The Scarlet Pimpernel Series – All 35 Titles in One Edition. Emma Orczy
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the arms of the man who knew how to play his cards well, that man, of course, being himself. Fortunately Louis Maurin did, in his own estimation, hold the trump card now, and he made up his mind to play it at once. He nodded in the direction whence the sound of men talking came as a faint and confused murmur, and said blandly:
"Our young friend in there has got over his trouble of this morning quite quickly. He —— "
"Don't speak of that outrage, Louis," Blanche broke in vehemently; "I can't bear it."
"My dear," he retorted suavely, "I was only going to say, that, like most men who are in love, he seems willing to endure both physical and moral humiliation, for the sake of the short glimpses he has of the lady of his choice. I don't blame him. We are all of us like that, you know, all of us who know what love is. I would endure anything for your sake, Blanche ... even blows."
"And now you are talking nonsense," the girl rejoined dryly. "There was no question of love in the unprovoked insult which that abominable aristo put upon Simon."
The lawyer gave a light shrug and echoed with something of a sneer:
"Unprovoked? My dear Blanche!"
"Certainly it was unprovoked. Simon had been sitting up with a sick man all night. He was returning home in the small hours of the morning when that devil of a Marquis, coward as well as bully, fell on him from behind and knocked him senseless before he could defend himself."
Maurin gave a superior little smile.
"A very pretty story, my dear. May I ask from whom you had it?"
"Everyone in Choisy will tell you the same. Every detail is known —— "
"No, dear, not every detail; nor will everyone in Choisy tell the pretty tale, for there is a man who stood by while the whole episode was going on, and who saw everything from the beginning."
"Some liar, I suppose," she retorted.
"No, not a liar. A man of integrity, of position, an official, in fact."
"And what did he tell you?"
Maurin smiled once more. Imperceptibly this time. Blanche plied him with questions. She wanted to know. She did not, as older women would have done, refuse to hear another word that might prove derogatory to the man she loved.
"Simon Pradel, my dear Blanche, was discovered by François de la Rodière making love to his sister, in the early dawn ... after a night spent at the château, but not with a sick man. He was, in fact, kneeling at Mademoiselle's feet, kissing her hand in farewell. No wonder the ci-devant lost his temper."
"It's not true!" the girl cried, hot with indignation.
"I pledge you my word that it is," the lawyer responded calmly.
Already Blanche had jumped to her feet. She went to the door, threw it open, and pointed to it with a dramatic gesture.
"Out of the house, Citizen Louis Maurin," she said, speaking as calmly as he had done, "and never dare set foot into it again. You are a liar and a traducer and I hate you worse than anyone I have ever known in all my life."
She remained standing by the door, a forbidding, almost tragic figure. Maurin remained for a time where he was, his eyes fixed upon her, pondering within himself what he should do. The girl's sudden revulsion had struck him with dismay. It was so unexpected. Once again Fate, or a false move on his part perhaps, had upset all his plans.
For the moment, however, there was nothing for him to do but to obey. He rose slowly, picked up his hat and coat and went to the door. Striding past the girl he made her a low bow. As soon as he had gone through the door she slammed it to behind him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Timely Warning
It was in the early morning of the day following the outrage on Dr. Pradel that a cabriolet, more ramshackle perhaps than any that plied in Choisy, turned into the great gates of La Rodière and came to a halt at the front door of the château. A tall man, dressed in sober black, alighted from the vehicle and rang the outside bell. To Paul who opened the door to him, the tall man gave his name as d'Arblay, Professor at the University of Louvain in Belgium, and added that he desired to speak with Monsieur l'Abbé.
Paul was a little doubtful: one had to be so careful nowadays with so many spies of that murdering government about. The visitor looked respectable enough, but there was never any knowing, and Paul thought it wisest to shut the door in the "Professor's" face whilst he went to consult his better half. Marie too was doubtful. For months past now, no visitor had called at the château, and, of course, one never did know. In the end the two old people decided that the only thing to do was to report the whole matter to Monsieur le Marquis, and he would decide whether the "Professeur" was to be introduced into Monsieur l'Abbé's presence or not.
To their astonishment Monsieur le Marquis was overjoyed when he heard of the visit, and commanded that Monsieur le Professeur be shown at once into his own private room. Never had Monsieur le Marquis shown such condescension towards a member of the despised "bourgeoisie," and Paul ushered in the visitor with as much deference as he would have shown to one who had a handle to his name.
François de la Rodière was indeed more than condescending. He greeted the tall Professor most cordially.
"Your visit is more than welcome, sir," he said. "I have been expecting it ever since yesterday at noon, when I received one of those mysterious messages signed with the device of a small red flower which have already puzzled us. You, I suppose, know all about it."
"All?" the Professor replied. "Not exactly, Monsieur le Marquis. But I have been asked to call here in a cabriolet for Monsieur l'Abbé Edgeworth, and to drive with him as far as Vitry, where friends of his who are of Belgian nationality and therefore safe from interference by the revolutionary government, will convey him safely to the frontier."
François could not help being impressed by the grave and dignified demeanour of this learned man, as well as by his exquisitely cut clothes and fine linen. To begin with he spoke French with a precision that amounted to pedantry, and this was strange in a Belgian: their French was usually execrable. He was tall and obviously powerful, and he had beautiful hands, one of which rested on the ivory knob of his cane. There was nothing Belgian about all that either, the Belgians being for the most part short and stocky and, with their Flemish ancestry, were of a very different fibre to the aristocracy of France. Puzzled, François remarked casually:
"You are a Belgian, are you not, Professor?"
"Cosmopolitan would be a better word, Monsieur le Marquis," the other replied coolly. "I trust Monsieur l'Abbé is in a better state of health. The journey might be trying for an invalid."
"Oh! he is much better. Much, much better," François replied, then went on in a confidential manner: "Entre nous, my good Professor, his being ill here was somewhat inconvenient, not to say dangerous for the safety of Madame la Marquise and all of us. I shall be really thankful to have him out of the way."
"I am sure. Especially in view of the fact that the people down in Choisy are none too friendly towards your family."
"Oh! the riff-raff down in Choisy do not frighten me. Riff-raff! that is all they are. They shout and yell and break a window or two. No! no, I am not afraid of that rabble. Let them come. They will get their deserts."
"It is sometimes best to be prepared."
"I am prepared. With powder and shot. The first man who sets foot on the perron is a dead man, so are all who follow him."
"Retreat before a powerful enemy is sometimes more prudent and often more brave than assured resistance."
"You mean run away before that canaille. Not I. I'll see them all in hell first."
"I was thinking of Madame la Marquise and Mademoiselle Cécile."