It was in truth a strange situation, this chance meeting between PercyBlakeney and ex-Ambassador Chauvelin.
Marguerite looked up at her husband. She saw him shrug his broadshoulders as he first caught sight of Chauvelin, and glance down in hisusual lazy, good-humoured manner at the shrunken figure of the silentFrenchman. The words she meant to say never crossed her lips; she waswaiting to hear what the two men would say to one another.
The instinct of the grande dame in her, the fashionable lady accustomedto the exigencies of society, just gave her sufficient presence of mindto make the requisite low curtsey before His Royal Highness. But thePrince, forgetting his accustomed gallantry, was also absorbed in thelittle scene before him. He, too, was looking from the sable-clad figureof Chauvelin to that of gorgeously arrayed Sir Percy. He, too, likeMarguerite, was wondering what was passing behind the low, smoothforehead of that inimitable dandy, what behind the inscrutablygood-humoured expression of those sleepy eyes.
Of the five persons thus present in the dark and stuffy booth, certainlySir Percy Blakeney seemed the least perturbed. He had paused just longenough to allow Chauvelin to become fully conscious of a feelingof supreme irritation and annoyance, then he strolled up to theex-ambassador, with hand outstretched and the most engaging of smiles.
"Ha!" he said, with his usual half-shy, half-pleasant-tempered smile,"my engaging friend from France! I hope, sir, that our demmed climatedoth find you well and hearty to-day."
The cheerful voice seemed to ease the tension. Marguerite sighed a sighof relief. After all, what was more natural than that Percy with hisamazing fund of pleasant irresponsibility should thus greet the manwho had once vowed to bring him to the guillotine? Chauvelin, himself,accustomed by now to the audacious coolness of his enemy, was scarcelytaken by surprise. He bowed low to His Highness, who, vastly amused atBlakeney's sally, was inclined to be gracious to everyone, even thoughthe personality of Chauvelin as a well-known leader of the regicidegovernment was inherently distasteful to him. But the Prince saw inthe wizened little figure before him an obvious butt for his friendBlakeney's impertinent shafts, and although historians have been unableto assert positively whether or no George Prince of Wales knew aught ofSir Percy's dual life, yet there is no doubt that he was always readyto enjoy a situation which brought about the discomfiture of any of theScarlet Pimpernel's avowed enemies.
"I, too, have not met M. Chauvelin for many a long month," said HisRoyal Highness with an obvious show of irony. "And I mistake not, sir,you left my father's court somewhat abruptly last year."
"Nay, your Royal Highness," said Percy gaily, "my friend Monsieur...er... Chaubertin and I had serious business to discuss, which could onlybe dealt with in France.... Am I not right, Monsieur?"
"Quite right, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin curtly.
"We had to discuss abominable soup in Calais, had we not?" continuedBlakeney in the same tone of easy banter, "and wine that I vowedwas vinegar. Monsieur... er... Chaubertin... no, no, I beg pardon...Chauvelin... Monsieur Chauvelin and I quite agreed upon that point.The only matter on which we were not quite at one was the question ofsnuff."
"Snuff?" laughed His Royal Highness, who seemed vastly amused.
"Yes, your Royal Highness... snuff... Monsieur Chauvelin here had--if Imay be allowed to say so--so vitiated a taste in snuff that he prefersit with an admixture of pepper... Is that not so, Monsieur... er...Chaubertin?"
"Chauvelin, Sir Percy," remarked the ex-ambassador drily.
He was determined not to lose his temper and looked urbane and pleasant,whilst his impudent enemy was enjoying a joke at his expense. Margueritethe while had not taken her eyes off the keen, shrewd face. Whilst thethree men talked, she seemed suddenly to have lost her sense of thereality of things. The present situation appeared to her strangelyfamiliar, like a dream which she had dreamt oft times before.
Suddenly it became absolutely clear to her that the whole scene had beenarranged and planned: the booth with its flaring placard, DemoiselleCandeille soliciting her patronage, her invitation to the young actress,Chauvelin's sudden appearance, all, all had been concocted and arranged,not here, not in England at all, but out there in Paris, in some darkgathering of blood-thirsty ruffians, who had invented a final trap forthe destruction of the bold adventurer, who went by the name of theScarlet Pimpernel.
And she also was only a puppet, enacting a part which had been writtenfor her: she had acted just as THEY had anticipated, had spoken the verywords they had meant her to say: and when she looked at Percy, he seemedsupremely ignorant of it all, unconscious of this trap of the existenceof which everyone here present was aware, save indeed himself. Shewould have fought against this weird feeling of obsession, of being amechanical toy would up to do certain things, but this she could not do;her will appeared paralysed, her tongue even refused her service.
As in a dream she heard His Royal Highness ask for the name of the youngactress who was soliciting alms for the poor of Paris.
That also had been prearranged. His Royal Highness for the moment wasalso a puppet, made to dance, to speak and to act as Chauvelin and hiscolleagues over in France had decided that he should. Quite mechanicallyMarguerite introduced Demoiselle Candeille to the Prince's graciousnotice.
"If your Highness will permit," she said, "Mademoiselle Candeille willgive us some of her charming old French songs at my rout to-morrow."
"By all means! By all means!" said the Prince. "I used to know somein my childhood days. Charming and poetic.... I know.... I know.... Weshall be delighted to hear Mademoiselle sing, eh, Blakeney?" he addedgood-humouredly, "and for your rout to-morrow will you not also inviteM. Chauvelin?"
"Nay! but that goes without saying, your Royal Highness," responded SirPercy, with hospitable alacrity and a most approved bow directed at hisarch-enemy. "We shall expect M. Chauvelin. He and I have not met for solong, and he shall be made right welcome at Blakeney Manor."
Chapter IX: Demoiselle Candeille