ort at her disposal, Marguerite blessed her in her heart for
it. To the woman she had mistrusted, she would owe the last supreme
happiness of her life.

Her resolution never once wavered. Percy would not take her with him:
that was understandable. She could neither expect it nor think it. But
she, on the other hand, could not stay in England, at Blakeney Manor,
whilst any day, any hour, the death-trap set by Chauvelin for the
Scarlet Pimpernel might be closing upon the man whom she worshipped. She
would go mad if she stayed. As there could be no chance of escape for
Percy now, as he had agreed to meet his deadly enemy face to face at a
given place, and a given hour, she could not be a hindrance to him: and
she knew enough subterfuge, enough machinations and disguises by now, to
escape Chauvelin's observation, unless... unless Percy wanted her, and
then she would be there.

No! she could not be a hindrance. She had a passport in her pocket,
everything en regle, nobody could harm her, and she could come and go as
she pleased. There were plenty of swift horses in the stables, plenty of
devoted servants to do her bidding quickly and discreetly: moreover, at
moments like these, conventionalities and the possible conjectures
and surmises of others became of infinitesimally small importance.
The household of Blakeney Manor were accustomed to the master's sudden
journeys and absences of several days, presumably on some shooting
or other sporting expeditions, with no one in attendance on him, save
Benyon, his favourite valet. These passed without any comments now! Bah!
let everyone marvel for once at her ladyship's sudden desire to go to
Dover, and let it all be a nine days' wonder; she certainly did not
care. Skirting the house, she reached the stables beyond. One or two
men were astir. To these she gave the necessary orders for her coach and
four, then she found her way back to the house.

Walking along the corridor, she went past the room occupied by Juliette
de Marny. For a moment she hesitated, then she turned and knocked at the
door.

Juliette was not yet in bed, for she went to the door herself and opened
it. Obviously she had been quite unable to rest, her hair was falling
loosely over her shoulders, and there was a look of grave anxiety on her
young face.

"Juliette," said Marguerite in a hurried whisper, the moment she had
closed the door behind her and she and the young girl were alone, "I am
going to France to