ots without
end were hatched in England, in Belgium, in Holland, to try and induce
some great power to send troops into revolutionary Paris, to free King
Louis, and to summarily hang the bloodthirsty leaders of that monster
republic.

Small wonder, therefore, that the romantic and mysterious personality of
the Scarlet Pimpernel was a source of bitter hatred to Chauvelin. He and
the few young jackanapes under his command, well furnished with money,
armed with boundless daring, and acute cunning, had succeeded in
rescuing hundreds of aristocrats from France. Nine-tenths of the
EMIGRES, who were FETED at the English court, owed their safety to that
man and to his league.

Chauvelin had sworn to his colleagues in Paris that he would discover
the identity of that meddlesome Englishman, entice him over to France,
and then . . . Chauvelin drew a deep breath of satisfaction at the very
thought of seeing that enigmatic head falling under the knife of the
guillotine, as easily as that of any other man.

Suddenly there was a great stir on the handsome staircase, all
conversation stopped for a moment as the majordomo's voice outside
announced,--

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and suite, Sir Percy Blakeney,
Lady Blakeney."

Lord Grenville went quickly to the door to receive his exalted guest.

The Prince of Wales, dressed in a magnificent court suit of
salmon-coloured velvet richly embroidered with gold, entered with
Marguerite Blakeney on his arm; and on his left Sir Percy, in gorgeous
shimmering cream satin, cut in the extravagant "Incroyable" style, his
fair hair free from powder, priceless lace at his neck and wrists, and
the flat CHAPEAU-BRAS under his arm.

After the few conventional words of deferential greeting, Lord Grenville
said to his royal guest,--

"Will your Highness permit me to introduce M. Chauvelin, the accredited
agent of the French Government?"

Chauvelin, immediately the Prince entered, had stepped forward,
expecting this introduction. He bowed very low, whilst the Prince
returned his salute with a curt nod of the head.

"Monsieur," said His Royal Highness coldly, "we will try to forget
the government that sent you, and look upon you merely as our guest--a
private gentleman from France. As such you are welcome, Monsieur."

"Monseigneur," rejoined Chauvelin, bowing once again. "Madame," he
added, bowing ceremoniously before Marguerite.

"Ah! my little Chauvelin!" she said with unconcern