. I wondered where he was, and I knew that he would be eating out his heart with anxiety for me. But God was watching over me. At first I was transferred to the Temple prison, and there a kind creature⁠—a sort of man-of-all work in the prison took compassion on me. I do not know how he contrived it, but one morning very early he brought me some filthy old rags which he told me to put on quickly, and when I had done that he bade me follow him. Oh! he was a very dirty, wretched man himself, but he must have had a kind heart. He took me by the hand and made me carry his broom and brushes. Nobody took much notice of us, the dawn was only just breaking, and the passages were very dark and deserted; only once some soldiers began to chaff him about me: ‘C’est ma fille⁠—quoi?’ he said roughly. I very nearly laughed then, only I had the good sense to restrain myself, for I knew that my freedom, and perhaps my life, depended on my not betraying myself. My grimy, tattered guide took me with him right through the interminable corridors of that awful building, whilst I prayed fervently to God for him and for myself. We got out by one of the service stairs and exit, and then he dragged me through some narrow streets until we came to a corner where a covered cart stood waiting. My kind friend told me to get into the cart, and then he bade the driver on the box take me straight to a house in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois. Oh! I was infinitely grateful to the poor creature who had helped me to get out of that awful prison, and I would gladly have given him some money, for I am sure he was very poor; but I had none by me. He told me that I should be quite safe in the house in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, and begged me to wait there patiently for a few days until I heard from one who had my welfare at heart, and who would further arrange for my safety.”

Marguerite had listened silently to this narrative so naively told by this child, who obviously had no idea to whom she owed her freedom and her life. While the girl talked, her mind could follow with unspeakable pride and happiness every phase of that scene in the early dawn, when that mysterious, ragged man-of-all-work, unbeknown even to the woman whom he was saving, risked his own noble life for the sake of her whom his friend and comrade loved.

“And did you never see again the kind man to whom you owe your life?” she asked.

“No!” replied Jeanne. “I never saw him since; but when I arrived at the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois I was told by the good people who took charge of me that the ragged man-of-all-work had been none other than the mysterious Englishman whom Armand reveres, he whom they call the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

“But you did not stay very long in the Rue St. Germain l’Auxerrois, did you?”

“No. Only three days. The third day I received a communiqué from the Committee of General Security, together with an unconditional certificate of safety. It meant that I was free⁠—quite free. Oh! I could scarcely believe it. I laughed and I cried until the people in the house thought that I had gone mad. The past few days had been such a horrible nightmare.”

“And then you saw Armand again?”

“Yes. They told him that I was free. And he came here to see me. He often comes; he will be here anon.”

“But are you not afraid on his account and your own? He is⁠—he must be still⁠—‘suspect’; a well-known adherent of the Scarlet Pimpernel, he would be safer out of Paris.”

“No! oh, no! Armand is in no danger. He, too, has an unconditional certificate of safety.”

“An unconditional certificate of safety?” asked Marguerite, whilst a deep frown of grave puzzlement appeared between her brows. “What does that mean?”

“It means that he is free to come and go as he likes; that neither he nor I have anything to fear from Héron and his awful spies. Oh! but for that sad and careworn look on Armand’s face we could be so happy; but he is so unlike himself. He is Armand and yet another; his look at times quite frightens me.”

“Yet you know why he is so sad,” said Marguerite in a strange, toneless voice which she seemed quite unable to control, for that tonelessness came from a terrible sense of suffocation, of a feeling as if her heartstrings were being gripped by huge, hard hands.

“Yes, I know,” said Jeanne half hesitatingly, as if knowing, she was still unconvinced.

“His chief, his comrade, the friend of whom you speak, the Scarlet Pimpernel, who risked