. Harry Waite's clenched teeth. Only respect
for "the quality," and notably for my Lord Antony, kept his marked
disapproval of the young foreigner in check.

"Nay, but this IS England, you abandoned young reprobate," interposed
Lord Antony with a laugh, "and do not, I pray, bring your loose foreign
ways into this most moral country."

Lord Antony had already sat down at the head of the table with the
Comtesse on his right. Jellyband was bustling round, filling glasses and
putting chairs straight. Sally waited, ready to hand round the soup.
Mr. Harry Waite's friends had at last succeeded in taking him out of
the room, for his temper was growing more and more violent under the
Vicomte's obvious admiration for Sally.

"Suzanne," came in stern, commanding accents from the rigid Comtesse.

Suzanne blushed again; she had lost count of time and of place whilst
she had stood beside the fire, allowing the handsome young Englishman's
eyes to dwell upon her sweet face, and his hand, as if unconsciously,
to rest upon hers. Her mother's voice brought her back to reality once
more, and with a submissive "Yes, Mama," she took her place at the
supper table.

CHAPTER IV THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

They all looked a merry, even a happy party, as they sat round the
table; Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst, two typical
good-looking, well-born and well-bred Englishmen of that year of grace
1792, and the aristocratic French comtesse with her two children, who
had just escaped from such dire perils, and found a safe retreat at last
on the shores of protecting England.

In the corner the two strangers had apparently finished their game; one
of them arose, and standing with his back to the merry company at the
table, he adjusted with much deliberation his large triple caped coat.
As he did so, he gave one quick glance all around him. Everyone was busy
laughing and chatting, and he murmured the words "All safe!": his
companion then, with the alertness borne of long practice, slipped on to
his knees in a moment, and the next had crept noiselessly under the oak
bench. The stranger then, with a loud "Good-night," quietly walked out
of the coffee-room.

Not one of those at the supper table had noticed this curious and silent
manoeuvre, but when the stranger finally closed the door of the
coffee-room behind him, they all instinctively sighed a sigh of relief.

"Alone, at last!" said Lord Antony, jovially.

Th