she IS a French one. And here's to your
courtship--may it flourish and prosper exceedingly."

He drained his glass to the last drop, then joined his friend beside the
hearth.

"Well! you'll be doing the journey next, Tony, I expect," said Sir
Andrew, rousing himself from his meditations, "you and Hastings,
certainly; and I hope you may have as pleasant a task as I had, and as
charming a travelling companion. You have no idea, Tony. . . ."

"No! I haven't," interrupted his friend pleasantly, "but I'll take your
word for it. And now," he added, whilst a sudden earnestness crept over
his jovial young face, "how about business?" The two young men drew
their chairs closer together, and instinctively, though they were alone,
their voices sank to a whisper.

"I saw the Scarlet Pimpernel alone, for a few moments in Calais," said
Sir Andrew, "a day or two ago. He crossed over to England two days
before we did. He had escorted the party all the way from Paris,
dressed--you'll never credit it!--as an old market woman, and
driving--until they were safely out of the city--the covered cart,
under which the Comtesse de Tournay, Mlle. Suzanne, and the Vicomte lay
concealed among the turnips and cabbages. They, themselves, of course,
never suspected who their driver was. He drove them right through a line
of soldiery and a yelling mob, who were screaming, 'A bas les aristos!'
But the market cart got through along with some others, and the Scarlet
Pimpernel, in shawl, petticoat and hood, yelled 'A bas les aristos!'
louder than anybody. Faith!" added the young man, as his eyes glowed
with enthusiasm for the beloved leader, "that man's a marvel! His cheek
is preposterous, I vow!--and that's what carries him through."

Lord Antony, whose vocabulary was more limited than that of his friend,
could only find an oath or two with which to show his admiration for his
leader.

"He wants you and Hastings to meet him at Calais," said Sir Andrew,
more quietly, "on the 2nd of next month. Let me see! that will be next
Wednesday."

"Yes."

"It is, of course, the case of the Comte de Tournay, this time; a
dangerous task, for the Comte, whose escape from his chateau, after he
had been declared a 'suspect' by the Committee of Public Safety, was a
masterpiece of the Scarlet Pimpernel's ingenuity, is now under sentence
of death. It will be rare sport to get HIM out of France, and you will
have a narrow escape, if you get through at all. St. Just h