our service, mademoiselle," he replied.

The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they took
final leave of her, spoke the gratitude and the joy which he felt.

CHAPTER V. THE TEMPLE PRISON

It was close on midnight when the two friends finally parted company
outside the doors of the theatre. The night air struck with biting
keenness against them when they emerged from the stuffy, overheated
building, and both wrapped their caped cloaks tightly round their
shoulders. Armand--more than ever now--was anxious to rid himself of
de Batz. The Gascon's platitudes irritated him beyond the bounds of
forbearance, and he wanted to be alone, so that he might think over
the events of this night, the chief event being a little lady with an
enchanting voice and the most fascinating brown eyes he had ever seen.

Self-reproach, too, was fighting a fairly even fight with the excitement
that had been called up by that same pair of brown eyes. Armand for the
past four or five hours had acted in direct opposition to the earnest
advice given to him by his chief; he had renewed one friendship which
had been far better left in oblivion, and he had made an acquaintance
which already was leading him along a path that he felt sure his comrade
would disapprove. But the path was so profusely strewn with scented
narcissi that Armand's sensitive conscience was quickly lulled to rest
by the intoxicating fragrance.

Looking neither to right nor left, he made his way very quickly up the
Rue Richelieu towards the Montmartre quarter, where he lodged.

De Batz stood and watched him for as long as the dim lights of the
street lamps illumined his slim, soberly-clad figure; then he turned on
his heel and walked off in the opposite direction.

His florid, pock-marked face wore an air of contentment not altogether
unmixed with a kind of spiteful triumph.

"So, my pretty Scarlet Pimpernel," he muttered between his closed lips,
"you wish to meddle in my affairs, to have for yourself and your friends
the credit and glory of snatching the golden prize from the clutches of
these murderous brutes. Well, we shall see! We shall see which is the
wiliest--the French ferret or the English fox."

He walked deliberately away from the busy part of the town, turning
his back on the river, stepping out briskly straight before him, and
swinging his gold-beaded cane as he walked.

The streets which he had to traverse were silent and deserted, save