ther.... Now, about this unfortunate incident of Lady
Blakeney's incarceration, I would like you to believe that I had no part
in the arrangements which have been made for her detention in Paris. My
colleagues have arranged it all... and I have vainly tried to protest
against the rigorous measures which are to be enforced against her in
the Temple prison.... But these are answering so completely in the
case of the ex-queen, they have so completely broken her spirit and her
pride, that my colleagues felt that they would prove equally useful in
order to bring the Scarlet Pimpernel--through his wife--to an humbler
frame of mind."

He paused a moment, distinctly pleased with his peroration, satisfied
that his voice had been without a tremor and his face impassive, and
wondering what effect this somewhat lengthy preamble had upon Sir
Percy, who through it all had remained singularly quiet. Chauvelin was
preparing himself for the next effect which he hoped to produce, and
was vaguely seeking for the best words with which to fully express his
meaning, when he was suddenly startled by a sound as unexpected as it
was disconcerting.

It was the sound of a loud and prolonged snore. He pushed the candle
aside, which somewhat obstructed his line of vision, and casting a rapid
glance at the enemy, with whose life he was toying even as a cat doth
with that of a mouse, he saw that the aforesaid mouse was calmly and
unmistakably asleep.

An impatient oath escaped Chauvelin's lips, and he brought his fist
heavily down on the table, making the metal candlesticks rattle and
causing Sir Percy to open one sleepy eye.

"A thousand pardons, sir," said Blakeney with a slight yawn. "I am so
demmed fatigued, and your preface was unduly long.... Beastly bad form,
I know, going to sleep during a sermon... but I haven't had a wink of
sleep all day.... I pray you to excuse me..."

"Will you condescend to listen, Sir Percy?" queried Chauvelin
peremptorily, "or shall I call the guard and give up all thoughts of
treating with you?"

"Just whichever you demmed well prefer, sir," rejoined Blakeney
impatiently.

And once more stretching out his long limbs, he buried his hands in
the pockets of his breeches and apparently prepared himself for another
quiet sleep. Chauvelin looked at him for a moment, vaguely wondering
what to do next. He felt strangely irritated at what he firmly believed
was mere affectation on Blakeney's part, and although he was