... putting aside for the moment the question of the
Scarlet Pimpernel altogether... then, Lady Blakeney will be taken to
Paris, and will be incarcerated in the prison of the Temple lately
vacated by Marie Antoinette--there she will be treated in exactly the
same was as the ex-queen is now being treated in the Conciergerie.... Do
you know what that means, Sir Percy?... It does not mean a summary trial
and a speedy death, with the halo and glory of martyrdom thrown in... it
means days, weeks, nay, months, perhaps, of misery and humiliation...
it means, that like Marie Antoinette, she will never be allowed solitude
for one single instant of the day or night... it means the constant
proximity of soldiers, drunk with cruelty and with hate... the insults,
the shame..."

"You hound!... you dog!... you cur!... do you not see that I must
strangle you for this!..."

The attack had been so sudden and so violent that Chauvelin had not the
time to utter the slightest call for help. But a second ago, Sir Percy
Blakeney had been sitting on the window-sill, outwardly listening with
perfect calm to what his enemy had to say; now he was at the latter's
throat, pressing with long and slender hands the breath out of the
Frenchman's body, his usually placid face distorted into a mask of hate.

"You cur!... you cur!..." he repeated, "am I to kill you or will you
unsay those words?"

Then suddenly he relaxed his grip. The habits of a lifetime would not
be gainsaid even now. A second ago his face had been livid with rage
and hate, now a quick flush overspread it, as if he were ashamed of this
loss of self-control. He threw the little Frenchman away from him like
he would a beast which had snarled, and passed his hand across his brow.

"Lud forgive me!" he said quaintly, "I had almost lost my temper."

Chauvelin was not slow in recovering himself. He was plucky and alert,
and his hatred for this man was so great that he had actually ceased to
fear him. Now he quietly readjusted his cravat, made a vigorous effort
to re-conquer his breath, and said firmly as soon as he could contrive
to speak at all:

"And if you did strangle me, Sir Percy, you would do yourself no
good. The fate which I have mapped out for Lady Blakeney, would then
irrevocably be hers, for she is in our power and none of my colleagues
are disposed to offer you a means of saving her from it, as I am ready
to do."

Blakeney was now standing in the middle of the room, wit