et Minister, she had
once more found her way to the tiny boudoir, still the most deserted
among all the rooms. She knew that Chauvelin must be lying in wait
for her somewhere, ready to seize the first possible opportunity for a
TETE-A-TETE. His eyes had met hers for a moment after the 'fore-supper
minuet, and she knew that the keen diplomat, with those searching pale
eyes of his, had divined that her work was accomplished.

Fate had willed it so. Marguerite, torn by the most terrible conflict
heart of woman can ever know, had resigned herself to its decrees.
But Armand must be saved at any cost; he, first of all, for he was her
brother, had been mother, father, friend to her ever since she, a tiny
babe, had lost both her parents. To think of Armand dying a traitor's
death on the guillotine was too horrible even to dwell upon--impossible
in fact. That could never be, never. . . . As for the stranger, the
hero . . . well! there, let Fate decide. Marguerite would redeem her
brother's life at the hands of the relentless enemy, then let that
cunning Scarlet Pimpernel extricate himself after that.

Perhaps--vaguely--Marguerite hoped that the daring plotter, who for so
many months had baffled an army of spies, would still manage to evade
Chauvelin and remain immune to the end.

She thought of all this, as she sat listening to the witty discourse
of the Cabinet Minister, who, no doubt, felt that he had found in Lady
Blakeney a most perfect listener. Suddenly she saw the keen, fox-like
face of Chauvelin peeping through the curtained doorway.

"Lord Fancourt," she said to the Minister, "will you do me a service?"

"I am entirely at your ladyship's service," he replied gallantly.

"Will you see if my husband is still in the card-room? And if he is,
will you tell him that I am very tired, and would be glad to go home
soon."

The commands of a beautiful woman are binding on all mankind, even on
Cabinet Ministers. Lord Fancourt prepared to obey instantly.

"I do not like to leave your ladyship alone," he said.

"Never fear. I shall be quite safe here--and, I think, undisturbed . . .
but I am really tired. You know Sir Percy will drive back to Richmond.
It is a long way, and we shall not--an we do not hurry--get home before
daybreak."

Lord Fancourt had perforce to go.

The moment he had disappeared, Chauvelin slipped into the room, and the
next instant stood calm and impassive by her side.

"You have news for me?" he sa