of Boulogne are mostly
women, and there are the net-makers and the seamstresses, all would
suffer if your ladyship were no longer to be found in No. 6 room of this
ancient fort, whilst all would be included in the amnesty if the Scarlet
Pimpernel fell into our hands..."

He gave a low, satisfied chuckle which made Marguerite think of the evil
spirits in hell exulting over the torments of unhappy lost souls.

"I think, Lady Blakeney," he added drily and making her an ironical bow,
"that your humble servant hath outwitted the elusive hero at last."

Quietly he turned on his heel and went back into the room, Marguerite
remaining motionless beside the open window, where the soft, brine-laden
air, the distant murmur of the sea, the occasional cry of a sea-mew, all
seemed to mock her agonizing despair.

The voice of the town-crier came nearer and nearer now: she could hear
the words he spoke quite distinctly: something about "amnesty" and
pardon, the reward for the capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel, the lives
of men, women and children in exchange for his.

Oh! she knew what all that meant! that Percy would not hesitate one
single instant to throw his life into the hands of his enemies, in
exchange for that of others. Others! others! always others! this
sigh that had made her heart ache so often in England, what terrible
significance it bore now!

And how he would suffer in his heart and in his pride, because of her
whom he could not even attempt to save since it would mean the death of
others! of others, always of others!

She wondered if he had already landed in Boulogne! Again she remembered
the vision on the landing stage: his massive figure, the glimpse she had
of the loved form, in the midst of the crowd!

The moment he entered the town he would hear the proclamation read, see
it posted up no doubt on every public building, and realize that she had
been foolish enough to follow him, that she was a prisoner and that he
could do nothing to save her.

What would he do? Marguerite at the thought instinctively pressed her
hands to her heart, the agony of it all had become physically painful.
She hoped that perhaps this pain meant approaching death! oh! how easy
would this simple solution be!

The moon peered out from beneath the bank of clouds which had obscured
her for so long; smiling, she drew her pencilled silver lines along the
edge of towers and pinnacles, the frowning Beffroi and those stony walls
which se