drew,
and that Chauvelin's trap had failed to catch his bird; but that hope
soon gave way to fear. Had he failed? But then--Armand!

Lord Fancourt had given up talking since he found that he had no
listener. He wanted an opportunity for slipping away; for sitting
opposite to a lady, however fair, who is evidently not heeding the most
vigorous efforts made for her entertainment, is not exhilarating, even
to a Cabinet Minister.

"Shall I find out if your ladyship's coach is ready," he said at last,
tentatively.

"Oh, thank you . . . thank you . . . if you would be so kind . . . I
fear I am but sorry company . . . but I am really tired . . . and,
perhaps, would be best alone."

But Lord Fancourt went, and still Chauvelin did not come. Oh! what
had happened? She felt Armand's fate trembling in the balance . . . she
feared--now with a deadly fear that Chauvelin HAD failed, and that the
mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel had proved elusive once more; then she knew
that she need hope for no pity, no mercy, from him.

He had pronounced his "Either--or--" and nothing less would content him:
he was very spiteful, and would affect the belief that she had wilfully
misled him, and having failed to trap the eagle once again, his
revengeful mind would be content with the humble prey--Armand!

Yet she had done her best; had strained every nerve for Armand's sake.
She could not bear to think that all had failed. She could not sit
still; she wanted to go and hear the worst at once; she wondered even
that Chauvelin had not come yet, to vent his wrath and satire upon her.

Lord Grenville himself came presently to tell her that her coach was
ready, and that Sir Percy was already waiting for her--ribbons in
hand. Marguerite said "Farewell" to her distinguished host; many of
her friends stopped her, as she crossed the rooms, to talk to her, and
exchange pleasant AU REVOIRS.

The Minister only took final leave of beautiful Lady Blakeney on the
top of the stairs; below, on the landing, a veritable army of gallant
gentlemen were waiting to bid "Good-bye" to the queen of beauty
and fashion, whilst outside, under the massive portico, Sir Percy's
magnificent bays were impatient pawing the ground.

At the top of the stairs, just after she had taken final leave of her
host, she suddenly saw Chauvelin; he was coming up the stairs slowly,
and rubbing his thin hands very softly together.

There was a curious look on his mobile face, partly amused