burning
with impatience to place the terms of the proposed bargain before this
man, yet he would have preferred to be interrogated, to deliver his
"either-or" with becoming sternness and decision, rather than to take
the initiative in this discussion, where he should have been calm and
indifferent, whilst his enemy should have been nervous and disturbed.

Sir Percy's attitude had disconcerted him, a touch of the grotesque had
been given to what should have been a tense moment, and it was terribly
galling to the pride of the ex-diplomatist that with this elusive
enemy and in spite of his own preparedness for any eventuality, it was
invariably the unforeseen that happened.

After a moment's reflection, however, he decided upon a fresh course of
action. He rose and crossed the room, keeping as much as possible an eye
upon Sir Percy, but the latter sat placid and dormant and evidently
in no hurry to move. Chauvelin having reached the door, opened it
noiselessly, and to the sergeant in command of his bodyguard who stood
at attention outside, he whispered hurriedly:

"The prisoner from No. 6.... Let two of the men bring her hither back to
me at once."

Chapter XXVI: The Terms of the Bargain

Less than three minutes later, there came to Chauvelin's expectant ears
the soft sound made by a woman's skirts against the stone floor. During
those three minutes, which had seemed an eternity to his impatience, he
had sat silently watching the slumber--affected or real--of his enemy.

Directly he heard the word: "Halt!" outside the door, he jumped to his
feet. The next moment Marguerite had entered the room.

Hardly had her foot crossed the threshold than Sir Percy rose, quietly
and without haste but evidently fully awake, and turning towards her,
made her a low obeisance.

She, poor woman, had of course caught sight of him at once. His presence
here, Chauvelin's demand for her reappearance, the soldiers in a small
compact group outside the door, all these were unmistakable proofs that
the awful cataclysm had at last occurred.

The Scarlet Pimpernel, Percy Blakeney, her husband, was in the hands of
the Terrorists of France, and though face to face with her now, with
an open window close to him, and an apparently helpless enemy under
his hand, he could not--owing to the fiendish measures taken by
Chauvelin--raise a finger to save himself and her.

Mercifully for her, nature--in the face of this appalling
tragedy--d