time.

"Besides which, Madame," added Lord Grenville, "did you not tell me
yesterday that the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel had pledged their
honour to bring M. le Comte safely across the Channel?"

"Ah, yes!" replied the Comtesse, "and that is my only hope. I saw Lord
Hastings yesterday . . . he reassured me again."

"Then I am sure you need have no fear. What the league have sworn, that
they surely will accomplish. Ah!" added the old diplomat with a sigh,
"if I were but a few years younger . . ."

"La, man!" interrupted honest Lady Portarles, "you are still young
enough to turn your back on that French scarecrow that sits enthroned in
your box to-night."

"I wish I could . . . but your ladyship must remember that in serving
our country we must put prejudices aside. M. Chauvelin is the accredited
agent of his Government . . ."

"Odd's fish, man!" she retorted, "you don't call those bloodthirsty
ruffians over there a government, do you?"

"It has not been thought advisable as yet," said the Minister,
guardedly, "for England to break off diplomatic relations with France,
and we cannot therefore refuse to receive with courtesy the agent she
wishes to send to us."

"Diplomatic relations be demmed, my lord! That sly little fox over
there is nothing but a spy, I'll warrant, and you'll find--an I'm much
mistaken, that he'll concern himself little with such diplomacy, beyond
trying to do mischief to royalist refugees--to our heroic Scarlet
Pimpernel and to the members of that brave little league."

"I am sure," said the Comtesse, pursing up her thin lips, "that if this
Chauvelin wishes to do us mischief, he will find a faithful ally in Lady
Blakeney."

"Bless the woman!" ejaculated Lady Portarles, "did ever anyone see such
perversity? My Lord Grenville, you have the gift of gab, will you please
explain to Madame la Comtesse that she is acting like a fool. In your
position here in England, Madame," she added, turning a wrathful and
resolute face towards the Comtesse, "you cannot afford to put on the
hoity-toity airs you French aristocrats are so fond of. Lady Blakeney
may or may not be in sympathy with those Ruffians in France; she may or
may not have had anything to do with the arrest and condemnation of St.
Cyr, or whatever the man's name is, but she is the leader of fashion
in this country; Sir Percy Blakeney has more money than any half-dozen
other men put together, he is hand and glove with royalty, and your