he Scarlet Pimpernel to the guillotine, and now the
daring plotter, whose anonymity hitherto had been his safeguard, stood
revealed through her own hand, to his most bitter, most relentless
enemy.

Chauvelin--when he waylaid Lord Tony and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes in the
coffee-room of "The Fisherman's Rest"--had obtained possession of all
the plans of this latest expedition. Armand St. Just, the Comte de
Tournay and other fugitive royalists were to have met the Scarlet
Pimpernel--or rather, as it had been originally arranged, two of his
emissaries--on this day, the 2nd of October, at a place evidently known
to the league, and vaguely alluded to as the "Pere Blanchard's hut."

Armand, whose connection with the Scarlet Pimpernel and disavowal of
the brutal policy of the Reign of Terror was still unknown to his
countryman, had left England a little more than a week ago, carrying
with him the necessary instructions, which would enable him to meet the
other fugitives and to convey them to this place of safety.

This much Marguerite had fully understood from the first, and Sir Andrew
Ffoulkes had confirmed her surmises. She knew, too, that when Sir Percy
realized that his own plans and his directions to his lieutenants had
been stolen by Chauvelin, it was too late to communicate with Armand, or
to send fresh instructions to the fugitives.

They would, of necessity, be at the appointed time and place, not
knowing how grave was the danger which now awaited their brave rescuer.

Blakeney, who as usual had planned and organized the whole expedition,
would not allow any of his younger comrades to run the risk of almost
certain capture. Hence his hurried note to them at Lord Grenville's
ball--"Start myself to-morrow--alone."

And now with his identity known to his most bitter enemy, his every step
would be dogged, the moment he set foot in France. He would be tracked
by Chauvelin's emissaries, followed until he reached that mysterious hut
where the fugitives were waiting for him, and there the trap would be
closed on him and on them.

There was but one hour--the hour's start which Marguerite and Sir Andrew
had of their enemy--in which to warn Percy of the imminence of his
danger, and to persuade him to give up the foolhardy expedition, which
could only end in his own death.

But there WAS that one hour.

"Chauvelin knows of this inn, from the papers he stole," said Sir
Andrew, earnestly, "and on landing will make straight for