m. I think maman will consent," she added thoughtfully, "and I
shall be--oh! so happy--but, of course, nothing is to be thought of
until papa is safe. . . ."

Marguerite started. Suzanne's father! the Comte de Tournay!--one
of those whose life would be jeopardised if Chauvelin succeeded in
establishing the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

She had understood all along from the Comtesse, and also from one or two
of the members of the league, that their mysterious leader had pledged
his honour to bring the fugitive Comte de Tournay safely out of France.
Whilst little Suzanne--unconscious of all--save her own all-important
little secret, went prattling on. Marguerite's thoughts went back to the
events of the past night.

Armand's peril, Chauvelin's threat, his cruel "Either--or--" which she
had accepted.

And then her own work in the matter, which should have culminated at one
o'clock in Lord Grenville's dining-room, when the relentless agent
of the French Government would finally learn who was this mysterious
Scarlet Pimpernel, who so openly defied an army of spies and placed
himself so boldly, and for mere sport, on the side of the enemies of
France.

Since then she had heard nothing from Chauvelin. She had concluded that
he had failed, and yet, she had not felt anxious about Armand, because
her husband had promised her that Armand would be safe.

But now, suddenly, as Suzanne prattled merrily along, an awful horror
came upon her for what she had done. Chauvelin had told her nothing, it
was true; but she remembered how sarcastic and evil he looked when she
took final leave of him after the ball. Had he discovered something
then? Had he already laid his plans for catching the daring plotter,
red-handed, in France, and sending him to the guillotine without
compunction or delay?

Marguerite turned sick with horror, and her hand convulsively clutched
the ring in her dress.

"You are not listening, CHERIE," said Suzanne, reproachfully, as she
paused in her long, highly interesting narrative.

"Yes, yes, darling--indeed I am," said Marguerite with an effort,
forcing herself to smile. "I love to hear you talking . . . and your
happiness makes me so very glad. . . . Have no fear, we will manage to
propitiate maman. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes is a noble English gentleman; he
has money and position, the Comtesse will not refuse her consent. . . .
But . . . now, little one . . . tell me . . . what is the latest news
about yo