"I am happy to know you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he said."Iknew your father well when he was ambassador in London.""Ah, Monseigneur!" replied the Vicomte, "I was a leetle boy then...and now I owe the honour of this meeting to our protector, the Scarlet Pimpernel.""Hush!" said the Prince, earnestly and quickly, as he indicated Chauvelin, who had stood a little on one side throughout the whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Comtesse with an amused, sarcastic little smile around his thin lips.
"Nay, Monseigneur," he said now, as if in direct response to the Prince's challenge, "pray do not check this gentleman's display of gratitude; the name of that interesting red flower is well known to me--and to France."The Prince looked at him keenly for a moment or two.
"Faith, then, Monsieur," he said, "perhaps you know more about our national hero than we do ourselves...perchance you know who he is....See!" he added, turning to the groups round the room, "the ladies hang upon your lips...you would render yourself popular among the fair sex if you were to gratify their curiosity.""Ah, Monseigneur," said Chauvelin, significantly, "rumour has it in France that your Highness could--an you would--give the truest account of that enigmatical wayside flower."He looked quickly and keenly at Marguerite as he spoke; but she betrayed no emotion, and her eyes met his quite fearlessly.
"Nay, man," replied the Prince, "my lips are sealed! and the members of the league jealously guard the secret of their chief...so his fair adorers have to be content with worshipping a shadow.Here in England, Monsieur," he added, with wonderful charm and dignity, "we but name the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every fair cheek is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm.None have seen him save his faithful lieutenants.We know not if he be tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or ill-formed; but we know that he is the bravest gentleman in all the world, and we all feel a little proud, Monsieur, when we remember that he is an Englishman.
"Ah, Monsieur Chauvelin," added Marguerite, looking almost with defiance across at the placid, sphinx-like face of the Frenchman, "His Royal Highness should add that we ladies think of him as of a hero of old...we worship him...we wear his badge...we tremble for him when he is in danger, and exult with him in the hour of his victory."Chauvelin did no more than bow placidly both to the Prince and to Marguerite; he felt that both speeches were intended--each in their way--to convey contempt or defiance.The pleasure-loving, idle Prince he despised: the beautiful woman, who in her golden hair wore a spray of small red flowers composed of rubies and diamonds--her he held in the hollow of hand: he could afford to remain silent and to wait events.
A long, jovial, inane laugh broke the sudden silence which had fallen over everyone.
"And we poor husbands," came in slow, affected accents from gorgeous Sir Percy, "we have to stand by...while they worship a demmed shadow."Everyone laughed--the Prince more loudly than anyone.The tension of subdued excitement was relieved, and the next moment everyone was laughing and chatting merrily as the gay crowd broke up and dispersed in the adjoining rooms.
