Early in September, Armand Chauvelin arrived in London on the mission entrusted to him by the Revolutionary Government. As that mission was ostensibly a diplomatic one, it was not difficult for him to gain admittance into fashionable society; and though he was cold-shouldered by the more exclusive sets, his position as accredited agent of a government with which England was not at war, opened for him the doors of official circles.

In Paris he had, of course, known Marguerite St. Just intimately; he had been one of the most assiduous frequenters of her salon. It was to her that he turned, in the first instance, for introductions to the milieu which, but for her, would have been rigorously closed against him. England had not yet declared war against the revolutionary Government of France. She was still maintaining a rigid neutrality, but that was no reason why the representative of a "band of assassins," as the government was euphoniously called, should be made welcome in London.

But to Marguerite Blakeney he was really welcome. In spite of her social successes, she was lonely. Deprived of her husband's love, looked on askance by her own compatriots whose political views were opposed to her own, she turned with a pathetic sense of comfort to this man who had been her friend in the happy care-free days, before she was a great lady, and was still the popular, adulated star of the Théâtre des Arts. She also made Armand Chauvelin welcome, because she hoped, by resuming their intimate talks of long ago, to find out exactly what was the trouble about her brother Armand; what had he done? she wanted to know. Of what had he been accused?

But, as Marguerite very soon was made to realize, the happy-go-lucky intercourse of the past had given place in Chauvelin's mind to his great anxiety of the moment. To begin with, he feigned total ignorance on the subject of Armand: was the boy in danger? had he done something foolish? He, Chauvelin, had heard nothing of it.

Where, however, he did grow confidential was on the subject of the mission entrusted to him. He explained its object to her: the discovery of the identity of a band of English spies who were working in France itself against the existing Government. The band was led by an extraordinarily daring adventurer who was known as the Scarlet Pimpernel, a bitter enemy to France, whom Chauvelin had sworn to lay by the heels. Had Marguerite heard of him? She had indeed, and amidst much laughter and wealth of detail, she told her whilom friend of the vogue the mysterious hero had in his own country; race-horses, favourite dogs were named for him: babies born in this year of grace were christened Pimpernel or Pimpernella; fashionable dresses of whatever colour, blue, yellow or green, were named à la Scarlet Pimpernel.

Chauvelin listened to all this bantering talk, after which he reiterated the remark that this so-called hero was the most bitter enemy of France, adding that it was Marguerite St. Just's duty to help him to bring such an enemy to book. But here he met with a flat refusal. Nothing would induce Marguerite St. Just, Lady Blakeney, to lend a hand in a work of spying. 

And with this firm refusal Chauvelin had perforce to be content.

Chance, however, presently favoured him. Armand St. Just was obliged for family reasons, in order to look after certain property held jointly by his sister, to return to France. He only intended to stay there a very little while, but Marguerite's heart was filled with dread and misgiving at the unnecessary risks such a journey entailed with the nameless danger still hanging over his head. However, she could do nothing to dissuade him from going, and she therefore posted with him to Dover to see him off by the packet boat.

But Chauvelin, it seems, got to hear of this and followed them to Dover, with the vague idea in his mind that he might be able to force Marguerite's hand by using her brother as a leverage.

From Blakeney's point of view, Chauvelin's presence in England added a new and very grave difficulty to the League's activities. He knew, of course, that Chauvelin's pose of accredited agent to the English Government was only a blind to hide his real purpose which was, if humanly possible, to unmask the Scarlet Pimpernel and to lure him to France where a carefully baited trap would eventually close on him; after which nothing short of a miracle could save him from the guillotine.

It is interesting to gather from scraps in Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' diary that the arrival of Marguerite and her brother at Dover coincided with that of Sir Percy, who had come on shore from his yacht the Daydream in the company of the Comtesse de Tournay and her son the Vicomte, and her daughter Suzanne, whom he had with great ingenuity and good luck succeeded in rescuing from a terrible position which could only have ended in their condemnation and death.

Ffoulkes and Dewhurst were also in attendance on the party.

"Imagine our surprise," Sir Andrew writes in his diary, "when Lady Blakeney sailed into the coffee-room with young St. Just. Percy, too, was obviously taken aback, but soon recovered his marvelous presence of mind. The comtesse and Lady Blakeney had evidently known one another in Paris, but the comtesse's greeting was anything but friendly.  There ensued a humourous episode between Percy and the young vicomte. For a few moments my heart was in my mouth as I feared we had been discovered. How was it that not one of the de Tournay family went so far as to guess that they actually owed their lives to Blakeney I could never understand. Mademoiselle Suzanne, in her charming way, prattled incessantly of the gallant Scarlet Pimpernel and Lady Blakeney listened with obvious delight to hear her talk. I marveled if she was on the point of guessing the truth, for the coincidence of this rescue and our presence in Dover must, I thought, have jumped to the eyes. Percy, however, in his usual flippant manner, was ready with some fantastic story which allayed all suspicion and everything passed off without danger."

It was during the halt at the "Fisherman's Rest" that Sir Percy had actual proof that Chauvelin had already approached Marguerite on the subject of his mission. While his guests were resting after their meal he wandered out into the garden and it is practically certain that he overheard a conversation between his wife and the accredited agent. In the course of this conversation Chauvelin used certain threats in connection with Armand St. Just, and for the first time gave Marguerite to understand that he knew a great deal about her brother's anti-revolutionary activities. What Marguerite's attitude was in answer to these vague threats is impossible to say. Chauvelin had not, it seems, at the very moment any proof of what he asserted. But proof did come to his hands very shortly afterwards.

There are different versions as to how this came about. One version is that after Armand's departure from the "Fisherman's Rest" the rest of the party posted to London, only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Tony remaining at the inn, pending further instructions from their chief. Two ruffians in the pay of Chauvelin and acting under his instructions hid themselves under the settles in the coffee-room until the landlord and his staff had all gone to bed. Ffoulkes and Dewhurst remained talking by the fire in the public room, when they were suddenly attacked by the ruffians, their heads were smothered in sacking before they could utter a sound, and finally they were bound with cords and gagged while their pockets were ransacked. In Sir Andrew's pocket was a letter signed by Armand St. Just, which ran as follows:

"Dear Sir Andrew,

"Having been brought to safety by your gallant and chivalrous leader, I most earnestly desire to repay his kindness by enrolling myself under his banner.

Though this request may seem a strange one to you, please remember that my sister is married to an Englishman, your friend, that I have already shown myself to be anti-revolutionary in my ideas and that my great intimacy with the republican leaders might be of great value to your leader. 

"Please, therefore, support my candidature with your influence which I know is of great weight with the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Yours very sincerely,
Armand St. Just"

The other version has it that it was while posting back to London the following morning that Ffoulkes and Dewhurst were set upon by what appeared to be a gang of highwaymen, a fairly frequent occurrence on the Dover road; the gang, however, in this instance was composed of men in the pay of Chauvelin. There, between Hollingbourne and Maidstone, the two young men were relieved of all their possessions including the St. Just letter. The two young men were finally left in the road, bound and gagged, while the ruffians commandeered their coach. Ffoulkes and Dewhurst were forced to walk ten miles into Maidstone where they reported the attack to the police.

When Blakeney discovered that his friends had been set upon and robbed, he realized the dangers which threatened him and the League at every turn. He had, of course, no cognizance before this that Armand St. Just had been in communication with Ffoulkes; and when the latter told him about the letter, he was quick enough to guess what Chauvelin's tactics would be in the future; he would use the compromising letter as a leverage to force Marguerite into helping him discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

It is not absolutely certain how Chauvelin came to discover that the Scarlet Pimpernel and Sir Percy Blakeney were one and the same person. But discover it he did. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes says that it probably occurred at 1 a.m., during the progress of a ball given by Lord Grenville, the Foreign Secretary, at his London mansion! But even he is not sure what happened, though this version seems quite probable. At all events Blakeney must have noticed that his wife held a lengthy conversation with Chauvelin whilst most of the company were engaged in dancing. He himself was at a loss to explain how Chauvelin had come to discover his identity, for amongst Ffoulkes' papers was found the following letter:

"Dear Andrew,

"Our ubiquitous friend has pierced the mask and stumbled upon the truth. Egad, he is the cleverest Frenchman I have ever met in my life. But do not be duly alarmed. It was fate, and perhaps it is just as well. I shall enjoy myself giving Chauvelin the slip and it adds zest to our adventures which were beginning to get a trifle monotonous. His discomfiture will lead to his downfall and my escape will probably mean his disgrace. I start for Calais to-morrow, to find poor old de Tournay and bring him back here to the bosom of his family. Should any unforeseen event arise during my absence, you know how to communicate with me; same place and time as the last one. Tell the others to be doubly on their guard.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel"

Sir Percy's personal diary throws a little light upon the subject, though here again the explanation is merely surmise on his part.

"I wonder whether the astute little rat realized that I was following him at Dover and purposely spoke loudly in order to draw me. If so, my interest in his movements naturally gave me away to him. On the other hand, I doubt this very much and cannot believe that he saw me. His loud voice was entirely due to anger at M.'s reluctance to aid him. Again at the ball, no member of the League came near me: I had already arranged for that, and begad, I had drunk enough in Chauvelin's presence to convince him that my noisy slumbers were genuine."

The only thing, however, that does appear certain is that Chauvelin's discovery of the truth occurred that night of the ball.

The following afternoon the Blakeney's held one of their celebrated water parties. Two interesting events occurred during the course of that brilliant gala at which the Prince of Wales was present. It seems pretty certain for one thing that Chauvelin gave Marguerite to understand that he was at last on the track of the Scarlet Pimpernel; the identity of the mysterious personage had been most unexpectedly revealed to him and moreover, he knew for a positive fact that the Scarlet Pimpernel was starting to France this very evening.

"And," Chauvelin added, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "I am following him to Calais, there to effect his arrest and to bring him to justice on a charge of spying."

This conversation which Marguerite had with Chauvelin, coupled with certain things which Suzanne de Tournay told her about the activities of the League and of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself on behalf of the comte her father put her on the track of the truth. Suddenly she saw daylight and realized that the enigmatic adventurer was none other than her husband, Sir Percy Blakeney!

There exists a well-authenticated record of an interview which Lady Blakeney had that selfsame evening with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. He speaks of it in his diary:

"Lady Blakeney visited me at my lodgings at a late hour yesterday. I was surprised to see her and could not imagine what had brought her ladyship to my rooms at this hour of the evening. Her first words caused me no undue alarm as I already knew that Chauvelin was on Percy's track. But I received a severe shock when she told me she knew the truth. She would not tell me how she came to know it, but there the fact remained. She begged for my assistance and I asked how I could serve her. She asked me to accompany her to France whither she would start early the following morning. What else could I do but obey?"

The continuation of Ffoulkes' journey gives a fairly accurate if not very detailed story of their adventures at Calais.

"We landed safely at Calais," he writes, "and made our way to the 'Chat Gris.' There we came face to face with Chauvelin. Before I could raise a finger on Lady Blakeney's behalf, he ordered her arrest as a spy in the pay of the British Government, and this, under the pretence that she was, despite her marriage, still a French subject. It was no use in my trying to find Percy and apprise him of the terrible event. Luckily, I met him almost immediately, coming along to the inn. It was wonderful what a hold he kept over himself when I told him the dreadful news. He gave me his instructions with perfect sang-froid. I was to keep out of sight and to make my way to the farm-house, where de Tournay and others were in hiding. There I was to wait until I heard a certain signal, and then repair with the party straight away to a certain place on the shore which had already been prearranged between us. Percy's idea was that Chauvelin's attention was, for the moment, concentrated on the likely capture of the Scarlet Pimpernel and that I would have no difficulty, given certain elementary precautions, in following these instructions. Having seen the party of fugitives safely stowed away under shelter, I was then to make my way back to the cliffs and there await the usual signal ­ the cry of the sea-mew thrice repeated.

"All those instructions I obeyed to the letter and spent a couple of hours on those dreary cliffs in an agony of mind, impossible to describe. I wrestled with the fear that I would never see my friend or his wife again. What happened at the 'Chat Gris' I have never learnt; all I know is that after those two hours of agonizing anxiety I heard the welcome signal and, guided by the sound, I presently found Blakeney and his lady lying together under the shelter of a boulder. Percy had been severely injured, how, he would not tell me; Lady Blakeney was in tears, but I guessed they were tears of joy, and now and again I caught sight of a twinkle in Blakeney's eyes which told plainly that, despite his injuries, he had derived much amusement from this latest adventure. What he did tell me was that the Daydream was already well on her way to England, with the Comte de Tournay and other refugees on board. And that was the end of that adventure, which, in many ways, proved to be the most exciting of all. After this we shall have to watch our movements carefully, since Chauvelin must be beside himself with rage."

This extract in Sir Andrew Ffoulkes' diary must have been written the same evening in some out-of-the-way corner of the coast, for at the end he adds:

"In a couple of days we are to be back in England, and then to discuss with my beloved Suzanne the details of our approaching marriage . . . "

There was great joy and feasting on board the Daydream that evening; the relief at escaping from the revolutionary inferno was enhanced for the old comte by the happy prospect of reunion with his beloved family. Though a trifle saddened at the thought of losing his only daughter so soon, yet he appeared delighted to think that his future son-in-law was one of that band of heroes who had saved them all from death.

For Sir Percy and Marguerite there was unalloyed happiness at last. The barriers set up against their love by obstinate pride had been broken down; all restraint in one another's presence could in the future be cast aside, and their tongues could give utterance to the love which each had kept secret from the other up to now. As if by magic their estrangement had vanished, vanished more rapidly than the night mists before the morning sun.

Sir Percy that night had told his wife everything; at her sweet insistence he recounted to her every detail of every rescue he had undertaken, so that she might know every phase of his adventures. But though she felt proud and happy in his deeds of heroism, horrible premonitions assailed her of the danger to his precious life, as well as the fear of this new and powerful rival to his affection for her; she dreaded the warring of two natures in him, the romantic love for her and the passionate devotion to this mad and dangerous sport.

It is more than likely that she did her best to wean him from the League, but only to realize that this attempt had been a tactical error, and that if she wished to retain her new-found happiness she must be content in the little her husband could give her. Sufficient for the day were the dangers thereof! And there were plenty of those.

That Lady Blakeney had fallen in love with her own husband no one could fail to see, and in the more frivolous cliques of fashionable London this extraordinary phenomenon was eagerly discussed. Indeed, latterly, and contrary to all precedent, to all usages and customs of society, Marguerite was seldom seen at routs or at the opera without Sir Percy; she accompanied him to the race-courses and even danced the minuet with him. But it looked a very one-sided affair, for no one could assert that Sir Percy was anything but politely bored and indifferent to his wife's obvious attentions.

His lazy eyes never once lighted up when she entered a ballroom, and many knew for a fact that her ladyship spent many lonely days in her beautiful Richmond home whilst her lord and master absented himself with persistent, if unchivilrous regularity. To all appearances, therefore, Blakeney had not changed from the early days of matrimony, and only his friends understood that now, beneath that selfsame lazy manner, those shy and awkward ways, that half inane and half cynical laugh, there lurked an undercurrent of tender and passionate happiness.

A great occasion now detained Blakeney in England: the marriage of his second-in-command, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, with Suzanne de Tournay. It was a brilliant function, at which the Prince of Wales was present. We may take it, however, that the accredited agent of the French republican Government was conspicuous by his absence. One wonders what went on in Blakeney's mind when he suddenly found himself thus deprived of his right hand man; obviously, for the moment, he could not associate Sir Andrew in any of his schemes. One cannot tear a young bridegroom from his bride in order to hurl him into untold perils.

Blakeney, therefore, turned to two other equally devoted intimates, Lord Anthony Dewhurst and Lord Hastings. They were newer than Ffoulkes to the dangerous game, but their enthusiasm and courage were every whit as great, and soon their chief felt that his confidence in them had not been misplaced. Against that, the difficulties encountered in Paris were increasing at every turn. Dewhurst had reported that he had been spied upon in the streets of Paris, and that once, having been recognized in spite of his disguise, he had only escaped arrest by the skin of his teeth.

Again, on another occasion, Hastings had been unable to carry out certain instructions which the Scarlet Pimpernel had given him, as his footsteps had been dogged by a couple of ruffians whom he could not manage to shake off. It was evident that Chauvelin had circulated a description of those members of the League with whom he had come into contact in England. Of their leader he feigned complete ignorance. Hate, at having been thwarted by him, had become his dominant passion, even to the exclusion of patriotism, and he had determined that no one but himself should effect the capture of the enigmatical adventurer.

The revolutionary Government had, however, become impatient at the delay in capturing the Scarlet Pimpernel, or any of the English spies, and the failure at Calais had turned their impatience to wrath. The heads of the Government felt that Chauvelin had let slip the easy prey, and by way of punishment they had relegated him to a position of obscurity.

At this juncture one comes up against a curious turn of events, which owing to fully authenticated records it is impossible to ignore. The facts are interesting because they show yet another phase of Percy Blakeney's character; they show him up for the first time being as less of a hero, and with all the weakness of a man in love. It seems pretty certain that in his newly-found happiness and in the joy of Marguerite's love, he seemed to no longer care whether the League flourished, whether aristocrats were guillotined, or whether the French Government was still bitterly resentful of Chauvelin's defeat at his hands.

This lapse, which did not last longer than ten days, was so entirely alien to his character and in such direct contradiction to his previous activities, that those men who had so readily sworn allegiance to him were, for the nonce, thrown into a state of confusion and doubt. The leader whom they loved and admired for his magnificent and ready sacrifice of self, had apparently deserted them at the very outset of their glorious adventure; their plans were left in the air without guidance or hope for future activity.

There followed a week of intense depression and disappointment. Though Hastings and Dewhurst did their level best, all felt the lack of the inspiration and leadership of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Nothing seemed to go right. The rescues which had been planned before this terrible lapse occurred narrowly missed being turned to failure, and, what was far worse, since that touch of genius which Blakeney infused into all their enterprises was lacking, those who took part in them were often in grave danger of being caught.

Some of the members grumbled audibly and it soon became evident that if matters continued in the same unsatisfactory way, the League would disintegrate and finally cease to be. The magnetic personality of Sir Percy Blakeney, which had held them all in a vice of devotion and obedience, having been removed, no one could supercede him with any chance of success.

Their indignation soon took an open turn and the discontent which they had kept bottled up for a whole week, gave itself vent in what was nothing short of rebellion. Though neither Dewhurst nor Hastings would act as spokesman ­ in fact, they refused to be associated with the discontented elements, either through loyalty to their friend or through some ingrained idea that such a thing was simply not done ­ yet they secretly sympathized with their grievances and felt Percy's neglect of the League as acutely as the others did. After a debate, during which many bitter words were spoken, they decided, before approaching Blakeney personally, to seek out Ffoulkes in order to ask his advice and help and, if possible, co-operation.

"My dear Ffoulkes," Lord Saint Denys wrote to him, "I am writing to you on a very delicate and difficult subject. Since neither Dewhurst nor Hastings will undertake the task, it has devolved upon me as spokesman for the League. This task is all the more difficult as the subject matter is one that grieves us all mightily, and yet cannot be neglected much longer if we are to continue our activities.

"For the past week we have heard naught from our leader. He seems to have forgotten us and not to care any more whether his League continues to exist or not. It looks almost as if, either through disinclination or sheer idleness (his courage we do not for one instant question), he wishes to renounce its leadership. After all the oaths which we so willingly took at his bidding, this seems to us, to put it bluntly, not playing the game.

"He has been at every ball and dinner party in London whilst we have been almost torn in twain by anxiety and internal dissentions.

"We cannot allow this state of affairs to continue. We, therefore, ask you, though we realize you are still on leave, so to speak, to give us your valuable assistance and, if possible, explain the situation to the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Saint Denys, on behalf of the League"

"My dear Saint Denys," Ffoulkes answered, "Having been away for the past fortnight, I cannot judge for myself. But, my advice, for what it is worth, is to keep quiet and to make no move in this delicate matter, behaving as if nothing untoward had happened, and I am certain that you will receive the message you are so eagerly expecting from the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Remember that we promised to obey implicitly. Perhaps this silence is to test your loyalty, and should you fail in the test, our leader would have just cause for offence and anger against you.

"Prudence must dictate your actions in the future, but I pray you not to be in too great a hurry to break away from the oath so solemnly given. For myself, I feel that such an action on your part, as you suggest, would amount to a betrayal of that self-same oath and that you would no longer deserve to be members of the League.

"I naturally must beg you to disassociate my name from any steps which you may judge fit to take. I do not wonder that Tony and Hastings refuse to commit themselves.

"Think it over carefully before acting.

Yours sincerely, Ffoulkes."

Those two letters are self-revealing and no comment is needed on the obvious sincerity of both parties to this correspondence. They confirm all that is surmised about this affair. Luckily, it went no further, for it was killed by the realization of Sir Percy to the danger in which his lapse had placed the League.

Explanation on one side, understanding on the other was quite easy. The seven members understood and never again referred to that awful time of doubt and suspense. Blakeney may have guessed, but did not actually know that there had been any murmurings against him, and they all carefully avoided the subject, half-ashamed now, perhaps, of their own lapse from the high ideals of obedience and loyalty to which they had pledged themselves. It is, in any way, certain that if Percy had at the time any real knowledge of what his friends' feelings were in the matter, he would have been the first to admit his fault. 

The whole incident goes to prove that, after all is said and done, that most gallant gentleman, Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., was human, intensely so. Though outwardly he had lived a life in which Marguerite seemed to have no part, he was starved of that love for which his soul craved. In spite of the excitement and the adventures of the League, he had been unable to banish the yearning from his heart. He had hoped that these adventures would bring oblivion and a healing balm to his wounded pride. But the remedy proved inefficacious, and when at long length the breach was healed and love rediscovered, he lost himself in the maze of happiness which followed. From that moment the rest of the world ceased to exist and the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel was temporarily forgotten.

Then came the rude awakening. As a bolt from the blue, one cold October afternoon, 1792, a horseman galloped up the drive of Blakeney Manor as if the devil were at his tail. The horseman was my Lord Stowmarries and he was the bearer of news which awakened the Scarlet Pimpernel with a jerk out of his glorious dreams. Lord Hastings had been arrested by the French authorities and was even now awaiting trial on a charge of spying. This meant that one of the intrepid band was in danger of death, and through that, the very existence of the Scarlet Pimpernel and the League was at stake.

It was no empty oath nor vain boast on Blakeney's part when he swore on his honour that the safety of his followers would always be his primary concern. In a trice, the delights of the moment were foresworn, the charms of a life of ease cast aside. The lover was once more transformed into the man of action. On Marguerite's part, prayers and entreaties were of no avail. She was forced to submit to this separation and to await her husband's return with as much fortitude as she could muster.

"I could not love you, dear, so much, loved I not honour more."

Blakeney set about at once to make a few hasty preparations and arranged to meet Stowmarries and one or two of the others at a posting house on the Dover Road. The task before him would not, he knew, be a light one, since the French Government would be sure to set its most astute spies on his track; but the spirit of adventure was dominant in him once more; the instinct of leadership, of the chase after noble quarry, with a pack of snarling wolves at his heels, had him in its grip. There was a vast difference between the happiness which he had enjoyed in Marguerite's arms and that which awaited him now. Who shall blame him if, after that last parting kiss, full of a passionate sorrow, regret was merged in the equally passionate love of adventure?

Stowmarries, in the meantime, had ridden away, taking with him Blakeney's letters and instructions. He reported the events to his comrades who received the news to the accompaniment of boisterous cheers. All was well with their beloved leader. Excuses for his apparent desertion were quickly found, each outvying the other in their inventiveness; but all were heartily agreed that he was a jolly good fellow and that they would make up for their lack of faith by superhuman exertions when called upon for duty.

Those who had been honoured with a call for this journey drove off with Stowmarries, like a pack of schoolboys off for the holidays, the rest could only nurse a transient resentment that they had not been chosen for the work, hoping their turn would soon come round again.