ears, or trust her eyes. It seemed
impossible that a man could have so changed in a few months. He even
looked shorter than last year, more shrunken within himself. His hair,
which he wore free from powder, was perceptibly tinged with grey.

"Shall I withdraw?" he added after a pause, seeing that Marguerite made
no movement to return his salutation.

"It would be best, perhaps," she replied coldly. "You and I, Monsieur
Chauvelin, have so little to say to one another."

"Very little indeed," he rejoined quietly; "the triumphant and happy
have ever very little to say to the humiliated and the defeated. But
I had hoped that Lady Blakeney in the midst of her victory would have
spared one thought of pity and one of pardon."

"I did not know that you had need of either from me, Monsieur."

"Pity perhaps not, but forgiveness certainly."

"You have that, if you so desire it."

"Since I failed, you might try to forget."

"That is beyond my power. But believe me, I have ceased to think of the
infinite wrong which you tried to do to me."

"But I failed," he insisted, "and I meant no harm to YOU."

"To those I care for, Monsieur Chauvelin."

"I had to serve my country as best I could. I meant no harm to your
brother. He is safe in England now. And the Scarlet Pimpernel was
nothing to you."

She tried to read his face, tried to discover in those inscrutable eyes
of his, some hidden meaning to his words. Instinct had warned her of
course that this man could be nothing but an enemy, always and at all
times. But he seemed so broken, so abject now, that contempt for his
dejected attitude, and for the defeat which had been inflicted on him,
chased the last remnant of fear from her heart.

"I did not even succeed in harming that enigmatical personage,"
continued Chauvelin with the same self-abasement. "Sir Percy Blakeney,
you remember, threw himself across my plans, quite innocently of course.
I failed where you succeeded. Luck has deserted me. Our government
offered me a humble post, away from France. I look after the interests
of French subjects settled in England. My days of power are over. My
failure is complete. I do not complain, for I failed in a combat of
wits... but I failed... I failed... I failed... I am almost a fugitive
and I am quite disgraced. That is my present history, Lady Blakeney," he
concluded, taking once more a step towards her, "and you will understand
that it would be a solace if you extended your