ddenly the silence was interrupted by a loud and
pleasant laugh and a drawly voice speaking in merry accents:

"The lud live you, Monsieur Chaubertin, and pray how do you propose to
accomplish all these pleasant things?"

In a moment Chauvelin was on his feet and with eyes dilated, lips parted
in awed bewilderment, he was gazing towards the open window, where
astride upon the sill, one leg inside the room, the other out, and with
the moon shining full on his suit of delicate-coloured cloth, his wide
caped coat and elegant chapeau-bras, sat the imperturbably Sir Percy.

"I heard you muttering such pleasant words, Monsieur," continued
Blakeney calmly, "that the temptation seized me to join in the
conversation. A man talking to himself is ever in a sorry plight... he
is either a mad man or a fool..."

He laughed his own quaint and inane laugh and added apologetically:

"Far be if from me, sir, to apply either epithet to you... demmed bad
form calling another fellow names... just when he does not quite feel
himself, eh?... You don't feel quite yourself, I fancy just now... eh,
Monsieur Chauberin... er... beg pardon, Chauvelin..."

He sat there quite comfortably, one slender hand resting on the
gracefully-fashioned hilt of his sword--the sword of Lorenzo Cenci,--the
other holding up the gold-rimed eyeglass through which he was regarding
his avowed enemy; he was dressed as for a ball, and his perpetually
amiable smile lurked round the corners of his firm lips.

Chauvelin had undoubtedly for the moment lost his presence of mind. He
did not even think of calling to his picked guard, so completely taken
aback was he by this unforeseen move on the part of Sir Percy. Yet,
obviously, he should have been ready for this eventuality. Had he not
caused the town-crier to loudly proclaim throughout the city that if
ONE female prisoner escaped from Fort Gayole the entire able-bodied
population of Boulogne would suffer?

The moment Sir Percy entered the gates of the town, he could not help
but hear the proclamation, and hear at the same time that this one
female prisoner who was so precious a charge, was the wife of the
English spy: the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Moreover, was it not a fact that whenever or wherever the Scarlet
Pimpernel was least expected there and then would he surely appear?
Having once realized that it was his wife who was incarcerated in Fort
Gayole, was it not natural that he would go and prowl around the prison,