words would be.

There was to be an "unless" then? An "either-or" more terrible no doubt
than the one he had formulated before her just a year ago.

Chauvelin, she knew, was past master in the art of putting a knife at
his victim's throat and of giving it just the necessary twist with his
cruel and relentless "unless"!

But she felt quite calm, because her purpose was resolute. There is no
doubt that during this agonizing moment of suspense she was absolutely
firm in her determination to accept any and every condition which
Chauvelin would put before her as the price of her husband's safety.
After all, these conditions, since he placed them before HER, could
resolve themselves into questions of her own life against her husband's.

With that unreasoning impulse which was one of her most salient
characteristics, she never paused to think that, to Chauvelin, her own
life or death were only the means to the great end which he had in view:
the complete annihilation of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

That end could only be reached by Percy Blakeney's death--not by her
own.

Even now as she was watching him with eyes glowing and lips tightly
closed, lest a cry of impatient agony should escape her throat,
he,--like a snail that has shown its slimy horns too soon, and is not
ready to face the enemy as yet,--seemed suddenly to withdraw within his
former shell of careless suavity. The earnestness of his tone vanished,
giving place to light and easy conversation, just as if he were
discussing social topics with a woman of fashion in a Paris
drawing-room.

"Nay!" he said pleasantly, "is not your ladyship taking this matter in
too serious a spirit? Of a truth you repeated my innocent word 'unless'
even as if I were putting knife at your dainty throat. Yet I meant
naught that need disturb you yet. Have I not said that I am your friend?
Let me try and prove it to you."

"You will find that a difficult task, Monsieur," she said drily.

"Difficult tasks always have had a great fascination for your humble
servant. May I try?"

"Certainly."

"Shall we then touch at the root of this delicate matter? Your ladyship,
so I understand, is at this moment under the impression that I desire
to encompass--shall I say?--the death of an English gentleman for whom,
believe me, I have the greatest respect. That is so, is it not?"

"What is so, M. Chauvelin?" she asked almost stupidly, for truly she had
not even begun to grasp his meaning. "I do