for suddenly, like a tired child, she felt quite sleepy.

Her heart seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and, though it
still ached with undefined longing, a vague and delicious hope soothed
it as with a balm.

She felt no longer anxious about Armand. The man who had just ridden
away, bent on helping her brother, inspired her with complete confidence
in his strength and in his power. She marvelled at herself for having
ever looked upon him as an inane fool; of course, THAT was a mask worn
to hide the bitter wound she had dealt to his faith and to his love. His
passion would have overmastered him, and he would not let her see how
much he still cared and how deeply he suffered.

But now all would be well: she would crush her own pride, humble it
before him, tell him everything, trust him in everything; and those
happy days would come back, when they used to wander off together in the
forests of Fontainebleau, when they spoke little--for he was always a
silent man--but when she felt that against that strong heart she would
always find rest and happiness.

The more she thought of the events of the past night, the less fear had
she of Chauvelin and his schemes. He had failed to discover the identity
of the Scarlet Pimpernel, of that she felt sure. Both Lord Fancourt
and Chauvelin himself had assured her that no one had been in
the dining-room at one o'clock except the Frenchman himself and
Percy--Yes!--Percy! she might have asked him, had she thought of it!
Anyway, she had no fears that the unknown and brave hero would fall in
Chauvelin's trap; his death at any rate would not be at her door.

Armand certainly was still in danger, but Percy had pledged his word
that Armand would be safe, and somehow, as Marguerite had seen him
riding away, the possibility that he could fail in whatever he undertook
never even remotely crossed her mind. When Armand was safely over in
England she would not allow him to go back to France.

She felt almost happy now, and, drawing the curtains closely together
again to shut out the piercing sun, she went to bed at last, laid
her head upon the pillow, and, like a wearied child, soon fell into a
peaceful and dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER XVIII THE MYSTERIOUS DEVICE

The day was well advanced when Marguerite woke, refreshed by her long
sleep. Louise had brought her some fresh milk and a dish of fruit, and
she partook of this frugal breakfast with hearty appetite.

Thoughts cr