Latin races he knew out and out;
he knew exactly how far a sentimental situation would lead a young
Frenchman like Armand, who was by disposition chivalrous, and by
temperament essentially passionate. Above all things, he knew when
and how far he could trust a man to do either a sublime action or an
essentially foolish one.

Therefore he walked along contentedly now, not even looking back to see
whether St. Just was following him. He knew that he did.

His thoughts only dwelt on the young enthusiast--in his mind he
called him the young fool--in order to weigh in the balance the mighty
possibilities that would accrue from the present sequence of events.
The fixed idea ever working in the man's scheming brain had already
transformed a vague belief into a certainty. That the Scarlet Pimpernel
was in Paris at the present moment Chauvelin had now become convinced.
How far he could turn the capture of Armand St. Just to the triumph of
his own ends remained to be seen.

But this he did know: the Scarlet Pimpernel--the man whom he had learned
to know, to dread, and even in a grudging manner to admire--was not like
to leave one of his followers in the lurch. Marguerite's brother in the
Temple would be the surest decoy for the elusive meddler who still, and
in spite of all care and precaution, continued to baffle the army of
spies set upon his track.

Chauvelin could hear Armand's light, elastic footsteps resounding behind
him on the flagstones. A world of intoxicating possibilities surged up
before him. Ambition, which two successive dire failures had atrophied
in his breast, once more rose up buoyant and hopeful. Once he had sworn
to lay the Scarlet Pimpernel by the heels, and that oath was not yet
wholly forgotten; it had lain dormant after the catastrophe of Boulogne,
but with the sight of Armand St. Just it had re-awakened and confronted
him again with the strength of a likely fulfilment.

The courtyard looked gloomy and deserted. The thin drizzle which still
fell from a persistently leaden sky effectually held every outline of
masonry, of column, or of gate hidden as beneath a shroud. The corridor
which skirted it all round was ill-lighted save by an occasional
oil-lamp fixed in the wall.

But Chauvelin knew his way well. Heron's lodgings gave on the second
courtyard, the Square du Nazaret, and the way thither led past the main
square tower, in the top floor of which the uncrowned King of France
eked out his miserabl